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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

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Case of the Ex: Part I

Summary: Just as you decide to explore your feelings for Ari, an unexpected blast from your past sends you reeling...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Ex-boyfriends, Discussions of Weight, Discussions of Body Image, Mentions of Disordered Eating, Brief Discussions of Race, Pet Names, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to @curls-and-eyeliner for helping me brainstorm. This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“So do you trust me now, Mr. Carmichael?” You tease as you carefully place several books into your customer’s reusable shopping bag while you wait on the receipt to print. “Because the way I see it, I haven’t steered you wrong yet.”

“Here we go.” The older man grumbles, playfulling rolling his eyes as you punch in the last few numbers to complete the transaction.

“My recommendation track record speaks for itself.” You can’t help but laugh at the look he gives you. As if you two didn’t have the same conversation at least once a month. “I just want you to give me my props.”

“Arrogance isn’t a good look on you, young lady.”

“Who said anything about arrogance?” Your eyes go comically wide as you lean into the theatrics by pretending to look around your shop. “Certainly not me. I’m just a small business owner, standing in front of the best retired florist in all of Bell’s Creek, humbly requesting that he finally give me my flippin’ flowers.”

Mr. Carmichael heaves a weary sigh. “Fine, fine. You were right.” He steps back from the counter to give a dramatic bow. “Jean Hanff Korelitz’s Jacob Bonner was strong enough to rival Stephen King’s own Mort Rainey and Thad Beaumont. Your literary tastes reign superior once again.”

“And there it is.” You rip the receipt from the printer and drop it into the bag before handing it over so that you can rest your elbows on the counter. “Now was that really that bad? It’s not like I asked for one of your Sapphire Sweetheart bouquets, after all.”

“That entire moment was so positively excruciating I almost didn’t live through it.” He keeps his tone light as he slings the bag over his shoulder. “Anyway, same time next month?”

“Can’t wait.” You respond with a wink and a wave. “Wouldn’t miss it. And please give Millie my love.”

“Will do!” He calls behind him as he heads out the door.

Once he’s gone you decide to stand up and stretch, raising your arms over your head. You’re not satisfied until you hear the sound of your spine popping. And then you up the ante, twisting your body from side to side before bending down and touching your toes.

You hold the position for a moment, content to let yourself dangle until you hear the chime of the front door, signaling the arrival of another customer. Which was great news for you, especially since business had been kind of slow this morning.

“Welcome to Baubles & Quills!” You chirp as you quickly right yourself. “How can I he–” The words die on your lips when you get a good look at the person standing just inside the doorway.

“Hiya, Cupcake.”

It’s a nickname you haven’t heard in years. And it had only ever been used by one man. The same one who had broken your heart and left a wound so deep you’d been almost convinced that it would never heal.

And yet there he was. Standing right there in your shop. Somehow even more handsome than you remembered.

Mason J. Prescott.

The seconds tick by, turning into minutes as a loaded silence washes over you both. Whatever you’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this. A visit from your ex-boyfriend had not been on today’s bingo card.

Grinning, Mason closes the gap between you. His long, denim clad legs covering the distance in a few easy strides. Once he’s in front of you he removes his Stetson pinchfront and sits it on the counter before taking the opportunity to run his fingers through his thick black locks.

“Damn if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes.” Still grinning, his gray eyes give you a thorough onceover. It’s a blatant, slow moving perusal that lets you know he likes what he sees. “I swear they don’t make girls as pretty as you out in Brickfield. Must be something in the water.”

“Uh…hi.” You stammer as shock continues to course its way through you.

“You lookin’ to catch some flies there, Cupcake?”

Shit. That meant you were staring. Probably with your mouth open. It was an old bad habit that, up until today, you could’ve sworn you had licked.

“Sorry.” You cough, forcing your brain to reboot.

“No need to be sorry.” While Mason’s easygoing charm used to calm your nerves, today it seemed to be doing the opposite.

“What brings you..?” You trail off to take a steadying breath. “I didn’t realize you were back in town.”

What the hell was he doing here?

“I just flew in last night. Caught a red-eye home from Buffalo, New York..” He decides to explain further after you flash him a quizzical glance. “Dad had me working on a business deal up there. It was a quick trip with an even quicker turnaround.”

Oh. “Got it.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, scrubbing a hand over his five-o’clock shadow. “My, uh, plan had been to fly back out to Brickfield first and then make the drive. But after speaking with my Mama no less than six nerve-racking times in the span of an hour, I figured I’d be better off coming straight here. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel good to be back.” He raps his knuckles on the wood.

“I’m sure they’re all very happy you’re home.” You weren’t really sure what else to say to that, so you kept it simple. Although it still didn’t explain his reason for showing up at what was arguably the equivalent of your doorstep.

“Maybe. Some more than others, I suppose.” His voice drops an octave as he pins you with a knowing look. “Any chance you might be one of those people?”

Your teeth begin to gnaw at your bottom lip as your palms go damp with sweat. Why on earth would he care or not about whether you were happy to see him or not? Especially since you hadn’t spoken in–

“I’ve thought of you damn near every day over the last five years.”

“Mace…” His former nickname comes on the heels of a weary sigh.

“I’m serious, sweets.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t.”

You did not want to do this today. It wasn’t fair or right of him to think he could just pick up and waltz back into your life as if he expected your feelings for him to be the same.

Things had changed since then. You had changed. Everything was different now, starting and ending with you.

“I’ve been thinking…” Now it’s his turn to sigh as he squares his shoulders. “Maybe we made a mistake.”

“Ha!” You let out an unladylike snort, your hand flying to your mouth in an attempt to catch it. “I don’t believe for a second that I’m the reason your Mama pressed you to hussle your ass back to our quaint little town.”

“I came back because I needed to deal with a family matter. But I was thinking about staying because the one that got away also happens to own a shop that’s just down the road from my parent’s ranch.” His sobering admission is enough to send you reeling all over again.

Mason then places his hand atop yours, allowing the slightly roughened pad of his thumb to stroke along the ridge of your knuckles.

“I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning.” You give him your best haughty southern belle impression. “But if you’d like, I can point you in the direction of our Self-Help books. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of helpful literature on learning from your past mistakes. Might I recommend John Purkiss’ bestseller, The Power of Letting Go? I hear it’s a real page turner.”

Your newfound snippiness has your ex-boyfriend rocking back on his heels. He even appears a little stunned. Good.

You weren’t the same meek young woman he’d left behind all those years ago. Something that Mason James Prescott would do well to remember.

“Sheesh, Cupcake.” Your former flame presses a hand over his heart, feigning as if you’d wounded him. “You might’ve shed a few extra pounds when I wasn’t looking, but I see you've also gained a little sass too.”

You fold your arms over your chest as you take a moment to process what feels very much like a backhanded compliment. God’s gift to Bell’s Creek didn’t know it yet, but you were getting dangerously close to kicking his pert ass out of your shop.

As if sensing that he’s made an error, he quickly clears his throat. “All I’m saying is that I recognize that I’m dealing with a new and improved you.” He moves to reach for you again before apparently thinking better of it.

“But forgive me if I have a hard time thinking of you as anything but the doe-eyed freshman who wrote poetry behind the bleachers. That is, when she wasn’t busy taking home top prize at the state fair’s pie baking contest year after year.” Mason offers you his own award winning smile for good measure, highlighting the dimple on his left cheek.

Suddenly, the room feels a little too hot for your comfort. You didn’t like feeling this unsettled. These days the only man who was allowed to get under your skin was your handsome, overbearing bounty hunter.

It was a right that he’d earned, whether you liked it or not. And there were honestly times when you damn well didn’t. But you’d also be lying if you said that you weren’t learning to live with it.

“I could sure go for a slice of your famous brambleberry pie right about now.” Mason keeps his deep voice low and even as he takes a tentative step around the side of your cash register, which is the only thing currently separating the two of you. “But I’d be willing to settle for some cherry pie and a scoop of homemade vanilla bean ice cream over at Holtman’s Diner on West 5th if you’d be open to join me.”

“So I can watch you stuff your face with pie while I nibble on a depressing fruit salad from a can like a sad little rabbit?” You scoff. “Pass.”

Mason huffs out an annoyed breath, his brows drawing together. “You were the one who always complained about shit going to your hips. Meanwhile, I was just doing my part to be supportive. Isn’t that what any good man is supposed to do for his woman?”

Apparently you weren’t the only one experiencing a few ruffled feathers here. Fantastic.

“I’m not sure it’s allowed to fall under the category of being supportive –” you respond, complete with appropriate air quotes “– if you’re also the one constantly pointing it out.”

“We were kids, baby!” His hands fly to his waist so that he’s now standing akimbo. “Just a couple of stupid kids worried about stupid shit like football practice and prom pictures. I felt like I was walking around with the world on my shoulders back then. It wasn’t as easy for me as everybody liked to think.” He shifts his weight, resting his hip against the cashwrap. “Nobody understood the pressures of growing up as a Prescott. Nobody even tried…”

‘Oh yeah?’ Your internal voice all but screams. ‘Try being one of only five black kids in your entire goddamned graduating class. But do you see me crying? Nope.’

At any rate, you didn’t sign up for this month’s Prescott Pity Party. So you were about to politely request that he miss you with that bullshit.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to carry so much alone, Mace. I really am.” You look down at your feet as you try to drum up a way to usher him out the door without touching him. But the next thing you know, he’s suddenly standing directly in front of you.

“Except for you.” He reaches out to clutch at your biceps, his big hands smoothing up and down your bare arms. “You saw past the spoiled little rich kid act when no one else did. And I didn’t appreciate you like I should have.”

Your heart speeds up as you take notice of the way his eyes darken. He’s so close that you can see the light smattering of freckles dotting the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. If memory served, he’d broken it during a heated football game.

One where he claimed an opposing player made several crude comments about your body and choice of skirt. At the time you’d considered him a hero. But now…

Now you saw him for what he was. Another run-of-the-mill Prescott pretty boy. All style and no substance. That was the crux of it.

Right?

“Why are you doing this?” Your question comes out weaker than you’d like, but at least it doesn’t waver.

“Because I want you to have dinner with me tonight. For old times’ sake.” His determined gaze bores into your own as all of the oxygen slowly dissipates from the room. “Please, Cupcake?”

Just then, you hear the chiming of the door, signaling the arrival of yet another customer. Spell broken, you take a fortifying step back – needing to put some distance between you and the town’s golden boy.

“Am I interrupting something?” The sound of a familiar voice has your already volatile emotions spiraling in the complete opposite direction as a sense of relief blooms in your chest.

Saved by the damn bell. Thank the Lord.

“Yeah.” Mason snaps at the same time you throw out a swift “nope”.

“Bird?”

Of course your gruff bounty hunter would defer to you on this one – for which you were grateful. You turn your attention to him, not missing the tick in his chiseled jaw.

Now that you saw them together, Ari appeared to have a good inch in height on your former lover. Aside from that, their builds were pretty similar. Instead it was the glaring difference in their personalities that managed to separate one from the other.

“It’s fine, Ari.”

“Bird?” Mason’s lip curls in an almost sneer as his hands drop to his sides. “Is that what you go by now? It’s…cute.” He tacks on the last part when you respond with a simple shrug.

If you were being honest, you didn’t much care how he felt or not. You just wanted him gone so that you could actually breathe again.

“Ari, huh?” He turns to give your man his full attention as realization finally dawns. “You must be that rent-a-cop my father was telling me about. Said you blew into town looking for Martin Westbrook’s sorry ass.”

“Not quite, pal. But you’re almost there.” Ari spares a bored glance in the direction of his would-be rival. But he doesn’t say anything. You knew without him telling you that he was busy assessing the situation. It was something he had a habit of doing anywhere he went.

Especially when found himself face-to-face with a dick like Mason Prescott.

“Well, you won’t find him here, buddy.” Your ex gives him a dismissive nod. “So why don’t you see yourself out? The lady and I were just in the middle of catching up before you took it upon yourself to interrupt.”

An uncomfortable silence ensues as both men stare each other down, each refusing to blink. The tension grows thicker with each passing moment. And it remains that way until you move to step between them.

“Mace is an old friend who stopped by for a chat.” You tell Ari, jamming your nervous hands in your pockets. “But we were just wrapping up so I could get back to doing inventory.”

It was a lie. And you recognized that Ari was someone who deserved a better, more in-depth explanation than the basic one that you just gave him. But for now it would simply have to do. At least until you got your bearings.

“But what about that pie?” Mason pouts, obviously upset by the prospect of you kicking him out. “Don’t leave me to eat alone, Cupcake.”

“Cupcake? Wow.” Ari scoffs under his breath, not bothering to his disapproval.

“Old friend, old nickname.” You hiss, somehow feeling even more self-conscious than you already did. “Now that we’ve established all that, I think it’s best if you two peaches get a move-on. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”

Needing some space, you attempt to shoo them out the door. But unfortunately, you might as well have better luck trying to herd a couple of cats. Lucky you.

“What about lunch?” Your man growls. Apparently he didn’t take too kindly to being thrown out either.

“Too busy. Gotta cancel. Sorry you came out all this way, but these books aren’t gonna stock themselves so…” You throw your arms in the air. “It is what it is.”

Instead of accepting his dismissal, Ari takes a step towards you. He doesn’t stop until he’s in front of you, his body eclipsing your smaller frame and effectively blocking you from Mason’s view.

“Did you eat today, baby?” He asks as one big hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, giving you an affectionate squeeze. Some of the stiffness in his shoulders eases when you give him a little nod. “Good. What’d you have?”

“A piece of toast and a hard boiled egg.”

“Alright.” Warmth pools in your belly when your sweet bounty hunter hands over a plastic bag filled with what feels suspiciously like a sandwich and chips. “It’s a grilled chicken caesar wrap. Best they had since you said you don’t like that chipotle spread. Also got you some sea salt and vinegar chips, some cuke and onion salad, and a cookie.”

Christ. This man was simply too good for you. Moments like these only served to remind you that you truly didn’t deserve him.

“Thank you.” You murmur once you finally manage to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“I’m gonna need you to eat every last bite for me.” He tells you, his intoxicating blue eyes dropping to your lips. “So that I can fully enjoy taking a bite out of you later.” Thankfully, he's thoughtful enough to whisper the last bit. Making it clear that it was for your ears only.

“Okay, Ari.”

Nodding, he shifts his attention back to an increasingly annoyed Mason. But while there’s no way he could’ve missed the moment you shared with Ari just now, he chooses to stew in silence. Which is absolutely fine by you.

“Call me when you lock up.” You know that Ari’s words are meant for you even though his focus remains entirely on the other man taking up space in your tiny lobby.

“I’ll see you around, Cupcake.” Mason smiles, but this time you notice that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can’t wait to find out if you’re still as sweet as I remember.” He finishes with a knowing wink.

With that, he turns and strides out of the shop, not even bothering to hold the door for Ari. But your man doesn’t seem to mind. Instead he makes a show of shouldering through it with minimal effort.

As soon as it swings shut you hit the lock and flip the sign. And then you duck in the corner, watching as the two men exchange what you can only assume to be a few choice words right there in your parking lot.

And while you can’t make out what they’re saying, you’re convinced that it’s anything but friendly – what with them being practically nose to nose.

You stay in your spot until Ari and Mason finish their conversation. And it’s only once they’ve climbed in their respective cars and driven away that you finally slink off to the back room to lick your wounds and figure out your next move.

Fuck! You had the sinking feeling that things were about to get complicated fast. Opening the fridge, you toss your lunch inside before slamming it shut so that you can snag a homemade strawberry and cream popsicle from the freezer.

As you sit down, you feel your phone buzz in your back pocket. You fish it out, surprised to see that you’ve got a text from Ari that reads:

“Mace seems like a real stand-up guy.”

“No shit, Beast.” Rolling your eyes, you place the device facedown on a nearby table before nibbling on your sweet and creamy treat. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

END

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khaotunq · 1 year

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Do you have aye akk headcannons that you haven't shared with the group yet? Also who do you think would propose just because I dreamed about that and you talked about marriage in your tags. So I am completely innocent

I HAVE NEVER BEEN ASKED ABOUT HEADCANONS I'M GOING TO THROW MYSELF INTO A VOLCANO

honestly, i don't know that i've got anything special up in the old bargain bucket. i was writing something silly the other day for my own entertainment with eclipse on for background noise and it did sort of slip in that -- and this is as close to controversial as it gets, i know; hold onto yer butts -- i don't think akk's neat? as in tidy. he's organised, sure, but i think his tendency to be a messy bitch extends beyond his personality.

this is a very, very tiny thing okay but go with me on this.

Edit, four hours later: ...apparently it's not a tiny thing. I have had to put a read more because now I've added pictures. Apparently I really do have thoughts.

I think I think of this as a headcanon because a lot of fandom portrayal has Akk as this ruthlessly neat Type A and Ayan as cheerfully messy... but I'm about to insist that this is not, in fact, headcanon: it's canon. I brought receipts.

(I'm kidding but pls nobody bother telling me I'm wrong <3 respectfully, i won't believe u <3)

So over the course of the show we see both Akk and Ayan's bedrooms, right? Prior to the show even beginning, these are rooms they've presumably inhabited for quite some time. There is a whole thing we could get into about their respective economical backgrounds and what the set dressing decor says in regards to that, but I'm not gonna. Not today, at least.

