#Guess who else let out a cackle at the corny joke because it was to be expected but also was kinda unexpected?

[sharky857]

I didn't expect him to flippin' chuckle to a lameass, corny joke ahhhhhhh!

[you-can-call-me-wanda]

Oblivious

Pairing: Nasty Suicide x Reader (Requested)

Author’s Note: I kinda really like this one so I hope you do too!

Nasty stood in front of the dingy mirror in the backstage dressing room, running his fingers through is somewhat dirty locks of hair. Hanoi Rocks was set to take the stage in about a half an hour, so he and the rest of the band were currently preening and prepping for the show.

Andy and Michael were the only other two in the dressing room with Nasty. They too were busy adjusting scarves and jewelry and teasing their hair.

“Hey Nasse,” Andy called from across the tiny room, not bothering to turn his gaze away from his own reflection, “Did you hear (Y/N)’s coming tonight?”

Nasty dropped his hands from his head and turned to face Andy’s form. He frowned and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“No, why?” he asked.

Andy and Michael both looked away from what they were doing to share a smirk with the other. Nasty got the feeling they were up to something and did not like it one bit.

“What?” he pressed, now that both the other men were fully facing him with their stupid little smiles. “What is it?”

“Oh nothing,” Andy said, feigning innocence. “I just thought you’d like to know.” With that, he turned back to the mirror and began messing with the buttons of his blouse.

Now Nasty was even more confused. He turned to Michael who always seemed more reasonable than Andy in these types of situations.

“Mike,” Nasty practically whined, “why is it so important that (Y/N)’s coming to our show?”

Michael must have felt some pity for the boy because he did supply a little bit more of an answer to his question than Andy had.

“It’s really not that important,” Mike said with a sympathetic smile. “We just thought maybe you’d want to know.”

“But why?” Nasty asked again, beginning to grow frustrated with all the secretive looks his mates were sharing and their avoidance of answering the question. “Just tell me,” he demanded, crossing his arms and setting his friends with a firm look.

“Oh my god,” Andy groaned. “It’s like everyone knows but you. I swear you and (Y/N) are the two most oblivious people I know.”

Nasty opened his mouth to ask even more questions, but Michael beat him to speaking.

“Look Nasty, we love you man, but are you really that daft? You and (Y/N) totally have the hots for each other,” Mike said whilst fixing Nasty with an exasperated look and turned away from his friend to reapply his lipstick.

Nasty, meanwhile, was having a mini aneurism. Him and (Y/N)? What? No, they were just friends. It wasn’t like that. Or was it? Suddenly, he was thinking back to all the times you and he had spent together. All those nights when you had come back to the house after a gig and stayed up with him and the guys all night. Those times where the two of you had gotten bored after everyone had gone to sleep or passed out and had gone out and rode the underground for hours, just talking and laughing. You hadn’t needed anything more than each other’s company. He thought back to the nights where the two of you got completely shit-faced after a night at the pub and danced and sang at the top of your lungs in the London streets until the neighbors threatened to call the cops. He remembered the night you came to him crying after your landlord had kicked you out. How he’d let you spend the night in his room with him. He remembered thinking how beautiful you looked, even when you were sleeping and hogging all the covers. He thought about all the hugs you had shared, all the smiles you had gifted him, and all the corny jokes you’d made him laugh with.

Oh shit. He was in love with you.

“Oh shit.”

Michael and Andy both broke out into cackling laughter at Nasty’s expense. The poor boy looked like he had come to the biggest realization of his life.

“You really didn’t know?” Andy asked through fits of laughter. “Everyone else did.”

If it was possible, Nasty’s eyes grew even wider. “What do you mean everyone else did? Does (Y/N) know?” he asked, panicking at the idea of you having realized he had feelings for you before even he did.

“Well,” Michael said, “everyone but (Y/N) knows.”

Nasty let out a small sigh of relief. Nervously, he reached up to tug at his hair. “What do I do now?” he asked his friends. “Should I say something? What if (Y/N) doesn’t like me back?” He was now stressing over how he was going to keep his cool when he saw you tonight.

Andy barked out another laugh and clapped Nasty on the shoulder. “Relax mate, (Y/N) likes you too.”

“They do?”

“Oh my god, that’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” Michael said, resisting the urge to facepalm. “I think the two of you should talk after the show, get this all sorted out, because if this nonsense keeps going on for any much longer the rest of us are going to lose are minds.”

“Nonsense?” Nasty asked, but at this point in the conversation his mind was focused on a million different things. He liked (Y/N). (Y/N) liked him. Everyone knew. It was a lot for him to process in less than ten minutes.

“You two keep dancing around each other and the way you feel and it’s making me sick,” Andy responded. “So we’re gonna go play our show and afterwards when you see (Y/N), you are confessing your feelings,” Andy said. Nasty almost felt like he was being scolded.

“But-”

“Or I’m telling (Y/N) how you feel,” Andy threatened. “Now let’s go. It’s almost time for us to take the stage.”

 The show went by in a haze for Nasty. He played fine, but his mind was entirely elsewhere. How was he supposed to confess his feelings for you, especially when he just realized them himself? He was so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely recognized that their set had ended. It wasn’t until Sami began nudging him offstage did he realize it was over.

He knew you would be backstage waiting for him and the rest of the band. You always were when you attended one of their gigs. The six of you would leave the venue shortly after and typically hit up a pub or two afterwards.

Nasty made a beeline for the dressing room the second he stepped foot off the stage. He didn’t lift his head up and look around for you. No, he was too terrified that he’d catch your eye and have to go over and talk to you. He wasn’t ready! All that time spent thinking on stage and he still had no idea how to tell you how he felt.

Looking in the mirror, he tried to hype himself up.

It’s just (Y/N). You’ve been friends for years. You can do this.

Nasty decided to change clothes before he went to speak with you. Not only because the hot lights of the stage had made him all sweaty and uncomfortable, but because he wanted to look a little more presentable for when he saw you.

He always brought a spare shirt with him to gigs since he normally sweated through his stage clothes. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some random t shirt thrown into his bag. Now, he was wishing he had thought out what he had brought a little more carefully. There was nothing inherently wrong with the spare shirt he had brought, it just didn’t do him any favors. What was once a plain black t shirt was now a thin, faded grey shirt with various stains of unknown origin on it. Not to mention, it was a size or two too small for him.

Not really having any other choice, he threw the shirt on and examined his reflection in the mirror. He looked like he normally would when he saw you, a little sweaty, hair all tangled up, mismatched clothes and accessories thrown on. How could Andy possibly think that you would like him back? You always looked so good, so effortlessly cool and he, well he looked like a sewer rat.

A knock at the door jolted him out of his pity party.

“Come in!” he called out, assuming it was just one of his bandmates checking to make sure he wasn’t naked before barging in.

To his surprise though, it was you who opened the door to the dressing room. At the sight of your face, Nasty swallowed thickly with nerves.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling easily, “Andy told me I could find you in here.”

“Oh,” Nasty said, trying to muster up any coherent sentence to say to you. “Oh,” he said again. He cursed himself internally for not being able to come up with anything smooth or witty.

You didn’t seem to take any notice though. Instead, you hopped up onto the table sitting in the corner of the room and took a seat.

“Andy said you wanted to talk to me,” you said, tilting your head to the side and examining the man in front of you. Nasty seemed on edge, which was unusual for him. He was normally so carefree, the life of the party. He had even appeared to be a little nervous on stage too.

“He did?” Nasty asked, not meeting your eyes. His gaze focused on your feet instead, swinging back and forth as they hung off the edge of the table.

“Yeah,” you answered, perplexed by his shy behavior. “Is something wrong? You seem off,” you pointed out.

Finally, he lifted his head to meet your worried eyes. “Um, yeah, everything’s fine,” he stammered. “I just, um, well.”

“Just what?” you urged gently. Whatever it was that was bothering your friend, you wanted to be there to help him out with it.

Nasty cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “(Y/N), I um, well, I really like you. You’re one of my best friends.”

“I really like you too dumbass,” you said with a chuckle. “That’s what you had to tell me?”

In this moment, Nasty knew he had two options. He could agree with you, laugh it off, and pretend he had nothing more to say. He could do that, or he could continue. He could tell you how he really felt. He could take the risk of losing you or making things awkward by confessing his love. He thought back to Michael assuring him that you felt the same way and Andy threatening to tell you the truth if Nasty wouldn’t. He decided to take the risk.

“Well no. That’s not all,” he said.

Nasty’s voice got all quiet and serious. You had never really seen him like this before. You straightened your back and strained to listen to what he had to say.

“I don’t know how I didn’t realize it before. I guess I just never took a step back and looked at things,” he said, biting his lip. “I guess it’s been fairly obvious to other people though,” he said, huffing out a small laugh. “I think I’m in love with you (Y/N). I want to be more than just best friends with you.”

It was silent after his confession. All you could do was stare at him. His words were still ringing in your head. Nasty loved you? Nasty wanted to be more than just friends?

