#it’s the way the fucking clink their pizzas like people do when they’re making a toast lmfaoooo

[gracieblood]

this could be us but you playin

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs​

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.  

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter  wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.  

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”  

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.  

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.  

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”  

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Hello Internet! So I wrote a stylized transcript of events from @moonbowphobia and @mcyt-apocalypse-au‘s wedding the other day. I apologize from the deepest place in my heart if I messed up anyone’s pronouns.

I hope you enjoy my little rendition of events.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moon was sat in their dressing room; deep blue and black ball gown splayed over the loveseat while their sister Chandelier put the last finishing touches to their hair; Vi and Rib playing cards on the floor; Vibes trying to keep the vodka away from Aria; the chaos was comforting, but Moon was nervous. It was their wedding day. They would be marrying the love of their life, Abi.

“Help! I’m scared!”

“Take a deep breath.” Moon did as Vibes instructed, taking a deep breath in, and letting it out slowly. “You love Abi. She loves you. You’re going to be fine.”

“Am I though? Rib help!”

“Am I not help enough?” Vibes joked.

“No, of course you’re helping. I just nee-“

Vi slaps them across the face. “YOU LOVE HER BITCH JUST KISS HER CMON!”

Chandelier whips around to push Vi back to the floor. “Play your card game. That’s not helping, nor how weddings work.”

Moon laughs at their sister’s antics. At least someone is calm. “I got one of Lu’s cupcakes!” Vibes calls, skidding back into the room. When did they leave? “Here.”

“Thank you,” Moon reaches for the treat. Biting into it and eating with vigor.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes.” Moon polishes off the cupcake. “Oh go! Two minutes.”

“Bitch calm down!” Aria says, shaking her best friend by the shoulders.

“Ah yes. The drunk friend always calms people down.” Vibes let the sarcasm seep into their voice, trading a look with Chandelier.

Chandelier goes about shooing Aria and Vi out the door; trusting that Vibes will follow and keep them in line. She brushes the crumbs off of her sibling’s jet black skirt and fixes their headpiece one final time. “You will be fine Moon. Everything will go well. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Let me do that.”

“Okay. Thank you Lier.”

“Anytime.” Lier beckons Rib to follow them out to the altar. Rib grabs the pillow and rings and skips after them, careful not to step on Moon’s train.

Vibes is already at the podium. Moon and Rib set themselves off to the left side. Lier fixes their midnight blue embellished train as they take in the crowd.

Fenn is in the corner playing something on her switch and Vi is on the opposite side doing the same. Ozzie is sitting with the rest of their siblings, trying to waggle them into compliance; their every expression screaming ‘this is fine’ in a deadpan tone.

“Please help,” Moon whispers to the ether.

“It’s okay.” Lier squeezes their shoulder before tucking one of Rib’s stray hairs away and going to calm the masses.

“I’m sure Abi is just as worried at you are,” Vibes consoles.

Aria runs from behind the bar with a glass. “Drink this vodka mix and calm down.”

“Thank you,” Moon gushes, taking the glass from their best friend’s hands. Only for it to be swiped away when Lier comes to collect Aria and get her in place, so the wedding can start. Moon is thankful for their sibling, but they really wanted that drink.

They see Vi run out and down the drink in Lier’s hand before she can stop her. Lier sat Aria down and started to whisper lecture to her niece. Or what looked like whisper lecturing.

Lightly slapping Lynn’s hand away from the cupcakes, Lier goes to put the glass away. Moon watches Lynn sprint to the other dressing room. Looks like Abi needed a snack as well.

Lier pokes her head into Abi’s room. She comes out and locks eye with Moon, giving them a little thumbs up. Moon takes a deep breath, looks at Rib and zeir comforting smile. They give Lier a nod. She cues Star to start playing the wedding march.

Des comes out first, throwing roses Lier procured on the floor. She goes to sit next to Aria in the front row. “God fuck, why am I getting nervous,” Aria whispered to the older girl.

Then comes Tabz in all her glory. She nods to Moon and goes to stand on Abi’s side of the altar.

The first section of the song ends. There are a few seconds of silence before the piano resumes and Abi turns the corner. She walks down the aisle gracefully, her white off-the-shoulder cape flapping gently behind her. Moon can’t keep the smile off of their face.

Neither can Abi. She’s smiling wildly; the only thing keeping her from tripping on her face is the sturdy arm of her father right beside her. Sooty lets go of her hand as she takes her place next to Tabz.

Moon slowly nudges the mask off of their face; showing their visage to Abi, but hiding it from the audience. They smile at each other and Vibes starts to speak.

“Today, we are here to unite Moon and Abi together.”

Moon can see Aria trying not to cry out of their peripheral vision. They hear someone cracking open a can, of course, was it Corn?

“Moon,” Vibes asks. “Do you promise to never give Abi up, never let her down, never run around, and desert her?”

“I promise.”

“Abi. Do you promise to never make Moon cry. Never say goodbye, never tell a lie and hurt them?”

“I do.”

“Moon, do you take Abi to be the ‘yee’ to your ‘haw’?”

“I take Abi to be the ‘yee’ to my ‘haw’.”

"Abi, do you take Moon to be the kazoo noise to your Mono?"

“I do take Moon to be the kazoo noise to my Mono.”

“Then with the blessing of this church, I now pronounce you partners for life. May I have the rings?”

Rib scurries to present the golden pillow to Vibes. “Yes,” ze says, tears in the corners of zeir eyes.

Abi grins and reaches of Moon’s hands, slipping the ring of their finger. Moon does the same for Abi.

"May these rings be a sign of love and faithfulness in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Head, shoulders, knees and toes. Turn up your nose, strike that pose. Hey Macarena. Y'all may now kiss."

Moon cups Abi’s face, both have tears in their eyes. Moon brings Abi in for a kiss, thankful that the mask is still there keeping this moment private for the prying eyes of the audience.

Star starts to play Megalovania as the attendants applaud to newlywed couple. The song continues as everyone files out of the ceremony room to the reception hall. Purple light flooded the room, the guest sat in round tables of eight according to the seating chart. String lights hanging from the rafters to look like stars in the night sky.

Unnie was ferrying food from the kitchen to the guests. Aria was handing out drinks to whoever came up for one. She was about to give Rib one, but with one glare from Lier, Rib got an apple juice.

The room was filled with sounds as everyone ate and got drunk. Aria pulled Moon to the dance floor after handing out vodka shots to Vi and Corn. Abi stumbles out onto the dance floor as well, laughing and having a good time.

Vibes comes over to Lier and offers her a glass of champagne. They clink their glasses together. It was a good show they pulled off.

“So how are you doing these last few days, buddy?” Corn gave Rib her shot glass, sticking her tongue out at Lier who was glaring over the rim of her drink.

“Congrats on your wedding! I hope your marriage lasts for three hours!” Vi yells at her parents, leaning heavily on her fiancée’s arm on her way to get more drinks with.

“Fuck off Vi!” Abi screams back, content to keep dancing with Moon.

Lynn backs into a corner, drinking her apple juice and watching the scene in amusement. She is the first to the tower of cupcakes. “Cake!”

“Cake!” Aria screams.            

Star agrees with the drunk one, “Cake time!”

“Cake!” Vi barrels passed everyone, not caring who she knocked over. “Sugar rush Violet activating!”

Corn silently takes half of the cupcakes with her. Batting Vibes’ hands away when they try to stop her. Lier helps Unnie dish out an equal number of cupcakes to everyone else.

Once everyone was satiated, Rib and Lier broke into the pile of pizza boxes. Pizza is a good substitute for cake; what are you talking about?

Then it was time for gifts. Rib gave zer parents a switchblade, embellished with a motif of leaves and wooden paneling, and a beautiful floral metal necklace. Lier gave them a coaster with Moon’s mask design on it, and a handmade Technoblade plush toy. Aria gave them a set of moonstone chokers.

The couple loved them so very much. Hugging each of the gift givers in turn, they thanked each one.

Then the two backed away from the crowd to exchange gift with each other away from the audience. They started screaming I love yous to each other shortly thereafter.

Everything was calming down a little, so Vibes started to play Blitz Parody by Technoblade on the piano while Lier sung and botches along with a chord chart and a ukulele. Then Aria played Highway to Hell on the drum set, Vibes singing this time.

Once they were done, Vi grabbed her guitar and started playing The L’Manburg anthem. It became a drunk sing along, with Rib, Abi, and Vi herself joining in. Both Star and Corn joined in for the “Fuck Eret” line.

“I’m gonna cry,” Moon said, watching the scene in front of her.

“Don’t cry love,” Abi consoled, halting her singing.

“What’s wrong?” Vibes asked.

Lier came over with a tissue. “Happy tears?”

“Happy tears.”

“It all started on a day like any other!” Corn yelled in tune.

And they’re off again. Singing an Ode To L’Manburg.

Abi throws the bouquet at them. Vibes manages to catch it. Vi bites their arm in retaliation. Berl drags Vi away kicking and screaming.

“With a heart that she’d taken from me,” Star continues to sing the song in the background with Rib.

“Moony honey, are you okay?”

“This was beautiful.”

“It is! It’s lovely.” The two smile, just looking at the crowd.

Vi raises her shot over her head, standing on a table. “A toast to Moon and Abi, who I bet will divorce by December.”

“A toast to kicking Vi to the curb,” Lier mutters. Having given up on keeping people from hurting themselves, she again clinks glasses with Vibes again.

“Vi you are on a timeout you fucking little shit.” Abi yells.

“I bet they’ll do it by the month after October.”

“Rib!” Corn whacks zer across the back of zeir head.

Vibes goes to distract. “Let’s all have another round!”

“Moon it’s okay. C’mere.” Abi brings her partner in for a hug, before they murder two of their children.

Moon returns the hug as Aria screams in shock. “Guy this fucking wall is talking to me!”

“Aria that’s it. Time to go home. You are to drunk,” Vi says, slurring her words.

“Aria! Go home,” Abi yells. “I love you Moony,” she says quieter.

“I love you too.”

“No! Me staying her with ma best friend Moon!” Aria screams back; to the wall instead of the people. Huh. Maybe she should go home.

“A toast,” Vibes holds up their glass. “A proper one. For Abi and Moon; may they live happily ever after!”

“May they live ever after!” Star cheers.

“Cheers I guess…” Corn says, not sure what’s going on anymore. Too many drunk people.

“Cheers bitches!” Aria says, getting dragged by her legs while Vi yelled at her.

“Go. Home. You. Are. Drunk.”

“Vi, no.” Lier goes to dislodge the two. “Let Aria stay here with me.”

“Aria you want to come with me?” Vibes asks. “I have some ice.”

“She will be fine in my sight.”

Abi stares into Vi’s soul. “Put her down.”

“Okay mom.”

Aria’s feet drop to the floor and she just lays there. “No, I want to stay with Lier.”

“I love ice!” Rib calls from the other end of the room, where ze is standing really close to a vase.

A drunken Moon then starts giving out food from the kitchen people. Unnie decides that they don’t get paid enough to care.

Aria looks to Lier. “But I want ice.”

“Then get up. You can come with me to the ice machine.” The two of them go to where Rib and Vi are munching quietly with Star.

“Y’all can see the walls moving right?” Aria asks again.

“Uh, yeah, sure Aria. They’re doing jumping jacks and everything.” Abi says, grabbing a handful of ice for herself.

“Aria, I think I’m seeing that walls talk too,” Vi said way too loudly for their proximity.

Rib turned back to the vase. “So, ya come here often?” Ze was slurring zeir words all over the place.

“Aria sit down. Rib are you flirting that was vase?” Lier facepalmed.

“Yes Vi! They are talking!”

Lier stands up, leaving them to it. “I’m getting the hose,” she muttered to Vibes on her way out. “If I remember correctly Abi said arson was allowed after the ceremony.”

“These guys are so weak to alcohol, let’s hope they forget that.”

Vi knocks over Rib’s vase while talking to the walls with Aria. “Ooh! Mango!” She them proceeds to eat some.

“NOOOOO!” Rib cries. “My beloved!”

Vibes rushes over to get Vi to cough it up.

“Vi how could you!” Rib shouts.

“Cronch. Tasty.”

Aria picks that moment to start playing the death metal to get some good head banging. Abi tries to hold in her laugh, but can’t. Rib starts sobbing in an ugly drunken fashion, bopped zeir head as well.

“Well at least no one is hurt yet,” Vibes says when Lier returns with the hose.

Star is still sitting to the side, drinking her apple juice quietly now that their’s no songs within her vocal range to sing.

“Let’s do Coke!” Aria suggests.

“No. Aria. No.” Lier stands right in Aria’s face. “I will literally make a PowerPoint on why that’s a bad idea.”

“Yeah! Coke!” Vi cheers, but Aria is already trying to shush her.

“No. No. Coke.”

“Why?” Vi complains.

“You ate my future wife!” Rib yells.

Lier muttered a question to herself. “Is me holding the threat of an informative PowerPoint really enough to stop Aria?”

“It’s okay. I’m good. Sorry Lier. OMG no. No PowerPoint necessary!”

“Smile on nod,” Lier said to herself.

“PowerPoints are scary,” Aria explained.

“No they aren’t,” Abi piped up.

“Do you want her to do coke?”

Abi paused to take in the question. “PowerPoints are terrifying,” she says deadpan.

“Any song requests?” Star asked when the death metal ended.

“Something sad,” Rib said, “because that’s how I feel. I feel betrayed and backstabbed.”

“Could you do ‘Cost of the Crown’ for me?”

“Wait there’s a crown!” Abi jumped up. “I want a crown!”

Abi was very clearly drunk, so Vibes handed over a paper crown before she hurt herself.

“POG!”

“By a sibling no less!” Rib continued to scream.

“Shuddup out prick!”

“Shut up, murderer!”

As this conversation continues, Star starts to play ‘Let it Go’ on the piano. Abi and Vibes are dueling, not half badly, but defiantly in the wrong key.

“Fuck you! You murdered my beloved!”

“I’ll do it again fucker!”

“She ate my wife!”

“Rib and Violet. Calm. Down.” Vibes went to stand between them.

“It’s only a vase, calm down,” Ai adds.

“I WILL NOT CALM!”

“Rib calm down, Moon and I will get you another.”

“It wasn’t just a vase! It was the mother of my future children!”

“I’ll fix her if you calm down,” Abi reasoned.

“Okay. I’m calm. Fix her please.”

“I’ll fix her tomorrow, don’t you worry kiddo,” Abi  soothed.

“Don’t worry, she’s not gone yet,” Vibes said. “Just sleep for now Rib, she’ll be okay.”

“She’ll be even shinier than the day you met her kiddo, don’t you worry!”

Lier came over with a glass of ice. “Have some water before you dose off on us.”

“Yay!” ze said sleepily. “Ice.”

Lier starts putting the pieces into a large Ziplock bag.

“Are y’all gonna do some necromancy?! No!” Vi them process to charge at Lier, pushing her over and breaking the pieces into even smaller ones.

“Vi,” Lier falls back into a deathly calm tone. “We just got Rib is calm down.” She gets up and into Vi’s space. “I will slowly dismember you part by part if you do not shut up this moment”

“No!”

“Ok Vi. You’re right. I’m not going to hurt you. But please stop breaking the vase.”

Rib had started worry again. Abi started shushing her child again. “Don’t worry, Rib vasey is completely fine.”

“And now I will sing N/A my MegaPvP!” Vibes said. For the first time, Lier wondered if Vibes was truly sober.

Rib places an orange peel on Abi’s shoulder. “Here you go mother.”

“Huh?”

“Okay! Pack it up family! Time to go home!”

“But my vase!”

“Will get super glued together tomorrow.”

Lier finds where Ozzie has secluded themselves, and forces them to help get everyone into cars and home safely. Thank goodness she had had the foresight to book a couple vans and drivers.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

caution: this drabble contains explicit child abuse (from lux’s past, but written as if it’s current). please proceed with caution.

When he hears it, Lux’s movements falter for just a moment. Flinches are mocked, are punished, so he doesn’t let the remembered pain associated with the clinking of a belt buckle jerk his shoulders up or force him to step closer to his room. He hasn’t done anything particularly annoying today so it’s probably not gonna end up with him in pain. He hasn’t done anything wrong.

There are eyes on him. Lux can tell. He hates these long, terrifying moments when his father’s eyes lock onto him, searching for some glaring fault to tear at. The warlock turns the page of his chapter book and tries not to shift his weight on the squeaky kitchen chair.

He’s read this page about four times but the words still aren’t sinking in. It takes another two attempts for him to build up the courage to flick his eyes up, to glance over toward the living room.

There his dad lounges in his armchair, looking just as dangerous as ever. Sometimes Lux wishes he had the kind of dad who has that same type of chair and seems to melt into it, out of shape and lazy, tossing an empty beer can at the TV at most. But no, his dad isn’t like that. He’s a proud veteran of the war, short sleeves rolled up to display the tattoos from the service, his gun on the table beside him in pieces ready to be reassembled. And he’s staring straight at Lux.

His belt is undone, the end hanging free of the buckle. Lux swallows past a lump in his throat and meets his father’s eyes again. Just an angry day, he guesses, and the only solution is hitting. He dog-ears the page of his book subtly.

“Get over here.”

The paperback flops onto the table as Lux hurries to stand. His legs carry him in the exact opposite direction of where he wants to go. “Yeah, Dad?”

There’s nothing but mild disgust on his father’s face. In his resignation, Lux’s mind runs through all the serious dangers he needs to keep track of: the sniper bullet in the glass case that’ll be used to kill him one day, the unassembled gun on the side table, the bat by the back door. It’ll definitely just be the belt right now, so he’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.

“Get on your knees.”

Lux hesitates, searching for some excuse to avoid this. But searching for a lie and then being caught in it is dangerous, so after his few seconds of inaction, the warlock kneels, eyes searching for the spot he likes to lock onto. There, a hole, a bullet hole in the carpet. That’s from when he was little and he tottered over to fumble his dad’s gun off the table only to set it off by accident. He got hurt for that, but whatever the punishment was, it’s faded in his memory in the haze of all the others. It just feels like a small, safe act of rebellion to remember pissing the guy off that badly, startling him with a gunshot that came out of nowhere.

The belt clinks again. In eleven years, Lux hasn’t managed to figure out why the belt is used for hurting. Punches work well enough, and they’re random, they’re easy to use and move on, get back to doing other things. This whole thing, though, being made to kneel and take off his shirt and take hits that leave plain stinging, and then welts, and then eventually dark bruises if it goes on long enough? It’s just a lot of work to be put into one little punishment. It’s embarrassing, somehow, to have made his dad so angry that this whole process is the only way to make a lesson sink in.

He doesn’t have a shirt to take off, so there’s one step they can skip. Already he’s thinking about school tomorrow; how the welts will chafe under his shirt, how he’ll be grumpy and distracted, how he’ll get in trouble for his attitude and maybe end up in detention. He could try to be nice and act fine, he thinks, to avoid that, but the thought of having to pretend like he isn’t in pain just makes him angry. Lux curls his fists around two little fluffed-up tufts of carpet.

Thwack. Lux jerks and his brow crumples; he has to bite his lip to keep quiet. He wouldn’t get yelled at for making a sound, probably, but just knowing that his dad would see it as a sign of weakness makes him want to prove he’s tough. The bullet hole in the carpet remains, and his eyes stay locked on it even as they tear up with the coming blows of folded leather against his back. It’s eerily silent in between the lashes. He never feels more alone than when he’s taking the belt, when he remembers sorely that no one is near, no one can make it stop. Not even his mom, who couldn’t ever stop it from coming, but who helped after, all gentle and worried. No, Lux is alone. Alone with his dad, and the belt, and their quiet house.

~

Walking through the hallways at school with welts under his shirt is when his thoughts are always darkest. When he’s bitter that no one’s noticed what’s been done to him, and when he desperately hopes that no one will notice. Sometimes he gets home to find small lines of blood on the inside of his shirt from where the worst welts apparently bled, and he crumples with relief knowing that the blood didn’t seep through and get him caught.

He steps to avoid students hurrying to their classes, angling his shoulders to avoid all bustling. If anything, a backpack, an arm, a swinging locker meets his back, he’s going to make a sound. The teachers standing at their doors waiting for their students watch him, some subtly and some with open concern or judgement. Lux adjusts the textbooks in his arm, cheeks flushing. Yeah, he’s got his books for once. Puts a strain on his back that’s no fun, but he’s so anxious over what his dad will do if he gives him a reason to get angry, so today he’s gonna try in his classes. That was the plan, anyway, that he formed last night at 2am to calm himself down from a wave of panic. He can try in his classes, and he won’t get detention, and everyone will be a little less pissed at him than usual.

History class. That’s this period, and it’s going to be good. A relief, maybe even some fun. Lux hustles, a little bit, to get to his favorite teacher’s class on time.

Mr. Carter holds the door open for him with his usual smile. Lux flashes a half-smile back. If Mr. Carter ever suspects anything or worries about Lux, he doesn’t let it show, not at the start of class. Lux thinks he knows more than he lets on, but wants Lux to think he’s getting away with hiding things, and that makes it so much easier for the warlock to shed his stress for the span of a class period and listen.

Finding his seat and sliding his books onto the wire shelf underneath, Lux folds his arms onto his desk and leans forward in an attempt to look casual without letting his back press against his seat.

“Good morning, class,” Says Mr. Carter, letting the door close behind him as he walks over to his whiteboard. Lux relaxes at the guy’s posture alone. Mr. Carter just walks, he doesn’t stride, doesn’t take heavy angry steps, doesn’t put on any kind of haughty demeanor that authority figures tend to put on. The guy leans against his desk, popping the lid off a dry-erase marker and seeming to consider the color of it before looking back up at his class.

“So, today, we’re going to be debating, class.”

Lux perks up, eyes watching keenly for everyone’s reactions, and watching the teacher too. Lux loves debating, Mr. Carter knows that. But can he really work up the energy to do it today? Is he in such a rotten mood that he’ll get offended and lash out and be laughed at?

“Everyone will participate. Even if you don’t want to talk in front of the class, I want everyone to write down their arguments and slide them over to their debating team members, alright? And if it doesn’t get too heated, guys, pizza on Friday.”

A rare smile breaks across Lux’s face. Free food, and incentive for the class not to get all loud and angry today? A chance to debate, or to just write down his ideas, no pressure? Mr. Carter is the best.

Mr. Carter glances at him, and Lux’s stomach flutters with the panic that comes with being noticed, only to instantly settle into he knew I’d like this plan, he’s got my back, this is gonna make today so much less sucky.

~

The debate has heated up, and Lux, usually eager to jump in and land a well-executed point, is slinking back in his seat, avoiding eyes. Mr. Carter is watching every point of action, keeping an eye on his students’ volume levels and movements. Here and there, though, he glances at Lux, worried that maybe this debate topic has veered over the line.

“Cops are dying and those no-good killers are just roaming the streets! They’re all a bunch of crackheads you know, they’ve got knives and guns and no permits, they’re all fucking-”

“Language, Mr. Peterson,” Chides Mr. Carter, arms crossed, tense as he considers how to calm down a classroom full of passionate, but misguided, young people. “And remember what I always say about assumptions versus facts? This is less of a debate and more of a witch hunt at this point.”

“Witch hunt! Speaking of, let’s talk facts,” A girl chimes in, and Mr. Carter seems to relax. She’s one of his most clever, quiet students - if she’s joining in, she’s got to have a good, mature point to make. “Witches have been burned at the literal stake, hunted down, and today it’s not poking a girl to see if she bleeds and then drowning her in front of the town. It’s monitoring your search search history, it’s cops dragging people off the street with guns and tasers. How far can we go with murder and oppression in the name of safety before we become the thing we fear?”

Mr. Carter reels from the force of her logic, nodding. “Excellent, Miss-”

“Warlock sympathizer!” Cries the guy that was cut off for making assumptions, pointing at the girl who refuses to back down. “They’re killers, that’s not an assumption that’s a fact, government says so, news say so, my dad’s a cop, he-”

“Then your dad’s the killer,” She shoots back, face flushed. “Witches are getting murdered, can’t find a safe place to live, can’t even get a job, they’re dying out there. There’s no healthcare for women with magic-”

“Women with magic? Like people of color?” Jeers someone from the back of the classroom, and snickers break out.

“-and some of us can’t even afford food for kids, for warlock kids who got kicked out for being who they are, the witches give the kids food and the warlocks don’t because they need the strength to go fight off the cops dragging their friends off to die, and… and…” Her argument fades as her voice falters. The whole classroom is staring at her, dumbstruck.

“Witch,” Someone mutters, and her skin goes grey.

“Incredible,” Cries Mr. Carter, sweeping forward. Lux isn’t breathing, where he sits at the deck farthest from the debating, his instincts screaming at him to run, get to the door, before the grabbing, the accusations, the death. “Excellent. Thank you, Miss Abby. You can sit now.”

She does, legs wobbling, somehow summoning a nervous smile.

“I asked her to drop that point into her argument at some point today, so I could see how you’d all react. That’s the real lesson here, today - Mister Connor, put that phone away, no texting your girlfriend in my class, you know the rules.” Mr. Carter shakes his head as the class snickers at Connor, who opens his mouth, hesitates, then turns off the phone that shows the number for reporting a warlock sighting half-dialed. “Class,” Continues the history teacher - and Lux spots a tremor in the man’s hand as he raises it - “You all just fell victim to the number one pitfall in debating. You panicked at hearing something that’s seen as a taboo in our society, and instantly all logic left the room. You were ready to pick up your pitchforks and jump into your assumptions rather than facts, weren’t you?”

“But, Mr. Carter, we’re supposed to report-”

“Not in my class, you’re not,” Interrupts the teacher, eyes hard with stern disapproval. “Listen. I’m not discussing the broad topic of dangers to society and what role in that magic users play. I’m talking about logic and reason as used in debates in this isolated environment. I’m talking about your instincts in an argument, and how you can avoid losing an argument when it really matters. For example, Miss Abby, as I asked her to, aimed to distract you all. It worked instantly. In a political debate that you’d see on the news, the first mention of warlocks switches the debate from taxes and civil rights and the funding of things like hospitals. Do you see that now? How she could have been arguing something that would establish a policy that your political party is directly opposing, but with one buzzword like witch, she distracted you?” Mr. Carter presses on with a lecture about the strategies used in debating, a long winding talk that bores everyone out of their near-frenzy to attack.

Lux and Abby, meanwhile, take the time to remember how to breathe and keep their eyes on the floor. No one seems to remember that they’re there as everyone tries to find a sneaky way to scroll through apps on their phone or doodle in their notebooks as the teacher rambles and starts to write his talking points on the whiteboard.

Lux wonders, sitting very still to avoid reigniting the pain in his back, if Mr. Carter really knew Abby was going to say that.

[cuppalevi]

Blue Guitar | Chapter 4: Freaking Out

Series Summary: Leone Abbacchio’s trying his best to get his shit together for Narancia. But when Narancia ends up inviting him to a concert he’s playing for, Leone ends up under the sheets of the popstar, Bruno Buccellati. It turns out dating a popstar has complications. Especially when a certain someone named Diavolo has tricks up his sleeves.

Chapter 4 Summary:  Clearly Leone can't leave Narancia on his own for one night. Bruno begins to worry for his and Trish's safety especially after an appearance from one of the people they're running from.

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Leone Abbacchio x Bruno Buccellati

AO3 | Previously | Masterlist

NSFW WARNING

“Get off, Blues,” Huffed Narancia as the black-furred feline rested upon his lap. The feline ignored Narancia’s distress huff and did not move an inch from where she comfortably lay on the teenager’s lap. She rested her head against her paws, looking up at Narancia with wide eyes- as if to mock him.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even brought you home, stubborn cat.” Regardless, Narancia smoothed his hand down over Moody Blues’ head, scratching the back of her ears and a small smile on his lips when he hears her purr happily. “Ugh, I’m so bored.” 

The house was quiet and immaculate. A box of pizza lay empty on the coffee table, along with a can of Cola. With the money Leone had left for Narancia, the teenager could not escape the temptation of ordering a Margherita pizza for his dinner. But simply eating the pizza alone while watching some random Italian movie on the television did not satisfy the boredom he was feeling. Narancia glanced the clock and groaned. It’s been three hours since Abbacchio and Buccellati left to eat dinner. He figured that Leone wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. Especially with the way Narancia noticed how heart eyes Leone was all over Bruno. 

“Do you think the gelato stand is open at this time?” Narancia mumbled, caressing the smooth black fur of Moody Blues. “Or maybe I could give Fugo a call and see what he’s up to.” 

He doubts the gelato stand was still open at this time of night. And if he called Fugo this late, he would probably end up getting screamed at over the phone instead. 

Eventually, Narancia had grown tired of uselessly lying down of the couch- being mindful of the bruise he still had. So with gentle ushering for Moody Blues to get off his lap, the teenager stood up from the couch and slipped on his shoes. “I’m gonna go to the shops,” He announced at Moody Blues- as if the feline had any clue of what he was talking about. The teen grabbed his coat from the coat hooks and wore it on his body. 

“Stay put, okay?” Narancia grabbed his house keys and the what was left of Leone’s money, kneeling down to pet Moody Blues before exiting. 

The sky was dark, the stars and the moon brightening it up. The streetlights illuminated the path Narancia was walking at. He had his hands tucked inside his pockets, keeping them from the shivering cold. Once he has entered the shop, he scans down the aisle in hopes to find something he could eat to pass time. Leone had told him not to wander around Naples at this time of night, saying that it was dangerous- especially with recurring troubles from the mafia. But Leone wasn’t here to scold him and Narancia was so desperate to do something (Because someone had to confiscate his beloved video games).

The store was empty, save for the lady at the cashier who’s close to falling asleep from the way her eyelids dropped every now and then. Narancia walked down the aisle, scanning various treats, and looking for something that appealed to his current appetite. When he spots a box of chocolates, his eyes lit up happily. Standing on his tippy toes to reach for the sweets. On the way to the cashier, he also grabbed a can of tuna for Moody Blues to snack on when he gets home. 