Aside from that and the fact that I have a running joke in my head that Ayan lives in a hotel room in his own home (there's another tangent here about the parallel of ayan not having "roots"/a true home/a "space" but I am trying not to write a dissertation here) - they're teenage boys, right?

However,

FIGS 1.1-1.4: Ayan's bedroom.

Ayan's bedroom has nothing in it. Other than his dead uncle, some Alien urn lamps and a whole lotta beige (potential tangent number 590384: characters and their typical/home surrounding's colouring -- Ayan in golds and brown tones; Kan and Thua surrounded in white; Akk and a whole bunch of blues until he goes home and we see his blues meet Ayan's golds, etc etc -- which i'm sure someone's already done).

Now, it's possible that this is because he and Patcharaporn have someone who comes in to do housework, but even if that were the case, you'd still expect some sort of reflection of it being a teenage boy who inhabits that room... but there's nothing. Yes, I'm aware that this is The Thai BL House, but set dressing isn't something that would be outside the realm of possibility entirely. The most you ever see of Ayan in his room is when he's getting all Conspiracy Cork Board and there are just piles of dictionaries on his desk, or when he's sitting around reading dystopic speculative fiction. A single dystopic speculative fiction book. There are no others.

Come on, Aye.

I could write essays about Ayan Sukkhaphisit and loneliness. Essays.

But this is not that day.

FIGS 2.1-2.4: Akk's dorm room.

Ignoring the fact that there are obvious differences due to Akk's being a dorm and Ayan's being a single room in a house, Akk's room is by contrast overflowing with Akk. Akk has crafted his dorm to reflect himself.

Or rather, to reflect the image he wants to portray, but there are little pieces of him everywhere.

(I'm sure there's meaning in the spoon print, I just don't know what it is yet. The spoon canvas, truly more than anything in Akk's room, Sends. Me.)

There are books everywhere - light sources (tangent 4012432: all of Akk's light sources are caged in some way), knick-knacks that speak to a character with far more to him than he presents to the world, a calendar that never changes from September 3rd.

I think Akk is neat out of necessity, out of maintaining his image; I think Ayan is neat out of never having anywhere to really have stuff. I think, if canon were to progress, we'd see Akk relax even further into his space because it's the only place he can be careless and Ayan begin to be unafraid to actually take up some space.

(Tangent 6535423420: all of Ayan's personality is on him, at all times - the necklace, the hoody: his home is himself. In many ways, while Ayan is a cocky little shit, he's potentially the more deeply insecure.)

(Tangent and class discussion topic 22871342: is Ayan's room being borderline sterile a way of showing that Ayan himself is exactly how he appears to everyone - in that, he has nothing to hide? Compare with Akk's ruthless self control and dogmatic need to be perceived as perfect contrasting with how unsterile his home is.)

(Tangent 900122156: The first time we see Ayan begin to truly inhabit a space is when he and Akk are placing photos of him and his mother in Akk's room)

I'm not getting started on Akk's bedroom at his parents' house because 1. it's a boat cabin, and 2. I have to go eat something, lmao. But, for posterity, I guess:

FIGS 3.1-3.3: Akk's bedroom.

I leave it to you guys to note the multiple and varied light sources (there's still a caged light!), light streaming in from several billion windows, the storage/units brimming with things on or in them, the same dang blue mug from his dorm, the bathroom door wide open to show the mirror and thus adding more light.

(Tangent 123019242222...: Akk standing at the stern/wheel in his bedroom as the above interaction begins and what it means about his need for control while Ayan's mere presence lures him away)

(Additional thought added an hour after I posted this because it was in my head when I started answering this and then it disappeared and then I was brushing my teeth and it's back for some reason so: I think there's part of Akk that actively revels in mess/chaos. Something about him being so externally orderly, something about Ayan throwing his world into chaos and that being what draws him to Ayan, something something something, going to finish brushing my teeth.)

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banannabethchase · 1 year

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Adam's connecting flight gets delayed, and who else should be on the flight but Jon Moxley. They decide to share a hotel room, but, oh no, what could possibly go wrong? Or right?

Being in an airport really does inspire a person, doesn't it? Also this has been lingering in the back of my noggin for months.

Adam drops his head when the announcement comes on again.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters. He should have taken the Bucks up on their invite to stay in one of their guest rooms – there’s no way he’s getting home any time soon at this point.

Stuck at the airport want to die, Adam texts Matt

It’s almost immediate that he gets back, told u so

Sometimes I actually hate you

<3 <3 <3 <3

He resists the urge to text Nick, who will probably be the exact same as Matt, just a little less overtly bitchy. He stretches out in the airport chair as he listens to the flight attendant repeat the announcement for the third time.

”Again, flight 1883 out of San Diego to Cincinnati is cancelled due to weather events across the Great Plains,” she says, sounding too chipper for the announcement. “We will be happy to help any stranded passengers make alternate plans.”

Adam curses the need for layovers as he gets up to the counter, Orville Peck’s newest album keeping him from losing it as he waits behind soccer moms and business professionals and, to his amusement, one of the crew guys from the night before. He doesn’t seem to recognize Adam, and Adam’s not going to get in the way of whatever he’s got going on in his headphones.

When he finally gets up to the counter, he exhales with relief. “Hey, there, ma’am, I was hoping you could help me out.”

“Certainly, sir,” she says. “Tell me what your situation is.”

Adam begins talking, and practically jumps when he hears an obnoxiously familiar voice go, “Oh, fuck me.”

Adam squeezes his eyes shut and exhales. He should have known this was coming. “Lord save me now.”

“I know,” says the counter attendant, sympathetic smile not helping in the slightest. “Flight delays are frustrating.”

“Oh, no it’s not that. It’s just – ” He stops himself from going into a detailed rant about just how perfect it is that he’s going to be stuck in the same airport as Jon Moxley for the foreseeable future. “Never mind. Regarding the flights, I have a connection that there’s no way I’m making.”

“Yeah, unfortunately that’s going to be the case,” she says, frowning. “How about this. We can book you a hotel room,” she does some clicking, “and get you a new fight for…well, it looks like, in order not to give you a 12 hour layover, we can get you out of here on a flight directly to Virginia tomorrow at 4pm.” She smiles at him. “Does that sound like it could work?”

Adam nods. “That sounds like a great alternative. I appreciate your help.”

She prints him out a boarding pass and a hotel receipt, only to turn to run smack into Mox.

“Jesus, you’re charming as fuck even in a stressful situation,” Mox says, grinning at him. “Ever turn it off?”

“You’ve seen what I do when I turn it off,” Adam says, refusing to meet his eyes. It’s unfortunate, then, that his gaze lingers on Mox’s lips. On the way his tee shirt gaps a little at the collar. “You get hung by a chain in front of thousands on a pay per view.”

Mox’s grin goes a little predatory. “Yeah. Anyway, hope your day sucks.”

“What? I – fine. You too. Prick.”

Mox winks at him and gets into line just in time for Adam to get a phone call he’s not going to be able to finish without plugging in his phone. So he, with CD on the other end of the line checking in on him, is privy to the shitshow in front of him.

“There’s no more hotel rooms?!” says the lady who had been standing a few people behind him. He remembers she was the one loudly listening to videos on her phone in between complaining. “Then find me a different one!”

“Ma’am, there are no more hotel rooms we are able to –”

“Well that’s your fault, isn’t it?!” she shrieks. She turns to the line of people behind her. “Aren’t you all just as angry? We want to get home! We paid good money for these tickets!” She turns back to the attendant. “Are you the most competent person I can deal with? Do they only hire idiots?”

“Chris, I gotta go,” Adam mutters into the phone. “I’m good, though, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Alright, Hanger.” Chris sounds skeptical, which is fair, but he hangs up anyway.

Adam’s in the process of standing up to go give the lady a piece of his mind when Mox steps out of line to swagger up to the complainer. “Yo, lady, I’m not sure what your problem is, but you don’t see any of us acting like toddlers who didn’t get a cookie.” He does that stance, arms behind his back, like he’s daring someone to hit him. “Chill out.”

“I,” she says, “am a very important oil executive, sir, and I have places to be. People require my presence to complete their jobs.” She looks Mox up and down, taking in his ratty jacket, ripped jeans, and faded tee shirt. Her eyes linger on the scars on his forehead. “I can see you don’t have much experience in that arena.”

Mox scoffs. “Lady, I’m a wrestler. Like a pro one? Like on TV? Not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty sure I’m just as whatever as you are and I’m not being a bitch.”

Adam snickers into his hand. It’s not quiet enough – Mox glances over his shoulder and grins at Adam. “See? That guys a wrestler, too. And he was perfectly civil. So you can grow the fuck up and act like a human or you can keep this up and I’ll put you in a headlock.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says. Adam knows that face. She’s trying to call Mox’s bluff. Adam giggles again.

“Hey, Cowboy,” Mox says, “what did I do to you in that match?”

“Before I choked you out with a chain?” Adam asks. “You tried to break my hand between two bricks.”

“Right,” Mox says. He turns back to the lady, whose face has turned a weird shade of green. “So, like, if you’re gonna go after this nice person trying to help you, I kinda hope you go full on nutjob and jump the counter. I’d love give you a suplex onto the floor.”

Adam’s full on laughing as the lady sputters some nonsense. She snatches the boarding pass that the flight attendant had been holding out for her and stomps off. “I hope you get a concussion,” she snarls at Mox and Adam as she leaves.

“Been there, done that, lady,” Mox calls after her.

Adam lets the laughter fade. “You got a way of handling assholes, that’s for sure.”

“Only way I’ve survived being coworkers with you,” Mox says. “I’m fucked, though. Stuck sleeping on airplane chairs like it’s 2003 again.”

Adam practically sees his options scatter across his vision. Take the hotel room and enjoy a night to himself. Offer the room to Mox and be stuck here. Give the hotel room to someone else so they’re both miserable together.

Or.

“I mean, you can come with me,” Adam says. “I’m sure we can avoid killing each other for a night so we can both get decent sleep.”

Mox stares at him for a second. “What?”

“You don’t have to,” Adam says, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. “Just saying you could be, like, not a weird martyr and take the comfortable option.” He’s about to walk away, hand on his rolling carryon, when Mox sighs.

“I like that you think spending time with you is better than being stuck in an airport,” Mox says, but he grabs his carryon and starts walking. Adam falls into pace next to him.

“Dick,” Adam says, grinning. “You look like you’re coming with me, though, so I’d say I’m better than an airport.”

“I’m too fuckin’ old to try and sleep on airplane carpet,” Mox says, rolling his shoulders. “Plus, I got that GCW match on Sunday and I really don’t want to be fucked up for it.”

“Oh, right,” Adam says, sliding out of the way for a family of what appears to be four thousand blocking the path, “because a GCW match requires tip top shape to get bludgeoned to death with a trash can.”

Mox stares at him. “We just bludgeoned you and your boys with worse than trash cans, so I have no idea where this high and mighty bullshit is coming from.”

Adam opens his mouth to argue before realizing, annoyed, that Mox is right. “Well shit.”

Navigating the airport to get to the hotel is easier than Adam had thought, but with a chattering Mox behind him making commentary on everything it’s less smooth.

“Do you ever shut up?” Adam asks as they settle in line at the hotel. “Seriously, I don’t think I’ve said anything in ten minutes, but you’ve spoken a novel’s worth.”

Mox shrugs. “I’m fidgety. I talk when I’m fidgety. That a problem for you?”

“If you talk in your fuckin’ sleep, it is,” Adam says, but he’s sure to smile to make it sound like less of a death threat. The people in front of them in line keep looking back at them, concerned. Adam doesn’t want the cops called on him. “Now shut up for, like, two minutes while I get checked in.”

“You better ask for two beds,” Mox says. “I ain’t cuddling with you, Cowboy.”

“I’m sure there’s two queens,” Adam replies.

Mox giggles.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Just, if there’s two queens, it’s the Bucks, right?”

Adam kicks him in the shins.

“And there’s a king bed in this room,” says the attendant when he gets his key cards.

Adam blinks. “I’m – just a king bed?”

“Yes, sir,” she says. “It’s the only room left.”

“Alright,” Adam says. He’ll sleep in the bathtub if he comes to it. Anything to get this shit show over with. “Yeah, it’ll work. I appreciate the help.”

Mox steps in pace with him, like a puppy learning how to heel, as Adam makes his way to the elevator. “So, we gonna fight on who gets the bed?”

“I’ll sleep in the tub if it means you shut up,” Adam deadpans, pressing the button for the elevator.

Mox slides into the elevator, and grabs Adam’s carryon to move it with him. Adam’s…confused, but appreciative. “I was kidding about the cuddling bit,” Mox says. “I mean, you’re letting me stay in your hotel room. I’ll sleep in the tub or on the floor.”

“That can’t be much better than an airport carpet,” Adam says. He checks the key card – fourth floor, room 451. Before he can press the button, Mox has reaches out and practically punched the button for number 4.

Mox is quiet for a few minutes, long enough to make Adam wonder what he’s planning. “Or,” Mox says as the elevators doors open. He grabs Adam’s carryon again and hauls both suitcases down the hallway. Adam decides not to mention his has wheels – he kind of wants to see how long it’ll take Mox to notice. “I mean, we can share. The bed, I mean. If you’re okay with that.”

Adam considers it as they walk down the hallway. “You’re not gonna try and cuddle me, are you?”

“I – that was a joke, you fuckwit,” Mox says. “And you could thank me for carrying your bag all the way here.”

“First off, it rolls, so you didn’t have to carry it,” Adam says, sliding the key card into the lock on the door. “Second, I didn’t ask you to carry my bag.”

“I had to,” Mox says. Adam barely gets the chance to push open the door before Mox is hauling all their bags and throwing them into the room with zero ceremony or care. “It was the nice thing to do.”

Adam shuts the door behind the two of them. “You saying that right after chucking the bags into a wall feels weird.”

Mox shrugs and throws himself onto the bed, arms behind his head. “What, you want me to, like, apologize or something? Did you have something breakable in there?”

Adam shakes his head as he carefully unzips his boots and sets them neatly next to the desk. “Just wondering what the fuck goes on in that weird head of yours.”

“You don’t get to call me weird,” Mox says, and he’s grinning when Adam glances over at him. “You’re just as much of a freak as me, Cowboy.”

Adam throws the pillow from the chair at Mox and sits down. “Am not.”

“Oh, so the whole hanging me using a chain is normal behavior to you?” Mox shifts, grinning at Adam. “Wrapping barbed wire around yourself like a fuckin’ corset is vanilla in your world? I’d hate to see what you’d consider freaky, then.”

Adam adjusts in the seat, desperate to lay down but not ready to cross that bridge with Mox. “I’m sure you would Mox.”

They’re quiet for a moment, as Adam tries to figure out if getting up will be seen as an offensive maneuver. Then Mox groans and stretches, his arms above his head on the bed. He grips the bars of the headboard, which Adam tries not to think too much about. “Well, Cowboy,” he groans, “if we’re gonna act like an old married couple and share the same bed, least I can do is wash the airport offa me. I’m gonna go shower.”

Adam nods, because there’s not much else he can really do. “I, uh. Appreciate it?”

“You should,” Mox says, swaggering over to the shower. He pulls his shirt off and throws it on top of his luggage. Adam recognizes a fresh scar on Mox’s back as one he placed there with barbed wire. He ignores the voice in his head that growls mine at the sight. “I’m a fuckin’ saint.”

“I absolutely wouldn’t go that far,” Adam laughs, but he follows Mox with his eyes as he makes his way to the bathroom, allowing himself to look at the way Mox’s ass fills out the jeans.

Adam’s halfway through his compulsive daily email clear out when a noise jolts him out of his focus.

He looks around the room for the source, only to see an outdated phone buzzing on top of Mox’s bag.

“Mox,” Adam yells, “Mox, your phone’s ringing!”

Adam stands and walks over to the phone to pick it up. He wouldn’t normally impose, but he glances at the screen and it’s Tony’s number. “Dude,” Adam says again. “You’ve been in there for twenty minutes.”

The phone stops ringing and Adam relaxes. And then it starts up again.

“Asshole,” Adam grumbles, almost stomping down the short hallway to the bathroom. “Hey dickhead!” he yells, and he’s surprised when the door swings open under his grip.

He should have remembered he’s never been in this bathroom before.

He should have remembered this is Jon Moxley.

He should have remembered that boner he popped during Anarchy in the Arena.

The shower is in perfect view of the door, so he can’t even act like he can’t see what’s in front of him. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Here to join?” Mox asks. His hand is curled around his cock, grinning over at Adam through the water droplets on the glass shower door.

“No,” Adam says, averting his eyes, a little too late, “uh. Here.” He shoves the phone toward Mox. “It’s Tony.”

“Tell him we’re having a sleepover and he can wait,” Mox says. Adam can sense that Mox is moving, and he’s not strong enough to imagine the kind of movement. “I’m busy.”

“It’s the second time he’s called in, like, four minutes,” Adam says. He moves to stare at the wall, but all that happens is he locks eyes with Mox through the mirror. He fights the urge to run or whimper or something else he doesn’t allow himself to think about too hard. “Just fuckin’ answer it.”