Nasty took your surprised expression as a bad sign. Clearly, you hadn’t seen this coming and were trying to process what he had just revealed to you. Clearly, you didn’t feel the same.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed the lump forming in the back of his throat and continued to apologize. “I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I’m so sorry (Y/N). Andy and Mike, they tried to tell me it was a good idea to let you know, but I shouldn’t have listened to them. God, I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

His apologies shook you out of your state of shock. You hurriedly hopped off the table you were sitting on and rushed to the rambling boy who was now looking very distraught.

“No, no, Nasty, don’t apologize!” you said, grabbing onto his upper arms. “It’s okay, nothing’s ruined.”

“How is it not ruined?” Nasty said in a much louder voice now. He was obviously getting very worked up and upset. “How can we go back to being friends after what I just said?”

You soothingly ran your hands up and down his arms, trying to calm him. “I thought you said you wanted to be more than just friends?” you asked lightly, giving his biceps a gentle squeeze.

“What?”

“I thought you wanted to be more than friends. So why does it matter if things can’t go back to the way they were before?”

Nasty looked deep into your eyes, searching for any form of deception. “What are you trying to say?” he asked.

“I’m trying to say that I think I love you too,” you said, moving your hands up to caress along his jawline. “I’m trying to say that I feel the same way.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” you mocked.

“So, it would be okay if I kissed you?” he asked, looking down longingly at your lips.

“Please.”

[bqstqnbruin]

Two times you knew where you were going and one time you didn’t

So that Matthew fic turned into a Matthew Tkachuk one (thanks @hockeyfutbolkpopyeah​ !). It just didn’t fit with Gryz when I started writing it, but I have a Gryz reqeuest it’s just 3:30 in the morning and I’m teaching in less than 7 hours so I should probably be going to sleep if I want to teach them the correct stuff. This is longish though, I hope you like it!

_____________________________________

“We need to plan a vacation. I’m tired of being stuck inside with nothing to do.” You throw your book that you’ve been staring blankly at to the other side of the room, it sliding across the floor before hitting the wall. “You’ve been going on trips all year while I’ve been here, working, like a boring normal person.” Your boyfriend, Matthew, was in the kitchen, not even thirty feet away, making you dinner while you were ninety percent sure he either wasn’t listening to you, or couldn’t hear you. “Can we take a road trip? Like, go all cliche college girls with the snacks, the playlists, the Airbnbs around the country?”

“Well,” he puts down the knife from whatever he was chopping up, “Where do you want to go?” 

“I don’t know” you shrug, walking to the kitchen. He turns to you, putting his hand on his hip, one eyebrow raised, giving you a look that says, ‘really?’ “You look ridiculous with your hand on your hip.” You can’t help but laugh as you try to move his hand off.

He snaps it away, a smile growing on his face as a laugh leaves his lips. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the one who brought it up.” 

“Oooh!” you say, draping your arms around on his shoulders while he pulls you in by the waist, “I saw this thing on Pinterest where -”

“No, not Pinterest.” Matthew groans.

“Yes, Pinterest, shut up,” you snap. You were female who loved aesthetic, how could you not be on Pinterest all the time? “But I saw this couple was trying to decide on their next vacation destination, kind of like you and me, and they got this map and threw a dart at it, and they just went where the dart landed.” 

He stares at you for a moment, brow scrunched as he’s thinking. Either that or he’s questioning what other crazy ideas you can think of and why he’s with you in the first place. He’s said stuff like that before, sarcastically, of course, so you wouldn’t be shocked if this was one of those moments. “That might not be the worst idea. Then we don’t have to deal with your constant, ‘I don’t know’ stuff.”

“So, let’s get a map?” 

The map and darts came in two days later to your apartment. As you hung up the map on the wall, Matthew started, “Aren’t we going to put wholes in the wall if we throw darts at it?” 

“Yeah, and? You paid the security deposit, not me,” you joke.

“Oh, shut up.” 

You stand back, dart in hand, “Who’s throwing, you or me?”

“You can’t aim for shit.”

“Ok, Mr. Ten-Goal-Season.”

“The season just started! Ten goals is good!” he defends himself, his cheeks turning red. 

“Can I throw it?” you beg, giving him the puppy dogs eyes that get him to say yes to you always.

“We’re gonna end up in the fucking ocean,” he mutters as both of you stand back for you to throw the dart.

“If it lands in the ocean then you better learn how to swim because this is the determining dart,” you say as-a-matter-of-factly, winding up to throw. You chuck it, just praying that it sticks so Matthew will shut up about your inability to throw things.

“And we’re staying on land!” he yells, running to the map. 

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to New Orleans!” 

One

The entire drive was spent with you and Matthew switching off driving every six-ish hours, six shifts total, three shifts each, playfully criticizing each other’s driving at least four times per shift. The only time you stopped was for food, the bathroom, or to switch drivers. The two of you sang off-key to every song for hours on end.

“Babe, where are we even staying?” he asks you. You had programmed the address into your phone for the Airbnb, but you guess you forget to show Matthew where it was. 

“We’re staying in the French Quarter: we get the entire villa, there’s Wifi, parking, a kitchen, only one bed.” He gives you a quick glance as you do that annoying flirty eyebrow wiggle that makes him laugh every time.

“Ooo, you should have told me about the one-bed thing before. That seems like a real deal-breaker for this trip. I think we have to turn around and go home.” 

“Oh, shush, you know you love me,” you tease. 

“Well, duh. You think I would put up with your crap if I didn’t?” That stupid smile that makes you melt shows up on his face. “I think we’re here?” 

“We are!” You leap out of the car, leaving Matthew to get the bags while you follow the directions the host left you to get the key. You burst through the door, Matthew following suit, “J’adore!”

“You know that just means ‘I love,’ right?”

You turn to him, shocked, “You know French?”

“Vous seriez surpris de ce que je sais.” He winks, pushing past you to go explore the rest of the villa.

“What did you say?” you yell to him, trying to find where he went.

“You’d be surprised what I know.” 

You follow his voice and find him in the bedroom. “And what do you know?” you ask him, leaning against the doorway.

“Well, I know that we both want to go explore New Orleans, but we’re both too tired right now.” 

“Well, yeah.”

“But,” he starts again, “I also know that there is at least one activity we aren’t too tired for.” He walks up to you, putting his hands on your waist, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. 

His lips ghost yours, you doing everything you can to let the teasing last a little longer, “What’s that?” He knows how much you love this. 

“This,” he lets out, lifting you up and kissing you, you wrapping your legs around his waist as he stumbles to the bed. He throws you down, climbing over you, starting to tug at your shirt as he leaves a trail of kisses from your jaw down to your collar bone. 

The two of you spend the rest of the night in bed, going to sleep more exhausted than you were when you got there.

The next morning, Matthew wakes you up by starting to jump on the bed. “It’s early, we need coffee, and we need to start exploring!” he yells like a toddler, jumping off the bed, landing so hard on the ground you were sure he broke something. 

“You’re fucking annoying.” 

“Yes, but I’ll be less annoying once we go to Cafe du Monde, which I know your mother loves, and you two have the same taste, so I’m like ninety percent sure that you will love it, too. Plus you said you wanted to go there, so might as well do it first so we can get caffeine and energy!” he practically yells from the bathroom.

“You don’t need any more energy!” you yell back. He could go from being a child to being how he was last night in 0.2 seconds. You really did love this boy, despite the pest that he always was. 

You get up out of bed and try to get ready with Matthew practically on top of you, forcing you to get ready fast while he hands you dry cereal to eat so you’re not as cranky when you have to interact with more people. You put on olive green floral shorts, a plain white top, and some sandals, and try to find your bag in the mess that Matthew made of your stuff trying to unpack at some point last night.

“Are we driving or walking?” he asks, turning around to face you as you meet him by the door, “Fuck,” he whispers, “If I didn’t want to explore the city so bad, I’d want to explore you right now.”

You throw your head back, letting out a cackle that would cause any other guy to break up with you. “That was disgusting,” you say, taking his hand, “and let’s walk. Decatur Street is like ten minutes away, and it’s gorgeous out.” 

“Not as gorgeous as you, though,” he flirts, trying to keep his corniness going.

“Shut up,” you say, not hiding the smile on your face. 

The two of you leave, ready to explore New Orleans in the summer heat, walking in the morning to the world-famous cafe. Your parents had gone to New Orleans a year before you were born, and your mom bought a Cafe du Mondo mug that she still uses all these years later, faded, chipped, and probably going to fall apart if she even looks at it the wrong way. 

“We have to get her a new mug. The next time she sees us, we will definitely be bumped up on the ‘favorite children list.’” You start rambling and walking just a little faster, doing a little skip on the sidewalk as he tries to keep up with your pulling him towards the cafe. 

“Am I one of her children?” he asks. 

“She probably loves you more than I do, God only knows why,” you tell him, rolling your eyes, him knowing that it’s probably true. 

“Well, I am pretty great,” he says, kissing your cheek as you approach the cafe.