With a shopping bag in hand, he exits the shop, only to get bumped by a black-haired teenager who seemed to be in a hurry. A clink echoes in his ears as something falls to the ground. He grunts in pain from the impact rubbing his shoulder and glares at the teenager running away, he was about to start walking again when he stepped on something hard on the ground. Squinting his eyes, he kneeled down and grabbed the object.

It’s a shiny, gold necklace. Definitely worth a huge amount of money. Narancia wondered where on earth the jewelry came from but seeing as it only appeared right after he bumped into that random boy- there was only one thought on his mind. 

“Did he drop this-?” He mumbled, staring at the necklace and back at the retreating silhouette of the running boy. Before he was even able to step further, a booming voice resounds the night. 

“There! The thief!”

--

He swallows a lump in his throat, biting his lip as he anticipates Bruno’s next move. His knees are on the bed with forearms supporting his weight. Leone’s lipstick is smudged around his lips from making out with the singer. Bruno stands behind him, admiring the view of Leone’s body for him. Softly, he rubs the palm of his hand along the flesh of Leone’s ass, relishing in its round shape. 

“Cosi carino,” He mumbles to himself, planting a smooch on each kiss which makes Leone inhale sharply. 

A shiver overcame Leone’s body when his hole was touched with lube. “You okay, bello?” Asked Bruno, slowing the movements his finger was making.

Nodding, Leone answered, “Just cold is all.”

Bruno smiled, caressing the back of Leone’s thigh in comfort while he proceeded to coat Leone slick with lubricant. The puckered muscle was clenching against his fingers- aching for something to fill it up. “Gonna have to open you up for me. Is that okay?”

Leone looked back at Bruno and meekly, he replied, “Yes, please.”

Slowly, Bruno presses the tip of his finger to Leone’s hole, easing it in. Leone gasps in response, hunching his back as he stretches to accommodate the girth of Bruno’s finger. His forearms tremble, threatening to give out. It’s so exhilarating. He feels spent from reaching his previous high when Bruno knelt but his body wanted more. His cock is still throbbing, much to his surprise. Bruno proceeds to pump his long, slender finger inside of Leone- prepping him. 

“Holding up fine?” Asked Bruno, momentarily dipping his head down to lay an open-mouthed kiss to the cheek of Leone’s ass. 

“Feels good,” Leone mewled, pushing back against Burno’s prodding fingers.  

“I’m going to add another, okay?” 

Leone’s response was a pleading moan, dropping his head to the sheets just as Bruno’s second finger began to stretch him out further than the first one. He feels full- and it’s fucking good. He’s never had anyone like Bruno. Bruno’s fingers are encased in the warmth of Leone’s walls and he feels them clenching occasionally while he thrusts his two fingers in. There’s a wet, squelching sound echoing in the air from the ministrations of Bruno’s fingers, making the atmosphere more erotic.

Leone gasps shakily, biting the plump of his bottom lip when the tips of Bruno’s fingers prod against that spot. It makes him all tingly, blood rushing to his cock and shivers shooting up his spine. “Just fuck me already,” He grunts and the man behind him chuckled

“That eager?” Bruno teased, pulling his fingers out- making Leone whine at the emptiness he felt. 

“Please, Bruno,” Begged Leone, wiggling his rear to accentuate his request. 

He hears the telltale crinkling of the condom wrapper behind him, nerves shaking in anticipation. Bruno’s teeth rip open the package, spitting out the top portion and pulling the latex out. Leone turns his head back fully- mouth watering at the sight of Bruno’s cock. The length of it is long, the girth is thick- all the while the tip was leaking. Leone watches as Bruno rolls the condom on his hard length. He coats the latex with lubricant, sighing in content when he was able to relieve his cock’s throbbing even if it was just for a moment. But Bruno was excited. He wanted to hear Leone scream for him- beg for him as he fucked him into next week. Bruno catches Leone’s eye- seeing the lustful glint of the other’s eye just begging for him. Pumping his cock, he braces his knees against the bed, aligning himself by Leone’s entrance. 

“Tell me if it's too much, okay, bello?”

Leone nodded his head hastily, swallowing a lump down his throat when he felt the tip of Bruno’s cock press up against his entrance. The singer’s hands found refuge in gripping the flesh of Leone’s hips as he guides his own towards Leone’s. In one swift push, Bruno buries himself inside of Leone. 

A yelp breaks out of Leone, pleasure running through his head as Bruno stretches him out wonderfully. The other man moans, pushing himself in even further slowly- bottoming out. 

“You good?” Bruno’s voice is airy as he asks Leone. His lower half is tingling from the way Leone engulfs his cock warmly and tightly. 

“So good, caro,” Leone whimpered, facing the headboard as his neck started to ache in pain from looking back.

Leone’s insides are hot all over. Euphoria is all that fills the void in his head as Bruno kneels behind him and thrusts his hips, filling up Leone deliciously. He’s not aware of the time, or what day it is. Heck, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t even remember his own name because all that he can think about is: Bruno, Bruno, Bruno, Bruno. The grip on his hips is tight, holding him steady as the singer fucks him thoroughly. His heart is pounding, so loud that he could hear it echo among his ears alongside Bruno’s grunts. He thinks it’s pathetic how his cold, stoic, upfront personality has reduced him to a moaning mess; submitting his all to Bruno.

The sheets are all crinkled and messy from the way Leone’s hands are gripping the material. He feels as though he could rip a hole open from how tight he’s gripping the sheets. But really it was all because of Bruno. A moan erupts from Leone when Bruno hits a particular spot that makes him see stars that are brighter than the ones he sees from the night sky. Bruno is filling him deeply, buried up to the hilt. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, bambino,” Bruno sighs appealingly, eyes trained on the way Leone’s back arched under him. Leone’s pretty long hair was draped across his back, urging Bruno to grip the strands in his fingers and tug. Growling, he leans down- pressing his lips to Leone’s back, kissing the warm skin. He steadies himself with forearms by the other’s head all the while setting a punishing pace to his thrusts, making whines come out of Leone. 

“Bruno,” Leone moans, bowing his head to rest it upon the sheets because he couldn’t hold his head up any longer- not with the way Bruno’s cock rams repeatedly inside of him. Sweat forms along his hairline- their movements clouded with insatiable heat. 

Pants leave Bruno’s mouth, his eyes are half-lidded with dark eyes. With a hand, he swipes the length of Leone’s hair to one side- baring his neck. He nuzzles there, kissing and nipping at the skin with ferocious lips. “Oh, Leone,” He mewls against the skin, bringing a hand toward Leone’s hard cock and pumps. 

Leone releases a shuddering gasp, toes curling at the sensation and his hips thrust towards Bruno’s hand- chasing for more. “F-fuck…!”

The bangs of Bruno’s hair stick to his forehead. The tenacity of his hips in unrelenting- ecstasy filling their body, mind, and soul. Bruno’s cock slides in and out of Leone so smoothly and with every push- he digs in deeper, shivering in delight. His hand moves back and forth the length of Leone’s cock, rubbing his thumb against the bulbous head as he strokes upward. 

Leone is close to sobbing at the mind-blowing pleasure he feels all around his body. His toes curl among the sheets, knees shaking and eyes shut tight. He feels Bruno’s unoccupied hand curl on top of his, gripping tightly. The man is lost in the sheer bliss of being fucked so good. The heat in the pit of Leone’s stomach begins to rise fiercely, distributing both adrenaline and thrill crawling up his bones. A wail emerges from Leone’s lips just as the tip of Bruno’s cock hits that spot over and over.

“Bruno, Bruno,” He pants, clenching his jaw at how good the sensation feels. 

Bruno latches on a patch of Leone’s skin, pulling it into his mouth and sucks- marking the fair skin. “That’s it, Leone.” The singer’s pace starts to become frantic- determined on bringing both of them to their high. Erratic breaths leave both of their lips as their bodies connect and form as one. They feel like they’re in heaven- surrounded by nothing but satisfaction.

From the way Bruno’s cock repeatedly hits his prostate all along as Bruno’s hand pumps his cock, it doesn’t take Leone long to reach his high.

“A-AH!” Leone shouts, face contorting in pleasure, releasing white ribbons in Bruno’s hand and staining the bedsheets.  

Bruno’s hips don’t stop- but they turn sloppy- chasing after his own orgasm. Leone’s head drops down to where their hands connect- kissing the back of Bruno’s hand, his knuckles, his fingertips as he whimpers against Bruno’s deep thrusts. Bruno’s eyes roll back, gasping as euphoria washes over him. His movements slow down as he spills inside the condom, panting heavily as he lay on top of Leone. 

--

The shrill ringing of the phone rang around the room, it’s sound bouncing off the walls. Sunlight peeked through the gaps of the curtain and birds chirped happily outside. Leone doesn’t wanna get up yet. He’s too comfortable in the arms of Bruno to even attempt to move. The man behind him nestles against his back even further, their bodies pressed together under the blanket draped across them. The ringing stops, filling the room with silence, and Leone wanted to jump around in joy for the peace he had gotten once more. 

However, the phone rang once more. 

Bruno groans, shifting against the covers and raises his head from where it rested on the pillow. He looks around the room, finding the source of the noise. He sees the ringing phone on the ground next to Leone’s shirt right by his side of the bed. Once he took hold of the gadget, he recognized it being Leone’s phone. 

“Your phone’s ringing, bello,” Bruno softly says, rubbing the palm of his hand on Leone’s on his arm, coaxing him to wake up. 

Although Leone was already awake from the first ringing, he refused to get up and grab his annoying device to answer whoever-the-fuck was calling him at this time. He grumbled, relishing in the touch of Bruno’s hand. “Just leave it.”

Bruno chuckles softly, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to Leone’s bare back, “It could be important.”

“Screw them,” Leone huffs, shifting to face Bruno and hug the man closer to him, wanting more minutes of sleep. “Who is it anyway?”

The singer took a glance at the screen of the vibrating phone in his hand, reading the contact, “It’s just a number. Probably not saved in your contacts list.”

“All the more reason to ignore it. Now put the phone down and sleep with me.” Demanded Leone, peeking at Bruno with one eye open. 

“They’re just gonna keep calling. I’ll answer it so they can get off our ass,” Bruno whispered, leaning down to kiss Leone’s lips before pressing the answer call button. A huff comes from Leone, snuggling closer to the singer. Bruno wraps an arm around Leone’s shoulder, his other hand holding the phone to his ear. 

“H-Hello?”

“Abba- wait- B-Buccellati?” Narancia’s worried voice fills the phone. 

“Ciao, Narancia. Are you looking for Leone?” 

Leone’s ears perked up when Bruno said the teenager’s name. His face turning one into worry as he forgot to leave Narancia a message that he wouldn’t be coming home. “Put it on speaker,” Leone requested quietly, feeling much more awake now. Bruno pulled the phone off his ear, clicking the speakerphone and holding the phone between the two of them. 

“Well- um- you see-” Narancia paused- his voice filling the silence of Bruno’ room, gulping nervously while he scratched the back of his neck. “I think- I m-may have been arrested?” His voice squeaked at the last word.

“You’ve been WHAT?!” 

Narancia flinched at Leone’s loud booming voice, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Crap, he’s definitely gonna get grounded again and that meant that he wouldn’t be having his game console any time soon. He should have just stayed home last night.

“What do you mean you think you got arrested?! Are you at the police station?! Is that why you’re not calling from your phone?!” Leone’s fully awake now, sitting up the bed as he grabbed the phone from Bruno.

“Oh boy,” Bruno mumbled, sitting up as well. He takes it upon himself to gather the scattered clothing around the room. The air was chilly when it hit his bare skin. He had to remind himself to get new sheets because they ruined the previous ones last night. Bruno chuckled at that. 

“Narancia Ghirga, answer me, dammit!”

Narancia wailed, arms shaking from the sheer terror of Leone’s voice. “Just bail me out and I’ll tell you everything! I promise! Please Abba!” The teenager’s knees were rattling in fear- trying to mentally prepare himself from the anticipated scolding of Leone. He was supposed to call Fugo instead to spare him from Leone’s anger and so that he wouldn’t have a single clue as to what happened. He thought maybe he could get away with getting arrested. Unfortunately, Fugo was a year younger than Narancia and was not legally allowed to bail him out of jail. 

So his last resort was Leone, as much as it terrified him.

Leone growled into the phone, “Oh when I bail you out you are so not getting your video games back any time soon. I’ll be there soon.”

Bruno came back to the bed with Leone’s clothes in hand, himself clad in his underwear and a grey shirt. “That’s not good.” He slides beside Leone on the bed, pressing a chaste kiss to the other’s cheek.

“This kid, I swear to god,” Groaning, Leone hung up the phone and face-palmed. 

The singer stifled a laugh, rubbing a gentle hand on Leone’s back in comfort. “He’ll be fine. I just hope he survives when you tell him off. Get dressed, bello. I’ll make ourselves a cup of tea.” Bruno pushed back a strand of Leone’s hair behind his ear and cupped his jaw, pulling their lips together for a sweet kiss. 

Ah, the duality of this man, Leone thought. 

Trish Una was stirring a teaspoon in a pink mug of coffee as she leaned by the countertop in the kitchen. She was waiting for her bread to pop out of the toaster when Bruno walked in with a yawn. 

“Oh, good morning, Trish. You’re back early.” Bruno greeted the teenager with a soft smile. 

The girl raised a brow pointedly, “Morning. I bet you had a great time last night. I managed to sleep fine, thank you for asking.” 

Bruno blushed and stuttered, “R-right… um- about that- weren’t you supposed to be home this afternoon? I thought you and Shiela would also be having lunch together?”

A pop rings around the two of them. Trish proceeded to grab a plate and began to carefully take her two pieces of toasted bread out of the toaster. Yesterday, Trish and Shiela E spent the whole day wandering around Naples. She’s lost count at the amount of gelato’s she’s had throughout the day. Shiela was helping her scout an inspiration for her new fashion line. “Would you believe if it’s because I wanted to have lunch with you? We haven’t been able to in a while.”

“I’d love to have lunch with you today, Trish.” Bruno grabbed two mugs from a cabinet, placing them on the countertop. “Lucky for you I’m only booked tonight so we can spend the day together.”

Trish sat down on a stool and started to spread avocado on her toast. “Bruno…” She spoke lowly, biting her lip as she recalled yesterday’s events. 

The singer looked back at the girl and raised an eyebrow in question.

“I saw... Doppio,” 

Bruno froze at the name she said. Sudden chills crawling up his spine. “Where?” He gulped.

“By Libeccio. H-he was having lunch with two guys. But he didn’t see me.”

Bruno’s grip on the handle of the kettle tightened as he poured the hot water in the two mugs. The tension in the room rose, an uncomfortable silence wafting over them. 

“That’s why I went home earlier than intended and wanted to spend the day with you. Just in case anything happened, you’d be by my side.” Trish admitted, goosebumps rising along her skin.

Bruno clicked his tongue, “If Doppio’s around then going out would be risky. We should just stay here. I’m calling the boys over.” 

Trish decided not to say anything else. Although Bruno’s decision opposed what she wanted, she couldn’t complain. Bruno was only trying to keep both of them safe. On the other hand, Bruno’s face contorted into one of worry and frustration. Of course, just as he and Trish have settled down, fate had other plans. While she munched on her toast, she spots a man making his way down the stairs. She curiously gazed over the man’s outfit, she admired the way the clothes he wore suited him nicely. A spark of thought suddenly lightening up in her head.

Leone was wearing yesterday’s clothes. He couldn’t be bothered to tie his hair so he just left it down his shoulder. He was fuming. He kept thinking how on earth Narancia ended up in jail when he just left the teenager alone for one night. 

“I take it you guys had a fun time last night?” 

Leone was taken aback by the feminine voice he heard. When he looks up, he sees a girl with pink hair that looked younger than him and Bruno. 

“Too much fun, I suppose,” Bruno chuckled and turned and flashed Leone a bright smile (As if nothing bothered him). “Leone, this is Trish Una.” He gestured to the pink-haired girl, carrying two mugs of hot tea in his hands.

“Trish, this is Leone Abbacchio,”

Bruno approached Leone, handing one cup of tea to him as he beckoned him to sit down on a stool across Trish. Leone sat down, Bruno taking the seat next to him. The steam of the tea filled his nose and he sighed contentedly. 

“Hello,” Leone greeted the teenager stiffly. Oh great, she definitely heard is last night, Leone thought. 

Trish looked over at Leone, thinking how the way his long hair framed his face suited the shape of his head. “You know, you have such great hair.” She began, tilting her head as she surveyed the man in front of her. “And your complexion contrasts nicely against anything dark.” 

“Thanks? I guess?” Leone awkwardly sipped on his tea, internally indulging the way Bruno’s hand caressed the skin of his thigh.

Trish was enamored by Leone- not romantically- but more of a striking appeal. The man definitely had a good figure and she wondered how he would look in designer clothes. Specifically, her designer clothes. Giorno Giovanna was the last person she saw with a sense of style and had a face crafted by gods (Especially with that gorgeous blonde hair of his) that suited luxurious clothing and make-up. It was enough for Trish to make Giorno her muse for her last fashion line which was The Gold Experience. Right now, looking at Leone, she may have just found her next muse. “Do you wear make-up?”

“Yes, on some occasions.”

“Do you wear high-end fashion brands?”

“Can’t afford that shit but they’ve got great stuff.” Leone didn’t know why Trish was interrogating him like this, and he doesn’t know why Bruno has an amused look on his face. 

“I see… are you familiar with Spice Girl? The clothing brand?”

“I’ve seen it in some magazines, yeah.”

Trish hummed thoughtfully, finishing off the last of her toast. “Excuse me,” She announced with a grin on her face, grabbing a bottle of mineral water from the fridge before trodding up the stairs to go to her room. Hands itching to open up her sketchbook and begin designing.

“Merda, I can’t believe I have to pick up Narancia in prison.” Leone groaned which earned a chuckle from Bruno. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Bruno offered, placing his hand over Leone’s from where it rested against the countertop. 

Leone shakes his head, “No need. I’d rather spare you from the earful Narancia’s about to hear.” He says with a scoff, rolling his eyes.

“Try not to kill him on sight when you arrive at the station, sì?”

“No promises.”

< To Be Continued I \ I |

[allie1804-fan]

New Beginnings (Chapter 11)

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New Beginnings Baby Drabble

New Beginnings Baby Drabble No2

Warnings:mentions of babyloss

For the remaining weeks of the pregnancy Emily and Keanu made a pact to check in every day on how they were each feeling. Their short-hand was to say whether they were at O (Optimistic) or SS (Scared Shitless) or maybe somewhere in between.  A day wasn’t to go by when they didn’t check in on their status.

Emily continued to work until her 36th week after which it became too much to sit in a writers’ room all day long.  She needed rest  for her brain and body. Keanu was still training but he’d cut down a little so he had more free time to spend with Emily as well as run her to appointments and oversee the decorating work to transform one of the guestrooms to a nursery.

 The day after the session with the counsellor he’d hired a van and collected the crib and other equipment from his mother’s house determined to stop thinking of everything he did as a potential jinx.

Midwife appointments were weekly from week 34 – that was a little more than the norm but they both needed that reassurance as the baby’s movements got less with time – quite a normal pattern but not easy to deal with in their situation.

At the childbirth classes, Keanu was visibly more relaxed as well which helped Emily feel she could join in with conversations rather then hover on the edges to protect him. At one session the leader asked the parents to share their fears. Emily could sense Keanu visibly tensing and she caught his eye, subtly shaking her head and he nodded his agreement knowing exactly what she meant.  Their main fear was the same and they had no desire to freak the hell out of everyone else there. They could just agree with someone else’s comments.

As they worked round the room, the leader asked Claire and Aiden, a couple Emily had liked from the beginning but not really talked to much, how they were feeling.

“well I really don’t want to bring everyone down”, Aiden said “but our biggest fear is that our baby dies, because our first was stillborn”

There was a sharp intake of breath from some and a sigh of relief from Keanu and Emily!

When it came to them, Keanu was able to say “We’re on the same page as Claire and Aiden and I think they’re really brave to share it in a room like this. I lost my daughter to stillbirth 21 years ago and we had an ectopic pregnancy last year, so yeah, that’s our biggest fear too. Rationally  I’m confident it won’t happen but that doesn’t entirely stop the fear”

He looked at Emily who was kind of thunder-stuck to hear him share so openly with a group of strangers. He was so private normally but she knew speaking its name was a big part of helping him conquer the fear. She squeezed his hand and whispered ‘I’m so proud of you’ in his ear.

When the  session was over, everyone stood chatting and Keanu went over to Claire and Aiden

“Listen, we were planning on grabbing a bite to eat after, do you fancy joining us? I know a place where they do  really good noodles”

Aiden burst out laughing.

“’Really good noodles’ like in the Matrix?” he asked making air quotes.

Keanu chuckled, only then realising what he’d just said.

“Oh yeah sure - you remember that line?”

“Man every time I have noodles I think of it -  am I too much of a Matrix nerd to have dinner with you two?”

“Nah,  no man, it’s cool  - and thanks”

Emily caught Claire’s eye and rolled her eyes skywards, smiling broadly at Aiden geeking out with Neo!

They headed over to the Jinya Ramen bar and had a good time getting to know each other a little better. Keanu repeated how brave he thought Aiden had been to speak up.

“I mean I was sitting there thinking “death man, death is my fear but that’s gonna fuckin freak them all out so I’ll just say some generic crap and then you were like ‘bam’

Aiden laughed.

“the things is, it really is my only worry and I thought, you know what, shit happens and people are scared of it so let’s just cut the crap and stop pretending!”

“Fair enough” Keanu agreed

“But you were brave too, being who you are, to just open up like that”

Keanu took a gulp of his beer

“Yes I don’t quite know what got into me, that was err, most unprecedented!”

They all burst out laughing then, recognising the Bill and Ted quote.

“Yes way” Aiden said clinking his beer to Keanu’s who grinned back thinking to himself “I like this guy”. Emily looked on, secretly thinking ‘bromance!’

By week 37, they were basically at the clock watching stage. Everything was ready and Emily spent most of her time reading,  watching TV or sleeping.  If Keanu was home when she took a nap, he’d join her and spend the time stroking the bump or leaning his head against it talking softly to the little one who’d usually make his or her presence known with a little shove of one if its limbs. Sometimes they’d kiss and pleasure each other though Emily was struggling to move easily so everything was tender and low key rather than intense. Neither of them really minded, their focus was all on meeting their child in just a few weeks.

Chloe had organised a Baby Shower, the hospital bag was packed and ready, the nursery was waiting stocked with nappies and neutral coloured baby-grows and a sort of birth plan was ready but they both knew they would have to go with the flow on that one.

“control what you can, like a playlist and speaker, your snacks, what t shirt you’ re going to wear and have an idea of your other intentions like pain relief and so on but just go with the flow  on the day” was Chloe’s wise advice.

Through weeks 38 and 39, Emily had lots of false alarms when the Braxton Hicks contractions felt like they were the real thing beginning but still nothing materialised. They were well into week 40 when things actually got started.

It was mid morning on a Wednesday and while Keanu had confirmed that the contractions were in fact regular and he’d let the hospital know, they wouldn’t have to go in until 1 minute long contractions had been coming every 5 minutes for at least an 1 hour.  For now it was every 10 minutes but varying in length and intensity. Emily chose the living room to either lie down or pace or sit on a birthing ball or hang onto Keanu’s broad shoulders to help breathe through the pain. At its worst, it felt like a really bad period pain or indigestion for now so mostly she could cope on her own and that’s kind of how she preferred it. She felt a bit like an animal, wanting to go into a quiet corner and have her baby out of sight of everyone!

By lunchtime, the pains were definitely getting more intense but still only coming every 8 minutes. Keanu made them a sandwich then at around 2 she got her maternity swimming costume on and spent an hour floating in the pool. The sensation was soothing  - they were hoping it would still be possible to use a birthing pool at the birthing centre but it wasn’t guaranteed. It would depend on her condition and if they were all in use by other mothers. Even Keanu’s money couldn’t guarantee a pool unless they had done it at home and neither of them had been of a mind to do that  - they wanted every medical expert right on hand.

As evening was falling,  the contractions actually seemed a little milder and were still only at 8 minute intervals so they ordered pizza take out. Later on Emily had a bath and to her annoyance, things were still no further on come bedtime so they settled in for the night wondering if she would sleep at all.

4am Thursday morning

Emily woke with a start as a strong contraction tightened her stomach and made her groan with pain. Keanu sat up straight away – he’d been sleeping but only very lightly at her side all night and so was quickly fully awake.

“was that a big one?”

Emily nodded but didn’t speak since she was managing the pain by slowly breathing through it, kneeling up slightly and grabbing onto the headboard of the bed.

She relaxed when it was over thinking there’d be a few minutes wait for the next one but it seemed to hit very quickly and she shot Keanu a nervous look.

Breathlessly she asked Keanu to get his phone to check the gap.

“Fuck that was just 4 minutes he said, wide eyed as the next one came “ we gotta go”

Fortunately, she hadn’t got into nightwear, so they just needed to slip on some shoes, grab the bag, get in the car and go.  Keanu was still a little freaked out that they had missed the 5 minute gap point but he knew in his rational mind that 4 minutes was what most advice said and they’d  simply gone with 5 minutes to be super cautious! And it was still early and pre rush hour so there wouldn’t be any traffic.

As they set off and Emily gripped onto the door handle as another contraction hit, she joked

“just don’t drive like John Wick or Jack Traven OK!”

“No mam” he grinned glad of her lightening the mood just a little.

The empty streets and soft grey light across the city helped to calm them both down and within half an hour they were pulling into the birthing centre car-park.

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New Beginnings Baby Drabble

New Beginnings Baby Drabble No2

[deowritessometimes]

Cold Hands and Warm Kisses

Summary: Steve, Sam and Nat play a little bit of match making when Bucky and Reader get into an argument.

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)

Pairing: Pre-established Bucky Barnes X Male Reader

Warning: Petty Arguments, OOC moments

Characters: James Barnes (Bucky), Reader, Steve Rogers (Captain America), Sam Wilson (Falcon), Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

Extra(s): 

It was 2 o’clock in the morning at the Avenger’s compound. Obviously, for the most part, the people inside the building would be asleep. Almost everyone in fact. The only ones who were awake were those who were scheming at this hour of the night.

 “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you show me some live footage from Bucky’s room?” Steve requested from the artificial intelligence. He was pleased when the holographic display appeared in front of him.

Steve, along with Sam, and Natasha were the only ones awake at this hour of the night.

“I assume that they’re back to sleeping in their respective rooms?” Natasha spoke up from her position on the couch, scooping some of her ice-cream into her mouth.

“Yep,” Steve confirmed, crossing his arms. “Such a stupid argument.”

“Isn’t it always some sort of stupid argument?” Tony added in, trying to sneak a bite of Natasha’s rocky road.

The so-called argument that they were talking about happened just a few hours ago. 

The team was relaxing after a very successful mission. No injuries, everyone was saved successfully. As such, the team got back early and decided to have a movie night of sorts. 

You were cuddled up under your boyfriend, of course, Bucky had his arm secured around your body as everyone had separated off into pairs with their own pizza boxes. 

In your opinion, this was always going to be the best way to spend Stark’s riches. 

It started with Bucky eating the last slice of pizza. Everyone knows that if you’re splitting a pizza between two people, each of you were supposed to have four slices each. Though, when Bucky ate 5 you weren’t going to throw a fit. You settled for three slices and called it a night. 

Then, Bucky started to hog the blanket, claiming that he needed more anyway. Again, you bit the bullet and just snuggled closer to Bucky, from outside the blanket you might add.

Finally, after all of that, Bucky pushed his plate into your hands and just left, without any sort of request or spoken communication. It was almost like he just expected you to do these things.

With a clench of your fists, you grabbed the dishes and chucked them to the sink. The clinks and clangs of the act cause the team to take note of your anger. It was always the worst of times when you were angry. 

After the indistinct shoutings of both you and Bucky, the next sound that was heard was the slamming of your room door. 

“I mean, I get where he’s coming from, but over something so petty?” Natasha gossiped, eating another spoonful. 

“They need to be pushed together. So they can make-up or whatever.” Steve commented, watching his best friend toss and turn in his bed.  

“Cap. I’ve got a plan... ”

-

Bucky grabbed bundles of his duvet and wrapped them around his body, shivering quite harshly. There’s no good reason why it should’ve been that cold in his room. 

He’d bundled himself further into the blanket before he sighed, his breath coming out in a puff of smoke. “Fuck this...” Bucky murmured to himself, ripping the comforter away and leaving his room. 

Bucky found himself standing outside of your room. He needed a plan. He couldn’t just walk in and sleep in your bed, could he?

Bucky raised a fist, to the door. He paused. No... this was stupid. You were angry at him for no reason and you should be the one to apologize.

He was about to leave when the door opened by itself.

You stood there, phone in hand, typing feverishly.

Bumping into him, you looked up from your phone. “Oh, did you need something?”

There it was, that sarcastic tone of yours. “No, I was just... passing by,” Bucky crossed his arms and huffed.

“Oh, okay then.” You muttered and then made your way towards the kitchen.

“Wait, can I sleep in your room tonight?” Bucky forced out, grabbing onto your shoulder to stop you.

You’d paused, turning around to look at him. “That’s all you needed?”

Bucky nodded, finding himself beginning to smile.

“Oh. Then no.” You responded before turning on your way back to the kitchen.

Bucky sighed, following behind you. “Alright, spill. What has you all upset?”

“Alright, spill? Is that what you have to say? How about, Sorry Y/n I shouldn’t treat you like your needs come second to mine. Or maybe try, Im sorry that im acting like a colossal dickhead. Oo, Oo, I know lets try—“

You were cut off by a hug, the man grappled you in, holding you in a tight hug. “Hey, I’m sorry alright? I’ll make it u-”

“Hey, that’s all you had to say.” You cut him off with a quick kiss on the lips.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, “That’s it? That is all I had to say?”