Mox groans and turns off the shower. “Asshole.”

“Dickhead,” Adam replies, and he hustles out of there like his life depends on it.

Mox comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later followed by steam. Adam is unable to ignore the fact that he’s not wearing anything but a towel around his waist.

Adam had waffled between what to do, and ended up sitting on the bed stiffly, still fully dressed, with a book in his hand. He’s made it through two pages and didn’t understand any of it.

“Tony was just freaking out about if I was gonna get home or not,” Mox says. Adam intentionally doesn’t look at the way the water leaves trails down his chest, his back, his arms. He doesn’t look at how low the towel is on Mox’s hips, on the perfect lines of muscle making a V at the bottom of his torso. “Since he booked the flights he got the notification of the cancellation and I,” he rolls his eyes, “am the only one who didn’t check in with CD, so he was freaking out.”

Adam swallows, forcing himself to stare at the wall behind Mox. “You chill him out?”

Mox nods, stretching, and Adam’s eyes snap right back to that chest of Mox’s. “Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Mox says. “Freaks out about everything, Tony. Told him we’re bunking together.”

That’s enough for Adam to set his book down. “How’d he react to that?”

Mox laughs, twisting. Adam finds himself wondering how tightly the towel is tied, if Mox is still hard under there. “Tony freaked out, like always. Wanted to know if we planned on killing each other.”

“It’s not off the table,” Adam replies, adjusting his glasses and going back to the book.

Adam feels the bed shift as Mox sits at the foot of the bed. “Yeah? Planning on strangling me in your sleep?”

Adam looks up to see Mox grinning at him. “Already strangled you once,” Adam says, flipping the page like he’s been able to take in a single word since Mox walked out of the bathroom. “Figured I’d try something new.”

Mox huffs. “Yeah? You been thinkin’ about killing me?”

“No,” Adam says. He sets down the book. “But, you know. Always have ideas in my back pocket.”

Mox studies his face for a moment. “Ideas?”

Adam nods. He’s not sure where this is going. “Yeah. Ideas.”

The silence feels heavy for a second, and Adam’s pretty sure he’s seconds away from doing something stupid when Mox says, “I like the glasses.”

Adam blinks. “Oh,” he says, taken off guard by the compliment. “Uh. Thanks?”

“You don’t have to act all weird about it,” Mox says. “They’re – they look good. Real studious and shit.”

Adam laughs. “High praise from a man whose wardrobe is his own merch.”

“It’s my merch because I like it,” Mox says. He leans back on the bed. His head is level with Adam’s knees. “Course I’ll wear it.”

“You don’t see me in Hangman shirts all the time,” Adam says.

“No, but you were those, uh, those button downs. Very yeehaw. Cowboy shit, right? You dress the part.” He reaches out and pats Adam’s leg. “Even your jeans are all cowboy.”

Adam tries not to flinch or burn at the touch. “I – thank you?”

Mox rolls over. “Are you okay? You’re all tense?”

Adam opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again and says, before he can stop it, “What are you doing?”

Mox stares. “Huh?”

“Like, you talk all the time, I know that, but you��re like.” He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know. Trying to be friendly.”

Mox’s face falls, and Adam practically watches him close in on himself as he scrambles to his feet. He can’t explain why his heart clenches at it, only that it does. “Oh.”

“No!” Adam says. “I – no, it’s not a bad thing. It’s just I didn’t expect it. Especially after I walked in on you –” Adam cuts himself off, because saying, ‘walked in on you jacking it’ feels a little too real for whatever’s happening.

Mox’s expression shifts incredibly slowly, from confusion to understanding to amusement. “Oh,” he says, drawing out the syllable. “Oh, you walked in on me with my hand on my dick and you freaked out.”

Adam wills himself not to turn red. He doesn’t think it’s working. “I didn’t freak out.” He forces himself to look up and meet Mox’s eyes, blue and bright. “I tried to be professional about it.”

“Yeah?” Mox says. “What if I didn’t want you to be professional about it?”

Adam’s eyes flicker from Mox’s eyes to his mouth before he can stop them. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Fuck a coworker in a hotel room. That’s great.”

“A coworker?” Mox says, pouting. He puts his hand to his heart. “I’m hurt. I’m at least an arch nemesis at this point, right?”

“Fine, fuck an arch nemesis,” Adam says, and he can’t fight the grin. “But that’s a bad idea, right?”

“Interesting,” Mox says. “You’re not saying no, you don’t want to. You’re saying no, it’s unprofessional? Weird stance to take when everybody knows what you and Cole were doing before your Revolution match.”

Adam shrugs and tries to act like he knew everyone was aware of what he and Cole get up to. “We have a history together. It’s what we’ve always done before matches.”

“You always blow him before a match?” Mox says. “I gotta get that on the schedule for our matches. Sounds nice.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you,” Adam says, but he can’t deny that the picture of Mox with his cock in his hand, that grin on his lips, is burned into his memory. “But I get what you’re doing now. This your seduction technique?”

“Not usually,” Mox says, and he stands, hand going to the place where the towel is tucked in on itself. Adam wants to pull at it. “But I figured, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Adam licks his lips before he can stop himself. “Desperate, huh? You look it.”

“Excuse me,” Mox says, and he finally throws the towel to the ground. “You’re the one staring at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

“You walked out of the shower with nothing but a towel and started talking about our boss as a weird segue to flirting,” Adam says, and he hopes Mox doesn’t notice the way he spreads his legs, just a little. His hands are threatening to start shaking with anticipation as Mox climbs on the bed.

He is still hard.

“I’ll have you know my flirting is far more than just words.”

Adam can’t move and doesn’t want to as Mox leans in and kisses him, a hand on the side of his neck. It’s gentler than he would have expected, less insistent, and Adam rests a hand on Mox’s hip and pulls him down. His skin is damp and warm, and Adam grabs at it like a lifeline as Mox’s tongue slides across the seam of his lips.

Adam makes an involuntary little squeak and Mox pulls back.

“What?” he asks. “You good? Too much?”

Adam shakes his head. “No. I mean, yes. Jesus, ask one thing at a time.”

Mox grins at him. “Oh, I like you flustered.” He reaches out and brushes his thumb across Adam’s bottom lip. It’s devastating. “You good?”

Adam nods, Mox’s thumb catching on his upper lip. “I’m good,” he says. He’s already breathless, like he’s a horny teenager. This would be embarrassing if he weren’t so into it. “I just – not what I expected, you know?”

Mox shrugs. “Nah, but when the opportunity arises.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Is that a dick joke?” Adam asks. “Of course you’d make a dick joke right now.”

“What, I should make a fuckin’ – what else rises? A sun joke?” Mox asks. “Stay in the moment, Cowboy.”

“You stay in the –” But Adam’s cut off by a kiss, this one a bit less gentle.

He grips at Mox’s sides again, then flips them before Mox can react. Mox makes a funny little sound and adds teeth into the kiss, catching Adam’s lower lip, and Adam can’t help it. He moans into it.

Mox’s hands slide under and up his shirt, scratching at his back in a way that makes him kiss harder, press his leg between Mox’s legs. He chances a hand along Mox’s thigh, not getting too close, not until Mox says so.

Mox pulls his mouth away. “Fuck, Cowboy, you a tease, too? Grab my cock already.”

“Jesus,” Adam laughs, “you could be, like, a little romantic about it.”

“Oh, and you walking in on me jerking off just to give me my phone with my boss on the other line is romantic?!” Mox says.

“Okay,” Adam says, reaching up to spit in his hand, “to be fair, I didn’t know that’s what you were doing.” He curls his hand around Mox’s cock, laughing at the way Mox’s face relaxes, the way his head drops against the pillows. “Believe me,” Adam says, lips at Mox’s ear. He catches Mox’s earlobe between his teeth. “If I’d know that’s what you were doing, maybe I would have joined you.”

Mox lets out a fascinating little whine at the way Adam twists his hand. “Oh, I like this side of you,” he laughs.

Adam strokes gently, careful not to give too much pressure, too much friction. He’s still fully clothed. He’s not going to let Mox have all the fun. “Yeah?” Adam says.

Mox nods. “Hey, wait, you – too much clothes. Get naked.”

“No fuckin’ romance,” Adam laughs under his breath, but he leans back and pulls his shirt off over his head. He looks down to see Mox staring at him. “The fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Just looking,” Mox says. “You got a chance to look at me naked, I’m just returning the favor.” Adam tries not to squirm under Mox’s gaze. “Hot. Alright, pants.”

With an eye roll, Adam unbuckles his jeans and rolls off of Mox, shoving his pants and boxers down his hips in one move. Mox stares at his dick and licks his lips. “Goddamn,” he says, voice low and pupils blown, “that Hung Bucks thing isn’t a joke, is it?”

Adam rolls his eyes and pretends he isn’t blushing as he gets back onto the bed and on top of Mox. As much as he didn’t see this as how his day would end, he’s enjoying it.

“Hey,” Mox says, grabbing a handful of Adam’s ass, “what if we take this to the shower?”

Adam pulls back from where he’d been working a bruise into Mox’s neck. “Shower?”

“It’s big,” Mox says, “Got some little seat things.”

Adam stares at him. “You don’t want to leave wet spots on the bed, huh.”

“There’s only one bed.” He wrinkles his nose. “We fuck here, things’ll get wet. One of us would be stuck sleeping in it.”

Adam pushes himself off the bed and walks to the shower. “For once in your life, you’re making sense.”

“You know this was my idea, right?” Mox says, following him. He puts his hands on Adam’s hips, half steering him to the bathroom. Adam finds he likes being manhandled like this a little bit. “You could be a little nicer about it.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Something tells me nice isn’t what you actually like.”

“Am I that predictable?”

Adam laughs as gets the shower started, the water turning warm quicker than he expected, and he steps under the stream. He hears Mox step in after him and then big hands span his stomach from behind him. He shivers under the touch. He has to fight the urge to push Mox off, used to those hands causing harm. But right now he’s gentle, warm, and Adam’s got to loosen up a little.

“Breathe, Cowboy,” Mox says into Adam’s ear, “not gonna hurt you.”

Adam laughs. “You sure about that?”

“I mean, unless you’re into it.” He punctuates it with a nip to Adam’s neck, sending sparkles through Adam’s vision. “But, nah. Just gonna do this.” He slides his hand down Adam’s body and wraps it around Adam’s dick. Adam drops his head backward, resting his head against Mox’s neck. A part of him is screaming to push away and run, but it’s a part that is way quieter than the part screaming fuck me.

“God, that’s good,” Adam mumbles before he can stop himself. He rolls his hips into the circle of Mox’s calloused fingers. “Fuck, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah?” Mox says, lips on Adam’s neck. “How long? With who?

“Me – fuck – me and Kenny used to fuck around a lot, happened once a few weeks ago, when – do that again, yeah – I went back with the Elite…” He trails off, eyes fluttering shut as he leans into the feeling, gripping at Mox’s hip hard enough to leave fingernail marks.

Mox laughs. “Maybe I bring you to the rest of Blackpool,” he murmurs. “I think you’d have a good time. Yoots might be kinda young, but he fucks like an animal.”

Adam laughs. “Yeah?” He turns to catch Mox’s mouth, pushing him backward against the wall of the shower. He’s grateful for the space, for the room in here to really move Mox around. “Knew I was right about that circle jerk shit, you horny motherfuckers.”

“Hey, you’re benefitting from this horny motherfucker, so you better not complain,” Mox says. “I’m gonna blow you now, okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, and he lets Mox press him up against the wall. “Fuck yeah.”

Adam watches as Mox sinks to his knees and grins up at him. He should say something, do something, but all he can do is breathe heavily and wait.

“You look good from this angle,” Mox says, and then his mouth is around the head of Adam’s cock and, frankly, Adam forgets how to think.

Mox is focused and determined as he works his tongue and lips around Adam in a way he hadn’t realized Mox could be out of the ring. Then again, he muses, as Mox reaches up to grip at Adam’s thighs, this isn’t far out of the realm. He giggles before he can stop himself.

“Are you laughing at me?!” Mox exclaims, pulling off of Adam’s cock. “Look, I don’t know shit about etiquette or whatever but I’m pretty sure laughing at the guy sucking your dick is bad manners.”

“Not at you,” Adam chokes out. “Just. Look, dude, this is a far cry from us and our friends trying to kill each other back at Double or Nothing, you know?” He runs his thumb along Mox’s cheekbone. “You look pretty both ways, though.”

Mox rolls his eyes at him. “You’re fuckin’ weird. I can’t believe I want to fuck you.” He shakes his head and dives back to wrap his mouth around Adam.

Adam closes his eyes and rolls into it, letting the feeling take him over. This is far different than what he gets up to with the other guys in the back rooms. This feels like they have all the time in the world, like they don’t have to worry or rush. Like Mox has all the time in the world, and he’s going to take it.

He pushes at Mox’s shoulder. “Get up here, I wanna kiss you.”

Mox stands and crashes into Adam, and Adam shivers a little at the taste of himself on Mox’s tongue. He reaches behind himself to get some of the cheap hotel conditioner and fumbles to cover his hand with it.

“Are you washing your hair right now?” Mox turns.

“No, dipshit, I’m gonna grab your dick,” Adam replies. He reaches down between the two of them. Mox is a little too far away, so Adam grabs his hips and pulls him closer so he can wrap a hand around both of their cocks at once. Mox lets out the prettiest little moan at it, a hand flying up next to Adam’s head to brace himself against the wall.

“Jesus,” Mox mumbles. He circles his hips in a way that makes his cock slide against Adam’s with just enough friction to make his head spin. “Kinda glad that our flight got cancelled now.”

Adam laughs, meeting Mox’s movements. “Yeah? There are definitely worse ways to spend a layover.” He glances up to see Mox’s tongue between his teeth, eyes locked on the way their cocks slide against each other. He can’t resist it – he leans in and catches Mox’s lips in his, swallowing the moan that follows.

He focuses on the sensations, the feelings, the sound of Mox’s breathing and of their dicks sliding against each other. That part of him that thinks this is a terrible idea keeps trying to get loud, but he shuts it up every time his lips meet Mox’s.

He feels it build slowly, like the water that trails down Mox’s forehead, in the base of his spine.

“Fuck,” Adam pants, “Mox, I’m close, I gotta –”

“Yeah, Cowboy, I got you.” Mox slides his hand around Adam’s, their fingers tangling, and that’s enough to send Adam over the edge.

He gasps, without meaning to, “Mox,” as he comes all over both of their hands, rocking his hips up to ride it out.

“God, that’s pretty,” Mox mumbles. He gets a little reckless and frantic, and he leans in to kiss Adam as he comes, biting down on Adam’s lower lip. Adam whines at it, and he has to work to make sure he doesn’t slip down the wall.

Mox rests his forehead against Adam’s and they stand there, gasping, as they come down from the moment. Adam realizes after a few moments that Mox is trailing his knuckles gently along Adam’s biceps. It’s sweet. It’s confusing. Adam doesn’t want it to stop.

“Cowboy,” Mox murmurs, pressing his lips to the side of Adam’s neck, “you fallin’ asleep or something?”

“No,” Adam says. He sighs before he can stop himself. “Just – enjoying the moment.”

Mox’s laugh is soft, almost sweet. It doesn’t match the man Adam’s run into over and over again, but it feels right. “Yeah, me too. But we’re gonna get all wrinkly if we stay here.” He steps away, and Adam is suddenly very cold. It fades quickly, though, as Mox adjusts the showerhead to spray warm water on both of them.

“Gotta wash my hair,” Adam mumbles, fumbling for the shampoo.

“Let me,” Mox says.

Adam actually does get close to falling asleep as Mox gently massages his hair. “This soap smells good,” he mumbles. “Gotta stay in an airport hotel more often.”

Mox laughs and Adam’s pretty sure he presses a kiss to the back of Adam’s neck. “It’s probably just some sort of drug store shampoo, baby, don’t get too fancy about it.”

Adam sighs, just a little, at the nickname, and wants to hold onto it.

They finish washing up and drying off in near silence, a few words here and there scattered around, until they both drowsily curl into bed.

“Scoot,” Mox says, pushing his butt up against Adam, “we’re cuddling.”

“I thought you said no cuddling,” Adam mumbles, throwing an arm around Mox’s waist.

“That was before I saw what you look like when you come,” Mox replies. He sounds like he’s already nearly asleep. “Now we got a bond. So you gotta cuddle me.”

It’s not flawless logic, Adam thinks. But he’s cozy and warm, and he’ll let it slide.

Mini Playlist: Magnets - Lorde, Disclosure Familiar - Liam Payne, J Balvin I Want It - Two Feet Talking Body - Tove Lo

#HangMox #in which Sara writes #wtf i like wrestling now???#Hehehe here have this #This is dumb #anxious millennial dreamboat #madly in love with leather daddy jon moxley

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nixalegos · 1 year

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My, my, Lord Felscythe, what a long time it has been. I wonder if you even remember that petty little businesswoman who used to darken the doors of your sanctum? ... I believe you liked the blue dress. Despite her desperate games, I don't think she was ever much of a surprise to you ... but I'm sure she would surprise you now.