“Wow.” You admire the already busy cafe, the people sitting outside under the green and white awning, laughing, smiling, reading, eating, drinking. “Can I be annoying?”

“You need permission?”  

“Can I get a picture of you in front of the cafe? Please?” you beg him, taking out your phone. “You know how much my mom would flip if she knew we came to her favorite place in the world?”

“Why don’t we get someone to take a picture of the two of us? Excuse me?” he stops a stranger walking by, “Would you mind taking some pictures of me and my beautiful girlfriend? It’s for her mother.”

He hands the person his phone, pulling you towards him. He stands behind you, his arms wrapped around you, kissing your cheek as you can’t help but blush and smile by how loving he was being. The stranger hands back his phone, you two thanking them profusely as you go to get into the long line and figure out what you want for your breakfast. 

“So do we want to be cliche and get what they’re famous for, or do you want to get something else?” you ask him. “The beignets are to die for and my mother has never shut up about how she’ll never have anything as good as them, so we kind of have to get those. And then the cafe au lait is supposed to be great and I think you would love that, but I need black coffee, so I might just steal a sip of yours?” you spit out at him as you get closer to the front of the line.

“I have no clue what you just said. You’re ordering for us and I’m trusting you this time.” 

“Ooo, that’s dangerous, isn’t it?” you tease him, getting up to the front of the line. You order the beignets and coffees, stepping off to the side since all the tables were full. If you had to walk and eat, you didn’t really care. You got to be with Matthew, your probably crappy aim bringing you into what was quickly becoming one of your favorite places on this planet, even though it had only been about an hour. 

You get your beignets, taking a bite as you walk around and explore more of the area. “Holy, fuck,” you say, mouth full, “this is amazing. I want to marry this beignet.”

“That’s going to be pretty hard if you eat it.”

“I want to marry the person who made this beignet.”

“As your boyfriend, should I be offended by this?”

“You have competition. Become a beignet boy and I’ll reconsider.”

He throws his head back, laughing. “Where to next?”

Two

You spent the rest of the day exploring the French Quarter, roaming aimlessly, getting strangers to take pictures of you everywhere you went. Every photo you took was your new favorite. 

“Let’s go to the French Market tomorrow,” you tell Matthew, settling into bed. You two were exhausted; way too exhausted to do anything else. The two of you had walked like twenty miles during the day. You actually probably didn’t but it felt like it. The sun had drained you, giving Matthew a little pink on his cheeks, you knowing to reapply sunscreen enough times that you were fine. 

“Sure,” Matthew mumbles, falling asleep.

-----

“Three centuries of history, six blocks of shopping?” you exclaim as you get to the French Market. You had been googling the history of the market the entire Uber ride over, talking Matthew’s ear off about it, him pretending to listen because he really doesn’t care as much about history as you do. You were excited for another day of walking. If you weren’t here, you would probably be just sitting on the couch, reading, watching Netflix, and complaining to Matthew about how you were bored. 

“So, do we want to do food or shopping first?” 

“Shopping we need to work up an appetite,” you tell him, dragging him into the market. You wanted to walk all the way through first, pass each place, then go into the stores on the way back to the entrance when it was time to leave. You pointed out so many places that you wanted to go into; Evan’s Creole Candy Factory, Head to Toe, Pop Shop, Cella’s Boutique, Matthew only really caring about the first one, but he came with you because he knew you wanted him to. 

“Sports!” he yells, trying to drag you to the only sports-themed shop in the market: N’Awlin’s Sports. He starts running towards the store, faster than a kid running to a candy store, both of you almost dropping the bags of stuff you had purchased in the meantime.

As soon as the two of you enter the store, he stops, takes in a breath, and says, “I love you, but if you can marry beignet’s, I’m marrying sports.”

“You’re already married to sports, babe,” you say, smiling because of how happy he was. You knew that you were dragging him around. But every time you looked at him with a smile, one grew on his face, too. He loved seeing you happy, and you loved seeing him happy.

“I don’t see any hockey stuff.” 

“There’s no hockey in Louisiana. The closest team is probably Dallas?” you guess. 

“That’s dumb.” He just stands there, looking a little defeated because his beloved sport wasn’t represented in the store. 

“Let’s go outside, I’m sure we can find something you like to look at,” you say, pulling him out of the store.

“I like to look at you.” 

“Gross,” you laugh, “Let’s have someone take our picture like we did yesterday!” 

Doing the same thing as he did outside Cafe du Monde, Matthew convinced a stranger to take your picture. This time, he insisted on hugging you, kissing your cheek while you looked into the camera, beaming. You both loved the photos from yesterday, especially the cute lovey ones, so why not take some more? 

Plus one

“I’m stuffed,” you say, trying to stretch out as much as you can in the chair of the restaurant without risking hitting another patron or a waiter. 

“You picked a good place,” Matthew admits, raising his glass to you to finish the last bit of his drink. This was the only place you had been today; after the last two days of running around and exploring, you two had just decided to take a lazy day. When you realized it was dinner time and the only food you had was snack food, you knew you had to go out for dinner. 

“I’m marrying the chef,” you say.

“No, I am,” he spits back.

“Guess we both are.” You shrug, finishing the last bit of your drink as the waiter comes back with Matthew’s debit card. 

“Ready to go?” He stands up, reaching out for your hand to lead you out of the restaurant.

“Sure, where?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

“You don’t know this city well enough for me to trust you when you say that.” 

“Will ya just shush and trust me?” A smile sneaks onto his lips as he leads you down the road.

“Where are we?” 

“The Moonwalk.” The two of you start walking down a long path, overlooking the Mississippi. It was gorgeous, buzzing with people, lit up by the street lights and the shine of the nearly full moon overhead. There was something magical about it, you had never seen anything like it.

“And to think, we came here because of a dart.” You approach some musicians playing a song you swore you knew, couples dancing to the slow beat. Matthew took you by the waist, you draping your arms around his neck as you followed the rest of the couples. 

“Never thought I would say thank god for a dart,” he says in a low voice. “I love you.” 

The music stops, and so does the dancing. Everyone around you claps as they start to play a faster song. 

“Let’s get our picture in front of the river,” he suggests, motioning for you to give him your phone. 

He flags a couple down, handing them your phone, taking a minute as it looks like he handed something else to them before coming back.

“Everything ok?” you ask.

“Couldn’t be better,” he says, beaming, putting his arm around you.

The two of you smile as they take your pictures on what you’re pretty sure is also Matthew’s phone. You start to head towards them to get your phones back when Matthew pulls you back.

“Wait, wait, not yet.” 

“What’s up?” 

Before you know it, he was getting down on one knee. 

“No way,” you say has he takes your hand in his, a small box in the other. 

“I had a plan to ask you this before you suggested the road trip, and honestly, it was me throwing the ring at you because that kind of fits our personalities. But this I think is much better. I want to be the beignet boy, I want to be your mom’s favorite child, I want to be yours and I want you to be mine. Y/N, will you marry me?” 

You’re a mess, crying and thanking yourself for wearing waterproof makeup today. Even if he had proposed to you with his original idea, you would have said the same thing. “Yes. Yes of course!” 

He slides the ring on your finger, everyone around you cheering and clapping, the musicians playing a new song. He kisses you, lifting you up at your waist, your leg popping like Mia in the Princess Diaries.

All of this because of a dart.

[artificialqueens]

Sweet On My Lips (Crygi) - Mumu

A/N: This is my first fic! I usually write poetry, so this is quite a change. Hope you enjoy :) You can also read it on AO3!

Summary: Gigi’s a barista and Crystal stumbles into her cafe. Softness ensues.

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when Crystal Methyd stumbles into the cafe with a book bag under her arm. She needs a sugar high. Immediately.

She wanted to go to a Starbucks, but a few wrong turns on the way back from the new tattoo studio she was an apprentice at, and she was suddenly twenty minutes away from the nearest one. She ended up having to settle for a local cafe to satisfy her sweet tooth. How is that even possible? Starbucks is supposed to have a store on every street. That’s, like, the law.

Add that to the fact that LA summers felt like Satan himself was preemptively boiling everybody alive to lessen his workload once they made it down to hell, and you got one very pissed off Crystal.

“Hi! Can I get, uh, a-” Crystal starts, approaching the counter. She squints at the menu, trying to decide from the creative names which drink has the most cream and sugar. Her mouth tastes filmy and gross from dehydration, not at all helping her concentrate on scanning the drink names.

Tiramisu mocha? White chocolate raspberry frappe? Maybe the frappes are sweeter, given that they’re usually topped with whipped cream and all. She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. It’s too hot out to order a hot chocolate. Maybe she could ask to get it iced, though? Is that a thing?

She honestly should have just walked the twenty minutes to Starbucks; at least she knows for sure that they’re okay with modifications.

She realizes she’s been quiet for a few seconds too long when the barista speaks.

“Take your time! There’s not much business this time of day anyways.”

“Thanks,” Crystal drags her gaze away from the menu and up to glance at said barista. Her breath catches as soon as she does. The first thing she notices is curly red hair, pulled into a shiny ponytail. It looks soft, and she wants to touch it.