“It was... stupid of me to be upset over something so small. Alright?” You said with a sigh.

The two of you entered the kitchen and you grabbed your snack from the fridge.

“So everything is fine? Just like that?” Bucky snapped his fingers to emphasize his point.

“It’s gonna have to be.” You smiled, walking past him and back towards your room.

“I’m not understanding wh-”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the phrase, ‘If it’s not broken, don’t try and fix it’, ” You sighed, turning around. “Just drop it. You’re forgiven. Take the win.”

That was the last that it was spoken about for that night. You got your boyfriend back for the night and Bucky got a warm bed to sleep in.

Now, the two of you sleeping in the same bed had it’s pros and cons. It gave Bucky the feelings of something stable. He was used to the cold emptiness around him from his time at H.Y.D.R.A. or even his time from sleeping alone while he tried to collect his scattered mind. The warmth of you just being there gave him enough stability to make it through the days.

It gave him a human-teddy bear. And that was alright with you. There were times where he’d hold you during the night and there were times where you’d hold him.

You got the other end of the stick most times. The hair in your face when you wake up. His metal arm sticking to your skin in the morning or his metal arm keeping you up because of how cold it was against your skin. You knew better than to complain about the metal arm.

It was a permanent memento of his time at H.Y.D.R.A. . He’d try and cover it up with a smile or a laugh, but there wasn’t a moment where his eyes didn’t reflect what he was going through. Every single memory wipe. Every kill. Every experiment.

So, you were gonna suck it up. Every single time that you couldn’t get out of bed because of the tight hold he had on you? Never mentioned.

So when he committed the worst of all of these cons the very next morning, you couldn’t do anything but groan into your pillow.

He’d often join Steve on his morning runs. God knows that the two military men would run for hours.

The empty bed in the morning hadn’t been anything new and at this point, you hadn’t even batted an eyelid.

After going through your morning routine, you were met with Natasha and Sam, both leaning over the island. They seemed to be laughing at whatever video was trending at the moment.

“Morning. Sam, Nat.” You made your presence known to the two, making a bowl of your favorite cereal.

“Good morning. How are you and the Tinman doing? Judging by the way he was running out if here this morning, I’d say... not too well.” Sam poked, smirking softly.

“No, he just went out for a run with Steve... I could have swore that you used to run with them. What happened? Did you get tired of being used as a marker for their laps?”

You waited for another sarcastic response, but it never came. Satisfied where things ended, you caught up on the last two new episodes of your favorite show.

When you were all caught up, Bucky and Steve entered the home, Steve carrying a large gift bag and Bucky seemingly had gained a beer belly since the last time you saw him.

“What’s that you have there? Something for your little girlfriend?” You asked, looking over the couch at the two of them.

“No, Bucky just insisted that we stop and get you some thing.” Steve walked around the couch and put the bag down in front of you. “He said that you wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t do something.”

You opened the bag, looking at the sweets inside as well as the bouquet of flowers. “I told you that you didn’t have to do anything. The argument was stupid.”

You’d looked up at the man. Watching as he tried to sneak back to your room.

“What’s that in your jacket?”

“What’s what in who’s jacket?” He’d responded, stopping like a deer caught in headlights.

“James.”

MEOWW

“Is that a cat, James?” You narrowed your eyes.

“No... I’m just hungry.” He’d tried to laugh it off and keep moving but the cat had jumped out and onto the floor.

“I’m sorry?” Bucky smiled, shrugging.

[twokinkybeans]

Jar Of Dirt Chapter 6: Bow Tie [Starker Fanfiction NSFW/18+]

Kink/Sexual Warnings: Public Teasing, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Exhibitionism, Striptease. Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Verbal Humiliation, Feminization. Other warnings: Tony's ex saying some hurtful shit to Peter as he tries to crash the party

All Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10 ... Masterpost (More to come!)

---

Chapter 6: Bow Tie It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. New York City, the rising sun shining over its tall buildings surely is a magnificent sight. Peter’s at the kitchen table, working through his Nuclear Physics homework. Yesterday, he and Tony were chilling in the lab together, working on Peter’s suit. It didn’t really need any enhancements, but that didn’t stop them. It was just so much fun to be in the lab together. Peter didn’t have to hold back. He could say everything. He’s smart. He knows that it makes people uncomfortable. From a young age, he’d learned to keep his mind from spilling all his new theories or excitement about specific topics. But Tony. Fuck. That man was just as intelligent and had years and years to study whatever topic the man put his mind to. Peter loved learning from him. They would bounce off ideas on one another until both of them would be out of breath from rambling on and on and on. It’d been rather late when they went to bed last night, meaning Tony was still fast asleep. Peter figured that if he finished his homework right now, they’d be able to spend the rest of their day together.

In the end, Peter thinks Tony is taking a bit too long and he wakes him up with a blowjob. Tony loved the surprise and groaned the filthiest things as he guided Peter, fingers tangled tightly in his curls. This time, Peter didn’t allow Tony to get him off. Yes, the boy had been hard, but he wanted to put all focus on the other man for now. Tony’s been working very, very hard on opening up and trying to stop using his mind’s filter around the boy. Peter loves it. Loves him. He’s happy to speed up the process. He feels like they’ve made huge steps when it comes to experiencing all their kinks together so far. It makes him feel more confident.

Later that afternoon they’re curled up on the couch together, watching the last Pirates movie. Peter had been skeptical about the possibility of Tony liking the movies, but to both their surprises, he did enjoy it a lot. He’d been making references all day long. Tony figures they should watch movies together more often. He’d get better at all those pop culture references, and Peter would get some education of the hot items when Tony was younger. It would bring them closer together, he knew that much. “Hmmm, Tony, what do you want for your birthday next week?” Peter asks with a wide grin on his face. Tony groans. “Oh God, why’d you have to bring that up.” “Aren’t you excited?” “To become even older? Not exactly.” “Hmmm, well, I am excited. I want to get you a present. A nice one. What do you want?” “You’re all I need.” Peter huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes. “I know. But, I still want to give you something else.” Tony looks at Peter, who’s eyeing at him with the sweetest and loving look in his eyes and his sarcastic demeanor softens. “I don’t know, actually. I don’t want to sound cliché but, I’ve literally got everything I could ever want or need.” “Hmm, guess I’ll have to be creative then.” Peter grins, causing Tony to raise his eyebrows. “You already got something on your mind, kid?” “Maybe?” He doesn’t have a single clue, but he’ll figure something out. Maybe he could ask Aunt May or Ned for help.

Tony kisses his cheek and turns off the television. “Sooo, is it time for our jar of dirt? No matter how much I think Johnny Depp’s got quite the value in his, I think ours is more… exciting. Peter laughs and nudges his side. It’s pretty much a daily ritual for them now to pick a note when they’re together, so they decided to keep the jar in the living room for the time being. No one else really visits Tony’s private suite anyways. Peter reaches to pick it up and then leans back against the couch. He sticks it out to Tony. “Your turn, daddy!” “Hmmm, let’s see what we got today.” Tony opens the lid. “Are you excited to try some new stuff before you gotta pretend to be an innocent boy back in college?” Peter’s sad that he has to leave again tonight, but seeing how amazing their phone sex had been last week, he knew they would pull through it easily. Besides, they still got tonight. “Very curious what it’s gonna be!” He watches Tony’s hand carefully and the man laughs. “No worries, Peter. I’m not cheating anymore. Look-” Tony fishes one out and Peter doesn’t miss how it makes Tony swallow when he sees it’s one of the white, crisp notes. One of Tony’s. He watches carefully, looking at Tony’s lean fingers as he opens the paper. The man looks at it, frozen in place. Peter doesn’t miss the panic sparking in his eyes, the billionaire’s skin turning paler than he’s ever seen.

“Fuck, no way.” Tony folds the paper and throws it back in the jar, his eyes widened in shock. Peter stares, startled. The other man mutters something inaudible and he draws away from the boy. Peter’s mind immediately chants fuck, fuck, fuck. “Tony?” The older man closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Tony,” Peter says, more gentle this time, scooting closer and placing his hands on his knee, squeezing reassuringly. He can’t let Tony shut down again. He won’t let him. “-what happened?” “I am so sorry. I… This is like, the kink…” Tony takes a moment, taking a deep breath. Peter feels a stab in his chest looking at his lover. He’s never seen Tony like this. So scared. So insecure. “God. Peter. I want to do that one with you. Very, very badly. But I’m not ready for this one yet. I’m sorry.”

Peter swallows down the lump in his throat. Slowly, he pulls Tony in for a hug, holding him close and tight. “Tony… Daddy. I’ve got you. It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s not, though. You’re so brave for me, Peter. You were still a virgin when jumping into all of this with me. And here I am, scared of-” he says, gesturing at the jar angrily, “-something I know you probably wouldn’t judge me for. I just can’t shake this horrible feeling of it being the one thing that might drive you away from me.” He nuzzles his head in the crook of Peter’s neck. He suddenly seems so small compared to his usual composed self. So fragile. “Do you want to talk about it?” “I… Not really. I’m sorry. Let’s say my ex ran away from me when he found out, and I’ve been made fun of more often than not when people knew. I just… Stopped telling people altogether. Haven’t brought it up in years.” The man sighs, breath shaky. “I want to, Peter. You deserve to know. I will, one day. But not today. I can’t.” “That’s okay, Tony. I’m here. Thank you for telling me, I don’t want you to push yourself just because you’re the dominant one.” Tony nods slowly, a hesitant but still nervous smile playing on his lips. “You’re a smart kid.” “Mhm.” They put the jar away and decide to just keep with just cuddles and sweet kissing today. Peter wants to give Tony the space he needs, and Tony enjoys the downtime with his boyfriend. He couldn’t bring himself to have any type of sex after this… fiasco. However, Peter not bolting right away is a good sign. They’ll get there. They will.

-

Peter’s staring at his reflection in the mirror. Tomorrow, it’s Tony’s birthday. Tonight however, is the celebration with all his friends and families and random people that are interested in Mr. Tony Stark for whatever reason. It’ll be fancy. Peter’s never been to a fancy party like this and it’s making him anxious. God. He’s wearing a tux. Everyone knows he’s Tony’s boyfriend. He’s not sure if he’s ready to face all the judgmental staring. The whispers behind his back.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, baby.” Tony whispers, hugging him from behind. “Love seeing you all dressed up. It suits you.” He kisses the boy’s hair and turns Peter around, away from the mirror. “Got you a little something, the cherry on top.” Tony hands him a deep red bow tie and Peter’s eyes widen. “I have no clue how to tie that,” Peter rushes out right away. His nerves are getting the better of him, dammit. Tony shakes his head slowly with a smile. “Let me help.” He takes the bow tie back from Peter’s hands and wraps it around him. Peter closes his eyes as he let’s the man work his magic. He tries taking a deep breath, focusing only on the way Tony’s fingers brush along his skin as he ties it into, of course, a flawless bow. “I know you’re feeling a bit uncomfortable,” Tony starts, lifting his chin up with one finger. “-but we’re gonna show all those idiots out there what we’re made of. Just stick with the people who know us. Know you. If people talk shit to you, talk shit back. Permission granted. If they don’t like it they’re free to leave.” “But- I don’t want to ruin your party." “Kid, believe me, good riddance and all that. I want you and my friends to have a good time. If I could, half of the people here tonight wouldn’t have been invited in the first place.” Peter nods. He gets it. He knows that if it were up to Tony, he would’ve just wanted to invite his closest friends and have a lazy pizza party or whatever. But, him being as famous as he is, it’s not gonna happen. Next year, Peter promises himself, next year he’ll organize a surprise party like that.

And of course, he’s got a surprise for Tony tomorrow.

Two hours into the party, Peter let his guard down. It was a lot of fun. Good music, the happy laughter and clinking of wine glasses, creating a nice, open atmosphere. It was still too fancy for Peter’s liking, but not too stiff. No one seems to be actively bothered by the fact that he’s there. Of course, there’s been some side glancing, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Tony’s advice to just stick with the people he knows had been good. He’d been hanging with Cap and Bucky for a bit, and then, to his surprise, Aunt May who’d been invited as well. When he saw her walking out the elevator he’d nearly teared up. He knew Tony invited her for his sake, and he couldn’t have been more grateful. “Oh, Peter! Look at you!” She’d gasped, her eyes glimmering with pride. “Such a handsome gentleman, aren’t you.” She’s been supportive of their relationship since day one, after interrogating Tony for about an hour, that is. Peter’s lucky to have her in his life.

Right now, he’s trying to get to Tony through the dancing crowd. Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder and he flinches, turning around fast. He breaks out into goosebumps right away and he takes a step back. He doesn’t think he’s seen the man in front of him before. Blonde hair slicked back, a slight beard. The man is staring him down and it makes him highly uncomfortable. Something’s definitely off. “Oh, uh, hi, Sir. Can I help you?” “You must be Peter Parker,” the man starts, dragging out his name and then scoffing a laugh. “I’m Quentin Beck. I’m here because I have an offer for you.” “An offer?” “Yeah, you see,” the man leans in as if he’s trying to spill a secret, “-I know that Tony’s rich. But so am I. I can give you more. And not just financially.” He glances down to look at Peter’s crotch. “I have a few inches on that man and just hearing you talk to me like that has me imagining what pretty little sounds you’d make. Sounds that I would get you to make. I know how greedy Stark is. I-” Peter needs a moment to process everything this man is throwing at him and he tries to shift a little to hide his crotch as much as possible. “Look, Mr. Beck. I didn’t get with him for his money if that’s what you’re asking and also no. I’m not interested in… that.”

Peter tries to get away from this creep, feeling sick to his stomach by the comments he made. However, the man grabs his shoulder again, holding him in place. Peter clenches his fists, trying to keep himself from turning around and pushing the man off him. He easily could. He doesn’t want to ruin this party. He wants Tony to have a good night without having to deal with men like this one. “Fuck, you know you want to.” Quentin hisses, his voice getting louder. People around them start to notice, their whispers increasing. “You’re just a needy little boy toy, running after his riches. Such a fucking gold digger. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t deny it.”

That’s it for Peter. He will not let some douchebag talk shit about him and Tony at his freaking party. He grabs the man’s arm and drags him to the elevator, ignoring the shocked faces of the people they pass. He pushes Quentin inside the elevator, with just a tad more force than a normal man would be able to use. The man groans as he comes to a halt against the wall, looking up at Peter in surprise. He too steps into the elevator, closing the doors. He wants to make sure Beck leaves the Tower.

“Take us to the lobby, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he says through gritted teeth. “Oh, you’re stronger than you look, aren’t you?” Quentin narrows his eyes, eyeing him once more. “And all that coming from a cute, little twink like you. It’s adorable. I’d have so much fun with you.” “Shut up.” Peter can’t hear another word from this man. “Now, now, don’t go all tough on me. You’re hotter when you’ve got that submissive vibe going on. Don’t think I didn’t notice you re-tying Tony’s shoes earlier tonight. On your knees right in front of him. Like an obedient bitch. God, aren’t you his perfect little toy to play with?” “Shut. Up.” “You’re really living up to his perverted tendencies, aren’t ya?” Peter’s expression falters for only a millisecond, but it didn’t go unnoticed. It sparks something in the other man. “Ah…” Beck coos. “He hasn’t told you yet, has he?”

Before Peter has time to comment on that remark, the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. “Get out.” “Oh, didn’t you like our little bonding session? You think I don’t know what it’s like to be Tony’s slut?” Beck laughs as he steps out the elevator, brushing past Peter. “But sure, I’ll leave you two to it, for now. When you change your mind, come find me. I’ll be looking forward to your pretty moans.” The man laughs again and walks towards the front door, blowing him a kiss. “Ruuffffff!” Peter frowns. Did the man just… Bark?

Peter stares as the doors slide shut, locking the man out. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., deny access to Quentin Beck throughout the entire building.” “Access denied, Peter.” “Good.” He steps back into the elevator. “Take me back to the party.” As the elevator brings him up, Peter thinks about everything that Beck has said. The insults. The insinuations. God. He can’t even believe the things this… creep said to him. If this is Tony’s ex… He feels a tug on his heart. No wonder the man has such trouble opening up to him. And fuck, how brave of Tony to try it anyway. Whatever happens, no matter what Tony’s kink might be, he’s determined to make sure Tony will never feel like this again. He’ll show Tony that Beck is wrong.

When he walks back into the party he goes to find Tony, wanting to give him a long, loving hug. Which is exactly what he does when he spots the dark-haired man in the kitchen, grabbing a little snack. “Hey, Peter, where have you been?” Tony smiles, returning the hug. “Hmmm, just taking out some trash.” “Honey,” Tony laughs. “We got people for that.” “I know, I know.” Peter answers, trying to figure out whether he should tell him what happened. He’d find out anyway. “Just wanted to be absolutely sure he’d leave.” “What, he?” Tony looks down at Peter, his face filled with worry. Oh God. Peter should’ve just not said anything. He knows Tony would never leave it at that. “Hey look, whiskey! You should try it” “Kid, I picked this whiskey, I know what it tastes like, who’d you throw out?” “No one. Just this dude being a little too drunk. It’s fine. I handled it.”

“Peter!” Aunt May’s voice chimes in, and he sighs, grateful for the distraction. “It’s late, darling. I’m going home. You,” she says, pointing at both men. “-have an amazing night. I’ll see you both soon!” She hugs Tony, then Peter, giving him a kiss on his forehead. When the elevator doors close, Peter can almost immediately feel Tony’s demeanor shift. The billionaire wraps his arm around Peter’s waist and pinches him in his side, making Peter jolt slightly and laugh. “You know, Mr Stark-” Peter raises his eyebrows. “I appreciate you waiting for my aunt to leave to become all grabby, but that was fast.” “What can I say?” Tony says softly. “I just prefer you at my side.” Peter scoffs and looks up at Tony with a cheeky smile. “Gonna show me off to all of New York?” “Now, why would I do that?” Tony licks his lips with a smirk, setting the idea aside for later, and he and eyes a small group of people near the bar. “Let’s get you something sweet to drink.”

The rest of the evening felt way different. Tony was teasing. Constantly. From having Peter suck on an ice cube to his hand wandering a little too low on Peter’s back to be socially acceptable. It had the boy hard and aching within half an hour and he still had to pretend everything was all fine. Quentin Beck was long forgotten when Tony fed Peter a bite of some small French treat. One by one people are leaving. It’s late and Tony - as generous as he is - arranged chauffeurs to bring all the people who are too drunk to leave of their own accord to their homes. Tony winked at Peter when he said that he didn’t want anyone to sleep over that night for… Personal reasons.

At about 2am, Steve Rogers was finally ushered out of the Tower. He insisted on helping clean everything up, but Tony promised that it was okay. Tony drops himself on the couch, surrounded by leftover snacks and empty glasses. Multiple party poppers had exploded in this area, leaving confetti everywhere. God, they were going to be finding small pieces of paper for the next half year. Small pieces of paper. Tony’s mind goes back to the jar. Maybe he should take out what scares him the most. Just… Do that when he really feels he and Peter are ready for it. His head falls back and he closes his eyes as he widens his legs, airing out. He groans, tired, and he manages to lift his hands to loosen up his tie.

Suddenly, he feels Peter sit down on top of him, his legs on either side of Tony’s body. His soft, small hands take the tie out of Tony’s rough ones and he tightens the tie again as he leans in, grinding down into Tony’s crotch. A sweet moan falls off Peter’s lips. “Look so hot in these clothes, boss. Keep them on, please?” Tony’s eyes go dark with lust as he pushes Peter back slightly. Oh, he likes where this is going. He bites his lip and his hands roam over Peter’s chest. The soft fabric of his button-up wrinkling under his touch. “I like you better without clothes,” he mutters. One by one, he starts opening the buttons of Peter’s shirt. Peter keeps grinding against Tony, whimpering at the attention. When Tony opens the last button, his hands move up to Peter’s shoulders to push both the jacket and the shirt down his arms, discarding them to be found after the fun. Tony flicks the bow tie he didn’t take off with his index finger. “Though… I’ll leave the little bow on my present.” The compliment makes Peter blush and smile.

After an entire night of teasing, Peter’s feeling bold. Also horny as fuck, but bold. “Want me to put on a show for you, daddy?” He asks, cocking his head. Tony nods, an uncharacteristically loving look in his eye. Peter wastes no time, trailing his hands over his body, teasing himself further. He traces the lines of his abs until he reaches his nipples, evading them and letting go to push his hands through his hair, all while still grinding down on his daddy. He lowers his hands, presenting them to Tony, bringing them to his mouth. The billionaire slowly licks up Peter’s index finger and then moves quickly in order to wet all of Peter’s fingers with his tongue. Peter thanks his daddy before bringing his digits back to his nipples. He squeezes them. Plays with them, not pausing his slow grinding into Tony’s crotch. They’re both hard and the friction is dizzying. Soft, sweet whimpers and moans fall down Peter’s lips and Tony soaks up everything, taking in every second of how his good boy plays with himself.

Peter starts speeding up. His breathing quickens and his moans turn more desperate. It’s too much for Tony’s liking. He doesn’t want the boy to come just yet. “Get up, Peter,” he orders. “Why don’t you strip naked for me and get on your knees like a good boy would?” Peter obeys without second thought. He hates the sudden lack of attention on his hard-on, but he can’t say he’s not enjoying the attention he gets from Tony. Tony angles his head up to look Peter in the eye, yet Peter still feels like he’s smaller. With one turn of his hand, F.R.I.D.A.Y. knows exactly which playlist to turn on. Peter had made fun of Tony for having a sex playlist, but he now realizes that the music has a whole different effect on him in this situation. Peter takes the music as an invitation to start swaying his hips. He smiles and closes his eyes, amazed at the fact that 15-year-old Peter Parker would never have imagined giving Tony Stark a fucking striptease. Yet here he is. Shoes and socks discarded, playing with the hem of his trousers.

Tony drinks it all up. The way Peter is thoroughly enjoying himself. Touching himself. As if there is no one else in the room. Eyes closed, a dreamy smile on his face. Peter toys with the belt around his waist and something inside Tony screams at him to take the belt and use it. Maybe as a collar with a leash, or maybe to spank his pretty boy’s pert butt. He holds back, though. For now. Tony lazily palms his hard-on through his pants while Peter tosses the belt aside. He slowly pushes down his pants and underwear at the same time. His cock springs free and Tony can tell it must be aching, so hard.

The air is cold on Peter’s skin and he feels naked. Well, he is naked, but it feels worse. More humiliating, with Tony still fully clothed in his incredibly expensive, Italian suit. Peter keeps turning eights with his hips, in tune with the music, pushing his hands through his hair again and letting his fingers with the remains of Tony’s saliva still on them linger on his lips. He sucks on his digit, feeling the sensual beat of the song thrum through his body. His hands move down, not touching where he wants to be touched. He knows he doesn’t have permission. He vaguely recalls Tony had ordered him to get on his knees, so slowly, he lowers himself and sits down with his knees slightly spread, displaying himself for daddy. His hips still rolling sensually and slowly to the music.

“My perfect, little slut…” Tony groans as he unzips his pants, relishing in the power imbalance. He slowly pulls out his hard cock and strokes it a few times, watching Peter’s jaw go slack. The boy nearly drools at the sight and it only spurs Tony on. “You want this, don’t you?” Peter nods, only half present. His mind hyper-focusing on the throbbing shaft in Tony’s hand. “Yes,” he whispers. “Want your cock, daddy.” “Mmm…” Tony moans. “Such a good cockslut for daddy. Come here, boy. Come get your reward.” Peter has to get on all fours to be able to move closer and Tony nearly bursts at the sight of Peter crawling towards him, back arched, butt sticking out and eyes still strained on Tony’s cock. He decides that he imagined the boy’s tongue hanging out slightly, but part of him is sure he saw it.

Peter opens his mouth wide and his lips wrap around Tony’s dick. Moaning lewdly at the contact. The vibrations send shivers through Tony’s entire body and he pets the boy’s head as Peter does as told, his hands slightly trembling. It nearly knocks his breath out of his chest. Peter’s perfect. So submissive. So eager. “Oh yes,” he sighs, “-just like that, baby. Sucking me so well.” The older man can’t help himself. He knows he’s threading the border of giving into his kink too much, but with Peter unconsciously initiating it, he needs to have that little taste. He hooks his finger through the bowtie still around Peter’s neck, tugging on it. Peter whines, letting Tony guide him without pausing the movements around Tony’s cock. ““F-Fuck, baby, the things I wanna do to you. My pretty boy,” he grunts, tugging at the tie.

“Mine.”

Peter’s entire body is burning, tingling underneath the dominant presence that’s Tony. He loves how much he praises him, spurs him to go on. He wants to. Never wants this to stop. Every gasp that leaves the billionaire’s mouth, every little brush of his fingers, it sends Peter closer and closer to that mindspace that Tony had explained to him last week. “Peter, baby, slow down for a bit, will you?” “Hmmm?” He moans around Tony’s cock and obeys, slowly bobbing his head up and down while looking up. “That’s right, look at me sweetness. Daddy wants to see that pretty gaze of yours.” Tony whispers, making Peter’s mind spin even more. Tony’s eyes are sweet, and loving, yet demanding in a way that has the boy shiver all over. “Want me to fuck you?” Peter nods desperately. “I could fuck you over the desk, huh, how does that sound? You could call me boss again, I really liked that, Peter.” Tony caresses the boy’s cheek, enjoying the little blush creeping up there. “Or I could fuck you against the window. Show all of New York who your pretty body belongs to.” He tangles his fingers into Peter’s hair gently, tugging the boy off his cock. Peter gasps for fresh air. Fuck, he looks obscene. “What do you want, Peter. Answer me,” he orders, “-honestly.” “T-the window,” the boy chokes out. “Please, boss.” Tony smirks at his newly given name, licking his lips. “Excellent choice, now, get that pretty ass of yours to the window. Hands on the glass, legs spread. I’ll get the lube.”

He watches as the boy scrambles to his feet and walks over to the window. Tony has to bite back a moan when he sees how incredibly stunning he looks. His pale skin shimmering in the New York City lights. “Good boy. Stay.” Tony startles himself with those words and he bites down on his bottom lip harshly. Fuck, he should really get a grip on himself. He shakes his head quickly and rushes off to the bedroom to get the lube.

Once he grabs the bottle, he realizes he should probably buy a new one soon as they’ve nearly run out. It makes him grin. He hasn’t ran out of lube this soon in a long time. When he walks back into the living room and is pleased to see Peter still in the exact same position. Waiting patiently. His eyes are closed and his body occasionally twitches to the music that’s still playing. He walks towards the boy slowly, knowing that Peter must be hyper-aware of his movements.

“You’re gorgeous,” Tony whispers, “-can’t wait to ruin you.” When he’s nearly reached Peter, the boy reaches into his presence. Arching his back real nicely, sticking his ass out a little further. Tony trails his fingers across the soft skin and he leans in, his lips mere inches away from Peter’s ears. “Tell me how badly you want to fuck me, baby boy. How eager are you?” “Oh, shit, Mr. Stark. So badly, please. Been thinking about you fucking me all day!” “Yeah?” “Y-Yeah! I-” Peter cries out when Tony’s hand reaches around his waist to grab his hard-on. “Need you inside me. Please.” “Hmmm, you sure you don’t want me to just jack you off, you respond to it so nicely.” Tony coos, voice sweet as honey as he gives a few experimental tugs. “No, I need more than that. I want you to pound into me fast, and rough, and hard. Claiming me as yours, daddy.”

Tony’s composure is crumbling down with each word the boy speaks. He curses under his breath and lets go of him quickly to squirt a generous amount of lube on his dick, dropping the bottle to the floor. He spreads the lube across his shaft and grips Peter’s hip tightly with his other hand. “The entire city’s gonna know you’re my pretty slut, baby.” “Y-yes. Show them. I want it.” That’s it. Tony growls, taking every little bit of effort to not push himself all the way in. He’s slow. Just pushing in the head and waiting for the boy to relax in his arms. He hasn’t been prepped, not really. He knows the kid’s been using the dildo multiple times throughout the past week, but still. He wants to make sure he’s good. The tight heat clenching around him isn’t making that any easier, though. “Peter, baby, I’ve got you.” He says, grazing his teeth across the smooth neck. “Can’t believe how big you are, daddy! Please, please go all the way in. I want to feel you more.” Tony swallows and complies, pushing until he’s completely inside his sweet little boy. He’s so tight. So warm around him.

“Can you see your own reflection in the window, Peter? See how hot you are?” Peter nods frantically in response, feeling one of Tony’s hands curl around his neck, raising his head and making his back arch. The vague image of himself opposite him has him whimpering, but it’s when he sees Tony’s hungry look- his eyes boring straight through Peter via his reflection that has him buck. He tries to keep still but he presses himself against Tony involuntarily, jolting and moaning. “Fuck, you’re already so desperate. So gorgeous. All of New York can see what a horny, little slut you are for me.” Peter can’t contain himself, moaning obscenely and closing his eyes, feeling Tony’s fingers dig into his skin on his hip and below his jaw. “I’m your slut, daddy, I’m yours, yours alone, please fuck me-”

Tony slowly moves out, bending his hips at an angle before pushing back in. The boy gasps and the thrust has them both move closer to the window until Peter’s chest is flush against it, nipples rubbing on the cold hard glass. “Oh, Peter-” Tony moans, his mouth leaving wet kisses on the back of Peter’s neck. He moves back out again and when he pushes back in, he decides to follow the rhythm of the song that’s playing. It’s slow. And he knows how much Peter hates that. Well, he doesn’t really, but Tony likes to tease. Halfway through the song, Peter’s ragged breaths turn to continuous whines as the window fogs up from their fucking. The glass constantly stimulates Peter’s nipples. Tony’s been leaving hickeys all over the boy’s upper back and neck, quietly annoyed that they will be gone by morning because of Peter’s increased healing speed. And his thrusts…

“Sh-shit, Mr. Stark, Tony, daddy, boss, please-” Peter pleads. “H-harder, faster!” “As you wish, sweet pet,” Tony growls, once again swearing at himself for letting go too much. It does fuel his arousal though, and he speeds up, slowly, knowing which angle to take to hit Peter exactly where he wants him. “R-right there-OH!” Peter opens his mouth wide, a pleasured frown curls his brows. His eyes roll back in their sockets. “Go on, Peter, push back. Help daddy out. Fuck yourself on me.” Tony has to move both hands to Peter’s hips to keep up with the boy’s sudden surge of excitement. A string of short “ohs” falling from both their lips as they fuck each other. Peter’s hard cock bounces against his abdomen, occasionally bumping against the ice-cold window, causing him to gasp at the impact.