The letter was done with ordinary paper, the lettering printed, as opposed to written, transcribed? The envelope arriving likely via normal mail delivery. Tracing it magically would be a goose chase. Still. He fed it into the Rolo-Hex's paper feed, couldn't hurt, after all. Which left the puzzle the letter itself presented. Who the fuck wore blue? Reds. Purples. Greens. Blacks. He knew dozens of people with the personal sense of style to be attached to a particular splay of color, or like him, a particular cut and style of armor. But blue? In Silvermoon? Predating the Pandaria campaign? Something of a fashion misstep back then. Odd that it wasn't ringing any bells. Still, there was only real course to take. He pushed himself away from his workstation and headed to the doorway of the shared engineering bay and jewelers station to call up the stairs to where the living room was located. "Love!" He bellowed towards his wife. "I received an ominous letter today written from a seemingly third party regarding a female in blue who I might have history with from Augur's Row." When no sound of irritation immediately followed he continued. "It suggested -my- Sanctum, so this is old bullshit at best, and someone whos been woefully out of contact with me for years, but that said female contact would surprise me now. It didn't read as overtly threatening, but then why not simply use a name then if it was a story of personal growth am I right? Anyway, do me a favor and carry the big hammer this week yeah? Just in case? Last thing I want is something ruining the rock climbing trip we planned for." The CLACK CLUNK of the upstairs armory door being unlocked and opened made him snerk and turn back to his business. Maybe the next letter would be something fun, like auction house receipts. @tyleinth for mention!

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mechatiqe · 3 months

Note

One of Gundham's hamsters was seated on Kaz's bed when the mechanic entered his room, it being San-D for a change as opposed to the usual visitor of Cham-P. The reason for this might not be obvious, but the sender of the hamster knew that out of all the Devas, San-D was the fastest, and when one had a certain sensative delivery to be made, San-D was the best choice for the job.

One might think it was Gundham that had sent the critter, but by the handwriting on the note in it's mouth (as well a greasy thumb print or two smudging the paper), it was clear it was another pink-haired handyman that passed it along. The note was simple, the letters a shaky scrawl across the repurposed receipt from a local hardware store, it's original ink too faded to make out what had been purchased:

'chill the fuck out asshole - pinky'

Clipped to the back of the note was a small baggy, it taped shut (with a piece of half stuck together duct tape) to ensure its contents wouldn't spill. Those contents were, of course, a few freshly cleaned weed buds and a package of papers just waiting to be rolled.

With the removal of the baggy, a P.S becomes visable on the flipside of the receipt:

'ask Gunnie if u dont know how to roll : P'

⠀

“….” It was tempting. It was really tempting, and he was so close to giving in and resorting to that, but he quickly tore up the note and threw it into the nearest trash, alongside the bag. The other him… was dangerously close to getting him with that one. He’d rather die than smoke weed. He didn’t even know how to, and he didn’t want to know. Whether it was smoking weed, cigs, taking illegal drugs or drinking alcohol, his skin crawled at the prospect of going down that road. His occasional habit of getting drunk under peer pressure was already bad enough.

‘fuck u i threw it in the trash’ he wrote down on a paper, then changed his mind and crossed that out. The guy was just trying to help him, after all. After a while of mulling it over, he wrote down, ‘i dont like weed’ then taped a small bag of gummy candy with it and handed it over to the hamster.

“…U-uh, take it back to the other me.” He gave San-D a small pat on the head with his finger, unsure if the little hamster would even understand him. Just in case, he pointed at his face, then gestured vaguely beside him to indicate that he was talking about another person with a similar face.

⠀

#⠀inbox | the-ultimate-muses #/ san-d over here being a delivery hampter for the kazs

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anophtopia-town-hall · 2 years

Photo

SCANDAL, SEX AND SUSPICIOUS DEBTS – THE TRUTH COMES OUT

There is only one debate we care about at the moment, and that is who is the most debauched in the race to be mayor of our beloved town. Whilst we know everyone is guilty of some skeletons in our closets, nothing can be compared to what these so-called politics are hiding from us.

We have received an anonymous tip-off providing all the evidence we need to show you the real mayoral candidates, who up until now have been effectively pulling the wool over our eyes with their big promises and bright, commercial worthy smiles. This is who we’re trusting to keep our town safe, Anophtopia:

Fundamentals: The ABC’s – Allegations, Bribes and Collusion

Attorney at Law and Senior Councilman Simon Lane has been revealed to be a true wolf in sheep’s clothing. Lane, an Anophtopia native, has always given his platform to voices otherwise ignored. He vocally rallied for gay marriage, equal pay, and other important social justice matters. However, in an email leak received this evening, we can reveal that Lane can talk the talk, but does not walk with Pride. Not only have reports been exposed that he has been voting against his own propositions in council meetings, including an increase in a budget for LGBTQ+ spaces in town, but has actively donated to charities that do not support beliefs he claimed to in the past. To make matters worse, a few lost files on his recent cases have been recovered, only to expose his alleged collusion in a court of law. These are obviously serious claims against Mr. Lane, but as printed below, we have apparent proof of these statements against his character.

Hush Little Baby Don’t You Cry, Mommy’s Gonna Buy You an Ivy League

Our current mayor is not as clean cut as she has made out to be in last year’s campaign either. Though she at least stands for what she believes in, both in and out of council meetings, Deborah Gibson is not afraid to engage in some bribery of her own. Accepting bribes to grant impossible wish fulfilment schemes for council members, and bribing the top schools for her kids, including an email documenting a ten year plan for when her eldest gets to college, a certain Yale University willing to accept them when the time comes. Talk about early admission. Of course, it is strange her opponent of last year hadn’t used this against her, but, of course, we don’t tend to dig up dirt without risk of dirt spilling everywhere…

Leave Me A Loan

A lot of complaints from Michael Proctor’s tenure as mayor was simply him not fulfilling the promises he made, which was always excused as simply not having enough room in the budget. But why was that Mr. Ex-Mayor? Perhaps the receipt the leak provided, could answer that. Like with dirty clothes needing a wash, money needs laundered too, right? Money that could have vastly improved our town gone towards cars, vacations and a pesky little drug habit. Not surprising from a man who infamously backed That notable president.

Affairs of the Bank Account

Though notably not a family-focused candidate, as obvious from her business empire, it seems that Evelyn Chao is not as focused on morals either. The woman, consider The Lady of all of the ladies of the night, may have been in an happy marriage with her late husband until his death, but the relationship, as shared in the leak, may have been more of a fiscal benefit than physical. Flirty texts and photos have showcased Evelyn the star of an affair to remember, her inheritance from her deceased husband keeping her gilded the past five years. Of course, as far as we know, there’s been no political scandal up Evelyn’s well-jeweled sleeve, but the company she keeps isn’t exactly helping with forming a wholesome image in the eyes of our humble town.

Age is Just a Number

Surprise candidate Catalina Marquois also has a couple of secrets she’d like to keep secret. Whilst she was open about her first, tragic marriage and her now-strained relationship with her son, it turns out there’s some things she never wanted public. Like the records of her real ID, which report she is actually four years older than she previously declared. It seems like honesty isn’t the policy with the mayoral candidates of this town, and this cougar’s last marriage probably leaves a sour taste in the family’s mouths, as after all, the Ritchies are all about good, old fashioned values. Right, Martin?

Springtime for Ritchie

Of course, old fashioned values we’re referring to don’t include anytime from World War One to Vietnam, but Martin Ritchie, descendant of one of the oldest founding families, seems to not be as much as a pacifist as he previously demonstrated, with records showing he has been funding weapons for years, apparently a tradition his grandfather began in the 1940’s. Of course, he doesn’t believe in benefiting from war, unless it’s to claim his stake in fracking, one of the biggest financial benefits to the Ritchie Corporation and family.

Speaking of the beloved family, what is the dark secret emails and texts seem to mention in the leak? Unfortunately for us, but good for War Criminal Martin, a lot of the documents associated with such a situation have been redacted to hell and back. We could only what it would be – keeping it in the family, in every type of way? The way old, old families tend to? Or, perhaps, ownership of a plantation, much like fellow founding family O’Keefe, where we know the two family trees intertwined at some point.

A Town Called Menance (and Full of Secrecy...)

Though it’s not just the Ritchie family under suspicion for hiding their families and assumed less than stellar pasts. Long-time friend and advocate of Ritchie, and his political endeavours, Gwen Myers, seems to be playing house in our picturesque town. The leak revealed, through a data mining spam email masquerading as a survey, that just before arriving in town and enrolling at Anophtopia University, Gwendolyn Hall was actually Annabelle Halliday, hailing from Oregon to our lovely town. Now, it is of course, not suspicious for a young woman to change her name and moving out of her home state, but the past texts and emails regarding a mysterious “R” and a failed engagement do pique our interest. Is perhaps her closeness with the Ritchie family due to them helping her clean her image up?

Of course, our other founding families aren’t exempt in this exposing report. As shown in a series of emails involving a family lawyer, our friends the Bass family, known for their shipping company expanding across the state, in fact lied in their public statement a few years back about their darling Emily moving to Washington to pursue a career in politics. Emily is actually right here in town, pursuing the stars and the spirits, under her preferred name Emerald Moonlight. I guess not every rich kid is a nepo baby.

Speaking of nepo babies though, Aurelia Florez being the black sheep of her influential one isn’t exactly a surprise. What is though, is news of her arrest not too long ago? All charges were dropped, obviously, but we’re surprised that such old-school parents of hers are letting her take charge of their flagship hotel, unless the Florez’s are making extra money in the drug distribution business as well as hospitality.

And hospitality and drugs do go so well, such a perfect pairing, like a merlot with a steak. Ezra Anders obviously know what we mean, as he himself is reported to have declared bankruptcy on Vino Restaurante due to the fact he and his team of well-skilled chefs have a little fascination with snowy weather. It makes you wonder why the upmarket Italian is so, so addictive, right? However, despite the claim, he retracted the filing after seemingly finding the money he was looking for. It makes you wonder how dangerous the life of a chef can be.

We are sure more secrets of the Anophtopia public have been spilled, and we are sure they have badly affected the community, but we knew that the secrets involving our most elite members benefitting the most from the mayoral election needed to be out and exposed to the town. Though some seem petty and frivolous, you need to ask yourselves the question: why did they hide it?

And they may give their excuses and reasons, but we deserve the truth, and they need to give it to us.

By James Collins

#anophtopia hacking scandal

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karahalloway · 2 years

Text

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 5 - Find Me In Da Club

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: The gang arrive at the much-awaited club... where there are a few surprises in store for Drake.

Word Count: 4,400

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, rude behaviour, angst, sexual tension)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: Apologies this took me so long! August ended up being quite a busy month, so I didn’t get as much writing done as I wanted to. Also... this is not the whole chapter 😅 Because this installment was getting close to 7,000 words (and it was still not done!) I decided to split it into two chapters to (a) give y’all something to read, since you’ve been waiting so patiently (or not, in some cases 😆), (b) make the posting on Tumblr a bit more manageable, and (c) this way I could use both chapter theme songs that I could not for the life of me decide between! The next chapter should be up a bit faster because it’s about half done already, and my schedule should be back to a bit more normal from September 🤞

Chapter 5 - Find Me In Da Club

"Let me guess..." I sigh, picking up the tumbler to tip the rest of my drink back. "Max's bright idea?"

I know that going clubbing was the original plan. But I guess I kinda hoped we'd have more time on our impromptu detour... Especially since Gale’s finally talking to me, and I don’t want to lose the hard-won progress I managed to make with her.

Plus — as she so aptly put it just now — I’m nowhere near satisfied yet and I want to keep her to myself for as long as possible...

"Nope!" declares Leo impishly. "It was actually the girls' suggestion. And it'd be rude to keep them waiting. So, chop-chop!"

"Alright, alright," I grumble, dropping the glass back onto the bar top and reaching for my wallet. "I'll be over in a minute."

"Better make it a New York minute," Leo advises with a clap on my back. "Because it'd be mighty bad form for the best man to miss the climax of the night!"

He saunters off with a rakish wink in Gale's direction.

I roll my eyes as I pull the platinum credit card out again.

If there’s one thing that Chris didn't need help with, it’s finding a hook-up... Which is why I bet on him last night.

But Leo’s right in that I probably shouldn't hang around too long. Because this trip had been my idea, and as the de facto best man (even though it hasn’t officially been announced yet), it’s my job to make sure that Chris gets the best night out that the Big Apple can provide...

...and that he also makes it back to the hotel — and to Cordonia — on time and in one piece, and ideally without any recreational drugs floating around in his system. Otherwise, the plane ride back (not to mention the all-important Masquerade Ball) is going to be rough as fuck for everyone involved.

"So, you're here... on a bachelor party?" asks Gale, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

"Yeah," I reply, raising my hand to signal my desire to settle up with the bartender.

"And you're the best man."

"Yup..." I confirm, tapping the card against the bar top as I wait for the guy to print off the receipt.

She cocks her head to the side with a frown. "You don't seem very happy about it..."

I respond with a nonchalant shrug. "It is what it is. How I feel about it isn't important."

"Shouldn't it be?"

Turning my head, I catch her gaze. She's looking at me with laser-like focus — like she had last night when she'd been trying to decipher where I was from... Only this time it feels like she’s trying to get a read on my very soul.

I quickly break eye contact. "No."

"Why n—?"

"Cash or card?" asks the bartender, cutting off Gale with impeccable timing as he places the cheque in front of me.

"Card," I reply, quickly scanning the list of items to make sure everything’s in order.

Christ, this girl’s more persistent than a dog with a bone...

But I can’t exactly tell her that I’m best man to a prince at the mercy of tradition, and the last thing I’m looking forward to doing is standing by Chris' side in a few months' time, pretending to be happy for him while I officially and irrevocably witness his marriage to a blue-nosed social climber in front of God, his family, and the entire kingdom.

Because we’re supposed to be here incognito, and I’m not gonna risk my best friend's last night of freedom by blowing his cover to some girl I only just met.

And even if I had been at liberty to talk about the upcoming wedding, and the social season, and how the only reason we’re here at all is because Chris got shafted by his brother, it would be a pointless exercise anyway.

Because talking — about any of it, especially how I said 'yes' to Chris without a second's hesitation, even as I felt my insides burn up with betrayal at the knowledge that I'll be complicit in signing my brother's life away in a loveless marriage of political convenience to a woman he barely knows... or worse, Olivia — isn’t gonna to help me, and it sure as hell isn’t gonna help Chris.

Not when we’re both powerless in the face of the inevitable outcome.

"Thanks," I mutter, pulling the card back out of the machine and stowing it away in my wallet.

Better to just bury whatever resentment I’m feeling at being an unwilling pawn forced to participate in the whole monocratic set-up — next to the same hole I stuffed my bitter rage at Dad's untimely passing, my hurt at Mom's departure, and my guilt-ridden sense of failure at Sav's unexplained disappearance — and try to enjoy what little time I have left with Chris before I lose him too.

"Hey," she says softly, laying a hand on my wrist. "I know it's not my place but—"

"It's not," I confirm gruffly, stuffing the wallet back in my pocket as I stand up. "You comin'?"

She stares at me for a long moment — as if wanting to say something more — but in the end just nods silently before sliding off the bar stool.

"Yeah! The PAR-tay's in da house!" hollers Max, raising the roof. "Whoop-whoop!"

"Now this is what I'm talking about!" agrees Tariq, sweeping his approving gaze around the club.

"Oh, wow!" gushes Gale's brunette friend, who I learnt on the ride over was called Hayley. "Check out the view!"

Chris claps Leo on the shoulder approvingly. "Looks like you picked well, brother."

I had to agree.

If there’s one thing that Leo’s good at — apart from sneaking out of official events and getting into the pants of any girl he sets his sights on — it’s having his finger on the pulse of every major city's nightlife.

And this place is no exception.

Located on the 16th floor of a swanky hotel, the club features floor-to-ceiling windows that lead out onto a large, wrap-around terrace dominated by an oblong hot tub set against an unparalleled view of both the Manhattan skyline and the Hudson.

And even though in real terms it’s still quite early — barely gone 10pm — the venue’s already heaving with what looks like the crème of New York's glitterati. Diamond-studded watches flash in tandem with Bvlgari jewellery under the strobing neon lights as glamorously dressed bodies move to the EDM beat.

In short? We've stepped into a Mecca of excess. And even though the flashy venue with it's high-roller clientele isn’t exactly my scene — you can smell the self-entitlement from the doorway — it’s the perfect place to cap off Chris' night.

Hell, the overall net-worth’s probably so high that no one'd even bat an eye at the fact that a bone fide prince has just waltzed in to join the party!

So, despite everything, I have to hand it to Leo — his days of flaking off have paid off big time. Because the entire club’s basically one oversized VIP area, which means that security’s tight, and I don’t have to worry about spiked drinks, kidnapping attempts, or someone recognising Chris...

...at least, not as much as I would have to normally.

"Ohmygod!" gasps Lucy, grabbing Gale by the arm. "Leo!"

The elder Rys chuckles. "I admit it is a rather divine set—"

Max shoves him out of the way with wide eyes. "Oh, my giddy aunt, you're right!"

"Guess we're not talking about me, huh?" observes Leo dryly, as shrieks of excitement erupt from the rest of Gale's girlfriends as they zero in on whatever it was that has got them all into such a tizzy.