Crystal’s pretty sure this barista is the first redhead she’s met (apart from that one time she decided to dye her hair red in eighth grade, of course, but she doubts that counts.)

She’d only done it to piss off her English teacher after he’d gone on a rant and said that unnatural hair colors were an abomination of god or whatever. It didn’t come out to be a pretty shade like this girl’s. More… Clifford the big red dog. But ultimately, three months of picking out clothes to match her hair and drenching her damaged split ends in coconut oil were worth it, if only to see Mr. Rhodes splutter every time she came into his classroom.

A thump from the cafe dishwasher brings her back to the moment, and she startles slightly.

“D’you want some help choosing?” The barista asks helpfully.

She doesn’t trust herself to speak without stammering out something embarrassing, so Crystal just nods instead.

“Great!” The redhead says, smiling. Her nose scrunches as she does so, and Crystal notices the coral-colored blush placed there for the first time. It gives the girl a sunburnt look. It’s cute. She’s cute.

“I love guessing people’s coffee orders. It’s like, coffee shop tarot reading or whatever,” The girl says.

“Aren’t tarot readings for the future though?” Crystal gets out, finding her voice again. Her eyes drop to the barista’s name tag- Gigi. It’s nice to put a name to the pretty face. “So this would be more like a BuzzFeed personality quiz or something.”

“Whatever, I don’t know.” Gigi waves the question away, shrugging. Her smile is warm, and it makes Crystal feel kind of melty inside. “You’re probably right.”

“Do you do it often?” Crystal ventures.

Gigi gets a bit flustered, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. Crystal wishes she could be the one playing with Gigi’s hair. Is that creepy? Definitely creepy.

Gigi considers how to word her answer. Okay, don’t tell her you analyze everyone that comes in here like some sort of serial killer.

“Mostly just in my head? It keeps me entertained.” Or do. Great.

“Cool! Do you want me to answer questions or something? I can do that.” Crystal offers.

“No, that’s cheating. Just, like, stand there for a sec, yeah?”

Crystal obeys, feeling a bit silly. Gigi narrows her eyes, studying her.

“You’re wearing bright colors and mixing prints… that tells me you’re fun and like, a child at heart and stuff.” And you’re really pretty, Gigi wants to add. Really, really pretty, because nobody else I’ve ever met could get away with mixing prints. Not even Nicky, and that girl is a runway model.

“Uh, thanks, I think!” Crystal shuffles a bit. She hopes that being “a child at heart” a good thing in Gigi’s book. She wants Gigi to like her. The realization almost makes her snort in irony. Of course. I’m head over heels for a pretty girl I just met five minutes ago who’s probably not even gay. How very cliche lesbian of me.

Crystal makes a mental note to never, ever tell her group chat about this. (Meaning, the group chat is the first place she’ll go to talk about this after she leaves in around five minutes.) Jaida will probably never let her live it down. On the bright side, it would probably give her a break from constantly having to relive the Mailbox Incident of Summer 2017. She nearly shudders just thinking about it.

“Oh! And cute earrings! Where’d you get those?” Gigi asked, bringing Crystal out of her thoughts.

“Thank you, I made them!” Crystal says, and only allows herself to grin like an idiot for five seconds.

“No way, that’s incredible,” Gigi marvels. “Do you sell them or anything?”

“Yeah, mostly just to friends, though. Once a month I go to an art fair and that’s when I sell the most stuff.” Crystal says. She hesitates for a moment, before throwing in a, “but then again, lesbians will buy anything if you stick a needle on and call them earrings, so.”

“That’s cool,” Gigi says. “And amen to that. I just bought a pair of bottle cap earrings? I have no idea when I’m ever going to wear them.”

“Thanks! Those sound cute, I bet you’d look pretty in them.” Crystal feels like a broken record at this point, just repeating the same few phrases. The praise has her feeling a bit shy, and she can’t help but get a little self-conscious. She fiddles with the hem of her denim jacket to keep herself busy.

Gigi doesn’t seem to notice, still very much focused on analyzing her appearance. “Freckles, cute! Are they natural?”

“Oh, uh, yeah!” Crystal brings a hand up to tap her nose. “I used to hate them.”

“What, no, they’re adorable! I’ve always wanted them. I would, like, dot them on with mascara in third grade.”

Crystal giggles. “That’s so cute.”

She flounders for a second, trying to come up with something to say as Gigi goes back to staring at her. “Uh, I like your hair! I dyed my hair red in eighth grade, but it didn’t look natural or anything.”

“Aw, thank you. Yeah, red hair is really hard to get right apparently.” Gigi nibbles on her bottom lip, thinking. “Okay, I think I’ve got it!”

“What’s the verdict?” Crystal asks excitedly, all previous discomfort forgotten.

The redhead pauses, steepling her hands and drumming her fingertips together. She lets the silence sit for a few seconds to build anticipation, though this time it’s decidedly less awkward, both girls having warmed up to each other.

There’s a pause before she announces her decision. “I think… you seem like a diabetes in a cup kinda girl.”

Wow. Okay, how the hell did Gigi do that? Is Crystal that easy to read or something?

Actually, yeah, it makes sense that she’d get it right. Crystal thinks, answering her own question. I dress like something out of a five-year-old’s wildest dreams. Still, pretty impressive.

An indignant part of her wants to insist that she can handle bitterness, thank you so much, but Crystal’s never been a great liar, and something tells her this girl wouldn’t buy it either.

“Is that… a good thing?” Crystal says, a dumb grin spreading on her face. Get it together, Crystal.

“What? Girl, in what world is diabetes a good thing?” Gigi cackles. “It’s horrible. I get an iced black coffee, for reference.”

“Ew,” Crystal blurts without thinking. Shit, I said that out loud. She immediately flushes and tries to take it back. “Or, no, I mean, not ew, but-”

“No no, it’s okay! I know some people just aren’t mature enough for Big Girl coffee,” Gigi mocks. Crystal would usually be offended, but judging from the way Gigi’s blue eyes are sparkling with mirth, she knows the girl’s just joking.

She still makes a sort of offended squeak, pouting. “I just like the way sweet stuff tastes!”

“Okay, okay!” Gigi holds her hands up in surrender, barely concealing a grin. “Don’t pout, you’re too cute to pout.”

The squeak that escapes Crystal is real this time. Gigi called her cute? Is she flirting or just being nice? I’m probably delusional. Right?

There’s a moment where neither girl speaks. It hangs in the air with the smell of vanilla and cinnamon, mixing until Crystal’s half sure the entire cafe’s suddenly been turned into some sort of fairy-tale confection. She’s afraid to move, like the space around her will crackle and shatter if she does. It’s quiet, safe for the background of the coffee grinder going steadily and some gentle R&B flowing out of the sound system.

It’s a comfortable sort of silence. Crystal likes it, feels safe in the cocoon-like ambience. She wonders why she’s never come to this cafe before. Maybe it’s time to break her Starbucks addiction, explore a bit more.

Gigi clears her throat.

“So, how does a double chocolate cookie dough frappe with Nutella drizzle sound?” Gigi asks, finger already poised above the cash register screen.

Perfect.

Okay no, she can’t say that. Crystal clears her throat, trying to come up with a response that’s not as corny. She eyes the wall opposite the counter, where the menu is, then Gigi, confused.

“Wait, I don’t see it on the menu?” She scans the menu again, trying to find Gigi’s recommendation. Did she miss it? Her coffee budget is $3, what with rent due at the end of this week. Hopefully, Gigi’s recommendation isn’t over that limit.

“Oh! Yeah, um, I kinda just made it up right now.” Gigi flushes, sounding a bit flustered. She rushes to explain. “My boss is, like, super cool though! She lets me experiment and stuff. And I can just ring you up for a hot chocolate and it’ll be our little secret.”

In truth, this is Gigi’s first time making anything off-menu, so she isn’t sure what her boss Widow’s policy on the practice is. But she has this inexplicable urge to want to impress this girl. Gigi wants her to love the drink she orders.

I mean, it can’t go that bad, right? She reasons. Worst case scenario Widow takes it out of my tips or something. But Widow’s nice. She probably won’t do that.

“Well, in that case,” Crystal starts, and then changes her mind. “Actually, what did you say you usually ordered? Black coffee? I’ll take that.”

A shocked noise escapes Gigi. “I get an iced black coffee. You sure you want that?”

“Yeah yeah yeah! I can handle it, you’ll see,” Crystal hears herself say. This is an astronomically bad idea, she knows, but then again, she’s never been one to turn down a challenge. She wants to impress Gigi, and what with her teasing earlier, she honestly feels like she has something to prove.

“Okay, your funeral,” Gigi relents, raising an eyebrow. “That’ll be $2.49, then.”

Crystal hands her card over, watching Gigi go through the motions of scanning it, handing it back to her, and tearing off the receipt.

“You want the receipt?” Gigi asks.