Last week, after one of their phone sex sessions, Tony had explained to Peter that men don’t have a G-spot, but a P-spot. Peter said that, though he knew, he liked G-spot more. He chuckled when he said: “My penis is my P-spot.” Which in turn, had Tony laughing out loud. “So you prefer it if we call it G-spot?” Peter was quiet for a second before replying. “I… I do.” “What’s with the pause, kid?” “I- I kind of like the female terms, Mr. Stark.” If Tony didn’t have a cooldown-time on his dick, he’d have been hard again.

He’s been wanting to test other female terms ever since, but they haven’t really had the chance. Now, however, with Peter as far gone as he is, he knows it’s the perfect timing. “How’s it feel, boy? My cock fucking your pussy until you’re leaking my cum-” Peter scrunches his eyes shut in response only able to let out a string of incomprehensible vowels. Tony grins wickedly, pumping into the boy without remorse. Peter’s eyes roll back in their sockets and he’s unsure if he’s able to keep himself upright. Tony holds on to him though. Tony’s got him. Daddy’s got him. “Fuck, so pretty with your tits rubbing all over the windows. You’ll be seeing stars tonight, Pete, and it won’t be the stars out there-” Peter feels like he’s losing himself in the moment, the sensation of Tony’s dick ramming right into his G-spot overwhelming him. He cries out when the man grabs his cock and pumps it fast. “Daddy-daddy-daddy-daddy-” Neither of them can hear the music anymore. The slapping noises of their skin clashing together and their moans and whines drowning out everything else.

“You’re gonna cum all over the glass, baby? Such a messy boy aren’t you?” Tony growls, increasing the pace of his hand around Peter’s throbbing cock even more. “Show me.” Peter’s trembling by now, unable to hold still, unable to form any coherent word. His forehead resting on the glass, just taking everything that Tony’s willing to give him. He’s so close. So damned. close. “I want you to come for me. Let it all out. Come, Peter, darling.” All it takes is just a couple more strokes for Peter to cry out loud. His body tenses, clenching around Tony and spilling himself all over the glass. He collapses, holding himself up but barely. “That’s my boy, good job, baby,” Tony praises his lover and picks up his speed, holding Peter steady. “Daddy’s gonna come inside of you. F-fuck!” Tony grunts, his hips buck forward and don’t move back, pushing into Peter as deep as he can as he releases into his sweet body.

Both men try to catch their breaths as they sink into each other. Tony’s still fully clothed body supporting Peter from behind. This must be Tony’s favorite moment throughout all this. He loves everything; the teasing, the stroking, the fucking. But this, having Peter soft and sweet and fucked-out in his arms. That’s what makes his heart flutter in his chest and want to hold onto this boy forever. “Mr. Stark…” Peter breathes softly. “That… That was amazing.” “Oh, it was sweetness. Best birthday present ever.” Peter chuckles at that, pushing himself off the glass a little and craning his neck to look Tony in his eyes. “Can we go to bed? I want to cuddle.” “Of course,” Tony smiles and presses a kiss on Peter’s cheek before pulling out carefully. Ignoring the strain in his back, he picks the boy up bridal style, making him squeal. “-I’m gonna cuddle you all night.”

--- More: Chapter 7 Masterpost

[perfecttimeseleven]

PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN EP. 5 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE NINE

REMINGTON

I can’t believe Jay eats pizza with a fork. I man, I can’t believe we seriously just ate the HP-delivered pizza, either — but there’s just a lot to process here.

(DAISY takes another bite of her slice.)

DAISY

Free pizza’s free pizza, my dude.

REMINGTON

Cheers to that.

(REMINGTON raises her glass of lemonade and clinks it against DAISY’s glass of juice. JAY, feeling a little apologetic, hesitantly raises her glass of milk towards DAISY’s glass, but DAISY puts her glass down, making a face at JAY.)

DAISY

Milk-drinkers need to be oppressed.

JAY

(sipping from her glass of milk, before putting it down)

Our bones are stronger than yours.

DAISY

Hey, uhh, guess what? You’re a cuck.

REMINGTON

(changing the subject)

Um, so you all didn’t find anything outside?

DR. MORELLO

The man you claim to have seen —

REMINGTON

The man I most definitely saw.

DR. MORELLO

— seems to have vanished without a trace.

(pauses)

But now that we’re aware this hypothetical man —

REMINGTON

This very real man —

DR. MORELLO

— knows of our — your whereabouts, we must remain incredibly vigilant.

REMINGTON

Well, is there anything you can tell me about the, ah, bad people? You see, I can’t help but worry a little about...well, anyone going after my life.

DR. MORELLO

All you need to know about the threat is how to keep yourself safe.

DAISY

The classic “keep your doors and windows locked, stay off your phone, don’t talk to strangers who say they’ve stabbed pizza guys” kinda deal.

REMINGTON

Okay, but —

DR. MORELLO

Now, Remington, I’ve been talking with Jay.

REMINGTON

Uh —

DR. MORELLO

She’s already agreed to this, but...essentially, I think it would be beneficial, tomorrow morning, to try to recreate the possession incident from today. Under close guidance, of course. It’s in all ways extraordinary, and I think this soulmate bond holds a lot of mystery and possibility. Tomorrow’s a big day. Accordingly, I want you both to get some sleep as soon as possible. Meaning, now.

REMINGTON

What —

DAISY

Wait, c’mon! I still need to show Remy embarrassing videos of Jay on my phone!

JAY

(splutters, almost choking on her pizza)

The what?

DR. MORELLO

Daisy, go show Remington to her room.

DAISY

Ugh, fine.

(DAISY and REMINGTON get up and exit.)

DR. MORELLO

Take the plates, Daisy.

(DAISY enters.)

DAISY

Ugh, fine.

(DAISY picks up her plate and REMINGTON’s plate, before exiting.)

DR. MORELLO

Jay...

JAY

You’ve gotta be kidding.

(pauses)

Me, too?

DR. MORELLO

Yes.

(With a dramatic rolling of her eyes, JAY grudgingly picks up her plate and exits. DR. MORELLO picks up the now-empty pizza box and his own plate, before exiting the other way.)

ACT ONE

SCENE TEN

REMINGTON

Okay, why the fuck are there so many Jay Mazziottas on Instagram?

(scrolls a bit more)

I give up.

(tosses the phone onto the carpet)

Goodnight!

(then, to herself)

Goodnight!

(REMINGTON puts her phone on the table and turns off the lamp, before crawling into her blankets and falling asleep. Cricket chirps, birdsong, and noises of traffic fill the air. REMINGTON bolts upright in her bed.)

REMINGTON

(looking around)

The fuck kinda dream is this?

HP

Hello, Remington Long!

(REMINGTON turns around, seeing HP)

REMINGTON

(initially shocked)

Ack!

(hopping off the bed)

Hey, sexy printer man! I’m in my jammies!

HP

I see! I am not a fan of the Jeff man on your shirt. Dinosaur man.

REMINGTON

You don’t like Jeff Goldblum? The fuck is wrong with this dream?

(looking around)

Whatever. Uh, I don’t know why we’re in Central Park but let’s not question my subconscious. There’s a bed here and we both know where this dream is going to go so come down here and let’s just get to it.

HP

What?

REMINGTON

(to self)

Shit, are my lucid dream powers not working? Do I need to eat more almonds?

HP

Silly Remington, I am not a figment of your imagination!

REMINGTON

You see, that’s exactly what a figment of my imagination would say.

HP

I’m here to finish our little chit-chat from earlier. Chit-chat fun times. Okay?

REMINGTON

Uh, I’m not supposed to talk to you, figment of imagination or otherwise, all righty? “Perfectionist” is a slur or something, and you’ve stabbed a pizza man, and…yeah. So if this dream isn’t going in the, uh, desirable direction, I’m not too interested. I’m gonna wake up now.

HP

You can’t.

REMINGTON

Watch me!

HP

Silly Remington, I am really here. Don’t you understand that?

(REMINGTON pauses.)

REMINGTON

Well, shit.

(pauses)

Did you make us appear in Central Park too?

HP

No, no, silly, that’s your imagination. As is that scantily clad person in your dream who has been trying to get our attention —

REMINGTON

Is that Jay?

DREAM JAY

(waving)

Yoo-hoo, hot stuff!

REMINGTON

No, no, don’t go —

HP

I’m just crashing your regularly scheduled dream; that’s a thing I can do. And a thing you can too.

REMINGTON

First, huge invasion of my privacy. Wait, what? I can — ?

HP

You can do all sorts of fun shit if you put your mind to it, baby! That’s why Dr. Morello’s scared of you. He wants to lock you up in his cottage forever like his other pets so you never learn shit.

REMINGTON

Okay, but what’s “shit?” And, uh, make this quick.

(furtively looks offstage for DREAM JAY)

I have dream business to attend to.

HP

Anything you put your mind to. You’re an Eleven, Remington. We’re “high numbers”.

(gestures dramatically)

With the imprints of more lifetimes, more history, more knowledge, and more potential.

(There’s a pause. HP freezes in his dramatic gesture, waiting for a response.)

REMINGTON

You’re gonna have to dumb this down a lot more for me, buddy.

HP

Ahh, let’s say every Perfectionist has a little tear in the wall in the back of their mind, okay? And what’s behind that is shiny cool stuff. Well, for high numbers, the tears are wider and more fragile. To get to the shiny cool stuff, you just have to break the wall entirely!

REMINGTON

Uhh, okay. And how do you do that?

HP

You stay away from the kind of old artifacts that keep your voices out.

REMINGTON

You mean, you’ve got no accessory on? You’re just living 24/7 with your voices? Damn. No wonder you’re a little out of it.

HP

Yes! They’re here now, actually. They’re just staying quiet until I need some fancy backing vocals.

REMINGTON

Some what?

HP

Is that bracelet the accessory you use?

REMINGTON

Uh, yeah.

(HP grabs REMINGTON’s wrist, lifting it up and gazing at it. He hisses at the bracelet.)

REMINGTON

You good?

(HP lets go of REMINGTON, suddenly backing up. 9. Welcome to Your Mind.)

HP

THAT THING KILLS THE VOICES, AND ALONG WITH THEM, EVERYTHING ELSE!

IT TRAINS YOUR BRAIN TO MORPH INTO A BUNCH OF JAIL CELLS.

BUT, OF COURSE, THAT BRACELET ISN’T SOMETHING YOU’VE QUESTIONED! OOOH,

BUT IT’S DOING WHAT HIPPIE MOTHERS THINK ANTIDEPRESSANTS DO!

YOU’RE NO ORDINARY HUMAN! YOU’RE A PERFECTIONIST!

SO FORGET ALL THE BULLSHIT YOU’VE BEEN FED BY YOUR LITTLE THERAPIST!

IF YOU OPEN UP TO YOUR SOUL AND DITCH THAT NASTY AND TRAGIC

BRACELET, YOU’LL FIND YOU’VE GOT A TYPE OF ALMOST…MAGIC!

Just like what you thought HP stood for.

(in a terrible fake British accent, with hand motions)

“Harry Potter.”

(suddenly loud)

Yer a wizard, bitch! Ha!

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND, REMINGTON LONG!

JUST GIVE A SHOUT! KNOCK ON THE DOOR! RING THE LITTLE BELL — “DING DONG!”

CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO SEE WHAT LIES INSIDE!

CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO SEE WHAT LIES THEY HIDE!

OH, WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME TO YOUR MIND.

CENTURIES OF LIFETIMES IN THERE! ON THAT, WE CAN AGREE,

BUT MILLENNIUMS OF KNOWLEDGE IS WHAT YOU DON’T YET SEE!

WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO LEARN TO SET FIRES WITH JUST ONE THOUGHT

(motioning behind him as a tree bursts into flame)

OR TO HOP FROM DREAM TO DREAM? Like now! I’m in your head! Ha!

HP/HP’S VOICES

AREN’T YOU PISSED

HP

THAT NO ONE TELLS YOU ANYTHING AT ALL?

IT’S BECAUSE, WITH A SNAP OF YOUR FINGERS, THEY’LL ALL FALL

AT YOUR KNEES! AND THEY’LL BEG, “OH, PLEASE, LET ME GO!”

YOU’LL LEARN IT’S FUN AS SHIT WHEN YOU CAN JUST TELL ‘EM “NO.”

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND, REMINGTON LONG!

SURE, THE VOICES HURT AT FIRST, BUT “WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU”���MAKES YOU STRONG!

CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO MEET ALL OF YOU!

‘CAUSE WHEN YOU’RE LIKE US, IT’S THE THING TO DO!

OH, WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME TO YOUR MIND!

(The ground below HP’s feet starts rising up into the air until he’s a few feet above the ground.)

HP’S VOICES

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND!

HP

STUPID HUMANS CONTROL NOTHING IN THEIR LIVES,

THOUGH THEY MIGHT TRY TO BY BUYING SOME GUNS OR SOME KNIVES.

YOU’VE SPENT YOUR WHOLE LIFE FEELING LIKE A PAWN.

I’VE BEEN THERE TOO, BUT NOW, THIS FEELING IS GONE!

WE’RE MORE THAN HUMAN, SO WHY NOT EMBRACE OUR POWER?

INFLICT THE PAIN YOU FEEL! MAKE THIS YOUR FINEST HOUR!

WHEN YOU’RE IN CONTROL, THERE’S NO VIRTUE OR SIN!

GOD ISN’T REAL, BUT IF HE WAS, WE COULD FIGHT HIM. AND WIN!

(A tree near HP explodes. There’s a chittering noise and a squirrel comes sailing out of the debris. HP catches it with one hand.)

HP

OH, LOOK AT THIS! A SQUIRREL! I CAN MAKE IT EXPLODE!

(throws the squirrel upwards and it explodes in mid-air)

BABY, YOU’VE GOT NO CLUE ALL THE POWER THAT’S STOWED

IN YOUR MIND! YOU WILL FIND WONDER!

(making a bolt of lightning appear behind him, accompanied by a crash of thunder)

LIGHTNING! THUNDER!

TAKE CONTROL AND TAKE A STROLL DOWN YOUR TRUE DESTINED ROAD!

I FIND MOST PROBLEMS TEND TO DISAPPEAR

WHEN I SET THEM ON FIRE!

(making his hands light up with flames)

SO TRY THAT, MY DEAR!

THE PEOPLE AND THE ANIMALS INSIDE YOUR HEAD

CAN AND WILL TEACH YOU EVERYTHING THE WEAKLINGS DREAD!

(jumps down to the ground)

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND, REMINGTON LONG!

WHEN YOU CAN’T TELL GOOD FROM BAD, THAN CAN YOU REALLY DO ANY WRONG?

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND!

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND!

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND, REMINGTON LONG!

HP

Interested? Meet me here.

(HP gives REMINGTON a small piece of paper.)

Until then…try it out!

(HP reaches both hands towards REMINGTON’s wrist.)

REMINGTON

Wait —

(It’s too late. HP’s removed her bracelet and is now holding it in one hand.)

ACT ONE

SCENE ELEVEN

REMINGTON’S VOICES

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS.

(HP runs off, dropping REMINGTON’s bracelet discreetly onto her bed. He exits.)

REMINGTON

(thinking HP took her bracelet)

Shit! Shit! Bitch, you took my bracelet!

REMINGTON’S VOICES

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS.

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE…JOYCE…JOYCE…

REMINGTON

No. No. Not Clara! No!

(Around REMINGTON and his bed, the set starts changing again.)

REMINGTON’S VOICES

JOYCE…JOYCE…JOYCE…JOYCE…JOYCE…

(REMINGTON’s surroundings have faded into the all-too-familiar living room. It’s dimly lit in warm yellow light. DR. MORELLO’s sitting on the couch, alone and typing on a computer he’s rested on his lap.)

REMINGTON

Hey! Dr. Morello!

(DR. MORELLO doesn’t react.)

REMINGTON

Dr. Morello? Can you hear me? Guess not. Huh.

(REMINGTON moves away from DR. MORELLO, inspecting the room. JAY enters.)

REMINGTON

Oh, yeah. Jaaaay! About time!

(REMINGTON approaches her, but JAY doesn’t acknowledge her presence. In fact, she walks right past her.)

REMINGTON

Jay! No! Pay attention to me!

DR. MORELLO

(closing his laptop)

Jay. Couldn’t sleep?

JAY

Nope.

REMINGTON

Uh, hello?

(JAY sits on the couch.)

JAY

This…soulmate thing.

REMINGTON

Oh, shit, they’re gonna talk about me.

JAY

I…don’t know how…

DR. MORELLO

(chuckling)

The girl physically repulses you? That’s understandable.

REMINGTON

Hey! Asshole!

(JAY pauses, standing up. She walks towards the TV.)

JAY

As much as I wish that were it...

(picking up the cover of the Just Dance 3 disc and looking at it)

it’s…leaning towards the opposite, actually.

REMINGTON

Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s a good dream!

JAY

(turning back to face DR. MORELLO)

D’you think this…this all...

(JAY lifts up the disc cover silently. DR. MORELLO exhales.)

DR. MORELLO

(solemnly)

Will be another Mark situation? Jay, what happened back then was not…and never will be…your fault. The only one blaming you for that day is you.

JAY

Who’s blaming myself? I…I don’t blame myself. I blame him.

(tightening her grip on the disc cover, fingers digging into the plastic)

Fucking hate his guts!

REMINGTON

(whispered, to self)

Not the Just Dance 3 disc cover!

(There’s a loud crack of plastic. JAY’s broken the disc cover in her fist. DR. MORELLO sighs and gets up. Slowly, he takes the broken disc cover away from her and sets it down gently next to the TV. Meanwhile, REMINGTON’s making her way around her bed to edge in closer to the conversation.)

DR. MORELLO

Calm down, Jay. Go to bed.

JAY

I’m���it just all feels too familiar. Me. Her. An Eleven.

REMINGTON

(noticing her bracelet on the bed)

Oh my god, is that my bracelet? Thank God.

JAY

I don’t know if I —

[let-it-raines]

hello! i have a prompt: “my brother/sister talks about this friend of his and how great we would be together so he sets up a double date and holy shit, it’s the guy i slept with about a month ago” Thank you!

Hi, guys! Look, it’s a wild prompt story! I promise I didn’t abandon them, and I hope you guys enjoy this tale! 

“You don’t have to go.”

She turns back to look at the man lounging in bed, his hands crossed behind his head and his body on full display to her. She thinks about his words as her eyes trace the strong lines of his legs, the defined muscles there, and move up to his hips where the muscles dip into a v and the dark hair guides her to the already hardening length that drove her to madness no less than five minutes ago. The man is beautiful, stunning really, and she’s never seen eyes that blue or lashes that long before, not that were natural or anything.

He is stunning, and he has this deep, rumbling British accent that melted her, the one who does not melt, into a puddle of arousal while at the bar where’d they met a few hours ago. He’d been funny too, charming, all of the things that a man usually is when trying to pick up a woman at a bar, and she’d played along like they were both reading the same sheet music. She didn’t give anything but her last name, Swan, and he didn’t give anything but his last name, Jones.

All in all, it may have been one of the best one-night stands she’s ever had.

But that’s all it was. It was one night, no full names, and as much as she’d like to stay, maybe sleep with him again, it’s not really her cup of tea…or coffee. He’s the British one.

“I really do,” she tells him, pulling on her jeans, the material tight against her thighs, and zipping them up before she grabs the gray v-neck he’d been wearing earlier that showed his chest hair and the necklaces hanging against his skin, the ones she’d used to pull his mouth closer to hers. “But it was a really good time. Congrats on the,” she motions over to him, “cock.”

He snorts, the sound high pitched compared to the low rumble of his laugh. “Thanks, lass. You realize that’s my shirt, aye?”

“I know.”

“And since I’m assuming this was a one-time thing, how am I supposed to get it back?”

She shrugs, the material falling off of her shoulder while she pulls on her boots. “Guess you’ll just have to figure that one out, Jones.”

Jones raises one dark eyebrow, his forehead lines crinkling, before absolutely smirking at her. “I do love a challenge.”

“So what time am I supposed to be at dinner, Margarita?” Emma questions while brushing her teeth, the words coming out muffled.

“Six and you’re supposed to bring a dessert.”

She spits into the sink, the blue toothpaste marking the white bowl, before rinsing off her brush and sticking it in its holder. “Can I buy it?”

“No, you have to make it.”

“Are you serious? Why can’t I buy it?”

“Because Emma,” Mary Margaret scolds, using the same voice she uses with her five-year-old son, “this is a potluck dinner we’re doing with everyone from David’s work where they bring their families, and everyone is bringing something homemade.”

“And why am I coming to this again?”

“Because you’re part of David’s family.”

She groans, leaning down and splashing water on her face before applying her face wash and rubbing it in, the suds bubbling up. “I’m technically not related, genetically speaking.”

“You were adopted. That’s the same thing.”

“Technically – ”

“Emma Swan, you are going to make dessert, and you are going to put on a nice outfit and smile and come tonight. End of story.”

“Damn,” she mutters under her breath, knowing Mary Margaret can hear her through the speaker, “Leo and David better stay on your good side tonight or they’re going to be buried under your classroom books tomorrow.”

“And you with them.”

Emma hangs up the phone after Mary Margaret reminds her to bring a dessert five more times, telling her to put it in the nice serving dish they gave her for Christmas last year, and tells her to wear the blue dress. Yeah, she’s not wearing that dress tonight, but she can do everything else. Maybe. Hopefully. She lives off of take-out and leftovers, but she’s sure she can make a dessert. She just doesn’t know what.

She moves out of the bathroom after blow drying her hair and plops down on her bed, which also doubles as her couch in her studio apartment, and scrolls through her laptop for easy dessert recipes, things that don’t involve a lot of mixing or baking…which is pretty much every dessert. But then she remembers there’s such a thing as cookies and while it’s not technically handmade, she can buy the pre-made dough and pop them in the oven, problem solved. It’s following all of Mary Margaret’s weird rules – technically of course – so the woman can’t say anything. She can’t expect Emma to make a soufflé. That would be ridiculous.

It only takes her five minutes to run down to the grocery store near her apartment, popping in while still in her pajamas, and grabbing cookie dough for peanut butter cookies (so what that she enjoys those more than chocolate chip) as well as a few bananas simply because she should probably eat some fruit every now and then. The rest of her morning is spent working on her open cases, trying to find any information she can on Elizabeth Moore’s husband and whether or not he’s cheating. Her job doesn’t exactly give her a lot of confidence in the fact that people stay faithful in relationships, but she gets paid whether the spouses are cheating or not.

She just kind of prefers that they aren’t. Giving people that news isn’t exactly the best of things to do.

Around five the cookies go in the oven, and she really hopes that the whole uneven cooking thing doesn’t happen like when she was making a pizza last week. While they’re baking, she heads over to her clothing rack, grabbing a black and white plaid skirt and an oversized v-neck t-shirt, pulling them on and tucking the t-shirt in before slipping into her black ankle boots. She thinks this entire night is idiotic. She should be able to hang out with David and Mary Margaret while in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but now she’s got to do it while dressed up and with other people. That may be the worst part. It’s not that she doesn’t like other people. It’s that she doesn’t like David’s coworkers. Some of them are okay, but his boss, Walsh, is an absolute asshole who got pissed when she told him she didn’t want to date him.

Rejections hurt, dude, but there’s no need to be rude about it. They’d literally only known each other a day, and he acted like she’d broken his heart after two years of dating and then burned all of his possessions.

The timer on her phone goes off, and she heads to the oven, grabbing an oven mitt and pulling the cookies out, praying that they don’t stick or aren’t burned or undercooked. She totally should have bought something and then passed it off as her own, but whatever. What’s done is done. After plating them on the serving dish that the Nolans gave her, she makes her way out the door, walking the few blocks to their farmhouse on the outskirts of Downtown Storybrooke.

When she walks up their driveway, the street is already covered in cars, and she can see people moving inside of the home. Taking a deep breath, she prepares herself for small talk and reminds herself that the food others bring will likely make this worth it. And alcohol. There has to be alcohol.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret greets before she can even take a step up onto their porch. Was she waiting for her? “I’m so glad you’re here. And you brought cookies. Oh, I’m sure these will be wonderful.”

“Well, you know me and my culinary skills.”

“I don’t know how you survive,” Mary Margaret sighs, taking the plate from her hands and ushering her inside to the consistent chatter and clinking of glasses as well as children running back and forth.

“Takeout and your leftovers,” she answers honestly, immediately walking to the kitchen where she knows David will at least have a beer. Sure enough, he’s standing in front of the fridge talking to some guy while the both of them have bottles in their hand. The moment he sees her, he smiles, waving and beckoning her forward until she wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him in greeting. “Hey, David. You hiding out in here?”

“Just getting something to drink. Emma, I have someone I want you to meet. This is my new partner, Killian.”

She releases David to turn and greet this guy, kind words already on the tip of her tongue, but the moment she sees him, every word she’s ever known is swallowed back. Shit. Shit. Shit. How can this possibly be happening? Is the entire world playing some kind of practical joke on her? Because there’s no way in hell the guy she had a one-night stand with a month ago could possibly be her brother’s new partner down at the station.

Just no. This isn’t happening.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” he greets, the accent exactly the same as it was a month ago even in a different, far brighter environment. “I’m Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she grits out, plastering a smile on her face knowing that David is right next to her and not wanting him to have any idea that his partner has slept with her. That would be a disaster for everyone. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

He smiles, his perfectly white teeth on full display, and she tries to ignore the flashes of their night together that are coming back. This is all one big nightmare and something that’s not going to go away as long as he’s working with David. She just hopes that he doesn’t say something stupid. She doesn’t know the man. She’s only met him once, and despite a good first impression, she’s not sure if he’s going to be a jerk about things or not.

“I like your shirt, love. I used to have one just like it.”

Heat rises to her cheeks, her entire face likely as red as a tomato, and it takes everything in her not to tell him to fuck off even if she did steal his shirt. Instead she says, “Thanks. I’m sure you can find a replacement for yours. They’re pretty common.” She turns to David then, not wanting to continue this conversation. “You got one of those for me?”

David nods before opening the fridge and handing her a beer. She takes it, twisting it open, and excuses herself claiming to go talk to Mary Margaret. Really, she’s heading away from anyone who has seen her naked and just attempting to breathe. And maybe to get something to eat. There’s got to be good food here.

It’s later that she’s sitting in the living room picking at her plate when the seat on the couch next to her is suddenly taken, the weight causing her to shift the slightest bit.

“Listen, love – ”

“I’m not your love.”

Killian clicks his tongue, and she turns to stare at him, wondering how he could protest that at all, but as she faces him, she sees Mary Margaret staring at her from the kitchen, not even trying to hide it. And that’s when she gets it. This night was going to be a set up between she and Killian, and she is not falling for that. She despises Mary Margaret’s set ups, and this one is especially not going to work.

“I am aware of this, Swan,” he drawls, bringing her attention back to him. “That’s what I was trying to say. I, well, I am perfectly aware of what our dalliance was. I’m not expecting anything else, and from what I gather, you’d like it to be kept a secret from your brother.”

Who the hell calls a one-night stand a dalliance?

“I would. I don’t exactly share my dalliances with him to begin with, but I think it’d be smart for us to keep it quiet. And to ignore the set up that Mary Margaret is obviously trying to do.”

He raises an eyebrow, his forehead crinkling with the movement. “Set up?”

“Ah, yes,” she sighs, leaning back on the couch and resting her head on the cushion, “how many times have you met Mary Margaret?”

“Three times.”

“And how long did it take you before she weaseled out that you are single? You are single, right?” He nods his head, and she sighs in relief knowing she didn’t sleep with a married man. She is not here to be doing shit like that.

“I think she asked me the first time we met if I was married or have children. She wasn’t very subtle about it.”

“Yeah, that’s Margarita for you.”

“I’m sorry, Margarita?”

“It’s a nickname. She’s been plastered once in her life, and it was because of margaritas. I thought it was a fitting nickname. Anyways, she’s in love with love. Like, she thinks weddings are the best thing on the planet, that Hallmark movies are great cinematic feats, and mostly, it’s her lifelong goal to set me up with a man who will marry me and knock me up.”

Killian grimaces, his face scrunching up so that the lines around his eyes crinkle. “That sounds…interesting.”

“Yep.” She looks around the room, checking to see if anyone is listening, but they’re all still caught up in their own conversations. “So in you walk in, likely a new transfer to the police station, and she sizes you up. She sees that you’re attractive, single, and I’m guessing a charmer if how we met is any indication. So in her head, she’s putting us together, thinking that we’d be a great match, and I can almost guarantee that she’s likely imagined what our children would look like.”“That’s bloody disturbing.”

“That’s Mary Margaret. So when tonight is over, you’re going to leave, and I’m going to be bombarded with questions by her, and David will be forced to ask you questions at work tomorrow. Just say that I’m a nice girl, but I’m not your type or something cliché. They get disappointed, but it works.”

“Well, what makes you say that we’re not going to hit if off? I think we’re doing great.”

She scoffs, the familiar heat rising to her cheeks that she’s trying to tamper down so that her face doesn’t turn red. “I don’t do relationships, and I really don’t do them with people who I slept with just to release some tension.”