Chris nods his head towards the other side of the club. "I believe it is that gentleman over there who's caught everyone's attention."

Leo follows his brother's gaze. "Ah. Should've guessed. The slightly more famous Leo. He's always stealing the spotlight."

"Undeservedly," mutters Tariq, craning his neck judgementally. "He's not even wearing a suit..."

"So?" counters Lucy tartly. "A suit doesn't make a man. He could be wearing a paper bag and he'd still look hot!"

I can't help but snort at the look on Besnard's face. "Told ya..."

"Keep it in your pants, Luce!" smirks Gale with a shake of her head... though I can see that her gaze is also fixed on the far side of the club.

"I'm just sayin'!"

"Holy shoot!" gasps Hayley, covering her mouth. "Is that Rihanna he's talking to?"

"Didn't they used to date?" asks Jamie quizzically.

"No!" scoffs Lucy. "How can you even—?"

"Come on," interrupts Leo, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll introduce you."

Lucy's mouth drops. "You... know him?"

"Of course!" he affirms, looping his arm through hers and Gale's. "Met him at the UN a few times. Brilliant chap! Just don't ask for photos or autographs."

Gale cocks her head. "The UN? How did y—?"

"It doesn't matter!" squeals Lucy, bouncing up and down like a jackrabbit on crack. "He knows Leonardo DiCaprio! Do you know how long I've been—?"

"You're not seriously going to try and get him onto your podcast again?" asks Gale with a wry quirk of her brow as Leo starts leading the procession away.

"Why not?" comes the objectionable reply. "I'm an environmental commentator, he's an environmental philanthropist. We're a match made in influencer heaven."

Gale throws her head back — exposing her long, slender neck — her laugh ringing out like a bell despite the loud music.

But I don't catch her reply because in the next second, she's pulled into the press, and I lose sight of her amongst all the bodies.

I heave a low breath.

There goes Gale for the rest of the night...

I know I shouldn't be surprised. Especially after I cornered her into coming clean about the crap she'd been through with that dick of a boss, only to shut her down hard her when she tried to return the favour by doing a rundown of my feelings on the upcoming royal wedding.

Because conversation’s a two-way street. And instead of opening up to her — like she opened up to me — I basically told her to fuck off.

And normally I wouldn't give a damn. Because my personal shit’s exactly that — my personal shit. I don’t need people rooting through it like hogs on a muck heap. And if that doesn’t sit well with the counterparty, then they can lump it.

But, for some reason, watching her walk off just now without a backwards glance — even though it’s completely within her rights to do so — feels like a kick in the gut.

I mean, since when the fuck do I care who she talks to? A girl I met yesterday and am never gonna see again after tonight?

It's not like this is a date, or that she owes me anything. Right?

"You coming, mate?" asks Chris, laying a hand on the small of Hayley's back to guide her after the others.

"Nah," I demure. "I'm gonna hit up the bar."

I may have shot up the hard-won progress I managed to make with Gale tonight, but at least I’ll always have whiskey as a consolation prize.

"You sure?" he queries.

"Yeah," I affirm, making quick eye contact with the two undercover Guard to let them know I’m passing Chris over to them. "Don't worry about me."

"Alright..." he concedes, eyeing me sceptically...

...but I've already turned away.

I know he knows that something’s up.

But Chris had more important things to do, like actually enjoy his unofficial bachelor party in the company of a girl who he obviously hit it off with back at the karaoke bar, instead of listening to me piss and moan about things that are — and always have been — set in stone.

Best that I just take my irritations and drown them in booze. Alone. Like I always do.

Threading my way through the crowd, I arrive at the busy bar area, and I feel a growl of annoyance slip out of me at the sight of the heaving mass of humanity before me.

Just fuckin' great...

But, short of forking out roughly five grand for table service — assuming we can even get a table on such a busy night — there’s no alternative.

Steeling myself, I dive into the press, trying to avoid sloshing drinks and stiletto heels as I battle my way to the front.

This is the biggest reason why I avoid clubs like the plague. It isn’t the loud music. It isn’t the dancing. It’s the fact that the bar’s always swamped and you have to fight tooth and nail to get your hands on a hastily prepared drink that you can have for half-price anywhere else.

It's all for Chris, I remind myself stoically as I squeeze myself into the tight space that’s just opened up in front of me. You can suck it up for one night, Walker.

Leaning onto the minimalist, polished brass bar top, I try to catch the closest bartender's attention...

...but just as I manage to make eye contact, a wad of cash gets thrust in front of my face by an over-manicured fist, narrowly missing my nose.

"Oi! Murudda!" cries a female voice from next to me in the perfect octave to carry above the thumping techno music and general shouted conversation. "You deaf, or somethin'? I said we need tequila, pronto!"

"We got Casamigos, Patrón, or Jose Cuervo," calls the bartender in response while sloshing gold-flecked vodka into a row of shot glasses.

I feel my jaw tighten. This is how people got served, huh?

"Make that Maker's Mark, double," I holler back, angling myself back in front of the interloping woman.

I'm rewarded for my asperity with a nod from the other side of the bar. "Coming right up!"

"What the fuck, shit face?" objects the girl shrilly, giving me a shove. "Am I invisible, or somethin'?"

"Nope," I reply as I pull my wallet from my jeans. "Just rude and obnoxious."

Her mouth drops. "What did you just say to me?!"

"The truth," I hit back, pulling some cash out. "You cut up about a dozen people back there. And nearly broke my nose waving your hundred bucks around like you owned the place."

"How 'bout I break your nose for real, jackass?" she snaps, getting up in my face. "Teach you some respect, huh?"

"Respect is earned, missy," I tell her calmly, exchanging the bills for the tumbler of Maker's Mark that is deposited in front of me. "And gettin' into a fight over a drink ain't how you get it."

Grabbing the whiskey, I turn pointedly away, not bothering to wait for whatever outburst she was gearing up to throw my way.

Un-fuckin'-believable...

I know that New Yorkers have a reputation for being brash and impatient. But that woman had been next level.

And I want to put as much distance between us as possible because I have no time — and even less interest — in getting caught up in a shouting match with a pissed-off Karen.

Slaloming myself between bodies, I make my way back to the others.

Arriving at the back of the club, I pause in a slightly quieter corner to do a sweep of the crowd, quickly spotting the now disparate members of our group. Leo’s stood off to one side, in solitary conversation with DiCaprio. Max is busy channeling his inner Travolta in the middle of a small but growing circle of onlookers. Lucy and Jamie are...making out on the dancefloor?

Huh. Did not see that one coming...

Normally I’m good at picking up on these things. But, I’m admittedly more distracted than usual...

Lifting the whiskey to my mouth, I continue my sweep of the club. Tariq’s trying — and failing — to flag down one of the VIP servers by waving his gold credit card around like a moron. Meanwhile, Chris has parked himself on a chaise long in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and is in deep conversation with Hayley about something, the two undercover Guard standing a few feet away.

The only person I can’t see is Gale.

Had she left?

I shake my head irately.

It doesn’t matter, dumbass.

She’a a grow-ass woman and can do whatever the fuck she wants. Up to and including heading off the rails, or even home with a hookup. She doesn’t need my oversight or my permission...

...even if the thought of her being felt up by some guy makes my teeth clench.

I throw the rest of the bourbon back angrily.

I know I shouldn't care. I know it’s none of my business. I know I have no right.

But something about this girl wipes all the God-given sense from my brain.

Hell, I barely know anything about her apart from her name and the fact that she’s pissed at me — again — yet all I can think about is ripping that flimsy crop top off and layering my hot and heavy apology all over her body until she’s begging me for salvation as she—

A sharp clink rends the air.

Glancing down at the empty tumbler in my hand, I see that a hairline fracture had appeared down one side.

Fuck.

This isn’t good.

I need air. Now.

Throwing myself out onto the terrace — before I shattered the glass completely — I’m hit in the face by the humid evening breeze.

But it does little to tame my pulse, or the latest iteration of the graphic fantasy that I can’t seem to get away from, no matter how hard I tried...

...which — if I’m honest with myself — isn’t very hard at all.

Because let's face it. The girl’s a pipe-dream. That I keep blowing up. So, an X-rated reverie’s the closest I’m ever gonna get to the real thing with her.

May as well keep on dreamin'...

I make it to the end of the terrace. Dropping the empty glass onto a nearby planter, I reach out and grasp the coolness of the metal and glass railing as I gaze out over the picture-perfect Manhattan skyline without really seeing it.

Instead, the mental images continue to dance in front of me, haunting me like ghosts.

Gale swaying her hips between my legs at the karaoke bar...

Gale looking up at me from the back seat of the taxi, her lips parted, her eyes pulling me in like the cusp of an event horizon...

Gale pushed up against the wall, moaning as my hands explored every—

I clench my eyes shut. Christ... I’m in too deep. I should never've—

"Drake?"

My head snaps around.

Gale — the real Gale — is stood next to me, face creased in concern. "Are you... okay?"

"Fine," I reply, tightening my grip on the railing as I look out into the night again.

I’m the furthest thing from fine. My palms are sweating, my gut feels like it's been tied in knots, and my heart’s going a million miles a minute.

But like hell am I gonna tell her any of that.

"Are you sure?" she asks sceptically. "Because you looked like you were going to throw your guts up over the side of the building just now..."

I snort wryly. "Trust me, I'm good."

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me.

Neither is the fact that — just like Chris — she seems to have an uncanny habit of being able to read me like an open book... which is weirdly unnerving.

"If you say so, Dr House," she deadpans, lifting her arms up to rest them on the railing next to mine. "But just so we're on the safe side, I'm gonna keep you under observation."

I heave a breath. "Gale, you don't need t—"

"I do," she says softly, glancing up at me. "Because I want to apologise."

I reel back, dumbfounded. "Apologise? What in the hell for?"

"For trying to pry about something that's obviously a sore subject for you," she explains. "I should've just taken the hint and—"

"No," I interject, turning to face her. "You did nothing wrong. I gave you an answer you weren't expecting, so you tried to dive deeper. It was a completely natural reaction to have."

"Then why have you been giving me the cold shoulder for the past hour?" she asks patently.

"I..." I rake my hand through my hair with a sigh. "Because you're right. It is kind of a sore subject for me. But I'm not at liberty to talk about it."

She raises a brow. "Because of the bro-code?"

I blink. Who is this girl?

She throws her head back with a laugh. "Oh, don't look so surprised, bud! I grew up with three older brothers — I know all about your 'secret' ride or die rules." She raises her hands to emphasise 'secret' with sardonic air quotes. "So, I can respect the fact that you don't want to bad-mouth the groom — even if you think he's about to make the biggest mistake of his life."

"Erm, thanks," I mutter finally, managing to recollect myself. "For understanding. Most people wouldn't."

She shrugs up at me with a smile. "I'm not most people."

I swallow. Hard. Don't I know it.

She's close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off her body, taste the sweet earthiness of her perfume drifting over me, see the chestnut-coloured flecks that ring her irises as I stare into her eyes.

But as strong as the undercurrent of attraction is, I can't let myself get lost in the pull of possibility. Not 'til I've squared my accounts.

"Even so." I pause to clear the sudden hoarseness from my throat. "I shouldn't've cold shouldered you like I did. It was a dick move, and... and I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "Drake, you don't need t—"

"But I want to," I insist, closing what gap remained between us on autopilot.

"Does that mean you're planning to make it up to me?" she whispers, her breath tickling my mouth as she tilts her face up towards mine.

"One hundred percent," I confirm, reaching up to brush away that same lock of hair that had escaped her up-do again. "I still owe you a proper apology."

Her eyes search mine.

I hold her gaze… waiting… wondering what she'll say.

A slow smile curves at her lips. "In that case, cowboy," she declares, flicking her finger over the underside of my jaw, "you can break it down for me on the dancefloor."

My eyes widen. "Wait... What?"

This isn’t what I'd been expecting. At all.

Her telling me to fuck off? Sure. Buying her a drink, a late-night dinner... Hell, even going back to her place for Netflix and chill had all been on the cards...

But dancing?

At a club?

Especially after she stormed out halfway through my karaoke routine?

No fuckin' way.

"What's the matter, Walker?" she purrs slyly. "You only do solo acts?"

I scoff. "No."

"Should I ask the DJ to put on some Rod Stewart?" she continues conversationally. "Get you in the mood?"

I suppress a groan. "No."

I knew that song choice was gonna come back and bite me in the ass.... I just hadn't expected it to be so soon. But, I guess I deserve it.

"Or do you need to take your shirt off?" She trails her finger down across the buttons at the front with a smirk. "Make yourself more comfortable?"

"Why?" I counter, leaning in. "Is that what you want, Gale...?"

Her eyes widen in the face of my sudden flip of the proverbial table.

"...because if you're lookin' to undress me, there's easier ways to do it," I remind her pointedly, dropping my hands onto the railing on either side of her.

Despite her initial frazzlement, she recovers quickly to meet my gaze coyly. "What makes you think I want to undress you?"

I feel a smile pull at the corner of my mouth. She wants to play it like that, huh?

"You mean apart from the fact that it's written all over you?"

She lifts her chin defiantly. "I think you're imagining things, bud."

"Funny you should say that," I reply with a lupine grin, bending low. "Because I'll bet my bottom dollar that right now, all you're imaginin' is skipping the unnecessary foreplay and diving straight into the main event..."

I hear her breath catch in her throat at the thinly veiled invitation.

"...which is that pool party, right there." I incline my head meaningfully towards the hot tub.

Her jaw drops.

I pull back with a smirk. Turnabout’s fair play, girl.

But in the next instant, that mischievous sparkle ignites her gaze again. And before I can blink, she's up in my space, calling my bluff as she hooks her finger through the front of my shirt.

My heart-rate jumps to 100.

"Or maybe I'm just looking to make you sweat, Walker..." she breathes against my mouth.

All the blood in my veins dives south.

"...and I don't want you to ruin your fancy shirt." She gives the material a sharp tug.

I groan despite myself. Fuck, baby, you can ruin all my shirts...

But before I can grab her, or kiss her, or react in any way, she's already spun away with a sassy smile, pinging the cotton against my chest. "Because you probably got just the one."

I let out an explosive breath.

Sweet Jesus. Somebody needs to put a warning label on this girl!

Because while I can think of a dozen better ways to spend the night than getting bumped around on an overcrowded dancefloor like a pissed off pin ball, my feet are already pulling me back across the terrace after her.

Like the hooked idiot that I am.

Because I can’t say 'no' to her.

And she knows it.

Which meant I’m royally screwed.

The story continues in Chapter 6 - Let It Whip

Translations:

- Murudda = idiot / shit for brains

Permatags (let me know if you want to be added!)

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @aussiegurl1234 @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @angelasscribbles @drakewalkerisreal @nestledonthaveone @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @lunaseasblog @indiana-jr @knaussal @nikkis1983 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @eversoaringqueen12 @pinklipsandmasonjars @sillydg @spookycolorpeanut @peonierose @mrsnazariowrites @shellybee85 @3pawandme @honey358luv @atha68 @deepestphantomstranger @xpandass420x @choicesficwriterscreations @ficloverevie @alexabeta @veebug8 @fangirling12566 @queenmiarys @berriesandpixels @coco-lina-s @ivyflowers13

Sleepless in New York only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@bebepac @lilacsandwhiskey @katedrakeohd

Picture credits

Dancing - Rooftop - H&D - Drake - Bar - Harper - Skyline - Drinks

#sleepless in new york #drake walker #drake x mc #harper gale #new york #the royal romance #trr fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfcw fic of the week #Spotify

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poisonedapples · 3 years

Text

Patton’s Home For Traumatized Kids - Chapter Five

Bad Memories Don’t Erase

Chapter Summary: Roman tags along with Logan and Virgil to hang out at their friend’s house.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Story Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, stealing, and one inappropriate joke

Word Count: 4,008

Taglist: @shade-romeo, @grayson-22, @pixelated-pineapple, @acrobaticcatfeline, @astrozei, @edupunkn00b, @princey-7258, @eternalmoonlight19, @remy-the-lemon-berry, @look-ma-im-on-tv, @mariniacipher, @bigwendymonster, @nonbinary-octopus

Notes: This chapter’s a little short, but the next one is gonna be really long, so hopefully that makes up for it

On Sunday the next day, Patton finally took Roman to buy his gym clothes. Roman was trying to hide a goofy smile while sitting in the back seat, desperate to not get his hopes up while also ecstatic his plan was working so far. He was going to have Patton stay in the car while Roman shopped for clothes! This had never worked on his dad before!

By the time Patton finally parked the car in the parking lot of the store, Roman’s chest felt weighted from his anxiety, waiting to see Patton’s final verdict. So long as he didn’t change his mind now, then Roman was in the clear. He hoped to be in the clear.

“Alright, kiddo,” Roman’s heart stopped as Patton pulled out his wallet and gave him some money. “Forty dollars should be more than enough for some pairs of gym pants and shirts. Give me back all the change when you come back, okay?”

“I will! Promise!” Roman wanted to jump for joy. It was working!

“Text me when you’re checking out so you don’t surprise me, and if you see something else you might want, just text me before you buy it so I know. Tell me if you have any issues, okay?”

“Okay!”

Patton smiled. “Go on then, kiddo.”