“Nah, I trust you,” Crystal winks at the other girl, surprising even herself with her boldness.

Crystal thinks she sees Gigi redden, though that could just be a combination of her makeup and a trick of the light. Something tells her that the redhead is fond of blush, what with the way the coral powder has been taken across the bridge of Gigi’s nose and on her cheekbones.

“Okay!” Gigi flashes her a smile and grabs a cup and sharpie. Two can play this game. “Can I get a name for the order, babes?”

“Um, it’s- it’s Crystal.” Crystal blinks, trying to figure out whether she heard that right. Whatever boldness possessed her to wink at the pretty girl in front of her fled the moment that pet name passed Gigi’s lips.

“Well, nice to meet you then, It’s It’s Crystal,” Gigi says with a smirk. “One iced black coffee coming right up! Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

Crystal plops down at the nearest table, watching Gigi work. Now that she has an excuse to just quietly observe, Crystal takes in Gigi’s full appearance. Her red hair is glossy and shiny under the sunlight that streams through the cafe’s windows, and she moves with expert ease through the space behind the counter. Her apron is checkered red and white. It’s tied in a bow at the back—a bow that’s lopsided, sagging slightly to the left, Crystal notes with a smile.

The girl is gorgeous, there’s no doubt about it. If Crystal met her on the street she definitely would have mistaken her for a model. And she was nice, too.

Nobody ever noticed her freckles or complimented her on her earrings the first time they met her. Most people thought her style of dress was weird, and Crystal figures that’s fair enough. Just the other day she wore a magenta jumpsuit with matching bunny ears. Anyone in their right mind would be a little taken aback at her fashion (as Jaida put it, her aesthetic is best described as “thrift store on acid.” Not exactly everyone’s cup of tea.) But Gigi got her right away, and a little part of Crystal wants to take that as a sign. Okay, maybe a large part.

Just as Crystal’s about to get lost in her daydreams again, Gigi bustles over with two cups, one in each hand.

“I made you a cookie dough frappe just in case,” She says, setting both cups on the table. “It’s on the house.”

Crystal exhales a light laugh. “You didn’t have to.”

“Oh,” Gigi says. She shifts her weight onto the other foot, suddenly shy, and gestures lamely towards the two drinks. “I wanted to. Just in case, like, the black coffee was too bitter. Sorry. You don’t have to drink it, uh, if you don’t want to.”

She offers an awkward smile. “I won’t force you.”

“Oh! Uh, no!” Crystal says, a little louder than necessary in her haste to reassure the other girl. Gigi jumps, and Crystal grabs her hand out of impulse. The movement jerks Gigi closer to her. “I mean, thanks. You don’t have to apologize. It’s really sweet of you to think of that.”

Gigi blushes, and Crystal’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she’s holding the girl’s hand.

And the fact that they’re the only people in this cafe. And the fact that when Crystal grabbed Gigi’s hand, it sent her stumbling a step closer, so now she’s pressed right against Crystal’s leg.

Gigi is very, very close to her all of a sudden, and her hair is really pretty, especially with the sunlight backlighting the frizz into a golden halo. She looks like an angel, and her eyes are hypnotizing.

Crystal wants to kiss her.

“Okay,” Gigi whispers, and licks her lips. It dawns on Crystal that she said that last part out loud. Fuck.

But Crystal can’t think, can’t panic, because Gigi’s so close and she smells like chocolate cake when it’s freshly out of the oven and still gooey in the center, just the way her abuelita makes it, and she’s warm and everything Crystal has ever imagined or wanted. Everything molecule in Crystal is telling her to crash into Gigi, and she decides to just go along with her instincts, because when a pretty girl is that close to her there’s no way Crystal can think logically.

“O-kay,” Crystal whispers back, stretching out the word, and then Gigi’s lips are on hers and they’re soft.

God, they’re soft. Gotta ask for her lip balm brand, Crystal thinks, because that’s a perfectly normal thing to ask someone you’re kissing, and then Gigi’s shifting positions and sliding into her lap to kiss her more comfortably and she’s lost the ability to think again.

All she can do is feel, feel the way Gigi’s hand snakes around her waist, the way Gigi’s eyelashes are fluttering against her nose bridge, the way Gigi’s hair is smooth as she tangles a hand in it, the way her heart feels like it’s soaring and exploding all at once and each one of her veins seems to be pumped full of fizzy champagne all of a sudden. All she can feel is Gigi, and she thinks she likes that.

As they part, Crystal accidentally bumps her nose against Gigi’s. She pulls away, wincing, and meets Gigi’s eyes for one very still moment. They peer at each other in wonder, as if discovering each other for the first time, and then Gigi’s lips quirk and she’s giggling. Before long, Crystal’s joining in too, and both lose it, still riding high off the adrenaline of the kiss.

After they’ve both calmed down, Crystal motions to the drinks on the table. “Wanna share?”

Gigi smiles softly at her. “Yeah, sure.”

Crystal grabs the black coffee and takes a small, tentative sip. She immediately chokes, breaking into a coughing fit. Gigi pounds her back, hard, then races behind the counter and pours her a small cup of water. After Crystal’s done hacking her guts out, she accepts it gratefully, trying to catch her breath.

“That,” She pants, “Is fucking disgusting.”

Gigi lets out a full-bellied laugh. It’s the prettiest thing Crystal’s ever heard, she thinks, which is saying a lot because she’s been to at least one show for all four of the One Direction tours. ‘“What a feeling” harmonies can’t even come close to the magic of Gigi’s laugh. Crystal wants to hear it over and over.

“I tried to warn you,” Gigi says with a snort, then covers her mouth, eyes wide and mortified, clearly shocked at the sound she produced. The comical expression sends Crystal straight into another bout of laughter, and before long they’re both losing it again.

Sometime later in the afternoon, somehow, Gigi ends up in Crystal’s lap again. Crystal’s lost track of time, but she doesn’t mind. She wants to kiss Gigi again, and again, and again. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of looking at her, kissing the sweet almond balm off her lips, touching her. Crystal wants to be in her presence forever. Gigi’s tongue pokes out of the left side of her mouth as she gazes down at Crystal, lazily tracing the smattering of freckles across her nose, forehead, and cheekbones with her peach nails.

“I wanna kiss every one of them,” Gigi whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then: “They’re cute.”

Crystal’s pretty sure if she wasn’t already giving heart eyes to Gigi, they are most certainly happening now. “You’re cute.”

“Can I? Kiss them.”

“There’s a lot of them,” Crystal says. It’s breathy, a challenge and a plea at the same time.

Gigi smiles, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind Crystal’s ear. “We have time.”

And they do, so Crystal lets Gigi kiss her until the drinks beside them are both completely melted and the whipped cream in Crystal’s has gone all weepy and deflated. Gigi insists on making her a new one, and on entering her number into Crystal’s phone before she leaves.

Crystal goes home and dreams of her.

[buzzxjessieotp]

This is my first time posting personal fanfiction so be kind. It’s also a Halloween Reddie fic but it’s a day late 🤷‍♀️

“So just call him.”

Richie sat in his room, rotary phone up to his ear. Only half of Beverly’s words were sinking in as he twirled the spiral chord absentmindedly.

“I can’t just call him. I mean, I can, but I can’t ask him to do something with just me. He’ll definitely ask about you guys.”

Her voice was clear on the other line, optimistic. “Then just tell him we’re all busy.

“All five of you?” Richie considered this a moment. “Actually that may work.”

“So it’s a haunted hayride?”

“No, no, no, they cancelled that. It’s a corn maze now.”

“Oh, Eddie will love that. Cow shit and pesticides.”

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?” Richie’s voice filled with concern.

“Rich, he’ll love anything you pick. You’ll make it fun.” She hesitated a moment. “Just...leave out the part about the shit.”

“Okay, I guess I’m gonna call him.”

“Lemme know if he’s a good kisser!”

Richie scoffed and hung up the phone.

He hesitated, hand lingering over the receiver. Breathed in a deep breath and picked up the phone. This is just Eddie. I’m just asking him to hang out. That’s all this is.

It rang once. Twice. Then a voice came through completely opposite from what he had hoped.

“Kaspbrak residence, this is Sonia.”

Shit. Since she heard about the incident with Richie in the arcade, Ms. Kaspbrak was not too font of Richie. “Um,” Richie altered his voice slightly. “This is Bill. Is Eddie home?”

“Sure sweetie, I’ll call him in.” The phone thumped down and Richie could faintly hear a call for Eddie. Something in Richie’s chest trilled with nervousness as he waited.

Suddenly, a familiar voice came through the other line, which paired the nervousness in Richie’s chest in a duet with warmth.

“Bill?”

Richie let out a loud laugh. “Your mom falls for that every time. I swear I could make it out there doing impressions.”

Eddie let out a small laugh. Aware of his mom in the other room, he continued to play along. “Bill, Richie doesn’t call here anymore.” Richie’s laugh exploded again in Eddie’s ear, causing him to smile.

“I wonder if Sonia realizes how much gets under her nose.”