Something crosses his face, a mix between amusement and disappointment, but he quickly schools his features. “If that’s what you want.” He studies her for a minute, the blue of his eyes tracing her face until they trail down to her exposed shoulder. “I could arrest you for stealing my shirt, you know?”

She clicks her tongue before leaning over and whispering in his ear. “You should probably know not to sleep with random women at bars then. You never know if they might be a thief.”

She’s sitting in the corner of the Velveteen Café with her hat pulled low over her forehead and her laptop in front of her as she watches to see who Hunter Moore is meeting, if he’s even meeting anyone. He comes here nearly every day at the same time, but it’s usually always alone. If he’s with someone, it’s a fellow doctor, and she’s almost completely sure that he’s not cheating on his wife. They definitely have some obvious communication issues, but Mr. Moore seems like a guy who goes to work, eats the same lunch every day, and then goes home to his wife. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who is sleeping with a nurse on the side…unless that’s exactly what he’s doing and that’s why she hasn’t seen anything. She can’t exactly sneak around the hospital looking in on call rooms. And she’s pretty sure Grey’s Anatomy overexaggerates people sleeping together in hospitals…not that it doesn’t happen. It just doesn’t happen at that frequency.

She makes a note to figure out a way to check out what’s happening in the hospital and to see if she can find a reason to roam the hallways without breaking some kind of privacy law, but for now, she thinks that she’s likely getting paid just to tell Elizabeth Moore that she needs to talk to her husband, which is so not what her job is supposed to be.

Her phone rings, Mary Margaret’s picture popping up from Leo’s fifth birthday party, and she slides her finger across the screen to quietly answer so as not to disturb anyone else in the café. “Hey, Margarita.”

“Hi, hon,” she greets, the sound of children eating in the cafeteria at her school in the background, “do you have a minute to talk?”

“I’m on a bit of a stakeout, but I can multi-task. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to talk about the party the other night. You and Killian seemed to be getting along.”

And there it is. She was wondering when this was going to happen, and honestly, Mary Margaret waiting nearly a week is some impressive resolve.

“Marg, that may have been one of your more obvious set ups. Seriously. You have absolutely no shame.”

“Oh come on, Emma. The man is beautiful and so, so kind. You guys would be so good together. Why won’t you give him a chance?”

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose while watching Mr. Moore order his food (alone). “He’s a nice guy, but I’m just not interested.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“It’s been years since Neal. You can’t let him still affect you like this.”

“He fucking cheated on me and then tried to frame me for him stealing jewelry. If I hadn’t been with David at the time, I’d be in jail. That’s not something you just get over.”

“Emma – ”

“Just no, Mary Margaret. I love you, and I appreciate all that you do, but no more set ups. No more trying to get me to be happy when I already am.”

“I’m…I’m sorry. I was just trying to be a good friend.”

“I know, and you are. But maybe we go about it in a different way, yeah?”

Mary Margaret sighs on the other end of the phone at the same time that a bell rings. “I’ve got to go. Will we still see you at dinner at Friday night dinner?”

“Yep. Can’t break that. Emily Gilmore would have my head. Love you, Margarita.”

“Love you, too.”

Moore leaves at the same time as he always does, and because she does need to check out what he does after this, she follows him back to the hospital. He stops at the reception desk, chatting with the people who work there, before moving along and taking an elevator, the doors closing before she can get there to see where he’s going. Damn.

Sighing, she walks back toward the entrance, fully intent to come up with some kind of new game plan, when she walks right into a solid body.

“If you wanted to get close to me, all you had to do was ask.”

Is the world out to get her? It has to be. Hasn’t she had enough bad luck in life? Can’t she catch some kind of break?

“Hi, Jones,” she grits, rolling her eyes and backing up, releasing her grip on his biceps, “that was, um, an accident. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear while his lips tick up on one side. “Swan, what are you doing at the hospital? Everything alright?”

“I’m working.”

“Are you a doctor?”

She scoffs, the thought of her being a doctor absolutely ridiculous. “I’m a private investigator.”

He quirks an eyebrow again, something she’s learned that he does frequently. “Interesting.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing, it’s just fitting for you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she sighs, taking a step to the side so she can leave. “I’ve got to go.”

“See you around, Swan,” he smiles, subtly winking at her. “If only because we can’t seem to stop running into each other. Literally.”

For someone who she didn’t see for a month after they slept together, she sees Killian Jones at least once every few days ever since the party at David and Mary Margaret’s house. If part of her job wasn’t watching people’s moves and noticing subtle changes and differences, she’d think he was stalking her. But he’s not.

When she sees him at the police station while meeting David for lunch, that’s on her for going to his place of work. When he joins them for said lunch, that’s on David for inviting him. She wants to say that it’s awkward, and honestly it kind of is when he licks his lips or makes one of those creepy, sensual sounds that some people do while eating, but it’s not truly awkward. As far as she can tell, he’s not a bad guy. An incessant flirt but not a bad guy. But he’s still someone who she slept with who she has no interest in getting to know more, so she suffers through the lunch because she wants to spend time with David.

It’s a little bit weirder when she sees him at the grocery store, loading up on fruits and vegetables as well as fresh fish while she’s got processed food, frozen pizza, and the obligatory fruit she picks up to trick herself into being a healthy eater. She works out a hell of a lot so she can eat junk, but at some point she should likely tone it down. They say their hellos, casually look into the other’s cart, and then go on with their lives only to meet up on the sidewalk while walking home. She forgot that he lives a few apartment buildings down from her, and when she mentions that while they’re walking, his face flushes and he scratches behind his ear before dismissing the fact that she knows where he lives.

By the time she starts seeing him at her gym, lifting weights while she’s on mile four of her run wondering if it’s all worth it as sweat pools at the small of her back, she’s kind of accepted that he’s now a casual part of her life. They say hi, make small talk, and she tries to forget how he looks while thrusting into her as sweat coats his arms and forms at his forehead while he exercises. Yeah, so the gym is the worst place to see him. She obviously finds him attractive, wouldn’t have slept with him if she didn’t, but she’s starting to be attracted to him, which is not something that she wants.

Storybrooke is simply too damn small.

It’s pouring down rain this morning, the dips in the street filling with water while cars drive through it and splash the water up onto the sidewalk. This weather makes her absolutely miserable, and all she really wants is to cuddle up in bed and watch Netflix all day with the lights turned off. The only problem with that is that she’s starving today and doesn’t feel like cooking, so she dresses in her rain boots and coat, bundling up and driving to Granny’s, not even bothering to walk. When she walks inside, the bell ringing over the door, there’s only a few people inside, Leroy, Victor, Ashley and Sean…Killian.

She chuckles under her breath when she sees him sitting in the back booth, a cup of coffee and an omelet on his table while he reads the newspaper. She knew he was old fashioned, but she didn’t know he was thatold fashioned. She doesn’t know what possess her to walk across the small diner and slide into the seat across from him, but she does, the material of the booth squeaking when her wet jacket touches it.

“Hello, love,” Killian greets without looking up from his newspaper.

“What are you reading?”

He passes the newspaper over to her while taking a sip of his coffee, seemingly not bothered at all by her intrusion of his breakfast, and when she sees what he was reading, she’s honestly in no way shocked.

“You’re reading about soccer in the newspaper?”

“Football, Swan. It’s called football.”

“In America, football is something totally different and the players aren’t quite as hot as soccer players.”

Killian chuckles, his lips ticking up on both sides while his eyes crinkle, and she feels proud of herself for making him laugh. “I played…soccer as a child. Does this hotness thing apply to me?”

“Shut up, Jones,” she laughs, passing the newspaper back to him and flagging down Ruby with a wolf whistle knowing that’s the best way to get her attention when she’s flirting with Victor. “But seriously. Couldn’t you have just read about this on your phone or something?”

“Eh, most likely, but this paper costs a quarter, and I like to give back to a dying industry.”

“Aren’t you a philanthropist?”

“Philanthropist and hot football player. You’re flattering me this morning, Swan.”

“I did not say the hot thing.”

“I think you’re hot,” Ruby adds in when she walks up to the table, winking at Killian only for him to wink back. Something settles in her stomach. It’s heavy and unfamiliar, and she hates it. “You need some more coffee, Officer?”

“I believe Miss Swan was trying to get your attention, love.”

“I know,” Ruby sighs, looking over to her then, “I was just messing with Emma. She hates when I don’t get her food right away even when I already put in her regular order.”

“Such a saint, Rubes.”

“I know, I know. I’m going to go get your coffee now since you don’t take it black like this weirdo.”

Ruby walks away after pouring Killian’s coffee and as Emma’s about to excuse herself to sit somewhere else, the awkwardness beginning to sink in, her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

Ruby: When did you and Jones start dating?

If she had a drink, she’d spit it out.

Emma: We’re not.

Ruby: I don’t believe it.

Ruby: Do you want whipped cream on your waffles?

Emma: Obviously.

Ruby: So you are dating?

Emma: No, I just want the whipped cream.

Ruby: Okay, but don’t use it to get freaky in the bathroom.

She snorts as she looks down at her phone before putting it away and finding Killian with an amused look on his face as he stares at her. “What? Why are you staring?”

“Nothing. You just looked amused.”

“It’s just Ruby being ridiculous. You’ll learn her ways eventually.”

“So I’ve gathered since I moved here.”“Why, um,” she begins, already regretting the words. “Never mind.”

“No, love, you can ask.” He smiles, nodding his head as if to encourage her that he doesn’t mind her asking him personal questions.

“Why did you move here? Storybrooke isn’t exactly a place where a lot of detectives want to move.”

Killian shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee even as steam moves above it. How is he not burning his tongue? “I, um, well, I’d been living in Boston the past few years, working there, but I needed a change of pace.”

“Bad breakup?”

“You could say that.”

That’s not an answer, but it’s really none of her business. He’s sharing more than she ever expected him to. “Well, I’m sorry. Breakups are hell, even if they’re amicable.”

“Aye.”

Ruby brings her food and coffee to her then, the whipped cream piled extra high on the waffles, and she has to stifle her laugh when she sees that. She and Killian chat a bit more as she eats and he finishes his food, and by the end of her meal, she realizes how normal that was, how normal a lot of their interactions have been. It shouldn’t be like this. If she were to run into any of her other one-night stands, she’d literally run in the other direction. But she’s forming what has to be a friendship with him, and she’s not sure that she likes that.

“Okay, so explain to me why we’re meeting at your house at four in the morning.”

“Because Killian mentioned to David that he was going to wake up early to watch a soccer game, and David invited him to watch at our house and make it this whole thing to make him feel at home. He’s apparently been through some things in the past few years.”

She wants to ask what things, to question it more, but it doesn’t feel right asking about his past behind his back. She’d be pissed if someone did that to her, so she leaves it be, pushing the curiosity about how bad exactly his breakup was for David and Mary Margaret to be trying to get her to watch a soccer game before the sun has even risen. “And why am I coming to this, Margarita?”

“Because,” she sighs on the other end, “hey, no Leo. Don’t get something to eat. Dinner is in a few minutes. Because he doesn’t have a lot of friends, and you guys are kind of friends. Also we’re going to cook a big breakfast.”

“Well, now you’re speaking my language.”

Her alarm goes off at half past three the next morning, and instead of getting dressed, she brushes her teeth and braids her hair before driving to David and Mary Margaret’s house. She should have walked, but she doesn’t think her legs are capable of that it this moment. Of course, driving probably wasn’t the best option, but she’s here and didn’t hit anyone.

“I hate you,” she mumbles to Mary Margaret as soon as she walks in, immediately making her way into the living room and flopping down on the couch next to Killian who looks wide away as he turns on the television. “I hate you too.”

“Good morning to you too, Swan,” he greets, his voice tired but cheery. “What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?”

“It’s still dark outside, and I’m up to watch soccer. I don’t even do that on my own time when it’s the middle of the afternoon.”

“It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

The match starts, but with the way that the lights in the room are all turned off, all she can really do is drift off to sleep as the whistle blows. When she wakes, there’s a warm body and moving chest underneath her cheek while a hand plays with the hair at the end of her braid. The green of the field comes back into vision first, the game still going on, and then everything else comes back to her.

Please be David she’s leaning on. Please be David.

“Get in a good nap there, Swan?”

It’s not David. Shit.

“What time is it?”

“Just past five, love. You fell asleep before the match started.”

“Ah hell,” she sighs when she finally sits up, the loss of warmth immediate, “so I literally came over here for nothing.”

“Well, we had a nice cuddle, so I wouldn’t say that.”

She chokes on her own saliva, having to cough it up. She can’t believe he just said that…that he was so open to admitting that. She is not like that. She avoids and denies. She does not just state the obvious that she fell asleep on him.

Killian pats her back, trying to help her, but she’s pretty sure that he makes it worse. God, this is not at all how this morning was supposed to go. She was supposed to watch a sport she doesn’t care about and eat food, and all she’s done is accidentally fall asleep and drool on Killian’s shirt before choking.

“Did you really just say that?”

He shrugs. “It’s what happened.”

“No, I fell asleep and happened to lean to the left when I could have leaned to the right. It was an accident.” She finally looks around the room then, noticing that the other seats are empty. “Where are David and Mary Margaret?”

“They went upstairs and went back to bed.”

…no. Hell no. This is not happening. She cannot believe them. “Fuck. Are you serious?”

“Yeah, about thirty minutes ago they went back upstairs. Said they’d come back down for breakfast around six or seven with Leo.”

She gets up from the couch, shedding the blanket Killian must have covered her with before she begins pacing the room, trying to calm her heartrate even as the pacing makes it speed up. “This was another set up. And it wasn’t even subtle. A soccer game at four in the morning? Claiming that you needed some friends to watch with because you’re missing home? That’s so obvious, and I didn’t even see it. And then they go to bed when they’re supposed to be spending time here with you. What a load of crap.”

“Swan, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”

“Of course it is! I bet you didn’t even mention that there was a game. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Love, calm down,” Killian encourages, stepping over to her and placing his hands on her shoulders so that she looks up at him. “I did mention the match, and I have been having a hard time missing home. Last week was the anniversary of my brother’s death, and they saw that I needed some company. And I told them to go back to bed when they were yawning every two seconds. I promise this wasn’t a set up. I wouldn’t let them do that to you or to me. I’m not interested in being set up.”

Wait. What? His brother? He has a brother. Or really, he had a brother. Oh. Shit.

“Oh…I, um, I feel like an idiot. I didn’t know…about any of that, about your brother.”

“Tis not your fault. It’s not something I like to talk about.”

An awkward silence settles between the two of them, his hands still on her shoulders and her toes resting against his. If she pressed up on her toes, she could kiss him, and the thought shakes her. She’s kissed him before. He’s a damn good kisser, and she’s tempted to do it again. But now isn’t the time for something like that. He just told her about his dead brother, so instead of pressing up on her toes, she wraps her arms around his stomach and hugs him, holds him really. It takes a moment for him to hug her back, the hesitance obviously there, but he eventually does, pulling her body closer to him and feeling the heat of it.

“Thank you, Emma.”

It’s the first time he’s called her Emma, and she doesn’t know why that’s something she notices, but she does. And she feels some kind of monumental shift in…everything.

Instead of going back and watching the game, she and Killian head into the Nolans’ kitchen. Killian’s apparently a big cook, so he directs her in slicing apples and mixing flour all to make a breakfast casserole with bread, apples, cheese, and bacon. It sounds kind of gross, but he promises that it’ll be good. She doesn’t know when she started trusting him, but she does, in his breakfast food prowess and in life.

She doesn’t ask, but he tells her all about Liam and how he was a brother, father, and best friend all rolled up into one after their father abandoned them and their mom died of cancer. It breaks her heart at the same time that she’s breaking an egg, but it also reassures her that Killian understands what it’s like to be left alone. Except she found a family in David and Ruth and eventually Mary Margaret, and he lost his.

Liam was his Captain in the Royal Navy, literally and figuratively, and when he died ten years ago, so did Killian’s passion and love for the service and the sea. How he tells the story without breaking all while cooking is something she doesn’t understand, but maybe he’s stronger than her. Or maybe he’s learned to be alone and how to deal with his grief.

Mostly, she thinks he’s just being brave.

“So how did you end up here, though? I know you said a breakup, but that sounds like an awfully bad breakup for you to have to leave Boston. That’s a huge ass city.”

He pops the casserole in the oven before washing his hands, seemingly avoiding her question, but then he sits on the barstool and looks at her with the clearest blue eyes she’s ever seen. “I was dating a married woman, Milah. I bloody loved her even when I found out she was married, and I was going to stay with her. I was in too deep when I found everything out, and I think I was too weak to walk away.”

“What changed?”

“She decided to go back to her husband, or really to commit solely to her husband. And, God, love, I can’t blame her. She was never supposed to be with me, but she broke my heart regardless.”

She doesn’t know what to say, how to respond to that. She’s learned so much about Killian Jones in the past hour, and she’s the wrong person for him to be trusting with his heart. She doesn’t even trust herself with her own.

“I know you probably think I’m a fuck up,” he continues, his voice the most broken she’s heard it.

“Hey,” she soothes, reaching over the counter and placing her hands over his knuckles, “I don’t think that at all. We’ve all got fucked up pasts.”

“Yeah?”

“I could fill a book with mine. One day, I might even share them with you.”

“Does this mean you’re planning on speaking to me again after today?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles, and it’s beautiful. “Perhaps I would.”

Killian: Did you know you’re twice as likely to be killed by a vending machine than a shark?

Emma: There’s no way that’s true.

Killian: It is. There’s scientific proof.

Killian: I have a university degree, love.

Emma: Yeah, well, so does Leroy, and I don’t trust him.

Killian: I am not Leroy.

Emma: True, but he’s more of a charmer than you.

Killian: …

Killian: I think you owe me an apology for that.

Killian: I am much more charming.

Emma: Did you know that statistically speaking Leroy Coleman is more likely to be more charming than Killian Jones?

The three little dots indicating he’s typing don’t pop up immediately like they have been for the past hour, and she stares at her phone a little too long to wait for them to appear. This has been happening far too often lately, not the waiting for him to text back…just the texting in general. It’s every day, all day, even with the sporadic gaps between them when they’re working. If she thinks about it, she can piece together all of the little moments where she and Killian became friends, but she knows that the biggest part of it was that day at David and Mary Margaret’s. it’s been weeks since then, summer completely fading into fall as October began and pumpkins were placed at every door step while colorful leaves cover the ground.

What she can’t pinpoint is the moment she developed real feelings past attraction for him. They’ve probably always been there, simmering beneath the surface waiting to boil over ever since that first night, but she hasn’t let them. But now it’s not just the fact that she knows how he kisses and how he…maneuvers himself in the bedroom. It’s also that she knows who he is as a person. He’s kind and smart and funny, and he has the ability to turn any conversation into a dirty joke. Seriously. Last week there was one when they were talking about cherries on the top of a milkshake and…never mind. She can’t even think it without turning as red as, well, a cherry.

So she likes him. She likes him even though she told herself she shouldn’t, and she likes him even though she knows it’ll give Mary Margaret some kind of sick satisfaction that her set up worked, even if Emma technically met Killian all on her own.

Killian: What size t-shirt do you wear?

Emma: I feel like this is some kind of weird, creeper question.

Killian: Obviously, yes.

Emma: I wear a small for fitted t-shirts, but I usually go a size or two up for others.

Emma: Why?

Killian: That’s my secret to keep.

“Weirdo,” she laughs to herself, shoving her phone in her back pocket and going back to working on her new case since she finally finished the Moore case. He wasn’t even cheating, and it took months to figure out. Go figure.

“Happy Birthday,” Ruby screams the moment she walks into the Rabbit Hole, holding her arms out and smothering Emma in a hug that takes her breath away. “You need shots.”

“I am not getting drunk tonight, Rubes,” she tells her as she pushes her away so that she has her personal space.

“What the hell is the point of going out to a bar for a birthday if you’re not going to get drunk?”

“To celebrate me and the fact that I’ve made it twenty-eight years without dying?”

“Such an accomplishment.”

Ruby hooks her arm around her shoulders, dragging her over to where the rest of her friends are waiting…except for Killian. He’s supposed to be here. He said he would be here, and she doesn’t see him anywhere.

What the hell?

David, Mary Margaret, Victor, and Ruby keep her entertained, buying her a beer or two and not anything like vodka, and as much as she tries to not be disappointed and think about Killian, not showing up, she can’t. He is supposed to be here. He isn’t supposed to leave. So where is he?

“Swan,” a familiar voice yells, and she finds its owner when she looks over to the entrance. He’s standing there in black jeans and an unbuttoned plaid shirt with a white t-shirt underneath it, his hair windswept and honestly a bit crazy, but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is that he showed up…and a little bit about why he was late.

She starts moving at the same time that he does, his feet carrying her faster than hers, and when they reach each other, it’s like a bit of a cheesy rom com moment until he knocks his forehead into hers while going in for a hug and the both of them recoil in pain.

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

“I, uh,” he holds out a wrapped present, “happy birthday, love.”

She takes the package out of his hands, feeling the light weight of it, before looking up at him and slapping his chest. “Where the hell were you?”

“Ah,” Killian sighs, scratching behind his ear and ticking his lips up on one side, “it’s your present. I meant to get it last week, but for some reason it was bloody hard to find in Storybrooke. And I got distracted and busy at work, and I had to drive to the Target outside of town tonight to get it. But then I got a flat tire, and it’s just been…it’s been a disaster. But I’m here now.”

“This is true. It kind of sounds like you had some shit luck there.”

Killian leans forward and presses a kiss against her cheek, his lips warm and whiskers rough, and she sighs into it. “I’m kind of hoping that it’s going to get better.”

She is too.

Emma keeps to her words of not getting drunk, only drinking too beers and taking one shot of tequila to appease Ruby, but even with the alcohol and slight buzz, she’s every bit as coherent as she normally is. And that’s exactly why she notices and isn’t bothered by the fact that the only one of her friends remaining is Killian, everyone else slipping out the door and going home some time ago.

“I should probably go home soon, Jones.”

“Aye. Can I walk you home?”

“Such a gentlemanly offer.”

“Well, I am always a gentleman.”

They walk out of the Rabbit Hole, her present from Killian still unwrapped and in her hand, before ambling out onto the streets of Storybooke and back to her apartment. Like everywhere in this town, nothing is out of walking distance, so it only takes a few minutes before they’re standing at the front door that leads into her building.

“You can open that, you know,” Killian suggests as he nods down to the box in her hand. “I was kind of hoping you would.”

“Yeah?”“Absolutely.”

She carefully undoes the paper then, noticing how meticulously he’s wrapped the package, before sliding the box out and undoing the tab. She laughs when she sees the soft gray t-shirt, inside, pulling it up and holding it out. This is why he asked her the size of her shirt. How could she be so stupid so as not to think about it?

“You know, I like that shirt, darling. I used to have one just like it, but it seems to have disappeared.”

She hums, closing her eyes and contemplating her next words. When she says them, she means them and all of their implications, the buildup of the last few months finally reaching its peak. “I have one upstairs if you’d like to borrow it.”

Killian’s eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline, and he takes a step closer to her, the scent of his cologne mixed with beer invading her nostrils. “I think I’d like that.”

The walk upstairs is full of anticipation, the air between them incredibly thick despite the amount of space that’s separating them. Killian is keeping his distance, staying a few stairs behind her, but when they get to her door, he cages her in, pushing her into the wood and grabbing her hips while he presses gentle, hesitant kisses up and down her neck that make her head dizzy.

“You are a bloody marvel.”

The words she wants to say are caught in her throat as he nibbles on her earlobe, soothing every bite with his tongue, so instead of talking she turns in his arms and captures his lips with hers. It’s exactly the same as the first time, his body and lips warm as they press into her and his hair just as soft while her fingers sink into the locks, holding him as close as possible. But this isn’t Jones, her one night stand who she’s about to use as a way to scratch an itch. This is Killian, a friend, a confidant, and maybe something a little more that doesn’t quite sound like the Golden Girls theme song.

“Emma,” he breathes, his voice husky and deep, “is this going to be a one-time thing again? Because…because I can’t. I can’t be nothing to you.”“I know. And it’s not. You’re not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, letting this moment sink in, “it’s just…I’m not sure if I’m ready for everything yet. I think maybe we should take it bit by bit. Naturally. I’m not good with trying to live up to expectations.”

“I’m not either.”

He kisses her again, soft and sweet and full of all of the affection that she’s been feeling for him lately. He makes her head dizzy with the way his tongue traces her bottom lip, her spine tingling with the sensations, and when he licks into her mouth, she’s glad for the door supporting her back.

“Do you want to…do you want to go inside?”

“Aye,” he growls against her jaw, “I was promised a t-shirt.”

Everything is different than the first time they were together. Things are slower, softer, but they’re somehow more passionate. Yeah, things are a bit awkward, bodies hitting hard surfaces and knees and elbows stabbing soft body parts while trying to maneuver into good positions, but once they’re situated, Killian slides into her in one slow motion, and she feels absolutely everything. As he moves above her, making sure that his lips never leave her lips, her skin, her hair, she gets lost in the moment, forgetting everything that’s led to them being here and just being glad that they are here.

After, they’re wrapped under the covers of her bed, her feet tucked between his calves while his hands roam across her skin, somehow always finding their way back to her hair and twisting with the strands. He’s so gentle and kind, things she never would have thought in the beginning, and she’s really glad that the town of Storybrooke somehow had a way of pushing them back together.

“So,” she sighs, scooting a little closer to him in the bed and wrapping her arms around his neck, “what do we do from here?”

“Well,” Killian begins, leaning forward and brushing his lips over her bare shoulder, “I think we do that a hell of a lot more.”

“Obviously yes.”

“But I also think that you let me take you out on a date or fifty.”

“Fifty? You’re shooting high there.”

He chuckles against her skin before kissing her, the softest of pecks that she barely feels. “Well, we start with one. I let you see how absolutely charming I am, and then we work our way into having fifty first dates.”

“Are you referencing the Adam Sandler rom com?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you know that Mr. Sandler is the peak romantic comedy lead?”

She barks out a laugh, something that she feels in her chest and the rest of her body, and she honestly just feels light, happy even. “I thought that was Tom Hanks.”

“Well, darling,” Killian purrs, pushing her over and crawling over her body so that he’s caging her in, “I’ll have you know that Hanks and Sandler have nothing on me.”

They don’t. Killian Jones far outdoes Hanks and Sandler and any other romantic comedy lead (take that Gosling) when it comes to romancing her. It’s not always easy, and she’s definitely not easy to love, but Killian doesn’t seem to care. He takes her on the first date, and if she’s honest with herself, that date never really ends. It goes on forever, and she likes it that way.

She likes them together. Okay, she loves them together after a couple of months, and at the end of every day, she comes home to an apartment that’s full of their things together with two gray v-neck t-shirts hanging in the closet.

And Mary Margaret absolutely does not get the credit for setting them up.

[globrights]

okay, but i double dare you

The Gang likes to dabble in a little Truth Or Dare when they get drunk. Sometimes, someone dares Mac and Dennis to kiss. read on ao3

2019.

It starts as simply as anything can start; with the spinning of a bottle.

There’s something about owning and operating a bar, as well as having severe alcoholism enabling them to constantly drink from their own stock, that makes this happen so easily.

“Alright, truth or dare?”

None of them ever see it coming. No one knows who’s going to get the urge that day, no one knows if they’re going to get the urge themselves. No one knows if they’ll get drunk enough to think it’s a good idea.

It all comes down to what one decides to do when one gets to the end of their bottle.

To spin, or not to spin? That is the question. It is believed that the great Trilliam Dakespeare once said such wise words. And no, this dude was not a pussy who wrote shitty plays that are hard to understand. You see, legend says that he probably invented the game. And for that, we exalt thee.

The bottle lands pointing at Mac. Dee, who spun the bottle, smiles.

“So what is it, Mac?”

The gang gets real extreme when they play truth or dare, and Mac knows that picking dare without a care isn’t a snare and makes you a bear.

And Mac ain’t no twink.

“I pick dare, Dee.”

He’s a badass.

1999.

“Oh come on,” Mac groans as the bottle points right at him. “Dee, how fucking old are you?”

“Shut up. Either pick truth, dare, or admit you’re a pansy who’s too scared to play,” Dee says with a raise of her eyebrow.

Mac groans. Neither Dennis nor Charlie is coming to his defense. When he glances at Dennis, he gives him a particularly specific look that’s concentrated in his eyes. Oh right. Dee just got out of the institution. That she got put in for burning her roommate. Which she had to drop out of college for.

“Fine, you bitch,” he sighs. Just this once he’ll be nice to her. “I pick truth.”

She rubs her hands together. He can still see faint burns on her palms.

“Ooh, I got a good one. You... ever made out with a dude?”

Dennis and Charlie have to literally hold him back when he lunges at Dee, attempting to claw her, hurt her, who knows, for suggesting such a slanderous thing.

2019.

“I dare you... to show us your dance.”

Mac shifts uncomfortably when she says this. Frank looks a little uncomfortable too, and shakes his head at Dee.

“Why... why would you wanna see that?”

“Oh, come on, you ditched the parade, you went to this prison with Frank, and then all I know is that you showed the dance to a bunch of prisoners and your dad. I’ve never seen the dance. None of us have. Except Frank, obviously.”

“I mean,” Mac scratches the back of his neck. “It’s kind of a partner dance, and my partner isn’t here, so–“

“Aw shit dude, now I wanna see it,” pipes up Charlie. “I mean, what is that dance, man? ‘Cause at first I thought it was some uh, sexy gay thing, but then when Frank got home he wouldn’t stop crying for like, hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours, dude!”

“Sorry about that, Frank.”

“Well,” Dennis starts, “I’m not sure I want to cry today, actually. Certainly not for several hours.” He looks at Mac. “Maybe you don’t have to show us that dance. I mean, Dee did say that she wanted you to show us your dance. One person can have multiple dance routines locked and loaded, right?”