Roman practically leaped out the door to skip his way to the front entrance of the clothing store, two twenty dollar bills crumbled in his pocket. He got away with it! No parents staring him down while he changed outfits!

Roman walked into the store and tried to hide the skip in his step. With no parents to watch him, he could buy what he actually wanted to wear, no tight pants and scoop neck shirts. No, Roman wanted to look like his real goal. His goal of being a blob of cloth that vaguely resembled a human.

Granted, he’d mostly gotten there. His aunt replaced all of his wardrobe, so his current clothes were a lot more comfortable to wear even if they weren’t very fashionable. Mostly bright colored t-shirts and pants, maybe some shorts if they were able to reach down far enough. Maybe once he was more comfortable with himself he could actually test out more styles, but for now, oversized clothes were all he could handle.

Roman’s walk sped up slightly when his eyes landed on the men’s athletic section. He had to be quick with this, he didn’t want Patton getting impatient and coming in to check on him. Roman looked through the shorts and shirt sizes, easily finding a size up for a couple shirts while heavily struggling on the shorts. Roman groaned. It was always the shorts that caused the issue, they were always too high up. What if he was sitting down and the pant leg rode up too far? No, Roman refused to get something like that willingly.

Roman took all the athletic shorts that could fit him and held them up in front of his legs. Most of them only made it to his lower thigh, but he managed to find two shorts that made it to right below his knee. Roman smiled and bounced on his toes, grabbed his items and rushed to find a dressing room. Once he did, he rushed into the first empty area he saw and locked the door. The mirrors on the walls and gaps in the door made it hard for him to change comfortably, so instead Roman tried to press himself against the very corner of the room when he was changing.

Between the six shirts and two pants Roman found, he was pretty happy with most of his choices. Thankfully, the long shorts looked fine, so Roman hung them up on a hook with a sign over it saying I’m buying this! and considered it a success. However, when it got time to look at the shirts, only three of them were good enough for purchase. The white one he grabbed was practically see-through, and the other two had a scratchy inside material that Roman couldn’t stand, so they got put on the reject hook while the other three passed the test.

For a rushed shopping visit, Roman was pretty pleased with his choices. Two shorts might not be enough for five days worth of classes, but maybe Roman could keep one pair in his locker until it started to stink. Which might be a little gross, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Roman exited the dressing room and put his rejected shirts on a rack outside, carrying his other items to the checkout area. Before he got in line, he looked at all the price tags and added them up in his head best he could. The shirts were about six dollars each, and the shorts were a little over five after tax. Which means, adding up the extra cents, he’d have to pay twenty nine dollars for the clothes in total. Considering Patton gave him forty dollars, this was plenty.

Roman hesitated for a second. He stuffed his hand into his pocket to feel the money in the palm of his hand while he thought about his options. If he told Patton the truth, Roman would give him eleven dollars and there would be no issues. Patton might let him do this again next time they go shopping, too. But also…Roman had no backup plan. He was stuck with Patton with nowhere to go if things went wrong.

His aunt told him that Roman could always go back to her house if a guardian was abusing him, and he had every intention to take her up on that offer the second the opportunity arose. But even if Roman walked to her house on foot, he had no money for food during that trip. She lived so far away from him now, there was no way to get to safety without a dollar to his name. But if he stole some from Patton, then Roman could have a serious issue on his hands.

Roman slowly walked up to the check out area and handed the teenage worker the clothes. As she scanned all the items with a satisfying beep, Roman felt himself getting antsy. There’s no guarantee Patton will let me do this again. I’ve already gotten away with so much, and the more time I spend around him, the more danger I’m in. But if Patton notices I stole from him, he could be furious. Is there even a right answer here?

“Twenty nine dollars and thirty two cents.” The cashier said cheerfully. Roman handed her the money and she put it in the register, then handed Roman a bunch of coins, two five dollar bills, and a one dollar. She smiled. “Would you like a receipt?”

“Uh, no thank you.”

When the receipt printed, the cashier tore it out and threw it in the trash behind her. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Roman squeaked, rushing away from the register to stare at the money. Apparently they ran out of ten dollar bills, because the money was split perfectly for taking without it being obvious. Roman considered this a sign to take his chance. He put a five dollar bill and a quarter in his left pocket and shoved the rest in his right. It wasn’t much, but he could build it up. This was only the beginning.

Roman walked out of the store and tried to act normal instead of anxious. Worst case scenario, he’d say he forgot to bring out the rest and give Patton the other bills. Giving away the quarter also would be too obvious, but he could get away with stealing that at least. When he made it to Patton's car, Roman opened the back seat and tossed his clothes next to him.

“Hey, kiddo!” Patton greeted, “Got any extra cash to give me?”

“Uh, yeah, here.” Roman dug into his right pocket to grab half the money and handed it to him. Patton put the coins in his pocket and put the two bills in his wallet. He didn’t seem to consider how much Roman gave him, instead he started backing out of the driveway and got distracted while reversing. Roman let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He felt the five dollars still stored in his pocket. He got away with it. For now.

***

“We’re home!” Patton announced as he and Roman stepped inside. Logan and Virgil were both lying on the couch, and Logan perked up from his spot.

“Wonderful. We wanted to ask both of you a question.” Logan said.

Patton seemed intrigued. “What question?”

“Can we go to Janus’ house, Pat?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, of course, kiddos! Do you know when you might be back?”

Virgil thought about it. “Probably at six before dinner.”

“Perfect! Just text me if that changes so I don’t worry, okay?”

“We will.” Logan reassured, “And Roman, would you like to come with us?”

Roman tilted his head to the side. “Me? I don’t even know who Janice is.”

Virgil sunk into the couch more. “Friend of ours. Has a snake, talks a lot about philosophy and books. Acts like a tired underaged wine aunt.”

“Right, well, still. Isn’t it a little strange for me to tag along to a stranger's house?” Roman pointed out.

“Janus wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.” Logan said. “Of course, you don’t have to, we simply figured you would like the invitation so you’re not the only one left out.”

Roman’s eyes widened when Logan said that. Wait, shit, if Logan and Virgil are going to this girl’s house, then Roman will be here. Alone. With Patton. Until six in the afternoon.

Roman’s mood change was almost instant. “Well then, perhaps I should go! Make new friends and establish bonds, or whatever!”

Virgil smirked. “Sweet. It’s a short walk, just a block away. Just let us grab our shoes and we can head out.”

“I’ll tell Janus we’ll be bringing a third party.”

Roman let out a breath of relief. As Virgil and Logan grabbed whatever they needed, Roman set his new bag of clothes in his room next to his backpack. He’d have to remember to put some boxers in there before tomorrow morning, too.

Roman felt the five dollars in his pocket again. He took the money and hid it deep in his backpack in a hidden pocket he hoped wasn’t too easy to find. Satisfied with that for now, Roman stepped back outside of his room and waited for the others.

Once everyone was situated, Virgil called out to let Patton know they were leaving the house and then closed the door. Logan and Virgil did most of the talking as they walked while Roman just listened, following behind them and letting the two lead the way.

“Oh, and Roman,” Logan suddenly said during a point of silence, “Another one of our friends may also show up later at Janus’ house. He said he might be coming, so we’ll see.”

Roman shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Alright.”

No one said anything else after that on the walk. After a while, Virgil and Logan stopped in front of a house and started walking up the driveway to the front door. As Virgil knocked on the door, Roman stood awkwardly off to the side until someone answered.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open, showing a teenage kid with a large birthmark under his left eye. He rested his elbow on the top of the black and yellow cane next to him and smirked. Was he the brother, perhaps?

“I’ve been expecting you.” He said menacingly.

“‘Sup, fucker.” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, Janus.”

Wait, what? Against his better judgment, Roman forced himself to stand in front of Logan to face Janus. “Wait, your name is Janice?” He asked.

Janus put his hand on his face. “Janus. It’s Janus. J-a-n-u-s, not the old lady name Janice.”

Roman felt his face grow hot. “…Oh. Well, uh…”

Janus rolled his eyes and held the door open wider. “Just come inside.”

Virgil was the first to step in, with Logan following after while Roman hesitated. He made an awful first impression, maybe he should just walk around the block for a while instead-

“Come on, my arm is tired.” Janus coaxed. Roman felt too awkward to walk away, so he instead sucked it up and stepped inside the house with everyone else.

The house was quite nice. The walls were painted dark and the carpet was red, but it looked nice in a Victorian era kind of way. On the living room coffee table were piles of fabric and a sewing machine, seemingly making something that looked like a suit. Janus took the cane he was holding and threw it onto the couch. Well, apparently it was just a part of the outfit.

Virgil motioned to all the fabric on the table. “Fuck are you making now, dude?”

“I’m making the refined villain look of my dreams.”

“Nice. When do you think you’ll finish it?”

“Possibly tomorrow. I’ll start on it again after school.”

“Do you make your own clothes?” Roman asked, hoping to distract himself from his previous embarrassment.

Janus smiled slightly. “Less clothes, more costumes. Mostly for myself, but sometimes I make them for the high school’s theater when I’m feeling generous.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!”

“Wanna see Janus’ costume closet?” Virgil asked.

Roman shrugged. “If he wants me to.”

“Oh yeah, just talk about me like I’m not here.” Janus rolled his eyes and motioned for everyone to follow him. He had a downstairs family room with a closet off to the side. Once everyone was downstairs, Janus opened it and let Roman look inside.

“…Woah.” Roman looked at all the costumes, astonished and full of wonder. A lot of them were very extravagant, like they were specifically designed for a dramatic person, so Roman felt a calling toward them. He took a few of them off their hangers to look at; roaring twenties inspired suits and a black dresses with fancy gold finishes. Roman ran his hand on the fabric like they were fancy relics.

“They are quite high-quality.” Logan said, “Costume design is certainly one of Janus’ greatest skills.”

“I can see that.” Roman whispered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Don’t make his ego bigger than it already is.”

“Oh no, please do continue, I’m designed to be the center of attention.” Janus smirked.

Roman laughed and put the costumes back on the rack. It seemed like him and Janus were pretty similar in personality, just on opposite ends of the spectrum. Both dramatic artists, except one likes to add that with tons of sarcasm. He could see them getting along quite easily.

“Also, Janus,” Virgil said while looking at his phone, “Rat bastard says he’s coming over. He’ll be here in ten.”

“Ugh, fine. I was getting used to the silence.” Janus sighed.

“…Who’s rat bastard?” Roman asked.

“Friend of ours.” Virgil replied, “You’ll meet him in a bit. He’s a rat bastard. Smells vaguely of cheese.”

“…Attractive.”

“You get used to it.” Janus shrugged. He then smirked at Roman like he got an idea. “Would you like to see my snake?”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Yes!”

Janus led them all upstairs to his bedroom, Roman following last in the line so he could keep Janus’ door cracked open. As he stepped inside, he noticed a very large cage on the wall to his right. It was very long with lots of wood decorations spread across the container, with a fluorescent lightbulb above it. Roman looked around in the enclosure to try and spot the snake.

Before he could find it, Janus opened the top and stuck his hand in the cage. The snake climbed up his hand onto his arm, and as Janus stuck him out for Roman to see, Roman jumped back.

Janus rolled his eyes. “He’s a corn snake, he’s not known for hurting people.”

Roman still looked at it from a distance. The snake was large enough that Janus had to hold him with both hands, as well as being a mesmerizing yellow color. Roman never had a friend with a pet snake before. “…What’s his name?”

“Lawrence.”

“Nerd.” Virgil called out.

Logan smiled. “I think it is a wonderful name. Lawrence Kohlberg developed the theory on moral development, the very basis for ethical behavior.”

“Nerds.”

“You’re very mature, Virgil.”

Roman ignored them. “I think he’s cool. How old is he?”

“About five. I’ve had him for a while now.”

A buzz came from Virgil’s phone, making him check it and read the message. “Rat bastard says he’s outside your door.” He announced.

Janus didn’t seem rushed. “He can get in on his own.”

Roman laughed, and Janus set Lawrence back in his enclosure so he could bask underneath the heat lamp. Roman still watched his movements from inside the cage. “I wish I had a pet.”

“Patton would get you a dog in seconds if you asked.” Logan suggested.

Roman shook his head. “It’s fine, I won’t ask.” He didn’t really know what kind of pet he even wanted, and besides, it’s not like he’d be able to keep it once he leaves Patton’s house. There was no point.

Suddenly, a loud stomping came from the stairs outside Janus’ bedroom. Roman yelped and ran to hide behind Janus in the corner of the room, but the others didn’t react.

Roman sputtered. “What the-”

Before Roman could finish, a large bang came as someone kicked open the door and let it smack into the wall.

“I’m back by unpopular demand!”

“Hello, Remus.”

Roman completely froze up at the sound of that name. He turned around to look at the person that just busted down Janus’ bedroom door, a kid with messy hair and peach fuzz for a mustache, ripped jeans in the summer with a cast boot on his right foot.

Roman felt himself choke on air as he processed what was in front of him.

“Slugs are goopy like jello! So jello is made of slugs, duh!”

“Remus, that’s gross! No one would make food out of slugs!”

“What’s up, fuckers!” Remus announced. “I’m back from the pits of hell! Also known as the emergency room.”

Roman didn’t say anything, only stared at him in disbelief. Remus’ voice was a lot different now. He’d hit puberty, so the pitch had dropped a lot from what Roman was used to. A tuft of his hair was white, also. Roman couldn’t tell if it was dye or a condition.

That piece of hair and Remus’ mustache were the only things that made them both look apart now.

“What actually happened?” Logan asked. “You never told us specifics.”

“I broke my foot sucking too much-”

“Remus.” Janus warned.

“Fine, fine. I tripped trying to run up some steps and my fall didn’t look badass at all. Don’t tell people that though. If anyone asks, I broke it running from the cops.”

Janus nodded and smirked. “Noted.”

“We brought a third foster brother, also.” Virgil noted. Roman stopped breathing.

“Oh, really? Shit, I fuckin missed everything!” Roman looked in the corner trying to avoid Remus noticing him, but it was never that easy. “Why hello, welcome to our humble- …Oh, fuck.”

Remus tilted his head to make eye contact with Roman, and the surprise on Remus’ face was something Roman would never forget. He seemed genuinely baffled, like nothing in the world would have prepared him for what he saw. Roman wanted to cry.

I wanted to leave behind these people.

“…Roman?” Remus finally said, “Dude, holy fuck, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Wait,” Virgil staggered, “You know each other already?”

“He’s my fucking cousin!” Remus exclaimed. “Come on, look at us, we’re only a little related but we look like twins!”

Logan turned to Roman. “Is this true?”

Roman could feel the tears ready to burst. His throat was scratchy, but he tried to talk anyway. “…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, Princey, don’t be shy!” Remus teased. “We used to be best friends, let everyone believe we were twins until our moms called our shit out. Absolute bastard children- …wait. Wait a fucking second.”

“What is it?” Janus asked.

Remus turned to Virgil and Logan with a shocked and confused face. “…You said he’s your foster brother?”

Logan nodded. “That is correct.”

Remus turned to Roman, seemingly at a loss for words. “…Dude, the fuck? What happened?”

Roman looked at the floor, gripping onto his arm so hard it’d be a miracle if there weren’t marks later. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I mean, I know I haven’t seen you since your mom fucked off to Neverland, but what happened to your dad? He’s still alive and shit isn’t he? The hell happened?”

“I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it!” Roman seethed, grinding his teeth together as he practically growled out that sentence.

Virgil flinched violently. “Roman-”

“Whatever!” Roman pushed Remus off to the side and kicked the door fully open, storming his way down the stairs despite the sounds of people yelling for him to come back. Roman stomped out the front door and took a sprint for it down the block, not caring if he had to be alone with Patton, so long as he wasn’t here.

“I bet you would eat a slug!”

“No I wouldn’t! Liar!”

“Boys, boys!” Roman’s mother laughed, crouching down to meet their eye level from their place sitting in the grass. “No eating slugs. Be nice to the bugs or we’ll go back inside.”

“Yeah, Remus!”

Remus huffed. “I’m not doing anything!”

“Not yet!”

Roman’s mother laughed again. “I’m going to help Uncle André with dinner. But I better not hear a fight, okay?”

“Okay!” Roman promised, watching as his mom went back inside his uncle’s house into the kitchen. Roman and Remus continued to play in the grass by looking at bugs and telling stories to each other, making Roman smile more than he has in a long time. He always loved going to Remus’ house. His dad never came with them, so he and his mom were always happier.

“How come we never go to your house?” Remus eventually asked after a few minutes of playing. Roman stuck his tongue out.

“‘Cause our house is tiny and the backyard isn’t as cool.”

“Still! When you come over, you never bring Uncle Theo!”

“Good!” Roman defended, “Dad’s boring so he doesn't getta come!”

“I like him! He’s fun and nice and always brings chocolate!”

“He’s awful!” Roman covered his mouth after he blurted that out. Remus gave him a look.

“He’s not awful!”

Roman looked over to the glass sliding door. His mom was in there, he could see her, but she couldn’t hear him. Maybe he could get away with it. He could tell Remus a secret and his mom would never find out.

Roman hesitantly took his hands away from his mouth. His tone grew to be a lot softer. “…He is, though.”