“If she did I would never have access to the world again.” Richie laughed again.

“Speaking of outside world, I was wondering if you’d wanna get out of the house tonight, go to a haunted trail with me. Get into the spooky season vibe.”

“Trail? Is it in a corn maze?”

Richie hesitated, remembering Beverly’s words. “I don’t think so.”

“Then sure. What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Who all is coming?”

Richie’s nerves lit up. “Uh, well the others are all busy, so it’ll just be us.”

“Oh. Okay. So six?”

“On the dot, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie scoffed. “Will you stop with that obnoxious nickname?”

“Never. Besides, you know you love it,” Richie responded, wearing a wide smile.

Eddie matches his smile. “I fucking hate it.”

“Sure, Eds. See ya tonight.”

“Yeah, see ya, Trashmouth.”

Richie put down the phone and breathed a sigh of relief before heading to get changed.

Eddie set down his own receiver, feeling a bit uneasy. Just him and Richie? They’d never done something on their own before. It could just be his own mind overthinking, but he couldn’t help but feel like this had implications. And then the nicknames? Sure, Richie always had always done that, but even Ben admitted that it sounded flirty when he did.

Eddie needed a second opinion.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Then Stan picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Eddie. Quick question: what do you have going on tonight?”

“Well, after I finish rehearsing these lines I’m pretty much free. Why?”

“I knew something was off. Okay:” Then Eddie recounted to Stan what had happened in their phone call, being careful to refer to Richie as Trashmouth in the incident that his mother was listening.

“Sounds to me like a date.”

Eddie froze. “D-date?”

“Well, I mean why else would he lie and say we were all busy?”

“Maybe he just thought you were all busy.”

“Eddie: if he wanted us to come he would have invited us.”

Eddie pondered this a moment. “So you’re saying I just accepted a date?”

“Sounds like it.”

“But-“ Eddie shook his head. “No, that’s insane. Can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” He lowered his voice. “It’s Trashmouth. Trashmouth doesn’t see me in that way.”

“How do you know?”

The thought of Richie possibly having feelings for Eddie made his stomach jump. “I just do.”

“Well why else would he not want any of us to go?”

“Maybe he wants to talk to me about something.”

“Yeah, like his undying love for you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Stan.” Stan’s laughter echoed through the receiver.

Weak from laughter, Stan spoke, “Well, lemme know how your date goes.”

Eddie’s eyebrows rose. “It’s not a date!!”

There was a silence on the other end and then a dial tone. Undying love. He smiled at the thought before snapping himself out of it. Richie just wanted to hang out. It would be a bit of a stretch to assume this meant anything more.

But once the idea had been placed, it was hard to replace. When the knock came at Eddie’s door, his stomach leapt again. When he saw Richie dressed in his denim jacket and black jeans, he had to admit Richie seemed to have put some thought into his outfit.

“Hey,” Richie said in his Bill accent - aware of Ms. Kaspbrak - wide grin on his face and his hands shoved into his pockets. “You ready?”

Eddie smiled back and nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

They got into Richie’s car and drove a moment before Richie broke the silence.

“You’re not nervous are you?”

Eddie froze, his heart beginning to pound. Could Richie really see right through him?

“Uh, no, why would I be?”

“Ah, I just thought our Eddie Spaghetti might be worried about the boogeymen in the corn fields. This is new ground for you.”

A sigh of relief escaped his mouth. The trail. It’s just about the trail.

“I’ve done haunted houses before. With you.”

“Yeah, but a maze is different.”

“Maze??” Eddie sits up in his seat. “You said it wasn’t a maze!”

Richie gives a devious grin. “I had to say something to get you to come.”

“Richie, I don’t know about this.”

“Oh, don’t get scared now, Eddie.” Richie chuckles to himself. “You’re telling me you don’t wanna get lost with me in the corn maze?”

Eddie goes pink and shoves Richie. “Shut the fuck up.” Richie let out a loud laugh in response.

“You know I’ll protect you, Eddiebear.”

Eddie goes a shade darker. “You know I hate that nickname.” Eddie looked out the window to hide the smile creeping onto his face. “I just think we’re gonna get really lost.”

“That’s the whole point. It’ll be fun.”

“Knowing you you’ll make us have fun whether it’s fun or not.”

“Oh, stop it, Eddie. You make me blush.” Richie spoke in a playful tone, but if Eddie would have looked close enough he would have seen that Richie did wear a blush.

The rest of the drive was full of laughter and music as they discussed corny costumes and their favorite memories of Halloween pranks. When they pulled into the spot, Eddie’s stomach started knotting. The sky was already darkening, a vast expanse of color fading from deep blue to a warm pink. It was in this lighting that Eddie noticed Richie’s hair, more tousled than usual. Did he fix it up for tonight?

No, Eddie stopped himself. I’m just imagining it. But he can’t help imagining other things as well, like running his fingers through that hair as he feels Richie’s hands-

“Do you want hot chocolate?”

Richie’s sudden question snapped him out of his haze. “Uh, sure.”

They approached the booth. “Five dollars?! Wanna just share one?”

Eddie’s mouth went dry at the thought of drinking out of the same cup as Richie; he managed a nod.

They find a place to sit and wait for their group to be called, passing the hot chocolate back and forth to stay warm. Somewhere in the distance, screams can be heard, and Eddie shudders as he looks on at the ever-darkening field.

Richie nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. You know it’s all fake.” Eddie nodded in response. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t -“

“No! I want to!”

Richie’s face spread into a toothy grin. “Alrighty then. Just don’t let the scarecrows grab you and take you to their nest.”

Eddie cackled, which makes Richie beam with pride at his joke. “Scarecrows don’t have nests.” Eddie looked on at the field as an unusually loud scream can be heard. “Seriously though, you better not leave me in there.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Eds. You can hold my hand if you want.” He stuck out a hand to Eddie which he pushed away playfully.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“I’m ser-“

Before Richie could finish his sentence, the announcer had called their group. The nerves begin to settle in both of their stomachs, but what excited Richie terrified Eddie.

After a moment of discussing rules, the group was shoved into the shadowy, towering maze. Richie felt Eddie tense next to him.

He grabbed his arm, causing Eddie to jump. “Hey, just try and relax, okay? It’s scary fun. It’s not meant to be real fear.”

Eddie gave him a small smile. “You’re righ-AH!”

In the middle of his sentence, a fake crow popped out of the bushes, causing him to shriek. Richie began rolling with laughter.

“You’ve gotta chill out.”

Eddie nodded, glancing down at Richie’s hand which was still on his arm. “You’re telling me.”

They continued walking through the path, occasional jump scares making them laugh. A good amount of time passed before they begun to stop hearing the voices of their group members.

“Should I be getting worried? I literally hear nothing.”

“Relax Eddie; that’s just their way of getting to us.”

Eddie heard screams echoing from somewhere far behind them. “No, I seriously think we did something wrong. Back there is the attraction.”

“We can’t go back the way we came. Let’s just keep going.”

“It just keeps getting narrower up here, Richie. Fuck, I just stepped in shit.”

“It’s probably mud,” Richie corrected, chuckling.

“Well it keeps getting darker so I wouldn’t know!”

Richie stopped and rubbed his face. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry I didn’t think this through a little better. This may have been a bad idea. Neither one of us have a good sense of direction, and you didn’t wanna come here anyway. Let’s just turn back.”

Eddie stopped and turned to Richie. “I never said I wanted to leave.” He wiped his nose on his arm. “And if I didn’t wanna come I wouldn’t have.” Richie stared at him a moment, uncertain. Eddie walked up to him. “Are you getting nervous? We can go back if you are.”

“No, no. I just- “ He looked up at the sky, now dotted with stars. “Forget it.”

Richie started to continue on the path. “Wait- What?” Eddie caught up to him. “What is it?”

“Nothing, let’s just hope this path doesn’t stay as lame as it has been.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. What were you gonna-“

“-hold your hand.” Eddie‘s breath caught in his throat. Richie took a deep breath. “I...was just thinking that would help. But it’s stupid. So forget it.”

Eddie’s gaze softened and Stan’s words echoed in his mind. Maybe it hadn’t been such of a stretch after all.

He reached out and clasped Richie’s hand in his own, giving it a soft squeeze. Richie looked over and gave him a grateful smile.

“You don’t have to, Eds-“

“I want to.”

The two walked like that for awhile: silent, surrounded by the sounds of the night. Both of them seemed to realize they were no longer on the path of the corn maze, but neither one seemed to mind.

”Hey ‘Chie?” Eddie mumbled in a soft voice.

“Hm?”

“I- well I’m glad it was just us tonight.” Richie looked over at him, listening intently. Eddie quickly stumbled to add more words. “I mean, it didn’t become a shit talking fest like usual. Don’t get me wrong, I like all that. But it’s nice when we can just talk...too.”

A beat of silence passed. Richie seemed to be considering his words, turning something over in his mind. He finally decided to speak, concluding that Eddie’s courage deserved to be met with his own.