Mac finally smiles. “Yes! I like that, I’m doing that. Dee?”

“Fine,” she relents. “Permission to have my dare misconstrued granted. Drink up, boners.”

“Here, here!”

They clink their respective beer bottles and take a swig. Oh, yeah, you’re probably confused. The gang doesn’t play truth or dare the way most people do, as you’re soon to find out. They tack on a lot of their own rules and change the game to suit their wants. As they do with most games. So if you want to misinterpret someone’s dare, they have to give you permission to deviate from their original intention, and everyone has to drink.

And say ‘here, here!’ before they do it.

They like to have fun.

“So what’s the catch?” Mac asks as he gets up in front of them. Yes, forgot to mention, but when you choose to misinterpret the dare, you also give everyone in the room permission to shout out a new condition, a new part of the dare. The first person to make a pitch gets to have their idea featured.

“Dude, strip dance!”

The entire gang turns in confusion to the group of what seems like college kids at the corner booth. They’re a mixed group of men and women, but all of them seem very interested in having Mac strip.

“Oh, shut up, kid,” scolds Dennis. “This doesn’t involve any of you.”

“Yeah, I don’t want Mac taking off his clothes in the bar,” continues Dee, “or anywhere else for that matter.”

“I mean... but they did say a thing first,” implores Charlie. “So like... that’s the rule and all that. I don’t wanna see Mac take off his clothes as much as the rest of you, but rules are like... rules man.”

“Let’s just play him some music, let him dance around, and then we don’t look,” suggests Frank, making his way to the jukebox.

“Oh yeah, I’m not gonna look,” Dee says, downing her beer. “Plus we gotta set some ground rules.”

“Yeah, dude, don’t get like all weird with it. No taking your underwear off or anything,” Charlie warns. “If you do that I’m leaving.”

“Yeah, me too,” agrees Dennis, who’s staring intently at Mac.

“Dude, I don’t even want to take my pants off, especially not in front of these kids.”

“We’re all perfectly legal!”

He puts his hand up in their direction. “Not making this any less weird.”

The music starts playing, and it’s some upbeat—oh. It’s literally the music that Dennis danced to when he was a stripper.

Mac does a pop and lock, some fake karate moves, and through these moves somehow manages to reach for the hem of his shirt. He slowly starts slipping it up, revealing his chiseled abdominal muscles (or, abs, if you’re not feeling fancy), before suddenly and swiftly whipping his shirt off.

1999.

“Fine, no, I haven’t,” Mac says nervously, after the heat dies down, “because I’m straight, okay? I don’t go around doing queer shit.”

Dennis gives him a warning look, but Mac ignores it. He further ignores the way Dee’s eyes glaze over. He spins the bottle. It lands on Charlie.

“Truth or dare, dude?”

“Dare,” Charlie says without thinking, finishing his beer.

“I dare you to eat a piece of cheese from that platter outside,” Mac says, because they’re in Dennis and Dee’s home, and their mom’s having a party downstairs. Dee isn’t allowed out because guests are over and according to her mother she brings shame to the whole family. Dennis is allowed to mingle, but here he is anyway. Here they all are in Dennis’ room, because it’s bigger than Dee’s.

“What? Dude, that’s just weird. I don’t eat raw cheese, man.”

“Raw cheese?” Dennis makes a face. “How is that a thing? Cheese is just cheese.”

“Nah, dude. Charlie only ever eats cheese if it’s like, cooked. Like on pizza, or like uh, spaghetti.”

“Okay,” says Dee, barely understanding this. “But Charlie, Parmesan cheese is raw, by your definition. Like you literally just sprinkle it on top of pasta.”

“Yeah, but the heat from the spaghetti cooks the cheese, Dee, it cooks the cheese,” Charlie explains heatedly, shaking his head like she’s the fool.

“Whatever. You picked dare,” says Mac. “Go get that cheese. Bring back a piece and eat it in front of us.”

Charlie groans. “Fine! But if I throw up because of how gross the raw cheese is, that’s on you–“ he says as he leaves.

“Then we’ll get you a bin to puke in!” Mac calls after Charlie.

“Dude, you sure it’s a good idea to dare him to eat raw cheese? I mean, cheese, not raw cheese,” Dennis sighs. “Shit. Now he’s got me doing it.”

Mac shrugs, waving Dennis’ concerns off. “Nah. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

2019.

“Dude, I know I said I didn’t want you to take your clothes off and all, but you’re like, so good at stripping man,” Charlie comments, after everyone’s clapped for Mac’s strip dance.

“Thanks, bro,” Mac says, walking around to pick up his clothes.

“Oh, yeah, you could be, like, a great stripper and all that.”

“He probably just picked that stuff up from the gay strippers at the gay bars he goes to,” comments Dee, who was the least amused by the dance. She didn’t find it sexy in the slightest, but she has to admit Mac did pull off some impressive moves she didn’t expect.

“Shut up, Dee,” Mac retorts as he puts his clothes back on. “I mean, you’re right, but shut up.”

“Yeah,” Dennis says in a strained voice, looking very tense, and sat in a very strange angle. “Mac, spin the bottle.”

“Yeah, coming,” Mac says, walking over and spinning the empty beer. He spins it so hard it falls off the bar and crashes to the floor.

“Goddamn it, Mac, stop showing off,” Dee groans, picking up another bottle which Mac spins gently this time. It lands on Dee. “Oh shit.”

“Hah! Truth or dare, bitch?”

“Truth. I’m not interested in doing whatever messed up shit you’ve come up with.” She says, smiling as Mac deflates slightly.

He thinks over this for a bit, then raises both his eyebrows. “You ever banged a chick?”

1999.

When Charlie comes back, he takes far too long and he’s empty-handed.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“Where’s the cheese?”

“Don’t tell me you chickened out, man.”

Charlie shakes his head at the accusations. “Nah, I didn’t chicken out man, you’re all out of cheese.”

“Out of cheese?” Dennis says skeptically. “There was a whole platter of the stuff, no one ever finishes the cheese at these parties.”

“Yeah, I know dude, the cheese is out because I finished it.”

“You what?”

“I ate it all,” Charlie admits, looking slightly... off. There’s something very deranged about his energy right now. “I ate all the cheese. So there’s no more.”

“Why would you eat all the cheese? You were supposed to bring one piece here and eat it in front of us. One!”

“Oh, I think he’s lying,” points out Dee. “He’s pretending all the cheese is gone so he won’t have to eat it.”

“No, I’m being serious here!” Charlie protests. “I was trying little nibbles of all the cheese to see which one was like, the least gross and shit, but all of it was so good so I had to keep trying.”

“I don’t buy it,” Mac shakes his head, looking at Dennis. “Do you?”

“I’m more worried about the fact that Charlie actually has finished all the cheese and there’s no more left for the guests. Charlie, please tell me no one saw you.”

“Nah, man, I went to the empty room. That’s the only one with cheese, I looked in all the rooms. Can’t find any more.” Charlie shrugs, and he’s very fidgety. “I don’t mind eating more cheese dude, you just gotta tell me where it is!”

Dennis sighs. “There’s some in the fridge. Ask the–“

Charlie rushes out the door before Dennis can finish his sentence.

2019.

“Oh wow.”

Dee gives Mac a glare, and he returns her with a knowing look. The rest look curious because of this very exchange, but they’re definitely not interested in the matter the way that straight men usually are in women having sex with each other.

They care because Mac seems to know something and Dee seems to be hiding it. Also, Dee is gross and they’d rather not think about who and what she’s banging.

“Mac,” she says, “are you seriously asking that question?”

“Yeah. It’s a yes or no question, Dee.”

“Well, I don’t want to answer it.”

“Why not? Look, Dee, no one gives a shit about who you’re banging,” says Dennis. “It’s gonna get boring as hell if you drag this one out.”

“Oh!” Mac points at her. “It’s someone we know, isn’t it?”

“Shit, Dee, now you’re starting to make me care about this,” Charlie complains. “Who’d you bang?”

“You can’t ask that, ‘cause Mac already asked a question when he spun the bottle–“ she points out defensively–“so I can’t answer that.”

“God, who cares? Yes, or no, Dee?”

“Fine, yes, you happy?”

“Yeah, honestly, that was kind of obvious already,” Dennis remarks. “From the way you were acting. If you refuse to talk about something, it usually means you’re doing the thing. Basic psychology.”

Dee rolls her eyes. “Shut up, asshole,” she spins the bottle, horrified when it lands on her again. “No!”

“Hah!” Charlie says in a mocking voice. “Who’d you sleep with?”

In their version of truth or dare, when you spin the bottle and it lands on yourself, it means you have to answer a question truthfully or complete a dare issued by—every single person in the game. Excluding yourself, of course.

And what Charlie just did was exercise Dealer’s Choice. Basically, first one to ask a question (or issue a dare) gets the right to forcea truth question or a dare on the person in the hot seat (Dee in this case). Ergo, everyone else will have to ask Dee to pick between truth or dare, except Charlie. Whose question Dee has to answer right now.

Dee covers her face with a sigh. “Charlie, please, trust me, you don’t wanna know who it is.”

“Why not? Who the hell did you bang, exactly?”

“Oh,” Dennis raises his eyebrow. “Based on how badly Dee doesn’t want Charlie to–“

“Dennis, could you shut up for once? Just, for once in your goddamn life?” Dee says, nearly seething. She takes a deep breath. “I... slept with The Waitress.”

“What?!” Charlie exclaims, in complete shock and disbelief. The rest of them don’t seem to be very bothered by this fact because they could mostly tell. “Dee, gross! You know The Waitress is my thing–“

“Your thing?!” she hits back just as hard, taking offense. “Okay, look, I know you were obsessed with The Waitress for years, but you dated her and it didn’t work out! If it makes you feel better, I, I only slept with her after you did?”

“That does not make it better, Dee, that just makes this weirder!”

“Goddamn it, Dee,” says Mac. “You really slept with the chick we’ve all banged? That’s a weird way for your lesbian to jump out.”

“Oh, shut up,” Dee retorts. “You only did hand stuff with her.”

“No, I almost did hand stuff with her, but we didn’t end up doing that because I found out Charlie didn’t betray me and also, well, she’s gross.”

“Mac, you think all women are gross.”

“Dee, you banged a chick your dad and brother have both banged!”

“Frank’s not my dad!” she argues.

“Oh, and Dennis isn’t your brother?”

“That’s beside the point!” Now Dennis actually does look a little bit disgusted. “I read,” Dee explains, “I looked it up and our body basically replaces every cell like, every seven years. Dennis banged The Waitress over ten years ago, so it’s, it’s basically like I touched a different woman.”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Charlie implores with his hands clasped together. “I want us to talk about, literally anything else please.”

Dennis nods readily. “Yeah. Dee, Truth or Dare?”

1999.

“Who are you and what are you doin’ in my kitchen, kid?”

Charlie turns around, eyes wide looking scandalized as he comes face to face with Dennis and Dee’s dad. “Uh... just gettin’ some cheese, bro.”

“Bro?” He raises his eyebrows. “Huh. Why do I like that?”

“Uh... ‘cause you’re... a super cool dude?”

He smiles. He must like being called dude too. “Why are you stealing my cheese?”

“UH... THE CHEESE–“

He burps, awkward and uncomfortable as he blurts his senseless words. The short man laughs.

“Fake out! I don’t care. Take all the cheese. It’s just my wife’s stupid whore party for her stupid whore friends.” He grabs the entire platter of cheese from the fridge and hands it to Charlie, who is fresh out of words. Although, it’s not like he had much to say throughout this entire interaction. “Go nuts.”

2019.

“Oh.”

The Waitress’ bottom lip trembles at the sight of Dee.

“Hey. One large uh... low fat green... oh jesus. Just get me a large vegan juice thing. He probably won’t even know the difference.”

She scoffs. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, just the one drink.”

The Waitress rolls her eyes. “You bitch.”

“What the hell was that for?” Dee hands her a handful of bills as she enters the total. Vegan shit is pricey as hell. Dee knows Dennis barely drinks the stuff these days, but well, a dare’s a dare. “I’ll have you know I’m a paying customer.”

“You never called me,” she says pointedly.

“Well, you never called me!”

The Waitress, her eyes, they soften for a moment. “Wait, I–“

“Look, just give me the drink and I’ll be on my way, okay? I don’t want to think about what happened that night, as much as–“

Someone slams Dee’s order on the counter next to them, and the sound stops her short.

“As much as what, Dee?”

Dee snatches the drink and turns away. “Nothing. Forget I said anything, I’m busy.”

She walks away.

“I should’ve known you’d be the same.”

Dee ignores the cold feeling that washes over her when she hears that. She carries on walking.

1999.

“Oh my god,” Charlie’s heart drops when he walks back into the room. “What’s going on with Dee?”

Her face is blotchy and her eyes are red. She’s sat in the corner and Mac and Dennis are mostly ignoring her state. What could’ve possibly happened when he left to get cheese?

“My mom came in earlier,” fills in Dennis. He doesn’t seem too happy about this fact. “She told Dee she should move out as soon as possible because she’s useless and a burden who’s only brought shame to the family.”

“Yeah,” Mac says, confirming this. “I did not like being here for that.”

“Oh shit,” Charlie says, setting the cheese platter down. “You okay, Dee?”

“Shut the fuck up, Charlie, it’s none of your business,” she says guardedly, voice choked up.

“Jeez, fine, fine. God, you’re such a bitch.” He turns to Dennis. “Did your mom tell you to get out too?”

Mac and Dennis shake their heads.

“But I think I want to. Move out, that is,” says Dennis. “I mean, whether she wants me out or not, I fucking hate it here. I want my own space.”

“You think I should move out too?” asks Mac.

“I mean. Your mom tells you to get out constantly, so,” Charlie says with a shrug, “maybe think about it, man.”

Dee stands back up. “I’m going back to my room.”

No one responds to that for a good moment.

“Hey, Dee, you want some cheese?” Charlie asks at the last second. “Your dad gave me like, all of it.”

2019.

“Here’s your fucking veggie juice, dick,” Dee curses as she dumps it on the table.

“Jesus Christ, Dee,” Dennis looks on cautiously. “Do I have to dare you to show some manners around here?”

“Don’t start right now,” she sighs. “The Waitress works at the juice bar.”

“Oh.”

“So what?”

“I don’t think things ended well between them,” Dennis whispers to Mac.

“Like any of her relationships have ended well,” Mac says, and Dee gives him a warning look.

“Shut up, Mac. Plus, we never had a relationship. It was a one time thing.”

“Again, that’s pretty much what all your–“ he sighs–“okay fine, Dee. You wanna move on? Let’s move on. Truth or dare?”

“Uh... dare.”

“Okay. I dare you to talk through your feelings about The Waitress so you feel better.”

“Huh?”

Mac bursts out laughing and so do the rest after realizing what he’s just done. “Just kidding, you bitch. I don’t care about your feelings—I dare you to get me a beer.”

In a way... Dee knows that’s Mac’s way of comforting her, letting her off the hook by giving her an easy dare. It’s not like she wanted to talk about her feelings anyway. Secretly, she’s grateful and happy to open up a beer for the guy.

“Deandra, get me a beer too,” says Frank. “That’s my dare.”

Dee groans when she looks around. “That was our last one!”

“So stock the fridge up and get me something else.”

She rolls her eyes as she dumps soda in a glass with a bit of vodka.

“Screw you, Frank.”

“A dare’s a dare, bitch!”

1999.

“Hey,” Dennis says, his eyes soft and droopy. “Move in with me."

“Hm?” Mac jolts up with a start, he’s been drifting in and out at this point, drained god knows how many beers, and somewhere along the way Charlie fucked off (to... Mac doesn’t know, could be home, could be to Dee’s room, either way, he took the cheese platter with him, not that he cares though), and now it’s just him and Dennis.

“I said,” Dennis stares at Mac now, and his gaze is something that elicits this reaction Mac sometimes gets around Dennis. Maybe it’s the look, maybe it’s the way it makes him feel. Maybe it’s Dennis, and this is how he makes everyone feel when he looks at them like this. “Move in with me, you bitch.”

“Oh, uh,” Mac swallows, nodding, “right.” He looks away from Dennis, takes one glance at him to make it seem like he’s making constant eye contact, and then looks away again. Staring at Dennis is hard sometimes. And other times, it feels like the only thing in the world to do. “My credit’s wrecked to shit though.”

“Hm. Don’t care,” Dennis’ hand is running through Mac’s curls now, and he holds a breath he’s not sure how to keep. Mac feels himself tense up, but not in a way where he wants Dennis to stop. “Your hair’s a mess, dude.”

“Maybe I’ll gel it down someday.”

“Didn’t say it was bad.” Dennis gives him a warning look. “Don’t gel it down.”

Mac nods. “Okay.” He’s going to gel it down.

“No, I swear... it looks good.” Absentmindedly, Dennis licks his lips, and Mac is drunk, and Dennis is drunk, so his judgement might be impaired, but Dennis, and the way he looks at him in the pale moonlight, it’s sexy. Yeah. Mac’s man enough to admit that. “You know what else looks good?”

“What?”

“You. You, you’re good.”

Mac nods. His heart is pounding. Dennis is a thunderstorm trying to find ground, and Mac is a barren wasteland in need of him. Yet, he’s not quite sure he wants Dennis to take hold.

There is a moment where Mac feels himself lean in almost instinctively, but then something deep inside panics and drags him back, he looks away, he begins drafting up excuses to leave, even though he had intended to sleep over tonight.

Dennis senses this, and then his hands are on Mac’s shoulders, holding them down, pulling Mac back to him, and then giving them a squeeze for good measure. “Hey. Hey—let’s play truth or dare again. Okay?”

Mac is still tense. “With two people? How’s that fun?”

“Oh, trust me,” Dennis chuckles as he spins the bottle. “It’s so much more fun than you could ever imagine.”

The bottle lands on Mac.

“Oh. Shit, okay.”

“Truth or dare, Mac?”

Dennis is stretching, like none of this even matters to him, probably, because Mac is likely the only one with a premonition that something absolutely bad and wrong is about to happen.

“Dare,” says Mac, only because he instinctively feels apprehensive about truth due to earlier events he would rather not discuss.

“Okay,” Dennis smiles, as if this had been the response he’d been looking for. But why? “I dare you to kiss me.”

Oh. That’s why.

2019.

Dee sighs tiredly as she spins the bottle. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to play this game. Who the hell suggested truth or dare anyway? Restocking the beers had been such a bitch, and she had to drink god knows how many to smooth over the process, and of course none of the others gave two shits about helping her.

The only good thing to come out of all this is the bottle pointing straight at Mac.

“Hah!” Dee claps her hands, even though the bottle pointing at anyone but herself would have brought her reprieve. “Truth or dare, asshole?”

Mac maintains some sort of front. “Dee, I always go dare.”

“Right,” Dee smiles, because he’s just set up her perfect trap. “Always dare, huh?”

Mac looks apprehensive at this. “Not sure I like the sound of that though, might fuck around and change my answer to–“

“I dare you to kiss Dennis.”

1999.

“Woah woah woah,” Mac blurts out, very nervous, backing away from a Dennis who won’t give chase for some reason. “Dude. Dennis. I’m not gay.”

“And neither am I,” says Dennis.

“Dude? You just asked me to kiss you.”

“It’s a dare dude. Has nothing to do with whether I wanna kiss you or not. Has nothing to do with being gay.”

All of a sudden, Mac relaxes. “Oh. Really?”

“Yes, really.”

2019.

“Jesus Dee,” Dennis sighs harshly, rolling his eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

“Yeah,” Charlie laughs. “What are we, like, in grade school?”

“When did grade school get this gay?” remarks Frank, drinking a cold beer now.

“Works if it’s gay grade school.”

“Gay grade school? Like you learn how to be gay?”

“You idiots are only proving my point,” says Dennis. “This is stupid, Dee.”

“I mean,” continues Charlie, “I still think you should do it.”

“Woah!” Dennis exclaims, feeling incredibly betrayed. “What the hell, Charlie?”

“I’m sorry!” he throws back, just as loud. “Dare’s a dare, dude! Dare’s a dare!”

“Well, it’s a stupid dare, Charlie! This is all so, so completely juvenile. I can’t stand it. I won’t stand for it.”

“Still a dare,” Charlie shrugs, and Dennis feels almost feverish.

“Oh Jesus Christ–“

“Just pucker up, Dennis,” Dee says as she pours out some shots. It is unclear who they’re for. Dennis might have to steal all of them if he goes through with this. “This could be over in seconds. Right Mac?”

“What?” He looks up suddenly, clearly having zoned out this whole time. “Oh, yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Well of course he’s fine with all this,” scoffs Dennis. “The dude’s dying to kiss me.”

“Dude, what? Shut up,” says Mac.

“Someone’s got an ego,” Dee says almost at the same time, raising her eyebrows at Dennis in a way that suggests she finds his claim embarrassing.

“Oh, what, don’t act like I’m wrong,” Dennis says to Mac, choosing to ignore Dee.

“Uh, what makes it seem like I want to kiss you?”

Dennis’ hand lands down on the bar in disbelief. “You’re really asking that question? Mac, you’ve tried to kiss me on several occasions.”

“Alright, fine, you made–“ he sighs–“I guess you have a point there.”

“Of course I do, Mac.”

“But... who cares?”

“Who—what?”

“Who cares, dude,” Mac emphasizes. “It’s just a kiss. I don’t care. At least, not anymore, and like, I’m here, dude. It’s just you who has to get man enough to kiss me.”

Dennis ignores Mac’s feeble jabs at his masculinity.

“Mac... I am not kissing you.”

1999.

“Wow,” Mac exhales breathless as he goes back for more. They’re making out now, and it’s because Dennis dared him to, so it’s totally awesome and not at all gay. Because it’s a dare, and if you don’t do what someone dared you to do, you’re a loser, and that’s what’s truly gay.

So, really, when you think about it, Mac is being really straight right now.

“Mm,” Dennis moans and Mac feels it on his tongue. Dennis tastes of beer and good dreams. His lips are soft but he kisses rough to make up for it, even if he doesn’t need to. Kissing Dennis is like heaven, so when you think about it, it’s very Catholic of Mac to be making out with him too. Straight and Catholic. The perfect combination.

Is he aware that they’ve been making out longer than a normal dare would permit? Yes, but Dennis hasn’t pulled away, and Mac knows that Dennis is super straight and gets all the ladies, so if Dennis thinks it’s okay to keep kissing, then Mac thinks so too. Besides, Mac isn’t sure he’s ready to stop.

“You feeling okay?” Dennis asks, taking an inadvertent break from it all, and Mac nods his head up and down, and he keeps leaning in, trying to get the kissing started up again. “Good.”

Dennis’ hand slides down to Mac’s crotch and grazes his clothed cock. The contact sends shocks through Mac, and he whimpers, hot and hard. “Dennis–“

“Yeah, baby?”

“You sure this is still straight?”

“Oh yeah, bro,” Dennis says, in a patronizing voice that Mac doesn’t know to recognize yet, fingers slowly pulling down Mac’s zipper. “This feels good, right?”

“So good,” he pants, gripping on tight to Dennis’ shoulder, essentially pining him down as he continues to undo Mac’s slacks. “Is this a, a part of the dare?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Really?”

“You see, Mac, what I’m about to do right now is jerk you off, and that’s pretty much the same as you jerking yourself off, except it’ll feel better for you. Is it gay when you jerk yourself off?”

Mac shakes his head. “No, no it’s not, because tons of straight guys do it.”

Dennis smirks. “Exactly. So do you want me to keep touching you?”

“Oh, please–“ he falls apart again when Dennis drags his briefs down and away from his painful erection. He lets out a cry when Dennis gives it a stroke.

“Tell me you like this,” says Dennis, sitting up straight (just as straight as this activity is) and alert as he pumps his cock, his fist loose and strong.

“I really, I like this, Den,” he heaves, “god help me I love this.” He shuts his eyes. “Shit, dude, you’re really good at this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You must be uh, be really good at jerking yourself off,” Mac remarks, his hand now slipping under Dennis’ shirt, and it’s mostly not on purpose, but his hand wants to travel up, feel his skin. “God, I want this like, every day, dude.”

“Good thing we’ll be living together then.”

Dennis spits on his hand and continues jerking Mac off, but now it’s smoother and faster and Dennis grips tighter and Mac is a mess as he begs Dennis, so much more incoherently this time, for god knows what, and before he knows it he’s coming in his hand and Dennis kisses Mac to stop him from screaming the house down.

“Oh shit,” Mac collapses, panting next to Dennis, sat up on his bed with his head lousy dazed against his wall.

“You ruined my shirt,” Dennis frowns as he inspects the stain. “How am I supposed to get this clean?”

Mac exhales through pouted lips as Dennis continues to glare at him, demanding that he offer a solution. A form of reparation for his crimes. “Oof. Uh... I’ll jerk you off?”

“Deal.”

2019.

“I mean... you have to kiss him at some point,” says Dee, after... essentially ten minutes have gone by. Mostly in silence. She finishes her beer and opens another one. “We don’t have all night.”

“Well... I mean, we have stayed here all night before, so–“ Charlie shrugs–“but she’s right, dude. You gotta kiss Mac. She like, dared you man. And a dare’s a dare.”

“Dennis, are you really that afraid of being gay that you’d–“

“Dee, shut up,” Dennis scoffs. Not loud enough to make any of them take note, but it’s still a tiny outburst. “Just because you decided to become a full-on lesbian doesn’t mean you have to drag the rest of us down with you.”

“Woah, where the hell is this coming from?” Dee laughs nervously. “I’m not a lesbian–“

“Dee, you banged The Waitress–“

“Uh, so?” She scoffs. “I banged her like, once, that doesn’t make me a lesbian.”

“Sure,” Charlie says, eye wide, patronizing her.

“Don’t patronize me! I’m not a lesbian!”

“Fine, whatever, you’re not a lesbian!” Charlie screeches. “No one cares, Dee! The thing here now is, Mac and Dennis have to kiss, or we can’t move on with the game–“

“Then we won’t move on with the game!” Dennis yells, angrily tossing his empty beer at the wall, where it shatters on the way down.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Yeah, now Charlie’s gonna have to clean all that up–“

“Uh uh!” Charlie cuts in. “No, Frank, I’m not clearing that. Dennis can sweep up his own mess.”

“Okay, seriously now, I think you’re really overreacting to this,” says Dee.

“Yeah, just give him a quick peck on the cheek an’ you can go throw up.”

“Hey!” Mac says, taking offense at Frank’s words.

“Oh, gimme a break,” Frank says, finishing his drink and flinging it at the wall, where it smashes right over Dennis’ mess.

“Frank, what the hell?”

“What? Dennis was cleaning that up anyway.”

“Not anymore,” says Dennis. “I’m no longer fully responsible for that.”

“See, Frank?” Charlie groans. “You just screwed me!”

“Charlie, I pay your rent and your paycheck. Clean that up by tomorrow.”

He sighs. “Fine,” relents, too. “But you can’t use that for at least another month.”

Frank just shrugs.

“Seriously though, Dennis, can you hurry up and kiss the man?” Charlie continues. “I’m getting bored as shit here because of your gay fears and all that–“

“It’s not because I’m scared of being gay, Charlie, Jesus Christ,” Dennis huffs.

“So what is it?”

“He hates me,” Mac remarks so casually, sipping his beer like it doesn’t even matter. Everyone is shocked to hear this coming from the man himself, especially without any levity whatsoever.

“Oh, come on Mac–“ Dennis starts off in denial–“I mean... yeah. You know what? Yeah. But, but can you blame me?”

“Blame you?”

“I mean,” Dennis gestures to Mac. “Just, just look at yourself.”

“What? What is it?”

“Forget it,” Dennis says, dropping it immediately. “Forget I said anything, forget the dare, all of it. I’m leaving.”

He gets up, and protests sprout left and right.

“Woah, dude! We’re in the middle of truth or dare.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Dennis hisses, and then he’s out the door.

“Fine, then I’m leaving too,” says Mac in a huff, and it’s unclear whether he’s planning on catching up with Dennis or if he wants to get home on his own.

Then there’s silence. Charlie, Dee, and Frank all exchange looks.

“Truth or dare?”

Charlie spins a bottle.

“Oh yeah.”

1999.

“Can’t believe we’re really moving in together,” Mac notes almost dreamily. They’re lying side by side and they’ve both gotten off plenty by now, and Dennis is putting on his shirt.

“Yeah,” he says almost to cajole Mac. “It’s gonna be great. Hey, put your clothes back on if you wanna stay over. My mom could come in.”

“But I thought what we did was straight.”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but my mom wouldn’t be too happy to catch a girl naked in here either.”

“Oh. Right.” Mac reaches for his shirt and pulls it back on. He yawns, stretching and getting under the covers. He’s glad Dennis has a big bed that can fit the both of them. “Man, I’m tired.”

“Me too, dude,” Dennis says, drawing the blinds shut before he climbs into bed with Mac. They lie down and try to sleep.

Well, Dennis is anyway.

“Hey, Dennis?”

“What?”

“How long do you think we’ll live together?”

Dennis rolls over, looking at Mac. “I don’t know. Until... until one of us gets married, maybe.”

Mac nods. That’s a good enough answer for him, apparently. “So... if neither of us get married, we’ll just keep living together?”

“Suppose so.”

“Promise.”

“Promise what?”

Mac draws small circles into Dennis’ arm. It makes him sleepier somehow. “That you’ll never move out or anything. Unless you get married. That we’ll keep living together.”

“Okay,” Dennis nods. It’s not a hard thing to say, and it’s not like Dennis has big plans to be roommates with anyone else anyway. “I promise.”

2019.

“You think I don’t know you’ve been packing?”

Mac says that the second Dennis walks through the door. Dennis had gone for a drive. Mac, well, he probably walked straight home.

“Oh. Okay, so you found my suitcases.”