Remus tilted his head to the side like a dog. “What makes him awful?”

“…Promise not to tell anyone?”

Remus leaned in closer. “Uh huh!”

“No one at all, ever?”

“Triple quadruple promise!”

Roman looked back at his mom. She wasn’t paying attention to him, seemingly talking to his uncle and pouring juice into cups. Roman hesitated for a moment. “…My dad-”

“Boys! Dinner’s ready!” Roman’s mom called out, making Roman jump almost a foot in the air. Both of them got off of the grass to walk inside, but before they did, Remus turned to Roman again.

“Your dad what?”

“…Nevermind.” He missed his chance. Remus would never find out, and Roman never told anyone for another five years.

Roman ran faster down the street at the memory, fighting back the tears in his eyes. It was fine. Roman was fine.

He never wanted to talk to Remus again.

#roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #thomas sanders #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #ts remus #ts janus #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #foster au #implied past abuse #past abuse #stealing

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kitchenscene · 3 years

Text

four chambers buck/eddie (minor), eddie centric, an analysis of the diaz house, (home is about the people, not the space), 1.6k ______________

Eddie holds his heart in physical spaces. Frames, photo albums, ticket stubs. It’s less about the sentiment and more about the proof, evidence of the better moments, and a tangible reminder that they won’t be the last. He carries an old photo of Chris in his wallet and a yellow sticky note from Buck in the back of his phone case, scratchy, all caps writing — “Had to leave early, didn’t want to wake you up. There’s coffee on the counter for you. See you tonight.” — with a heart scribbled at the bottom. He carries his love outside his chest, but hides it in his pockets, under his shirt, and around his neck.

It’s scattered throughout the living room, his heart is in a comfortable place. The warm brown coffee table and throw pillows on the couch. Soft lights, lamps in every corner. An ash filled fireplace and charred brick, as if to say, “yes, there is life here, believe me when I say there’s life.”

[ao3 link]

Out in the living room, his love is most evident on the bookshelf. Loved ones held not by the hand, but by mahogany frames and canvas wrapped photo albums. Two albums, to be exact. The first is from Texas, from his childhood. Family photos year by year, some members disappearing, new ones flooding in, staying whether they want to or not. Some people who only continue to exist in these four-by-six slots, neatly encased in plastic, notes and dates scribbled over the back.

There’s photos of young Eddie cradling a baby Sophia, photos of Sophia and Eddie with Adriana spread across their laps, and a particularly memorable one of Eddie spoon feeding baby Adri ice cream when a baby her age definitely should not have been eating ice cream. First days of school, weekend trips, and middle school phases he’d rather forget. Newspaper cutouts of his baseball stats, team photos with trophies in hand, and senior pictures of him in his jersey. Team captain. He never really wanted it, but he accepted the offer all the same.

Shannon starts to appear around this time, prom photos together, though she wasn’t his date, just a friend of a friend with some sort of connection. Selfies taken on an old film camera from her mother, candid shots of Eddie, smiling, laughing, free, a side of him kept hidden from everyone but her. A few more photos strangers were kind enough to take for them, some strangers proving to be better photographers than others.

Another family photo, this time with Shannon in frame. Off to the side, attached only by Eddie’s arm around her waist, but in frame all the same.

A sonogram of Christopher before they had a name, engagement photos because that’s what they were supposed to do, and a single wedding picture taken from a courthouse bench.

Shannon still makes herself known in the last few pages, though her and Eddie no longer exist in the same frame. Her and Chris. Him and Chris. Chris alone. He’s off to Afghanistan.

Blank pages, accidentally skipped. A photo of him accepting the Silver Star he never wanted, added to the album despite his better wishes, alongside a handful of army memories he’d rather not look back on.

It’s in his heart, all the same.

The last few pages are filled with the only pictures Eddie took himself. Every one, every single one is of Chris. The time lost in those skipped pages finding its way back into the album, one day at a time. First days of school, weekend trips, and all his childhood interests coming and going in phases.

The second photo album carries his second chances. It’s not a memento from Texas or a gift he’d rather not receive, no. This one he chose all on his own. He chose Los Angeles, he chose Chris, he chose the 118, and with them, he chose a fresh start, a blank page. Family photos of a different kind.

Second page, third slot down, Buck makes himself known. He first exists in Eddie’s heart somewhere along the bottom shelf. Three, four, five pages in, Buck never disappears. In the firehouse, after work, trips to the zoo, he never disappears. Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, he never disappears. The couch, dining room, and kitchen, Buck never disappears.

It always comes back to the kitchen. Before there was a home, there was a kitchen and dirty dishes. Eddie washes the dishes by hand, one by one. Buck sits on the countertop, stacking dried plates, sorting cutlery in the drawers. He leaves every cabinet open — “it’s way more efficient, Eddie,” — and carries three mugs in each hand.

His heart skips in the kitchen. Flinging soap bubbles while rinsing plates, stealing from simmering saucepans on the stove, his breath hitches when Buck swipes a thumb across Eddie’s cheek, brushing away the suds. His breathing stops altogether when his hand lingers a moment too long.

New beginnings are also found in the kitchen, heavy palpitations bleeding from the sink onto the dining table. Anticipation exists between the tiles, melting the glue he’s used to desperately hold himself together. Buck plays music while he cooks, varying from swing to classic rock. On the good days he sings, out of key, but he sings. He whistles along with the guitar or the saxophone or velvety voices he doesn’t dare to replicate. Buck dances too, waiting for songs to end and timers to ring.

Anticipation flooded the room when he asked Eddie to dance along, a soft blues tune playing over the speaker. Hand to the waist, to the shoulder, hand draped in gentle hand. It was an easy choice; Buck leaned in and he leaned back, holding Eddie like he would never have the chance to do it again, kissing him like there was no sweeter air in the world. The first, “I love you,” was breathed against the counter, just above a whisper. “I always have,” followed shortly behind.

The brightest piece of his heart is held in Christopher’s hands. Rainbow carpets and terrariums, posters plastered on every wall, solar systems and galaxies hanging above. Buck pinned the mobile to the ceiling, Earth, Venus, and Mars dancing around each other, glowing as the room fades to black. The planets spin and spin just above his bed. It makes sense, really, that Buck would hang the stars for Chris.

Eddie didn’t decorate his room, unlike the rest of the house. No, the color, the light, the books lining every shelf, all chosen by Chris, constantly shifting as his interest wean and wane. He’s more than willing to provide, because who is he to deny an action figure on the dresser or plant on the windowsill?

His heart is full with Chris. His heart is empty in his bedroom. Everything Eddie has he gives to Chris. (Where else would it go?)

Barren walls and flat sheets. Empty walls, empty frames. Clock on the nightstand, a lamp on either side, nothing more. A dresser, a closet, it’s a bedroom, nothing more. Most days the curtains are drawn. Most days the door is kept shut. It’s best to keep this hidden, best to leave it bare. He had a rug once. Never managed to unroll it.

It functions as a space, that’s all he needs. Eddie sleeps, and sometimes he dreams. Sometimes he wakes in a sweat, sometimes his hands shake until he’s too exhausted to shake anymore. He resorts to self soothing then; counting ceiling tiles that don’t exist and pacing about the room until holes bleed through his socks.

Buck moved from the apartment to the couch, and eventually made his way to the bedroom. They started out two feet apart but always woke together, somehow making contact and swearing it meant nothing. Even in his sleep, he finds his way to Buck. (Of course it means something).

He first kisses Buck in the kitchen. He kisses him again in the bed. His bed, their bed. He sleeps with his head against Buck’s chest, this time with intent, counting beats instead of ceiling tiles as he sleeps, no sweeter lullaby to be heard. He sleeps through the night, no dreams at all. Buck opens the curtain when he wakes up. Eddie leaves it that way.

The changes are subtle at first, and Buck plays it off like it’s all accidental. “Your room has the best sunlight,” he says, moving plants from the kitchen to the dresser. The ivy cascades down the sides and the cactuses bloom in the new light. In the silence, his heart begins to beat again.

Buck covers his own nightstand with receipts and chargers and photos and reminders. “Printed this for myself,” he claims, filling a picture frame with him and Eddie and Chris, “but I made an extra copy.” He leaves it on Eddie’s side of the bed. It’s less and less barren each day.

The rug under the bed is a welcomed addition. Soft and full, Eddie doesn’t question where it came from. A mirror makes its way to the wall. He can count his scars in the reflection; two in the shoulders, one on the hip. Wrist and thigh, hand and head. With each day the sight is more bearable.

Buck ripped off the sheets, the dark navy sheets, and swapped them out for something brighter. He claims they’re softer, claims they’re more breathable, though Eddie knows the truth, the truth being that they’re lighter on his chest and make his heart beat even. One, two, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

“Good morning,” Buck whispers, and Eddie, half awake, half dreaming, feels his lips brush against his temple before moving to the kitchen. One beat, two beats, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

#nonsense plotless words but hey they're words !!#911 fox #911 #911 fics #911 fic #eddie diaz #the diaz house #evan buckley #christopher diaz #mine:911 #texas.fic

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illneverrecover · 4 years

Text

trust my love | pjy

➛pairing: Park Jinyoung x Reader ➛genre: librarian!reader, non idol!AU, Slice of Life!AU, fluff, humor ➛word count: 2,343 ➛rating: E ➛warnings: I know we are shocked, but since this isn’t smut there isn’t many! Kissing, Making out in a library, Persistent Jinyoung. This is just softsoftcute. ➛summary: Jinyoung frequents the library in hopes of convincing you to go on a date on with him, but you’re not so easy to win over. Luckily, he’s not easily deterred. ➛notes: This is my piece for the Secret Admirer’s Project 2021 for @ksmutclub! I’m a little nervous to post this because it’s the first time I’ve written about GOT7, however it was an honor to do so for @birbdae. Thank you for playing along with my asks, Dae! It was fun to get to know you and I hope you like this! 🍒 Also shout out to my sweet sugar bb @taetaesbaebaepsae for beta reading and hyping me up, ily. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. ➛song: Trust My Love - GOT7 | Love You Better - GOT7

“He’s here again."

Sighing heavily, you spin around, running your hands through your hair. Not that you cared what it looked like, of course. Why would you?

“Is he headed this way?”

“No, it looks like he’s headed towards fiction, turning down..” Ara pauses, eyes scanning the room, “the literature aisle - classics, to be specific.”

“Great.”

Ara keeps her gaze trained on her mark, angling her body towards you. “What do you think he’ll bring you today?”

“As if I care,” you scoff, moving over to the restock cart and busying yourself by grabbing a stack of books to plop down next to your computer. You had already organized and prepped most of these already, but no one else knows that. “Believe it or not, my work day does not evolve around what’s-his-face showing up unannounced-”

“-his name is Jinyoung, and you know that-”

“-and I have important things to attend to. He’s just another customer, nothing else.”

You can feel her glare boring into your skull, but you refuse to give in to meet it. If you do, you’ll see the disbelief and frustration in her eyes, which will be an open invitation for Ara to give you yet another one of her famous ‘You Need To Live Your Life’ speeches, which you have no patience for today.

She finally shrugs her shoulders, turning to grab the empty cart. “Whatever you say, dear. I’m off to get the books from the front drop off,” she glides away, the cart squeaking at her increased pace, “have fun with Jinyoung!”

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, wondering how long it’ll be before the man in question comes striding up to your desk, a book tucked under his arm and a disarming smile in tow.

He had been coming into your library now for what felt like years, but in reality was only a few weeks. You aren’t sure what started his interest in you - his first day in your check out line had been a brief and altogether forgettable encounter - but since that day, he has come in three times a week like clock work. He always returns a book, spends anywhere between fifteen and twenty minutes pursuing the stacks, fingers dragging against the spines, seemingly searching for something. And then he finds you, regardless of what floor you are working and what your current task is, and chats you up while you scan his library card, shuffling him out the door as quickly as you can.

Conversation started off innocent at first, usually small talk about whatever read he had just finished and dropped off in the return box. You pride yourself on being polite and professional, even if it was clear he had other intentions. But it was when he began asking more about you, inquiring about your days off that you felt your hackles raise. The next time he returned a book, he skipped the pleasantries, instead leaving you with a wink and a slip of paper with his phone number inside the pages, right next to the author note.

‘Go on a date with me?’

Such a simple phrase shouldn’t have caused such havoc in your life, and yet here you were.

Your traitorous co-workers all though it was so sweet, so romantic how he pursued you. Nevermind that he had the face of the type of man who has done this before, who likely has a contact list a mile long of names attached to pretty women that would all fawn over him at a moment’s notice. Or the fact that he clearly came from money; his designer peacoats and dress shirts always crisp, clean, and the complete opposite of anything you owned.

No, this wasn’t a budding romance - if anything, it was a classic case of a man who liked the chase, even if you refused to run.

The clearing of a throat pulls you from your thoughts, eyes snapping to address the intruder. “Can I help you with something?”

“Hi, yes you can. I’d like to check out this book, please.” Jinyoung smiles brightly, eyes dancing with mirth. He’s dressed in a warm khaki color sweater today, the tips of a white collar peeking out of the neckline and tucked into his perfect pressed slacks. He’s handsome, and you both know it.

Seemingly catching you staring, he raises a brow in question, one that you promptly ignore. Instead, you hold out your hand impatiently, waiting for him to share which novel he’s going to try to use to impress you with today. When you glance down at the title, your eyebrow raises.

“The Ghost Bride, hmm? Doesn’t really seem like your type,” you mutter, taking the book and flipping it to scan it. His library card awaits beside it, the elegant script of his signature seemingly taunting you. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to pick up something else? I can show you where the picture books are-”

“Nope, this was the right one. I’m just following your recommendations, you know. This was your pick of the week.”

You scowl, swiping his card under the scanner before grabbing the automatically printed receipt, sliding his items back towards him across the counter. You had forgotten about the ‘See What Our Librarians Recommend!’ board that Mark had put up earlier in the week in an attempt to engage more with the customers. There hadn’t been much thought behind your pick other than it was one you enjoyed; getting immersed into other cultures and their traditions one of the easiest ways to relax your mind. But now you felt self conscious, like he was peering into your head.

You shake the thought away, turning back to your screen. “Yes, I’m aware of that. Well, have a nice day, I gotta get back to work.”

“Have you thought about the answer to my question?”

Jinyoung is still waiting at the counter, a small but earnest smirk tugging at his lips, eyes locked on to yours. If you didn’t know any better, you would think his curiosity was genuine with how he stared, how kind he was.

But you knew better.

“Yes, and the answer is no. I’m not looking to date right now,” you huff, breaking his gaze once more. There was something intense about how he looked at you, and it made your nerves dance under your skin.

“May I ask why?”

Sighing, you close your eyes, counting the breath as you pull it into your lungs. What a loaded question. There were thousands of answers, a multitude of reasons why it was a bad idea to accept a date from the handsome stranger that frequents your library. Which would be acceptable to share; that you’ve had your heart broken more times than you care to admit, and don’t want to be hurt again? That you’re too immersed in your work and your goals that you don’t have time for a relationship? Or that you spend your days lost between the pages of books, delving into new worlds and reading about loves so pure and avowed that you know anything you come across in real life will be a disappointment?

Instead of those truths, you give him a tight smile. “Because I don’t know you, and you haven’t earned one yet.”

There was an unspoken challenge in those words, but you didn’t care. You knew that Jinyoung with his pretty face and captivating charm would give up soon, and when that time came, you’d breathe a sigh of relief and continue about your life just as it was before he came in it.

“I get it, you don’t trust me,” he looks down at his shoes, inhaling deeply before returning his amber eyes to you. “But I’m serious. I’ll prove it to you.”

He stands there a beat more, as if he wanted to be sure you understood his promise before turning and walking away, giving a final grin over his shoulder.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

The harsh refusal of his proposal didn’t deter Jinyoung in the least, if anything, it renewed his commitment. He continued his visits to the library, this time determined to speak with you more, get to know you better. He had befriended Mark shortly into his endeavors and your traitorous coworker had told him everything he knew about you - favorite foods, your favorite color, sweets you indulged on when the mood was right. And Jinyoung had weaponized this information, bringing you Peruvian lilies in the palest of lilacs, leaving tiny boxes of nougat de montelimar on your cart on top of the books for you to find.

Each time he came to your check out line, he was prepared with a new book and more questions, always briefly discussing his thoughts on the novel before peppering you with inquiries about anything from mundane preferences to how your parents were doing.

The most infuriating part was it was working. The once practiced guard you had built around yourself slowly coming undone piece by piece, day by day as Jinyoung gave you patient smiles and cheeky winks. Your heart was softening to his antics, and soon you caught yourself thinking about what a date with him would be like, how being the sole object of his affections somewhere that isn’t covered in a fine line of dust and doesn’t smell like old books would make you feel.

It’s this train of thought you’re lost in when he strides up to your counter, another book in his arms, face lighting up once he sees you.

“Hi, beautiful. Just this for me today,” he murmurs, placing the book he selected directly into your hands instead of on the counter as usual.

You didn’t have to look at the cover to know which novel he’d handed you, the story itself being so familiar that you could recognize it by the weight of it in your hands alone. “You’re telling me you haven’t read The Great Gatsby before?”