“They weren’t busy.” Richie absentmindedly squeezed Eddie’s hand. “The others. They- some of them would have wanted to come.”

Eddie considered Richie’s words. “Why didn’t they then?”

Richie stopped, pulling Eddie to a stop too. He avoided eye contact but plowed through, heat rising to his face.

“I told them not to.” Eddie became very aware of Richie’s hand in his own, of how close they were standing. He couldn’t tell if it was Richie’s heartbeat or his own he was hearing.

“It’s funny you bring that up, actually. I talked to Stan before we left.”

Richie’s eyes got wide. “Wait, you did? What did he say??”

“Well, I want your opinion on something he said. See, he told me he thought you didn’t want them to go because - because you wanted it to...” Eddie took a breath. “To feel like a d-date.”

“What?? What is he on? Why would he say that??”

“Okay, okay, calm down a sec-“

“Calm down?? Stan is telling ridiculous lies to you about me and you expect me to be calm??”

“Richie. He was just giving his opinion.”

“Well his opinion is wrong, okay!”

“Well fine then! Maybe I was just hoping it wasn’t!” There is a thick silence between them.

Richie blinked at Eddie, gaze softened. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how fucking happy you just made me.”

“So...his opinion about tonight...wasn’t wrong then?”

“Fuck, no.”

Eddie smiled. “Well are you gonna just stand there and stare at me or are you gonna kiss me with that Trashmouth?”

Richie takes in a shaky breath, eyes blown wide. The leaning in felt to Richie like it took five minutes instead five seconds, and the feeling of lips against lips surprised his senses to shock him motionless. It took Eddie to move and feed Richie kisses for Richie to ease into it and do the same. Something reminded Eddie of Richie’s hair and he reached a trembling hand up to run through it, causing Richie to omit a soft moan. It was happening, everything that neither one of them believed possible at all. Yet here they were, lost in each other, surrounded by the scratchy corn stalks and chirping crickets, completely and utterly content.

It took an hour for them to remember they were still in the corn field, and another hour for them to find their way out, but neither one complained. In fact, they actually enjoyed themselves, no longer scared by the characters or props. It was almost laughable that they were ever afraid, not just of the haunted maze, but of each other.

The car ride home felt no different usual, except with an added warmth of knowing that from here on out they could stop pretending and repressing and pining, they could finally be entirely themselves with no fear of the future.

[prissyhalliwell]

Mean Queens

Author’s Note: I’m sure this idea has been done a million times across the OUAT fandom, but I wanted to write something fun to mark the birthday of our fabulously talented and awesome @midstorm. I truly treasure my friendship with this special gal and I hope you all will join me in wishing her the happiest of birthdays!

Summary: When Belle French makes a deal with Mr. Gold to infiltrate the mayor’s inner circle, she ends up discovering more than she bargained for.

The day Regina Mills was hit by a school bus and walked away without even breaking a manicured nail was the day Belle French realized she had made a terrible mistake.

Shortly after arriving in Storybrooke, Belle had begun spying on Regina and her two closest friends. However, it had only been recently that she had begun to suspect that there was more to the trio than designer wardrobes and unpleasant personalities.

Seeing Regina pick herself up off the asphalt, without a broken bone, cracked high heel, or even a hair out of place, was enough to convince Belle of what she had only suspected until now.

The Mean Queens of Storybrooke were witches.

Three months earlier

“You want me to spy on the mayor?”

Mr. Gold, Storybrooke’s most despised resident, nodded calmly. “Yes, and her little minions, too. In return, I will forgive your father’s debt.”

Belle stared at him unblinkingly. After a few moments, he seemed to grow slightly uncomfortable under her gaze. It was the first time she’d even seen him look such a way and, despite the oddness of his request, it was somewhat reassuring.

It was that look in fact that even made her consider the deal he offered. It was true that Moe French owed Gold an enormous debt. She loved her father dearly, but he was hopeless when it came to handling money. It was one of the main reasons she had moved to Storybrooke earlier that year, both to keep an eye on him and his bookkeeping.  

“I have questions,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “If I’m to agree to this, you’re going to have to be honest with me about your motives.”

Now Gold definitely looked uncomfortable.

“I’m not very good at honesty, dearie. But I suppose it’s never too late to try something new.”

She didn’t laugh at his quip and she thought he almost looked disappointed.

“Why do you want a spy?” Belle asked, questions leaping to her mind. Gold always gave the impression of being the one who held all the cards in town. Realizing there was something he didn’t know was almost as much of a surprise as being asked to be the person to help him.

“Let’s just say, I have a suspicion I need proven about the mayor and her cronies. I’m fairly confident in my assessment of the situation, but I’d rather not play my hand if I’m incorrect.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t really tell her anything either. From the smug look on Gold’s face, it was clear he was fully aware of that fact.

Belle fought the urge to roll her eyes. She decided to move on to her next question, and hope he was a little more forthcoming this time. “But why me? I’ve only spoken to the mayor a handful of times.”

At this question, Gold smirked. “I’ve noticed Regina eyeing you over at the library. I think she may be considering making you her new little pet.”

So far that was the one bit of information that made sense. She knew Regina more by reputation than anything else, and what was clear to even a newcomer such as herself was the woman’s pickiness. Whether it was her impeccable wardrobe or those she spent time with, the mayor was nothing if not choosy.

“That’s logical, if a bit creepy.” Belle chewed her lip as she thought, turning the situation over. Despite the warning bells clanging in her head, there was a tiny part of her that was excited at the prospect of going undercover. From what she knew of Gold and Regina’s relationship, the two frequently butted heads. Word at Granny’s was that most city council meetings ended with the two of them shouting at each other. Most likely, the information she was being tasked to find out would be something equally boring, like property investment details or who had the largest estate.

“Tell me more.”

*     *   *     *    *

A few days later, Belle stood next to Gold, gazing into one of the Rabbit Hole’s dirty windows. He was pointing at a secluded booth in the back of the dimly-lit bar where three women sat. While she recognized the mayor right away, Belle was less certain about the other two, though she thought she had seen them around town before.

“That there is Ella De Vil,” Gold said, gesturing to a leggy woman with an odd dye job. “Her brain is filled with nothing but smoke and gin. I suppose it’s fitting since she runs this god forsaken pit.”

“What’s with the fur coat?” Belle asked.

Next to her, Gold shuddered. “Don’t ask.”

He moved onto the third woman at the table. “That’s Jasmine Abadi. She’s the principal at Storybrooke High School and the town’s biggest gossip. She knows everything about everyone.”

“And she apparently has a penchant for really big jewelry,” Belle said, noticing the large gold earrings hanging from the woman’s ears.

Gold snorted. “It’s her way of rebelling. Apparently, Regina made her give up hoops last year.”

“Your stories about Regina are getting more and more ridiculous, you know. I’m still not convinced she’s as bad as you say.”

The tall tales Gold had been feeding her about Regina had only grown more fanciful in the past few days, which only convinced Belle further that this entire endeavor was a result of nothing more than their petty rivalry to be top dog in Storybrooke.

“Don't get me wrong, dearie. Regina may seem like your typical selfish, back-stabbing bitch, but she’s so much more than that. She views this town as her own personal kingdom to rule over. Those other two are annoying, but they’re merely her little workers.”

The thought that many people would describe Gold in a similar way occurred to Belle, but she chose to keep it to herself. He tended to get rather grumpy whenever she brought up his own reputation.

While his dark humor and manners could clearly use improving, he was far from the monster the town had painted him. Belle still didn’t know exactly what he was after with Regina, and though she vowed to figure out his endgame before she told him anything, she was no longer as worried as she had been that first night.

Gold was a bit of an ass, but that was about it. No one who told such corny dad jokes could be truly evil.

Turning her attention back to Gold, she realized his gaze was now focused on a tall man with stubble and greasy blond hair who had just walked over to the pool table near the queens’ booth. “Alright, Miss French. I believe the time is now.”

Belle straightened her blue lace dress before looking up at Gold. “How do I look?”

A surprising shiver passed through her as his eyes trailed down her form and up again. She thought she caught an appreciate look in his eyes, but all she got from him was a grunt and a begrudging comment of “You look passable”.

With a role of her eyes, she marched past Gold, swinging open the bar’s front door and stepping inside. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the low lighting. She ordered a martini at the bar, hoping the liquid would inspire the bravery she so desperately needed.

Drink in hand, she wandered over to the pool table nearest her targets. The man Gold had been watching earlier was still playing, and he paused mid-shot to glance up at her.

“Well hello there, little lady,” he said, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was openly leering at her.

Belle frowned. She had been trying to figure out a way to approach the table next to her; the last thing she wanted to deal with tonight was some overgrown oaf who didn’t know the meaning of “no”.

“Is he bothering you, Miss French?” Regina didn’t wait for an answer before turning her full glare on the man, who seemed to shrink under her gaze. “Keith, why are you such a sleaze? She’s not interested.” The mayor turned back to Belle, gesturing at the empty spot next to Ella. “You better sit down before he starts drooling on you.”