“Well, no shit,” says Mac. “You don’t close your door that much unless you’re trying to hide something.”

“Oh, and you’d rather I be open about everything I do like you, with that huge dildo stuck to that exercise bike?”

“Is this about the Asspounder 4000? Because, dude, if it’s messing you up this bad, I’ll just get–“

“It’s not that!” Dennis explodes, because that just sounds like such a stupid reason to hate your roommate and best friend of over twenty years, and also it’s definitely not the reason why he hates Mac so much, or why he’s so angry and frustrated most of the time.

“Then what is it?” Mac’s hand is grasping onto his face in perceived agony. “What did I do wrong?”

“I don’t...” he lets out a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“So what? You just can’t stand me and hate me for no good reason? Or is it because I’m gay? Or is it because of something else?”

“I–“ he’s at a loss for words–“I just know it’s... time. I have to leave.”

For the first time tonight, Dennis sees Mac’s eyes water. It’s not an easy sight to witness. “Okay. Fine. I’ll... let you go.”

“You’ll let me leave? I can move out?”

Dennis forgets to quell the tone he says that with, and besides, it’s not like he needs Mac’s permission to leave anyway.

“Yeah. But you just. You gotta do this one thing first.”

“What is it?” Dennis makes sure not to sound like he would literally do anything to get to leave.

“You have to kiss me.”

If Dennis was holding onto anything, he’d drop it.

“What.”

“Yeah. Kiss me. I mean, Dee technically dared you to, and when she issued that dare, you were still living here. It’s bad luck to move out with an uncompleted dare hanging over your head.”

Dennis sneers, “there’s no way that’s true.”

Mac shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“You’re just doing this because you want me to kiss you.”

“I don’t think that matters at this point. I just wanna get it over with too—oh, and you can’t half ass it—it’s gotta be real.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Means kiss me like you mean it,” he says, eyebrow rising playfully. “You wanna move out or not?”

“Fine, yes,” Dennis moves closer to Mac. “If it’ll get me out of here, I’ll do it.”

“You sure? I mean, if you really hate the thought of kissing me so much–“

“Just shut up and come here.” He pulls Mac toward him. “Don’t blame me if I ruin you for anyone else.”

Mac rolls his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Their lips lock and it’s soft and the air is quiet. Mac hums against his lips and Dennis is slow but earnest. He licks into Mac’s mouth and slides his hands up Mac’s back and they push against each other, trying to get more and more, and it’s almost, it nearly seems like a competition, like they both want to prove that they’re the better kisser.

They’re both right.

Mac backs Dennis up against a wall, his knee pushing in between his legs, and Dennis lets him. Dennis grinds into Mac and titters at the way he moans. He keeps pressing, and creating friction, making Mac cry out in ways he probably swore he wouldn’t, and Dennis coaxes it all out from him, pleads with his quivering lips and skillful tongue.

Eventually, Mac’s the one to stop it. He drags himself away from Dennis after the situation gets too outrageous, and he knows Dennis has won, somehow. It’s a great, it’s the best farewell gift he could’ve ever asked for, and maybe now he can live with Dennis leaving. Be it pain or pleasure, he’ll take them as they come. “You, you really meant it, I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, I made sure of it.”

Mac feels like he might cry. “Okay. Yeah. So I guess that’s it. Dare completed. So you can... go now. Like we said.”

Dennis pulls Mac back in and kisses him like it’ll save his life. If Dennis is drowning, Mac’s lips are dry land. He kisses Mac like it’s everything he’s ever wanted, he presses Mac against him and feels the curves and bumps of his body. His hand cups Mac’s face and his lips drink him in, he wants nothing else.

“You’re kissing me again,” Mac slurs in between sloppy, more desperate kisses. He’s trying to prompt some sort of explanation.

“I love you,” Dennis murmurs, and then kisses Mac again, possibly to shut him up and put an end to whatever he might say before the man can even start.

Mac’s eyes are wide open for a long moment as he almost passively kisses Dennis, who more than makes up for it for them both. He never thought he’d... hear such a thing, actually, especially not right now, not today, and definitely not this moment.

“You... love me.”

“Just shut up and touch me,” Dennis grabs Mac’s hand and places it on his ass. Mac doesn’t move it.

“That why you hate me?”

“Maybe,” Dennis gives him a sensual peck on the neck. A smooch on his jaw. “Doesn’t matter, you’re supposed to be touching me.”

Mac palms Dennis’ crotch, slowly slides his hand over as he lets out an excruciating moan. “Oh, Mac, please–“

“I wanna touch you everywhere,” he declares, and then he starts unbuttoning Dennis’ shirt. “Okay?”

“I want you to fuck me,” he grabs Mac by the shirt and drags him to his room. “Come.”

“You sure we shouldn’t do this in my room?” Mac says, trying to signal that Dennis’ room is a little packed up.

“There’s a good enough bed and plenty of condoms in the drawer.” Mac makes a face. “Shut up. You’re wearing a condom.”

Mac crawls over Dennis, who’s already sprawled on his bed. He straddles him, grinding their hips together as Dennis searches his drawer. “Does this mean you’re not moving out anymore?”

Dennis shrugs. “That depends on how well you do.”

“Oh,” Mac laughs. “Then I’m gonna make you stay here forever.”

[firefighterkinard]

Charlie

So, I’ve been thinking about Charlie in the new episode, and I ended up feeling really sorry for her.

(Warning: very picture heavy.)

It was established in her second episode that this is basically the first time she’s truly put her trust in anyone since at least when she was imprisoned, maybe even longer (we don’t know her full story, but we know it felt like she was in there for 500 years and that she spent her entire time pretending to be other creatures to survive.)

And, to everyone on that ship, she’s always going to be Charlie-who’s-not-Amaya. Zari’s openly hostile towards her. Mick thinks of her as Fake Amaya. Sara walks the line between kind of a friend, and the person who will throw her in a cage. John took her powers (which, as well as keeping her from shapeshifting, also rendered her mortal according to Maisie.) The closest thing Charlie has to a friend who doesn’t primarily view her as Not Amaya is Ray, who is usually off doing something else.

Look at her reaction when everyone’s amused and/or horrified by her punching Nate. Charlie probably had absolutely no idea that they hadn’t told Nate about her. Without a warning, Nate’s another in the list of people who will always see her as Not-Amaya.

And then there’s Charlie’s reaction to Nate reacting to her, and him snapping that she’s pretending to be Amaya.

And then the Legends want her to pretend to be Amaya.

Which goes badly enough for Charlie to be like, you know what, fuck this, I’m out of here. She’s not Amaya, she doesn’t want to be Amaya, and she knows damn well that she’s never going to be the person they want her to be because they all really want Amaya.

So, Charlie running into Nate is interesting. 

Chance? Did she go looking for him? Either way, Charlie points him back to the Waverider and, after Nate refuses her help, she flat out tells him to stop projecting whatever beef he had with Amaya on her. What makes this interesting is that Nate is definitely not the only one looking at Charlie through an Amaya-tinted lens, but he is the one who is the most upfront about it to Charlie, so she’s equally as upfront about how she doesn’t want to be viewed as Not-Amaya.

And it works! And we get mission!Charlie from Tagumo Attacks!!!, who is excited and happy to have some fun on the mission. And who literally drags Nate along.

And Charlie has fun! She’s in her element - messing around on the mission, dispensing information on what the fugitive is and what the real story behind them is. But, of course, it ends all too soon.

So they come up with a plan, with Nate remembering something he read and deciding that they’ll use a lute to capture to minotaur. Charlie’s thrilled - no one gets hurt, including the fugitive!

But after the big fight, we get the pretty damn depressing scene with the pizza party. Charlie’s there, but she’s standing off to the side. She’s with them, but she knows she’s not with them.

She actually keeps looking at them throughout the scene.

Nate catches her and she literally stares at the ceiling. Nope, she’s not longing for that kind of closeness and love and acceptance that they’re showing Nate. Absolutely not.

After Nate’s speech (which is also pretty blatantly supposed to try to fold Charlie into the team a bit more), Charlie’s still standing off to the side, separated from everyone else while they all enjoy a clink and drink.

So Nate goes over and assures Charlie that she will find her place on the ship because he managed to. Charlie actually looks pretty touched by that. 

Although this does leave Charlie in an odd place - she’s bonded with Nate, who seemed to completely accept her as not being Amaya a lot faster than most of the others, just in time for him to leave the team. Maybe this is going to be the thing that pushes her to be a bit more ‘fuck it, I’m not Amaya and you need to stop looking at me like you wish I was or like I’m somehow a lesser version of her.’

[vaccerelli]

the Apparition of the Brocken

you go out and you hate going out but you haven’t been going out and that sucks so first you hit the bar with some co-workers and after some shots things start to blink and you feel it coming on, that old feeling, next thing you know you’re back at someone’s house and they’re playing jenga and arguing with their sound system which argues back and someone hands you some more tequila and things blink and you’re in a bar you don’t recognize and someone has been trying to sell you a baggie so you loudly announce you’re here for alcohol and the dude scurries off so you blink out and a homeless man tries to piss on your leg and your elbow connects with his face with a familiar crunch that turns into a blink and you’re at a different bar with people much younger than you and some dude asks if you’re twenty five and you tell him you’re thirty four but you’re incredibly immature for your age and then it’s later and the hot bartender is tired of listening to you talk about music and your ex so she gives you a few pity doubles and the glasses clink and things blink and you’re at a different party with some familiar faces but way less and someone is telling you not to say that but you don’t know what you said so it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter at all. you go out again and steal a cigarette and lighter from someone who was holding them but wasn’t you so you run off down the street cackling and things blink and you’ve puked back up the cigarette and some booze and your sides and your face hurt but you’ve got nowhere to be tomorrow except work so you buy a slice of pizza and someone you know is there too and asks where you got off to and you say something dumb and cavalier that you know will work and things blink and you’re watching a bunch of people do cocaine and there’s some girl with glasses and big tits your friends are trying to get you to talk to but why fucking bother even trying anymore, why even fucking bother, you hate going out, and it’s about time for the bars to start closing and you realize you’re just in a giant booth and it’s a nicer bar than you thought and you’re so fucked up you thought you were in a dark noisy house, things blink and you’re outside puking again and a hooker starts talking to you but you’re still wiping tequila out of your nose so you scream something about how pussy is free and they back off and the blinks are coming faster and stronger, you blink and you’re in a house you blink you’re in a car you blink it’s like you’re back in time at the bar and doing a shot and everything smells like tequila, everything smells like blink, someone hands you a joint and you almost want to cry in relief and you’re trying to explain to some sniffling stranger how seventies sad rock love songs are the only thing that make you feel like you still have feelings and they’re cocaine nodding and listening without listening, and some girl is trying to put her hands in your pocket and you recoil violently and shove everyone around you away and blink you’re doing a shot with someone else in maybe the same house and maybe you’re okay and maybe you’re stoned and maybe you blink and you’re in the back of a car with a bunch of people demanding the driver change the music, you’re trying to ask someone to play the godzilla song but you really mean simon says but you just keep saying godzilla and laughing and the driver demands you get out of the car before you puke and you blink and you’re puking again but you’re closer to home and you scare some nice people, you’re always scaring nice people, because you didn’t learn how to be nice in the right way and you blink and you’re further from home and you’re explaining to someone how you really feel like high-rise, high-rise got you, when people hate on that movie they’re hating on that feeling you always have, like you’re never supposed to be there, and you’re talking about godzilla, and people around you are drinking and doing coke and you realize you must be the most boring person there not the strangest, and you get some water and a slice of pizza and puke it all back up on someone’s porch and your throat hurts like hell and you can hear led zeppelin coming from somewhere and you’re trying to remember the name of the movie you were just talking about, it’s right there, you left your headphones somewhere and your phone is dead and your throat hurts like hell and you’re only a dozen blocks from home. 

[not-a-statement]

Chasing ghosts. Chapter 3

Sorry friends for overdosing your dashboards with this stuff, but I’m too excited to hold it back anymore. 

This chapter really did kill me while writing. I somehow tried to reflect my own feelings in it as well as to put observation of my friend who has currently lived through a very messy situation.

Anyway, chapter under the cut, critics and suggestions are always appreciated.

Welp, it’s time to go to dead.

New York, NY, October 7-11, 2024

Nights seemed to be the hardest to live through. Not literally - in a physical way - but maybe a little bit in that way too. Just a bit…

Every morning he felt numb. No such things as work, clothes or breakfast were present in his area of interest. And it seemed that those things were long gone for a while then. Only his memories, smells from the past and lingering sensations of light touches that were unlikely to happen again were orbiting him every day from the moment of awakening…

Unlikely to happen again? Light touches? Ding-fucking-Dong, you bloody idiot. Stop thinking of it like you’ve been married for a lifetime and then your wife moved to her gram-gram’s place at the “Fluffy Clouds Acres”...

Yeah, you have other suggestions about how to live on with a giant hole instead of heart?..

He wanted to feel himself a victim. Longed for sympathizers of all kinds queuing up to his bed, big baskets full with fruits in their hands, “Get well soon” cards, soothing phrases on their tongues - that he was every right to feel what he felt, that he deserved her and she made a very big mistake picking that bastard to be her husband…

You know what would be more honest? If somebody brought you some poison instead.

Or at least whiskey…

Would you knock it off already? Where’s your smart part when it comes to distinguishing seeds from chaff? Do you honestly think that all your feelings are of a value? Don’t be ridiculous - your own sister? For real? You actually expected everything to work out?   

Shut up…

It was Monday morning, Dipper had to get prepared to leave for work - he’s finally got a position. Kind of. Same duties, another ton or two plus to his salary - at least it was something, right? At least an excuse not to spend all of his time in this god forsaken flat all day long.

But he was still laying in his sister’s bed, inhaling her scent that somehow managed to stay in the pillow. What a pathetic view it was…

Not as pathetic as his kitchen exterior though. The day prior - as for all other days - there was loads of booze and Dipper was too lazy to bother himself with throwing out the garbage so there was lots of empty bottles laying and standing here and there, empty cigarettes packs, Chinese food boxes - a perfect decorations for a hopeless bachelor’s place.

Sloppily cooked breakfast, coffee as dark as New York’s midnight sky - state’s one. The city itself was living 24 hours so the illumination was enough to make a barrier between nighttime dreamers and traces of light casted by long gone celestial giants billions of human lives away from our sinful rotten asteroid.

Perhaps it was the other way around in New City. Probably the view was breathtaking with all the stars in the sky to count, crispy countryside air to bath in…

Warm and gentle hand of beloved woman to squeeze, cascades of her hazel hair to admire and fiddle with…

Dipper stumbled upon the battalion of empty bottles causing some of them fall clinking resentfully. The sound was enough to make his head ache and cast a grimace of displeasure on his face.

So that’s the plan, huh? Drink until you find a ball of snot instead of your liver?

Pffft...as if

Oh, I get it. Not your problem, right? It’s ten-years-later-Dipper’s problem…

He had to take control over the situation - find a better job, start doing some kind of sport to get fit, maybe find a woman. Anything that will help him get over his misery and make this voice nagging at the back of his mind go…

That’s a great plan - so many details. Hey, why don’t you get a job in NASA? With your ability to make plans like that we will land on Mars twenty years earlier than estimated.

Or at least by then he had a simpler task to tackle - get dressed and step out of this flat to start a new day that’s unlikely to be any different from the day before. Only task he could possibly do without failing.

As for making detailed plans - that’s an important concept, Dipper had to admit. All this abstract thoughts and ideas about new job and sport - they’re important nevertheless. But if one just postulates such things they’re unable to lead anywhere. Dipper as one who used to be the master of bajillion steps checklists for any occasion - to win Wendy’s heart for example - knew for sure that if he wanted to make any progress he needed to think and plan deeper than that.

What Mabel used to tease him about pretty often was a very useful ability. Staying organized, understanding each step and possible alternative breakpoints and handling possible exceptions. For an average person this way of thinking could play good if they keep it in balance with other aspects of their life. But Dipper was no average person.

He was...Dipper. And that meant that balance was off the table.

Good or bad, Dipper and Mabel complemented each other in so many things that one of them wasn’t whole without the other. And that same balance in Dipper’s vigorous activity of his brain was introduced by his sister, with her emphasis on feelings, emotions, and her own particular angle of view.

But when he found himself alone he started to crumble. His brain was acting like a locomotive rushing at maximum speed risking to go off the rail at any moment. Nerves gone acute and at the same time emotions gone blank.

He tried - God knows he did - to live on his own, to give way to his emotions, tried to find that different point of view, based on feelings, yet to no big avail. Every attempt ended at the start point, all theories were in contradiction with one another and ended up crumbled.

The only thing that helped in letting all go was alcohol.

Only having drunk a glass or two of bourbon he used to start looking at all what was happening differently. After half of bottle he used to start feeling.

He was feeling pure pain caused by disappearance of his most beloved person, his second half from his life. Of the girl, who somehow managed to make him falling for her so hard casting thousands of butterflies in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine when she laughed and making him completely numb when she cried. Mabel Pines, that one and only girl in the world for whom he was ready to jump off the cliff on a gigantic robot with nothing but his bare hands, for whom he was ready to endure any level of his own pain just to keep her safe and protect her. He’s never loved anybody as much as he loved her. And never will.

He was feeling anger. What did this smug douchebag know about Mabel? Was it him who lived with her for the whole life? What he can possibly give her? I don’t remember him breaking through Bill’s traps to set her free from that bubble prison. Not to say he wasn’t one who crawled through SWAT squad to clear Stan’s name. Heck, I bet he couldn’t even handle gnomes - probably would shit himself and bail with his tail tucked. And is he ready to cover her with his body in case something threatening her? Is he capable of doing anything that slick faggot from Wall Street?! Who is he to separate us?!

He was feeling fear. Mabel is alone out there. Where will you be when she needs you, huh? You saw what world could have in store twelve years ago. Do you think anything changed? Do you think that Bill won’t return? Or even if he won’t who said that he’s the only one? You’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, haven’t you?

On Tuesday that fear dimmed his eyes to almost unbearable level. What’s the matter? Why your hand with a lighter clenched in it shakes so hard?

Shut up…

On Wednesday he took an illness day off. He was feeling rather bad physically but that wasn’t the matter - he was just really scared to leave his flat. For the whole day he kept wandering within it - from his sister’s bedroom to the kitchen and back - rushing constantly to his computer typing request after request or scribbling some incomprehensible gibberish in his journal - the same that Mabel gave him as a birthday present. Yet another bottle was opened not long after lunch time, because he couldn’t bear that day staying sober.

The next day - on Thursday - in the early morning he woke up at pretty much the same spot he ended falling the night prior - behind the sofa in the living room. His face felt swelling, knees and elbows were harshly scratched at various places - perhaps he would find some furniture items at same poor condition. His journal was lying on the sofa, its first dozen pages or so covered with all kind of theory snippets or logical fact chains - anything he could come up with in order to keep his brain working consistently and not having it exploded. Some of his notes made no sense at all, others reeked with insanity. He had to keep working, had to grasp that tiny bits of his mind floating on the surface of the blindingly dark ocean consisting of repelling visions, predator’s muzzles and never ending sound of some woman crying.

Also there was one more thing swirling through that ocean - a phrase carelessly spoken by Zach on Saturday.

On Friday night the week before Mabel was bombarding her brother’s phone with invitations for him to come over to Turner’s and have a dinner together. He missed her beloved brother and probably was acknowledging the fact that in such conditions a modest family dinner was the only option for them to spend some quality time together instead of nights full of movie marathons and pizza. It’s what people do, don’t they? When they become adults…

But if Mabel was feeling a bit melancholic because of that blunt bogus of an activity, it came to no comparison with what Dipper might’ve felt that exact second he appeared at Zach’s door. He either would leave within an hour tops or get drunk as swine. So it was better not to come at all to prevent such bad consequences.

But having to turn his sister down over a phone for yet another time wasn’t any less painful. Hearing her voice changing from cheerful one to upset, because of whatever excuse he could come up with - working late, having an extra task, needing to stay up until late night home because of an important article he had to finish. Or hearing her playful teasings about him having a secret date with ladies and reminders to leave a tie on the knob which would make him laugh uncontrollably adding more more pain. He couldn’t stand it. That’s why he decided to take a decisive action.

He turned off his cell phone. And spent a long time sitting on a bench near to Brooklyn bridge with a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag, staring at his device’s black lifless screen as if trying to soak its void up.

Void and darkness. What are they? The absence of life, light, benignancy. Absence of everything - only vast and pure nothingness. Why can’t I adapt it? To feel nothing, to throw this piece of plastic into the river, to come home today, grab my bag and jump on the first flight to Oregon. Cut all ties with Mabel, simply disappear from her horizon. Wouldn’t that be better?

It sure would’ve been easier.

But the only response the phone’s screen could give the reflection of the autumn afternoon sky with glimpses of upcoming dusk rather than comply with Dipper’s inner desires. So only thing he was left with was whiskey again.

Its taste was already a rock solid number one in his rating of favorite tastes. In mixture with tobacco smoke. Nevertheless that blend taken in serious doses were casting an instant portal to the morning after.

And what it had in store were regrets and sorrowful thoughts about what he’d done and what a jackass of a brother he was. So the phone was turned on, Mabel’s number typed his thumb hovering over the green button was given an order to hold it back no more.

There was a beep. And then another. And another.

After 6 beeps Dipper started having second thoughts about how 9 pm on Saturday might’ve been not the best time for late apologies but then his phone slightly buzzed and he heard someone’s deep morning breathing on the other end.

“Hi, Mabes, I...um...” he started timidly trying to soften his hoarse hang over voice “About yesterday...I’m really sorry I couldn’t call you back...my battery died and I had to stay late so I walked home and hit the hay the moment I entered...”

He let out a clumsy chuckle scratching the back of his head.  

Telling lies, are we?

Shut up.

“So...yeah...I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday to your place...um...maybe will try the next Friday? Mabes?”

He heard a male voice giggling through the receiver that sent cold wave to his abdomen.

“Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t want to interrupt your monologue.”

Zach. That bastard…

“Oh...hey, Zach...” he wasn’t ready to stumble upon Zach in such condition. “Um...would you mind passing phone to Mabel?”

“I wish, bro, i wish” Dipper clenched his fist hard enough to make his knuckles go white “But Mrs. Turner is still watching whatever bright and pleasant dream she’s watching”

Was that scoffing? Mrs Turner? As if he won her and now showing it off. Fuck, as if he thinks he took my wife…

Wouldn’t be much of a fallacy, huh?

I told you to shut up.

He needed to somehow play it cool. Put aside his own twisted feelings and think of what’s better for Mabel - if she found out about his hostility towards her husband and linked it with his constant denials to come for dinner that would be really bad.

“Okay, ahem...” he cleared his throat before continuing “Can you maybe ask her to call me back when she’s awake then?”

“No problem at all. But, you know, I can tell her myself...”

“No no no, better if I tell her what I wanted to tell, thanks. Um...okay, b..”

“Oh, how things are going on your side, Mason? Haven’t heard from you for ages.”

Oh, son of a...why by name?

“Good, good. Yeah, so...”

“Heard you’ve got promoted. Got a position?”

“Well...um...not exactly, but...I’m working on it. Yeah, sorry for early ca...”

“And how’s the money? Do they pay you enough?”

Oh you impudent chuffed fuck.

Tell him.

“Enough for me, thanks. Well, okay I...”

“Look, we have a vacant position at stock exchange. Consultants are paid good and respected, so I thought maybe...”

“I’m not keen on idea of selling people something I don’t personally believe in, thank you.”

Shit, that was bad. Didn’t mean to sound so harshly.

He started it.

Shut up.

He heard Zach laughing on the other end. Damn, even insults are not working for him. He’s got his walls built solid.

“Why so determined? Believe me, after first salary when you start buying yourself some big men toys like cars you won’t say such immature things.”

Yeah, yeah. Teach me how to live my life, bitch.

“Well, if I were you I would think about it, Mason. I’d take it as an honor to help my family member.”

“Yeah, okay, cool. Um...” Come on, say something polite to end this “Have a nice day, Zach.”

“No it is? Okay, whatever you say. You’re a good man but you’re sometimes being silly, Pinetree.”

Dipper’s heart skipped a beat and he felt thunderstruck. All his muscles tightened. Given he was slouching, it seemed that his body’s fulcrum had shifted slightly above the rib cage.

“What did you call me?” asked Dipper his voice hardly above whispering.

“What? Old mocking nickname? Sorry, didn’t mean to...”

“What. Did. You. Call. Me?” repeated Dipper louder.

“Oh, c’mon, man. I’m sorry, for real, I...”

Can it be?..

I can’t see why not

No, that’s impossible. No, no..

Well, he told you she was sleeping, but do you trust him?

Mabel…

“Where is she?”

“Who? Mabel? Man, I told you she is leisuring...”

“Pass her the phone”

“Look, she’s really not ready to talk to anybody right now, you how she is. Man, like for real - I’m sorry if that upsets you, it wasn’t my inten...”

“Shut the fuck up, Zach!!!” Dipper growled, he could feel himself drowning in unimaginable paralyzing horor. “Where is my sister?!”

“Hey! Watch the language, pal!”

“Where is my sister?!”

“Piss off!”

“Where is Mabel?!!” Dipper broke into shouting. His breathing was heavy and ragged, he could feel his blood rushing to his head almost setting tips of his ears on fire. His face also grew unbearably hot.

“You know the address, you mental piece of human garbage!!! Come over and see where it leads you!!!”

His mind was rushing billion miles per hour. The boiler in his locomotive of a brain was about to blow up. Blood was pounding in his ears, he could literally feel his blood vessels filling up with pure adrenaline, he tasted metal in his mouth and there was something more with that taste. It was...was it?..

Wait, what does sulfur taste like?

He wasn’t listening to Zach’s shoutings on the other end of line anymore. He was paralyzed by that unaccountable fear. He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t move - every tiny little cell of his body wasn’t answering his commands. It was a trap, he knew that. A blurred burning trap with spurts of flame dancing before him, licking his calves sending anguishing sensations to his muscles and to his brain. There were lizard’s eyes with narrow pupils everywhere, he couldn’t see them, but he was feeling watched by them. He could feel their glares cutting him like it was a straight razor, he could feel cold fingers digging through his head, twining around his eyeballs. And there was a voice - a woman was shouting his name. It was familiar but nontheless it was demanding razor to push deeper and deeper! Cutting him in two, then in four, then…

Deeper!

Deeper!

“DIPPER!!!”

In a heartbeat he was back into Mabel’s room in their Brooklyn flat; her was dragged him out of that horrifying vision. He was kneeling before the bed, clenching bedcover with his right hand and his cellphone with his left. He was breathing through gritted teeth loudly and heavily.

What was real out of all that?..

The only thing - her voice. A concerned voice of Mabel still calling his name, in which he could hear that she was on the verge of breaking into tears. She was scared - perhaps he and Zach woke her up with their banter and scared her a lot. And his heavy breathing distorted by the transmitter apparently wasn’t helping at all.

Keep it together, Pines, keep it together! Shake off this nightmare and tell her that you’re safe, that you’re fine.

Are you, though?

Yes! I’m fine, I’m totally fine!

But what about B…

He’s dead!!! He’s long gone!!! Mabel’s safe, she’s not dragged away from me into another dimension! She’s here, she’s actually relatively close.

I need to catch my breath. Okay, one in and one out...here we go…

“Dipper, please! Say something! Say something to me!” he could practically see the first teardrop rolling down her tender rosy cheek. “Dipper, I’m begging you!”

“Mabes, I...” at least the voice is...yep, it’s mine “I...my battery...it died so I had to walk home and...”

“Bro-bro, what are talking about?”

“I was staying late...so s’why I couldn’t...couldn’t come to dinner...yeah...I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Dipper. Please tell me that.”

“Yeah, I am...Totally, Mabes, totally...”

“Are you sure?”

He gulped nervously listening to his unsteady breathing.

Telling lies again? Way to g…

“Yes, Mabel, everything’s well I swear” he tried to sound as calm as he could “I...s-sorry for waking you up.”

And he ended the call.

Splendid, my man.

Is that so hard to do? I said shut the fuck up. I need a drink.

***

On Friday he finally made it to work. Dressed in a black hoodie covered in stains of various food and sauces, worn out unwashed trousers of same color he was kind of a ghost to everyone else in the editorial office - no one would bother themselves waving him hello or even noticing him. He was sitting at his small desk in the open space surrounded by stacks of papers and office supplies. Obviously he forgot to take his laptop with him as well as his wallet. For some reason only valuable thing he had then was the most inappropriate one - his driver’s license, which was laying on the desk with his cellphone with already cracked screen.

Time was approaching lunch but food wasn’t even in top ten of his priorities. Frankly he could hardly remember when was the last time he actually consumed something apart from alcohol and cigarettes. Was it that morning? Or the morning before? And does a peanut butter and jelly toast count as food?

All that was in the background of his mind at that moment. The main screen of his mind was displaying various footage soaked with anxiety; each minute a bunch of viewers were collectively advising the main character on the white screen to take right turn or left or to head straight. And footages were constantly changing.

For the first time fear and pain started blending. Only one component was left…

“Pines!” a familiar voice called out for him. At least someone noticed his presence.

Paul Hempstead - the chief editor of essays department - was slowly approaching his desk, scanning through a stack of papers in his hands slowly.

“Good to see you again. Caught a bad cold?” he switched his attention from papers to his employee.

“My god” he gasped “What happened to your face?”

“I fell” Dipper said with colorless voice not even raising his eyes to look at editor.

“Right, you fell” as if taking a hint responded Paul “Okay, I won’t ask. I have a job for you. Are you going to lunch? I’ll explain while eating.”

“No, I’m not going” Dipper’s voice still wasn’t displaying any emotions.

Looking bewildered Paul stared at him as if thinking of whether or not he’s likely to ask any other questions about reasons. Dipper stayed motionless looking right before him into the void.