Belle slid into the booth next to Ella, trying not to let her surprise show on her face. Gold had said Regina had shown an interest in her in the past, but until now, she hadn’t really believed him.

Maybe this won’t be so hard after all, Belle thought.

“Allow me to introduce my friends, Ella and Jasmine,” Regina said, nodding at each in turn. “Girls, this is Belle. She’s new to our little town.”

“Delighted,” Ella purred.

“Welcome to Storybrooke,” Jasmine said. “We’ll be happy to give you the 411 so you know who to avoid in town.”

Belle tried to smile in return, her nervousness beginning to return now that she had all three’s attention on her. The women seemed to be assessing her, taking in everything from her curled hair to her new dress.

Unsurprisingly, it was Regina that spoke first. “You’re very pretty, Miss French.”

“Th-thank you,” Belle replied, feeling the blush rise on her cheeks.

“So you agree?”

“What?” Belle felt like she had missed something in the exchange, but all three women seemed to be looking at her expectantly. “I – I guess so?”

She was saved further embarrassment as a group of seven men, all short in stature, passed by the booth on their way to the now vacant pool table. Most kept their eyes averted from the women sitting there, except for one. His scowl rivaled even that of Mr. Gold, and Belle wondered if it was the presence of the queens or if he was always that grumpy by nature.

“That bearded fellow is glaring at us,” Ella said unnecessarily.

Jasmine let out a long-suffering sigh. “He’s just mad because I told the Mother Superior that he was making eyes at one of her girls. Honestly, I did him a favor. Who has a thing for nuns?” She flashed a brilliant smile and waved enthusiastically at the man. “Omg, Danny Devito, I love your work!”

His face turned beet red and he immediately dropped his gaze. The booth erupted in cackles.

Belle let out an uneasy chuckle. She had an uncomfortable feeling that she was going to be missing Gold’s dry humor after all.

*     *   *     *    *

A little later that evening, Regina excused herself to use the bathroom, leaving Belle alone with the other two women. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to do some digging on Regina. Unfortunately, Jasmine and Ella were too busy gossiping about the rest of the town.

“You know who's looking rather dashing tonight? David Nolan.”

Jasmine’s face turned up in disgust. “You did not just say that, Ella.”

“Why?” Ella asked distractedly as she continued to leer at him from across the bar. “He's a good kisser.”

“He’s your cousin!”

Ella waved the comment off. “Half the town is related, darling. I wouldn’t be kissing anybody if we were puritans about it.” She took a drag on her cigarette and blew a perfect circle into the air that seemed to change color as it floated towards the ceiling.

Belle blinked and gazed down at her beer mistrustfully.

Oblivious to Belle’s confusion, Ella continued. “Besides, he’s my first cousin.”

Jasmine nodded. “Right.”

“So you have your cousins, and you have your first cousins, and you have your second cousins...” At the look on Jasmine’s face, Ella trailed off. She sighed, setting down her cigarette in an ashtray. “That's not right, is it? I was never handy at biology.” She smirked. “Now my biology teacher was another story…”

Jasmine turned to Belle as if desperate for a logical conversation. “Tell us more about you. Have you met a lot of people yet?”

Gold had told her to use him as bait, and Belle finally saw her chance.

“Just a few. I did meet my father’s landlord the other day, Mr. Gold. He seems like a real piece of work.”

As she suspected, it was the right thing to say. Jasmine scowled the moment his name was mentioned.

“Gold is absolutely vile. He gives me the creeps.”

“I heard he skins children for their pelts,” Ella added. “Not that I judge.”

Before Belle could think too much about that comment, Jasmine started talking again. “If he ever gives you trouble, you tell us right away. We have ways to protect you.”

“Ways?” Belle asked, finally feeling like she was getting somewhere.

“Gold likes to pretend he’s got this town wrapped around his finger, but it’s not true. There’s a lot he doesn’t know. For example, in a couple months there’s going to be a full moon and – ”

“Enough.”

They all jumped, before turning to stare at Regina. Belle hadn’t even seen her leave the bathroom, much less approach the table. Her tone was quiet, yet the one word carried enough weight that Jasmine had immediately gone silent.

Regina slid back into the booth and gave Belle a friendly smile. “We don’t want to bore Belle with everything that Gold doesn’t know. We’d be here for weeks!”

The other two seemed to fall over themselves to agree with her and the conversation turned back to the people around them again. Belle learned that Dr. Whale took medication for a boil on his back side and that Jefferson Hatter was considered too gay to function, but she didn’t learn anything helpful.

The next morning, Belle was walking back from getting coffee at Granny’s, nursing a hangover and a migraine, when a black Mercedes Benz pulled up beside her. The top was down and three heads turned in perfect unison towards her.

“Get in loser,” Regina said with a lipstick perfect smile. “We’re getting mimosas.”

*     *   *     *    *

The next couple months passed in pretty much the same way. Between hanging out with the queens and reporting back to Gold, Belle’s spare time was all but eaten away. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been able to curl up and read a book.

In hindsight, she’d probably have been better off getting a part-time job to help her father pay his debts to Gold instead.

The worst part was that she still hadn’t found out whatever Gold was looking for. He still refused to give her any more hints about it, and Belle felt as in the dark as ever.

There was definitely something going on – that she knew for sure. The queens’ attention on her was exhausting, but occasionally they would disappear for a night and deflect any of her questions about where they’d gone. Though Belle’s liver was infinitely grateful for the respite, she knew their absence was important. If she could just find out where they were sneaking off too, maybe she could fulfill her part of the deal and finally get back to her real life.

It was almost three full months before she made a breakthrough. The queens had come stumbling into Granny’s after pulling an all-nighter of some sort, still dressed in their clothes from the day before.

The detail that had grabbed her attention however was the pine needles that had gotten stuck in Ella’s fur coat. The three had clearly spent the night in the woods, despite the oddness of such an idea.

She’d had never pictured them as the camping sort – especially not in stilettos – so it was obvious that there was something extremely important worth going out into the woods for.

Belle smiled into her coffee and bit back a shriek of triumph. Next time they went out of town, she would follow. Finally, she was making progress.  

*     *    *     *   *

Unfortunately, the big secret had turned out to be just that – big.

Hidden in the bushes outside the town line, Belle had seen a school bus plow into the mayor, only for Regina to hop up a second later no worse for wear. The bus itself drove on as if it had hit nothing more than a pothole.

Despite the overwhelming urge to run, she’d followed the three out into the middle of the woods into a small clearing. In the middle of the grass, stood a large black pot boiling above a fire.  

It was a witch’s cauldron.

Whatever mix of bravery, curiosity, and stupidity had kept her going that far fled, and Belle ran out of the woods as quickly and as quietly as possible. Less than ten minutes later, her car came to a screeching halt outside of Gold’s pawnshop. She burst into the building, the door slamming hard behind her. “They’re witches!”

Despite her near hysteria, Gold nodded as if her statement made complete sense. A slow smile spread across his lips. “I knew it.”

“And you thought it was a good idea for me to spy on them?!” Belle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I suppose I’m lucky I’m not a toad right now!”

He waved a hand lazily. “I would have changed you back.”

“Oh sure, you would have…” Belle trailed off, her eyes growing wide as Gold returned her gaze with an amused look. She took several steps back. “But – but…”

“Belle, there’s no reason to be worried. You are in no danger from me.”

“You’re a witch!” she shrieked. “Nothing you say is going to be reassuring!”

He shrugged. “Technically, I’m a sorcerer, but that’s semantics.”

Belle sagged against the counter, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. “I can’t handle this anymore.”

She was surprised when a hand squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Looking up, she saw that Gold had walked up silently to stand beside her. His earlier cockiness had disappeared to be replaced with something that Belle would’ve called worry had it been anyone else.

“I told you I would protect you,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion, “and I will.”

Despite everything that had happened in the last few hours, something inside Belle calmed at his words. “Alright, what do we do now?”

“Isn’t it obvious, my dear? We’re going to dethrone the queens.”

*     *    *     *   *

Less than an hour later, Belle and Gold were crouched down behind some bushes near the witches’ clearing. So far nothing much had happened and Belle was beginning to get a crick in her neck.

Next to her, she could hear Gold sniffing. “What is that horrible smell?”

Belle sniffed herself before blushing. “Oh, Regina gave me some perfume.”

“Why are you wearing it now? We’re trying to keep a low profile, not advertise our location to the entire animal kingdom.”

“It’s not my fault! I’ve washed these clothes a half dozen times, but the scent doesn’t come out.”

“You smell like a baby prostitute.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “If you’ve ever wondered why you don’t have friends, this is why.”

“Need I remind you that you are under my employ – “

“Need I remind you that I’ve more than done my duty – “

A cruel laughter rang out above them. “Need I remind you both that you’re in way over your pretty little heads.”

The two gazed up to see the three queens standing over them, smirking.

“This wasn’t how the story was supposed to end,” Belle said with a gulp.

“Didn’t you know?” Regina said smugly. “Mean always wins.”

The End?