“Yeah, you’re right. Better right here” the editor fished a paper out of stack in his hands and laid it before Dipper. “A letter from a concerned mother. Her son’s getting oppressed by his scholl mates - he’s part of a certain subculture so his mother wants us to make it sound to the society. The letter is for gist, I wanted you to go there and find all the details. I assigned a photographer to them - he will be going on Monday. Your task is for today so we have our fresh essay on Tuesday. It’s in Huntington - you’ll be done in 3 or 4 hours.”

“Okay” followed a similarly lifeless answer.

Hempstead was expecting for something more verbose.

“Ho-o-ka-y” he slowly echoed stretching syllables “There are bus routes but car is easier. Works for you?”

He waved his hand at Dipper’s driving license.

“I don’t have a car”

“Oh. That’s wise, probably - such a big busy city...You can take a shared car. There’re lots of them on every corner. What do you say? Besides that way you’ll clear your evening.”

“I forgot my wallet home.”

Paul started losing hope.

“That’s a misfortune...Look, you can go to accountants and ask them for a prepayment. In fact...” He fished his wallet out of his trousers pocket and laid three 100 dollars bills before Dipper “Here, you’ll return on a payday. Just take your time to prepare, you know - go home, take a nap, change and all...”

Dipper lowered his eyes to look at the money and nodded slightly.

“Thank you Mr Hempstead” and added after second or two: “Can I go now?”

“For sure, Pines, for sure. Just don’t forget - deadline’s on Tuesday”

Not waiting for a response Paul rushed further down the aisle.

Dipper gave that money a look one more time, then grabbed it and his belongings from his desk and headed for exit.

When he was already at the door his phone buzzed. Even not looking at the screen he was already imagining her cute face, how she bit down her bottom lip waiting for him answer and twisting on of her locks.

This time he decided not to make the same mistake twice. He took his phone out of pocket, cleared his throat and tapped the green button.

***

He was standing naked and wet after taking a shower before the mirror in his bathroom examining his reflection. His cheeks started sinking, right cheekbone was bruised after he met wooden floor with it. He stopped caring about his hair long ago, there were scattered spots of messy stubble here and there. His shoulders were hunched even more than he remembered.

For the past two months Dipper got used to an idea that he wouldn’t see anything good in his reflection but every time it was really important to him to examine his appearance carefully. He still harboured some hope that eventually an alarm in his brain would break out he would start working on at least the simplest plan for recovery.

Not to say it wasn’t happening any time.

He was still feeling saturated after eating some fried eggs with bacon as soon as he came home from work. Even 6 hours of sleep he plunged into as soon as he laid down didn’t manage to drain that feeling but regained his somewhat mental and physical forces a bit.

He’s already failed Paul’s task, cause it was 9 in the evening and there’s no point to drive anywhere. That meant that he was in need to find some distraction to prevent his mind from once again spiralling down into anxiety and crimson blur.

Maybe I can use some fresh air. Like go to Central Park or cinema - anything but once again play ghost at the river’s embankment.

A vision appeared before his eyes - that one, that refused to go away for almost two months then. He was with her, hand in hand slowly moving across the park paths, he gently squeezes her hand, then lets it go only to hug her shoulders with it, she smiles, lays her head on his shoulder, their steps become slower, more relaxed…

Dipper downed a full glass of whiskey. The amber liquid started warming his chest, his stomach. It was such a false warmth that if he closed his eyes he could feel it as a light breeze, stuck between tree trunks in the heart of the park. He could feel it as her warm and gentle hands caressing his chest, so tiny and tender compared to sizes of her sweater…

Not exactly registering he downed another glass.

This is insane. You are! You can take her back, you can’t explain her anything! You can’t give her anything but your warmth!

Wouldn’t that be enough? Is there anybody who can give it to her?

No. NO!

No one can do that! No one will protect her but me!

Another glass downed.

Only I know her that much! Only I saw what this unfair world full of violences can do to her!

Another glass.

I fought demon for her! And I won! I saved my Mabel! My sweet, lovely Mabel.

Another.

What if he lives?

Impossible. He perished.

Yeah, but what if he survived?

He started drinking straight from the bottle.

What’s the matter? Are you scared? Oh, you should be. What were you thinking - you’ve jumped from that cliff once and that’s it? So you can sit around, having your time?

Shut up…

He knew there’s a car outside. And he’s got the keys. Also he knows what lies in his bottom drawer covered with kitchen blankets.

No, you shut up and listen. You abandoned her. Left her so that clown now can do whatever he wants. Do you know who he is? Have you spent a spare second studying what kind of man he is?

Shut up.

He tried to walk steadily and failed. A brass knuckles in his right pocket - a gift from Gruncle Stan - and bottle of whiskey in left hand weren’t helping in balancing at all. He got into a shared vehicle. If only he could start the engine…

Bravo! Just perfect, my boy! Guess what - you’ve got fooled! How hilarious is that?

Shut up.

He turned the engine but the impulse died instantly.

Our Big Master Dipper - a threat to all monsters and demons…

Shut up!

Another turn. And one more...Come on!

…a famous mysteries solver got fooled by some pathetic equilateral one-eyed…

SHUT UP!!!

PINETREE!!!

The engine roared coming to life. Dipper accelerated steering the car to the north-west away from the city - to a small countryside place in suburbs called New City.

[kee-writestrashh]

Guns for Hire

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

ao3

Summary:  You are the wife to the Heir of the Red Kings, Ramsay Bolton. living the undercover life of a mob wife has its perks, and you love your husband. But you find out something that seems to unfold a series of unwanted events…

Chapter 29: Leavin’ on a Jet Plane

"Do you have any idea how nice it is to wear fucking sweats and a tee and just lay the fuck in bed?" You yawned, stretching and curling up in a ball under the covers.

Kira simply scratched her ear, her collar and tags clinking noisily.

The morning had been slow, and very comfortable. Outside of bathroom breaks you hadn't been out of bed since Ramsay had left for work at seven.

Your phone vibrated from somewhere in the tangle of blankets and sheet.

You dug around until you found your phone under Ramsay's pillow.

[Rams: what are you doing?]

[you: laying in bed. you?]

[Rams: thinking about fucking you. send nudes.]

Your face warmed as you reread the message.

[You: I suppose I can do that. I need to get around anyways....]

You slid out of bed, stretching again, and stepping into the closet and pulling your most casual clothes free of their hooks.

Ripped jeans, grey tank, and a soft flannel. Ramsay liked to call the look "boot scootin boogie". Or when you paired it with your leather jacket he called it "Winchester Whore".

After sending a handful of pictures and going through your shower and make up routine it was almost time for you to meet with Whit and Jared.

You had given them the address to a hole in the wall BBQ joint in a less desirable part of town. But you figured it wouldn't be overwhelming or make you too noticeable. You knew how to blend in, comfortably.

You sat, waiting at a stoplight when you saw something that made your pulse quicken.

You immediately made a blind grab for your phone and dialing your husband.

'Yes, baby girl?' He said, almost bored like.

"Baby, I'm on my way to meet Whit and Jared, right? And I'm sitting here at the stoplight. I look over and two guys catch my eye. They're exchanging hushed whispers and firm handshake, kay? Then I look closely and it's Robb Stark and your father!" you said, the words tumbling over one another so quickly it all almost came out on one breath.

Ramsay said nothing, but you could hear his pen click furiously.

"Baby?"

'Yeah, yeah. What are you driving?'

"The 'Stang today." You said, glancing in the side view mirror. Both men were gone.

'Ping me your address and I will be there as soon as I can. Do not engage in anything without me. Do you understand?'

"Um, yes sir?" You said, unsure what he meant. Roose Bolton's peculiar behavior recently was too much for you to want to snoop into. You were already walking on egg shells, and apparently your second strike.

Ramsay hung up without another word and continued your way to lunch. You parked next to a jacked up truck, that was dirty and caked in mud. It didn't scream 'city boy wanna be country'. So it could only be Jared's truck.

You sent Ramsay the address and stepped out of the car.

Whit and Jared were leaning against restaurant wall, smoking and both smiled warmly when you approached. You couldn't help but grin at Jared in his damn cowboy hat, and Whit in her flashy square toed boots.

"Truck could do with a hose down." You chuckled, hugging them both.

"What's the point? With all the snow melting and refreezing, no amount of washing will make a difference until summer." Jared shrugged, flicking his cigarette away from him and opening the door for you and Whit, taking his hat off.

Walking in was like stepping through a portal to home. Smoke, beer, the smell of frying foods... it was... heaven.

"Sit anywhere and your waiter will be with you shortly." A woman said, clearing the table closest to you.

You chose a booth by the window, where you could keep an eye on the door and everything else around you.

A young man set menus down in front of you and set down the cutlery.

"Drinks?" He said when he had finished.

"Sweet teas all around." You said, immersed in the menu.

"You guys. They have fried catfish! And cornbread!" You almost squealed, looking up from the menu.

Whit raised her brows at you, "You don't eat cornbread anymore?"

You shrugged, "I just haven't bought the shit to make it. Burgers, tacos, and pizza is about as far as Rams goes in clogged arteries."

"City folks. They're a strange lot." Jared said, nodding wisely.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "So, how are you guys? I mean... y'all have been together since junior year, work as a team, have a beautiful little girl..."

Whit laughed, "Oh ya know. Cattle prods work real well. We are just the same as when you left. Just older now. It's you who has the most change. Tell me about this child your mother won't quit bragging about."

You shrugged, "not much to say yet. Just turned fourteen weeks. We find out the gender on February twenty-first. Which is part of the reason I asked y'all here. We have a lot of work to do before then and quickly running out if time."

Both your friends stiffened slightly, showing you had their full attention and confidence.

"What's up?" Jared asked, leaning forward slightly.

You made to open your mouth when Whit shook her head, looking past you as the waiter came back with your drinks and to take your orders.

You waited a few moments after he left before finally speaking.

"My husband's life is in danger and it all hangs on to what the little one inside of me is. I have six weeks to set up a safe plan and find a way to keep my husband alive." You said quietly.

Whit chewed her lip and Jared watched you closely.

"We will do what we can. He's your family, which makes him just as much ours. Just say the word and we will make it happen." Jared said with a stiff nod.

A surge of deep gratitude flooded you as you looked at the two people in front of you. You knew the words were sincere and they would do anything they could for you.

You gave a sniff and smiled, "but those details will be worked out at a later time. I came here to enjoy lunch with my two best friends. There is plenty of time later to talk about that. But, first order of business. I need y'all to find someone to help dad keep up the farm. He's having surgery soon. Putting in a pacemaker. And he won't be able to get around for awhile. Said person will be paid well. I've made sure of that."

"Too easy. Sure there are a couple of Ag kids who'd love to help." Whit said. "Take it the old man is okay?"

"More or less. Pissed he's getting old. And y'all know mom. Fussing over him like a newborn calf." You said, sipping your drink.

"How she keeps up with him I will never know." Whit laughed.

Her words made you realize just how much like your mother you were.

Dad had always been wild and in trouble one way or another. No, not with the law, but usually physically injured. Smashed his hand working on a tractor. Wrapped up in fencing. Kicked by a horse, more times than you could even count anymore. He was a big book of cataloged accidents.

And then there was Mom. Patient and headstrong, and so very quick tempered. She kept your father together and alive, more often than not. She was firm, and yet the most loving person you had ever known. She was the true foundation of your crazy family. And she made it look so easy. How she managed to pull off Thanksgiving dinner and get your father to the ER after a hunting accident when you were 13, you never knew.

Maybe you took a bit more after your father's recklessness, but you had your mother's spine, and quick temper.

You grinned to yourself, "oh! Before I forget! Guess who's living here now?"

Jared and Whit both raised their brows, waiting for your answer.

"E! Little shit gets a PCS here, and doesn't tell anyone until he fucking shows up. Rams and I took him out last night. And I tell you what... He's not a boy anymore."

"And what did we do?" Ramsay spoke up, sliding into the booth beside you and running his eyes over the restaurant.

"Took the brother out lastnight." You said, with a smile, as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

"Had a blast. Damon made sure they got back safely. Apparently not as lightweight as we thought." Ramsay said, eyeing your food as it was set in front of you. "The fuck is that?"

You looked from food to husband and laughed.

"Cornbread, a hushpuppy, fries, and fried catfish."

Ramsay pulled a face of disgust.

"Try it. I promise there is nothing better than a good fried catfish basket." You urged, pulling a piece of fish from its fillet and holding it out to your husband.

"You do know I'm allergic to seafood, right?" He said, giving you a cold look.

You knitted your brows, "Are you really?"

"Keys." He said, taking the food from you.

"Huh?" You said watching him place the catfish in his mouth.

He reached over you, snatched up your keys and stood up.

"Ride home with them. Take the back way. I'll meet you at home."

He looked down at you, swiped more fish from your basket and walked off.

"Wait! You seriously aren't allergic to fish are you?!" You called.

He turned to you with his trademark smirk, "guess you'll just have to find out. Love you baby doll."

"I... I love you too." You said, watching him leave.

You looked at Whit and Jared.

"Nah. He's not." Jared said, with a chuckle, tearing into his plate of ribs.

It took so much longer to get home when you had to basically skirt the damn city.

"I have two dogs. Kira and Willow. They look mean, but I promise they are pussies." You said, walking up the stairs and hoping Ramsay was home since he had your keys.

You turned the knob. At least he was nice enough to remember to leave the door open for you as you walked inside.

"So you're a liar." You said, raising your brow.

Ramsay laughed, looking up from his laptop and giving you a wink.

"The best there is."

You rolled your eyes and sat on the couch, nodding at the sofa across from you. Whit and Jared both sat. Whit almost lost it when Kira and Willow came to be nosey.

"Oh my god! They are so pretty!" She said excitedly, sliding from the couch to her knees to rub all over them.

Whit was a dog fanatic. You were sure she would have 500 if Jared let her.

Ramsay crossed the room and disappeared down the hall. No one spoke until he came back and dropped a file folder on the coffee table.

"You two are now employed with a local coffee shop. You bring in coffee bean shipments via air." Ramsay said as Jared pulled the folder open and thumb through the papers.

"You looked us up? And my alias is Johnny Reb?" Jared asked, raising a brow.

"Just a minor background check. Your boots gave me the impression you listen to Johnny Horton, Honky Tonk Man." Ramsay shrugged, leaning back into his seat, resting his hand on your thigh and lighting a cigarette.

"You're a funny dude." Jared laughed, "and look, I get to travel with Percilla."

"So, what exactly are we doing? I mean, this is...?" Whit said, looking up from the dogs, at a loss for words.

"I told you, you're running coffee beans." Your husband shrugged.

Jared snorted, pulling his passport from the folder and examining it.

"But really. Need to be on the same page, babe." You spoke up.

"Okay, listen, and listen good. Because I'm only saying it once. In a few days you will get an address to an airstrip. Once a week you will fly to this strip and cargo will be loaded. Everything will already be packaged and sealed in the beans. If you don't lose your heads no one will ever be the wiser. After picking up the shipments you will deliver it to the designated area here in the city. After that you're free to go. The goods will be taken care of upon arrival. Simple enough."

"Right. Simple enough. And should something go wrong?" Whit asked, now taking her turn to look through the folder. "Oh! That reminds me..." she dug through her bag, pulling out a file folder a sliding it across the table, "Sharon got what you asked for."

"If something goes wrong, you will be taken care of. You are under my services, and I protect those that work for me. Nothing bad will happen as long as you don't let it happen." Ramsay shrugged.

You opened the folder, looking at all the vacant and foreclosed properties.

"Wow, so many places just left to rot." You murmured, looking up at Jared and Whit.

"Our town is dying. Cost of livin' is too high for the old folks, and young kids out of high school." Jared said giving you a sad smile.

"I'm buying it all." You declared, giving your husband a look and handing him the folder, "I'll let you do the buying and scheming. But we are buying it all. Build some businesses or something. Maybe build a safe house."

×××

"I'm starving." You whined, flipping through the pages of the outdated magazine.

"Shut up. You just ate like an hour ago." Ramsay tutted, staring at the ceiling.

"They need to hurry up. I have to pee." You groaned, fidgeting in your seat.

"What do I need to do to make you quit the insufferable bitching?" He hissed.

"Tell me what my surprise is." You said slyly.

Ramsay clucked in annoyance, "No. And if you don't quit asking I will do it all on my own. You're only getting the surprise because I love you."

"Fine." You huffed, pouting at him.

When your name was called you almost jumped up, ready to have all your vitals taken so they could give you the damn cup so you could finally empty your bladder that seemed to have shrunk to the size of a kitten's.

When the doctor entered you were slightly taken aback it wasn't Doctor Cat. But then you remembered... Ned Stark was her husband. And her eldest daughter was still missing. Poor woman. You really liked her.

"I'm Doctor Mordane. I'm filling in for Doctor Stark until she gets back." The old woman said with a sad smile.

"How is she?" You asked, sitting on the edge of the examination bed. Ramsay tutted from his chair. You gave him a dirty look.

"Pretty rough. But she's a strong woman. Anyways, looking at your file here I see you are almost fifteen weeks along. Weight is good. Everything else checks out good. Any complaints or concerns?"

You shook your head, "No ma'am. I seem to be adjusting just fine."

The woman smiled, "good good. Keep taking your vitamins. We will take a quick listen to the heartbeat and you're free to go."

Hearing the tiny heartbeat made your chest tight. Every single time. This time you didn't even bother to try and hold back the tear that escaped you.

"Surprise time?" You asked, smiling at your husband as he closed your door.

"Sort of." He smirked.

"What does that even mean?" You huffed, crossing your arms.

Ramsay said no more until he parked the car in the parking garage of the airport.

"What are we doing?" You asked, following in his wake.

Again he said nothing. You asked no more questions until you stood outside the doors of the airport.

There stood Damon. He exchanged two bags for Ramsay's keys.

"Before you say anything, I know. Scratch her you'll flay me." Damon chuckled, pocketing the keys. "Have fun. See you when you get back." He gave you both a nod and left.

Ramsay took your hand and led you inside. He exchanged a few words and some cash with a TSA man and both of you were boarding a plane a few short minutes later.

"Rams, where are we going?"

"Hush. Take a nap. It will be awhile." He said, stowing the two bags away and taking his seat beside you.

"If I blow you on this plane will you tell me?" You asked, flashing a mischievous grin.

"Nah. But you're gunna blow me anyways." He smirked.

"I will not." You said, crossing your arms and looking away from him.

"I will choke you out and make you sleep the whole damn ride if you don't quit, little pet." He said very quietly.

"What's wrong? Why are you so damn irritable today?" You said, giving him a soft look.

"I don't like flying." He replied shortly.

You suppressed a snort but were unable to to keep the words from falling from your mouth, "You're afraid!"

He took a deep breath and forced a smile, "No. I didn't say I'm afraid of flying. I said I didn't fucking like it."

"Mhm. Right. Completely different. What was I thinking?" You said with a sly grin.

"Do you have any idea how easy it would be to snap your fucking neck and make it look like you're sleeping until I get off this damn plane?" He hissed exasperatedly, struggling with himself to remain calm.

"Probably pretty easy. But I'd be rather boring company dead." You winked, resting your hand on his thigh and giving a tight squeeze.

He gave you a very long look, gave a smirk, and placed his hand in your inner thigh.

"Why are we like... economy class?" You asked, glancing around at the people filling the seats around you.

Ramsay shrugged, "Why not?"

You played with Ramsay's hand, absentmindedly, as the plane prepared for flight.

You watched Ramsay closely. If he really was afraid of flying, he hid it very well.

"Nonstop?" You asked, looking out the window at the tiny square patches of earth bellow you.

"Nonstop." He replied, glancing at you.

You pulled your phone out of your purse, "wanna play a game?"

"No."

You tutted, "Yes you do. You love games."

"I like games that I win. Games that cause other people to beg and die." He said simply, as if it settled the matter.

"Well I like games that let me get to really know you. So, I'm going to ask questions and you're going to answer."

He groaned, "not this again."

"Every time you don't answer or skip the question you will be punished." You said, squeezing his thigh again.

"Does it result with my dick in your mouth?" He whispered.

You shrugged, "maybe, if you're a good boy. Question one, if you could have a theme song, what would it be?"

He stared at the back of the chair in front of him, chewing his lip, "I don't know."

You dug your nails into his leg.

"Thriller or something." He hissed.

You released him and gave a laugh. "Thriller? Like MJ Thriller?"

"Yeah. Why not? It's catchy." He shrugged, taking his jacket off.

"I can't even take you seriously anymore." You giggled, leaning over to kiss him.

"Well that's a bad move on you, baby girl. I'm to be taken very seriously." He smirked against your lips as he took your face in his hands.

"Or maybe you just put on a mean face and deep down you're good as gold. Just have a rather pushy demon in there."

He snorted and pulled away from you, "going to perform an exorcism?"

"Mm, no. I think I'm in love with the devil."  You said airily, with a sigh.

"Show me how much you love me then." He countered with his wicked grin.

"I have a devil spawn growing inside of me, is that not love enough?" You winked, unfastening your seatbelt and pushing your body into his as you slid past him.

You gave him a mischievous grin, walking rather suggestively down the aisle.

Wow, plane bathrooms were tiny. This was not going to be comfortable. At least you weren't super pregnant fat yet.

You only had to wait a moment before Ramsay was climbing in the tiny room with you.

"I don't know if this will work." You whispered.

"Make it." He said, leaning back against the wall.

You glanced around, set the toilet seat down, and grabbed his hips, pulling him into you.

"Make it quick?" You asked, unbuckling his belt and sliding his button from its hole.

"That all depends on you, baby girl." He said helping you pushing his pants down.

"You know, you are the worst influence I have ever come to know." You said, resting your forehead against his warm stomach.

"Maybe you're the bad influence on me." He chuckled, gripping your hair tightly.

You licked your lips and took him in your mouth, letting his guide you.

You dug your nails into his legs as warm desire built inside of you. But there was no returning the favor in this damn bathroom.

You ran your tongue along him, tasting him as his grip in your hair tightened and he ran his other hand over your chest, grabbing at your skin.

His breathing became shallow as you lightly drug your teeth along him, swirling your tongue over his tip.

He made a small noise in the back of his throat, grabbing at you harder as he filled your mouth.

You slowly sucked him, feeling him throb against your tongue.

You swallowed and pulled away from him completely.

"Well that was quick." You laughed.

"Eh, thrill of getting a blow job at fifty thousand feet." He chuckled, fixing his pants and opening the door.

He grabbed your hand and led you back to your seat.

×××

You held Ramsay's hand tight as he pulled you along through the airport. You could see the sun a brilliant red as it sank lower over the horizon.

Ramsay stopped at a counter and hand a man behind it two passports. He glanced them over and then eyed you both.

"Welcome. What brings such a lovely couple to our beautiful country?" The man said in very rough, choppy English.

"Drugs." Ramsay replied with a small shrug and his most charming smile.

You gave a wide eyed side long look your husband and wanted to vanish as you felt your cheeks burn.

Did he seriously just fucking say that?!

The man cracked a grin and let out a loud laugh after a few tense moments, "You señor are very funny man. Enjoy your vacation."  He handed the passports back to Ramsay who slipped them in his back pocket and tugged you along again.

"I can't believe you!" You cried in a small strangled voice.

Ramsay stopped abruptly, placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you to the highly polished, darkening window.

"Look at us and tell me what you see?"

You Looked at your reflections and sighed, "I see a husband and wife on vacation."

"Exactly, baby girl. As far as anyone knows we are taking a late winter vacation to escape the cold. We're here to sip mojitos, soak up the sun, and eat avocados, or whatever." He said, gripping your hand tightly and pulling you along.

"Eat avocados." You snorted with a giggle as you stepped out of the airport.

The warm breeze melting you into a bliss. Warm evenings. God, how you missed the warm weather.

"Journey okay?" Oberyn Martell asked, sidling up to you and Ramsay.

You were shocked only a moment. It all made sense now. You were here so the deal with the Martell's could be finished and sealed.

"Long." Ramsay said, sounding rather weary as Oberyn lead the way to a limo.

Ramsay helped you climb in, took his seat beside you, and pulled you as close as possible as Oberyn situated himself.

"The girls are most excited to take you shopping, (y/n)." Oberyn smiled, offering Ramsay a drink, who eagerly accepted. "Your room has been accommodated and food prepared. We will get down to business tomorrow after you both have rested."

"Food sounds wonderful." You sighed, resting your head on Ramsay's shoulder and closing your eyes briefly.

Or you thought it to have been brief. Next thing you knew Ramsay nudging you to wake up.

You sat up and were taken aback by the beautiful white stone mansion and it's many elegant balconies overlooking the white sand beach and crystal clear ocean.

It was probably the most beautiful thing you had ever seen, apart from last trip you had taken with Ramsay to a warm cabin surrounded by large aspens and evergreens in the shadows of the harsh, unforgiving snow covered mountains.

Tyene rushed you as you climed out of the limo behind Ramsay.

You hugged her back tightly.

"I am so glad you both came!" She smiled, looping her arm around yours and leading you inside.

"This place is absolutely beautiful." You exclaimed, taking in everything from the marble floors to shimmering crystal chandeliers, and the elegant imported rugs.

Tyene smiled brightly, "my uncle likes to be extra."

"Well, at least he has good taste?" You laughed, climbing the spiral staircase.

Tyene stopped in front of a door and stepped aside so you could enter.

"One of the best views in the house. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Rest easy, (y/n). Tomorrow I am taking you to town. You will love it!" Tyene said, leaving you alone in the lavish room.

So much better than any high end, five star hotel resort. You thought, taking everything in and realizing Ramsay wasn't with you.

You frowned slightly, but the table laden with food caught your very hungry attention. You sat at the table and pulled the nearest dish towards you. You had no idea what to call it, as it was sweet, and spicy, and salty, and definitely meat... but whatever it was it was damn good.

A warm, night breeze blew in from the open balcony door and the sound of the ocean made you drowsy.

Ramsay entered the room a shirt while later after you had already stripped you clothing and climbed into the soft sheets.

"You good?" You asked, peeking over the top of the blanket at him.

His face softened slightly as he turned his gaze to you, "of course."

You pushed back into the plush bed, falling asleep almost at once.

[sometimesambroswrites]

okay i just had to use google translate to understand what you wrote about ermal and fabrizio and i must say (even from the inaccuracy of google translate) that it’s so beautiful?? the concept of ermal looking after anita and libero (or at least trying to) is so pure. i’d just hope if that actually happens one day, anita doesn’t use anything containing nickel on ermal 😂💛

Aaaaaaa anon, thank you so much!Also, I’m going to translate it for you and just in case anyone else wants to read it :3 (I always forget that non-Italian people are in the fandom and I’m so excited that they are because Ermal and Fabrizio deserve to be known; plus, like, thank you so much for taking the time to translate it and then telling me, I appreciate it so so much!)It won’t be an exact translation because *Ermal voice* to translate is to betray, but, yeah (sorry if the translation is a bit wonky but I found it unexpectedly hard to translate that kind of concept thing in English)

okay so, with our groupchat we were talking about Ermal’s hair and obviously we ended up talking about MetaMoro, so here we go

Ermal is staying at Fabrizio’s house and he ends up babysitting Anita and Libero because, I don’t know, Fabrizio has to leave the house because there are some issues with the post-production of one of his songs or something so he has to go out and he’s pissed because a) this was supposed to be his free day and he was supposed to spend it with his children and b) why are people annoying him

and Ermail is T E R R I F I E D because he’s never been left alone with the children and, okay, Fabrizio pretty much lets them do whatever they want because they are good kids, but Fabrizio is also one of those men who’s just a natural at being a father

but he can’t tell Fabrizio because he’s already kind of pissed

so Fabrizio leaves and Ermal tries not to panic

(he probably calls Marco at a certain point)

but Libero is drawing pretty calmly at the table in the dining room and Anita tugs on Ermal’s jeans

turns out, Anita wants to be a musician, an astronaut and a hairdresser

And I can’t braid dad’s hair, he doesn’t have that many

(Ermal writes that one down to use later)

So Ermal sits on the floor and Anita sits on the couch

(Ermal still has to bend his head a little bit forward)

But he has too many curls so Anita has to use hairpins

she has some from a cartoon Ermal has never heard of so they spend the next hour talking about it as she keeps braiding (messing with) his hair

Libero is still drawing

Anita finishes braiding his hair (she says done all proud) and Ermal touches his head trying to figure out what’s going on and he’s confused but he’s smiling like an idiot

Fabrizio texts him that he won’t make it for dinner so Ermal pops some frozen pizza in the oven

he can’t cook, okay

Libero gives him his drawing 

(It’s all of them. And by all of them - Fabrizio, Ermal, Libero and Anita. Ermal’s hair is twisted up in some braids.)

Ermal needs to go to the bathroom to try and recompose himself

he sees himself in the mirror and he laughs looking at the ceiling as he wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand and he starts taking out all the hairpins and the hair tie because he can feel a headache coming up

too many things happened okay

He knows there’s no way the children will fall asleep while Fabrizio is not there so he lets them pile on him on the couch and they fall asleep while they’re watching TV

soft clinking of the keys against the door

the door opens

Fabrizio looks around for a moment, confused and exhausted

he stops when he sees them on the couch

(he stops as in everything stops, his whole life just stops and stares for a moment)

And then he smiles

he tiptoes closer without making a noise

(and, okay, Ermal wasn’t exactly traumatized but he was still fucking terrified, so he looks at him like he hasn’t seen him in forever)

And Fabrizio sits next to him, on the other side, where his arm isn’t buried by children

He looks at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in this world and then he does that thing he always does when he’s looking at him, he looks at his face like he’s learning him by heart time and time again

and then Ermal can see he’s about to burst into laughter and Fabrizio has to bury his head in his shoulder so that all that come out are shaky breaths as he tries not to make a noise

and Ermal just goes what and Fabrizio reaches out with his hand, unclips a hairpin from his hair where he’d missed it

they both end up laughing with their shoulders shaking as they keep shushing each other