He chuckles then, head ducking down sheepishly. “Ah, it was one of those we had to read in school ages ago, but I don’t really remember it. I wasn’t as into books back then.”

You nod, remembering how your peers didn’t seem to be as obsessed with reading as you had been. “That’s fair. This is one of those that the meaning tends to be lost on a bunch of teenagers, anyway.” Scanning the book and his card, you place it back in his open palm, feeling like you were giving him a tiny piece of your heart.

“I decided to give it another shot - since it's your favorite, and all.”

Warmth spreads in your cheeks and you wonder briefly if he notices the way you fight a smile. It had been a passing comment, something said while he watched you restock the non fiction section one afternoon, but the fact he remembered caused something in your chest to ache.

“Well, let me know what you think. I mean, if you’re able to follow along, that is.”

His slow smirk transforms into a beaming smile, his face softening as he tucks the novel under his arm. “I think I’ll manage. I’ve been able to keep up so far,” his gaze drops to drag over your form before meeting your eyes. “And I’ve been loving every minute.”

He wasn’t talking about books, and the thought had you floating on air for the rest of your shift.

That night, when you’re safely tucked into bed and far away from the library, you grab the wrinkled slip of paper and type Jinyoung’s number into your phone.

The metal of the old bookcase was ice against your bare skin, back arching up as you lick into Jinyoung’s mouth. What started off as a gentle press of lips in the back stacks of the reference section quickly intensified when his tongue sought yours, the kiss hungry and dripping of pent up desire.

You hadn’t planned on anything happening, only wanting the abandoned aisles so that you could accept his date offering without your coworkers lurking, not wanting to do it over text. However you didn’t account for Jinyoung’s excitement, the way he looked like he won the lottery when you told him before swiftly backing you into the shelves in a heated kiss - not that you’re complaining.

His body is firm as he presses into you, hands cupping your cheeks in a gentle way that offset his fervent exploration of your mouth. You melt under his touch, body seeking him like a moth to flame, unwilling to leave his warmth.

“Jinyoung,” you breathe, pushing him away from your lips. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

He chuckles, a hand snaking around your waist to tug you close once more. “Probably not. But you have no idea how long I’ve been dying to do that.”

“Do what? Fondle me in a dusty library?”

He shakes his head lightly before leaning in, his mouth inches from your own, the look in his eyes seizing the air in your lungs. “He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.”

Swallowing thickly, you ignore the painful gallop of your pulse, the way your defenses seem to crumble each time you’re in his presence. You don’t tell him how much it means to you that he didn’t give up, that he did all of these things just to earn your trust. That he put in so much effort to learn everything about you, took time to memorize the lines from your favorite novel just to make you smile.

Instead, you look up at him through heavy lashes, an easy grin on your lips. “Did you just quote ‘The Great Gatsby’ at me?” Giggling, you swat his arm. “That was a little cheesy.”

Jinyoung just meets your gaze, says everything with how he peers into your eyes without saying anything at all. “It only gets better from here, trust me.”

#secretadmirer2021 #ksmutclub #jinyoung x reader #park jinyoung x reader #jinyoung fluff #got7 fluff #got7 scenarios #jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung fanfic #got7 fanfic #my writing #fic: trust my love #fic: tml

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applejongho · 3 years

Text

cherry on top | choi jongho

genre: fluff, realistic fiction, humor

character: starbucks employee!jongho

description: Jongho has an interesting run-in with a Karen during his shift at Starbucks.

word count: 2k

warnings: mild swearing

author’s note: jongho as a coffee barista was swimming in my mind for quite some time, so here he is.

masterlist here!

There was something about that coffee stain on Jongho's employee shirt that made it impossible to get rid of. It was likely the mix of the ingredients that had stacked the receipt when it was printed, but Jongho couldn't help but feel she had somehow planned this as he scrubbed harder with bleach.

Jongho wouldn't have guessed the day to turn out as it did, but maybe he should have. Working with the public was always a gamble, but Jongho's optimism blinded him. Most customers were nice enough. Most customers gave a smile when he handed them their overpriced coffee. There weren't too many comments about his red and black hair, and he could shrug off all of them. The compliments were what he remembered.

The day started off normally - with Jongho's coworkers nudging him towards the mound of bagged coffee beans. "I could do it myself, but you just do it quicker, you know?" One of his coworkers had whined, twirling a piece of curly hair around her finger. "It" was picking up the bags of coffee beans to put into the grinder, and Jongho didn't mind it. As he slung a bag over his shoulder with ease and glanced at her, he could swear her face flushed. Perhaps it was just the sun. The sun hit her face like that when he broke apples in half with his bare hands too. It was strange how the universe liked her like that.

After his bean tasks, Jongho took to the drive-thru of the coffee shop. He was told he had a nice voice, but he doubted he sounded that heavenly through a cheap speaker that hadn't been changed for five years. Nonetheless, Jongho enjoyed doing the drive-thru and taking orders. When there were multiple drive-thru lanes open, he would challenge his coworkers to see who could get through orders the fastest. This caused him and his coworkers to resent vans - vans almost always meant there was a large order - a sure loss, unless Jongho's fingers could learn to dance very quickly on the ordering screen.

Taking orders via the drive thru took up his morning, and then he was released for his lunch break. His coworkers had become accustomed to bringing him apples for the sole purpose of him to break them. He didn't mind, and it allowed him to be more comfortable with his coworkers because he could sometimes be shy. "Is that why part of your hair is red?" A coworker had asked him one day after he had broken multiple apples in a row. Jongho shook his head.

"No. Just red," he shrugged, ignoring his coworker's eyebrow raise. "I just like the color red." He thought he looked good with it.

But not everyone agreed - there were some customers that liked to point it out, like he had never seen himself in a reflection before. "You missed the roots," an older woman had told him at the register and gestured to his hair. Jongho added fifty cents to her order.

But for this day in particular, his hair was the reason for his downfall. For the latter half of the day, Jongho would be at the register. He yearned to be in the bar making drinks because it could become so mindless at points, but he was placed in front of the register before he could say anything. He assumed it was because he was the longest working employee out of the staff today, and Jongho vaguely remembered a newbie was working with him. He guessed the manager didn't want them at the register. The register wasn't much different than the drive thru, but there was something about actually seeing the customer or touching their cash or credit card that made it not enjoyable for Jongho.

About an hour into working at the register, Karen walked in. Jongho saw her and his stomach dropped. She looked exactly like a Karen should look: bobbed blonde hair with caramel highlights that were too dark, opaque and round sunglasses, an obnoxiously pink phone case, and a tacky red American flag shirt that said something about how America was blessed. Jongho knew he shouldn't judge people so quickly, but he had dealt with this breed of women before. He had to brace himself for the worst and the unexpected.

"Hello, ma'am," he said cheerfully when Karen got to the front of the line. Her dark sunglasses obscured her eyes, but she was clearly paying attention to her phone instead of him. She suddenly realized she was in Starbucks and lifted up her glasses. She took one look at Jongho's name tag.

"Hello, John," she said, and Jongho had to bite his tongue to keep from making a noise.

"Jongho," he said.

"John," she continued, and listed off her order, Jongho begrudgingly typing it in as she spoke. It's not that hard of a name, he thought to himself as he kept typing. Why was Karen's order so long? Jongho kept translating her vegan, dairy-free, blood-of-firstborn, extra-expresso venti iced coffee into the system until she stopped talking, and even then she wasn't done.

"So is everyone your age just dying their hair like that?" Karen said without prologue. "I'd never let my kid dye their hair like that. It's so unprofessional."

"Thank you," Jongho said, dodging the question and not wanting to provoke her. He hoped his cheeks weren't also red. "Here's your total. Cash or credit?"

Karen pulled out her purse, but not without clicking her tongue in annoyance. "You all really should lower the prices. It's too damn expensive."

Then make your own, Jongho wanted to reply, but he held his tongue. "I wish I could," he said with a smile. Karen frowned in return, and, without warning, dumped her entire coin bag onto the counter. Jongho yelped and scrambled to keep flying pennies and quarters from rolling off of the counter. In the corner of his eye, a coworker ogled Karen.

"I used the bills to buy my groceries, so I'll pay in coins," Karen yawned while Jongho threw himself onto the floor to make sure no coins had reached there. He got up, plastering on a fake smile. He hadn't had a customer like this in a long time, but if he could just get through her, everything would be okay. He reached for her quarters first and began counting dollars. He knew for a fact that his manager wouldn't have tolerated this kind of behavior from a customer, but Jongho knew he could be too soft at times. Besides, her jangling keys on her wrist glimmered and showed off their sharpness. He swore he saw her teeth glimmer as well.

"Hurry up," Karen said after a few seconds. "Count faster."

Jongho considered shoving pennies into her eyes. "Certainly," he said, and tried to pick up his pace. He could feel her eyes burning on his neck as he shoved the change into the cash register. He pushed her receipt over to her and eagerly began with the customer behind her, glad to be ridden of her.

But his escape was short lived. He heard a whine from the corner of the store and knew it was the Karen immediately. He was currently helping out a different customer, but there was no one else in line behind them. He'd deal with it after the customer if things escalated with Karen.

"Are you sure you made this correctly?" Karen snarled at Jongho's coworker, her nostrils flailing. The coworker looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. "This doesn't taste like how it usually does. Make it again."

Jongho wouldn't have done anything - customers asked for drinks to be remade frequently. But this was Karen, and upon further inspection, this was the new employee that his manager had talked about. He couldn't leave her hanging, it would be rude as an older and more experienced employee. Jongho finished ringing up the final customer and went over to Karen and the other coworker.

"Cherry head," Karen growled, and Jongho only raised his eyebrows. That was a new one.

"I'll make a new one, ma'am, sorry," he said, taking the drink from her. "I'm sure you were fine," he muttered to the worried coworker and was pleased to see her smile.

Iced coffee wasn't difficult, and with the lack of new customers Jongho took the time to make sure the drink was entirely accurate. It's not that she deserved a drink, it's that he wanted her out of the store as soon as possible. He even had the temperature right, and gave it a perfect dairy-free whipped cream swirl at the top before handing it back to her.

Karen ogled the drink for a moment, looking back and forth at the cup and Jongho. Then she threw the drink at him.

The whipped cream top hit Jongho square in the face and he could taste it. Then came the slow and cold trickle of the coffee down his apron and shirt underneath, and at that moment, he was so glad she hadn't ordered anything hot.

"I said I didn't want whipped cream!" Karen bellowed, but Jongho's choir practice had made him desensitized to loud vocals. He wiped the whipped cream from his face and looked at Karen straight in the eyes.

"Get out," he said coldly. "There's a Dunkin across the parking lot. They can have your coins." He paused for a moment, and then his mouth twitched upward. "My name is John, you can write me up if you want. I don't care."

"I will be," Karen growled, red-faced and clutching her purse at her side like Jongho was going to reach out and nab it. he couldn't believe Karen thought that she was the victim here when Jongho had a new fluffy white beard adorning his face.

"John's right," a third coworker said, coming from behind. He could vaguely hear his laugh under his voice. "We don't tolerate harassment on our employees. You're the one that could end up in trouble."

Karen stared daggers at this new employee, and Jongho was surprised she didn't jump over the counter to tackle him. "Good riddance, I knew Starbucks was going downhill anyway." She gave one last snarl at Jongho, who fluffed up his hair at her glance, before walking out of the Starbucks.

The three employees were silent, and then Jongho felt a towel touch his arm. "Oh my God, Jongho, I'm sorry," the third coworker said.

"I don't think I've ever been drenched quite as much as I am now," he said, accepting the towel. He began to dry himself off as best he could, but he knew his face and clothes were going to be sticky for the remainder of the shift.

"I think there's another apron in the back," the new coworker said, and then scurried off to get it before Jongho could say anything.

"I'm just glad it wasn't her that got absolutely wrecked by coffee," the other coworker murmured. "I think she might have cried."

Jongho nodded, still drying himself off. It was a terrible feeling, the coffee all over his skin and clothes, but now that she was gone, he couldn't help but smile. It was comical, how insane the public could be. "I hope John gets hell for what he did," he smiled.

"Absolutely," the coworker agreed, laughing. The new coworker arrived back with the apron, which Jongho gratefully took.

"Give me a minute to clean up," he told the both of them before going to the back to inspect the wreckage on his clothes and face. It could have been better, but it also could have been worse. He licked a part of the whipped cream that was near his lips and grimaced at the flavor. Despite it all, Jongho was amused at the situation. It kept him on his toes. It would be a funny story to share at a party. Jongho wrote a note in his phone to re-dye his red tips when he got home. Then, smiling, he returned to work.

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glitterge1pen · 3 years

Text

Have You Ever Considered Craft Supplies Instead Of Drugs? Then This Might Be For You.

Kyōtani Kentarou x reader, sfw, fluff, 1,691word count

His room for the most part was clean. It’s main function was for sleep though. This was apparent. His clothes, which were mainly basketball shorts and blank t-shirts, were scattered about in a way that told you he threw them there when going to bed.

Kyotani had told you to give him a few minutes, while he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and struggling with the cap of his eyeliner pen. You felt comfortable enough in his apartment to check the fridge and see if anything was worth your while. But still you felt a bit like an intruder in his bedroom, which is where you had wandered off to.

The walls were white, mostly bare. There was a poster up for some band you didn't recognize, and another one advertising the Sendai Frogs that looked like he had ripped it off one wall to get onto his. You smiled at the thought of him stealing the poster from the grocery store display window or stadium parking lot.

You give his room one last once over before turning to leave. On your way out you trip over a shoe box. You would have just ignored it but a few tufts of paper flew out from the lid. You bend down to collect them but find that these aren't just trash from the shoe box. Quietly, and with a tinge of guilt, you kneel down to gently put the papers back in the box. The little scraps of paper you had found were actually sticky notes, you couldn't decipher the writing on them because of how faded and old the paper was.

You get one quick glimpse inside the shoe box on Kyotani’s floor. There are dozens of papers, printed photos, receipts, tickets, and what you assume are old keys. You feel like you've seen something very private of Kyotani’s and when you turn around to find him standing in the doorway, you gasp in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

He seems more concerned and confused about you versus the fact that you are in his room. You decide sarcasm is the best choice of action.

“What? You embarrassed about me being in your bedroom?”

“Shut up and get out!”

Kyotani puts his hands on your shoulders and tosses you out into the hallway.

“Hey, hey, what time is it because we might actually be late to the movie now,”

You say pulling out your phone to get a glance at the clock. There was only twenty minutes before you were supposed to be at the theater.

“We’ll be fine, the trailers always play for too long anyways”

He says leading you out the front door.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

When the team wins a game and you head out to eat with the guys afterwards, your eyes don't usually follow Kyotani’s hands so closely. You hope that no one else has picked up on your new habit. But last week's venture into his bedroom has left you reeling in thought.

Kyotani doesn't really like to be hugged. During movie nights he sits separate from the pile of pillows and bodies. He tolerates head pats and high fives. When he hangs up the phone you can feel how difficult it is for him to say something like “bye I love you” platonic or not.

You hadn't really considered it before, at least not so intently in relation to Kyotani. Most people were easy to understand in their affections and how they garnered it. Or if they weren't so obvious, they made some sort of distinction, a simple “I don't like when people do this” or “I prefer this”.

Being friends with Kyotani you had assumed that he was content with what people gave him because he never asked for more. He didn't hug you when you two parted ways, and you never forced him to. He didn't ask or push on others boundaries but now after seeing that shoe box you wondered why he had never advocated for his own. You thought perhaps it wasnt that Kyotani disliked those other forms of affection or care, but rather he didn't regard those other acts as affections at all.

The sounds of the restaurant fade back in as your thoughts simmer down. You feel Tsukishima and Yamaguchi next to you. Enthralled in a conversation about some show they had been binging together. Apparently Yamaguchi had watched a few episodes without Tsukishima and everyone found the annoyed, bitter expression on Tsukishima hilarious, the table erupting in laughter.

“You good? You've been staring at nothing for five minutes,”

Kyotani said to you before taking another bite into his food. He sat across from you, his elbows propping him up over his plate of food.

“Yeah, just tired today,”

You say shaking your head as if trying to wake yourself up.

As the evening wears on, your eyes still follow Kyotani’s hands. Trying to catch the moment of thievery in action. To see if your contemplations are grounded in Kyotani’s actions or rather thoughts with nothing to hold as they pass you by.

But as everyone files out of the restaurant, the bill already split, the copy of the receipt abandoned on the table, you watch as Kyotani lingers for just a moment, to pocket the slip of paper.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You couldn't remember the last time you had attempted to burn a CD. Was it you who did it or a friend? It was years ago though that was for sure. You had made three playlists on spotify, checking and double checking that they were private playlists. After arranging them and finding the songs that fit just right with each list you started finding youtube videos of each song. From there you converted the links to MP3 audio.

While your computer whirred and the audio filed loaded onto the disk you thought about decorating the CD cases. Of course covering the clear plastic case with glitter gel pen and cute stickers was very tempting. But you weren't sure that was Kyotani’s style. At the same time this was supposed to be a gift from you. You met yourself halfway. Decorating one CD case like how you would have wanted, and the other with more of a Kyotani flair, the third somewhere in between the two.

When the CD’s were done you carefully placed them into their new plastic homes. Grabbing a black sharpie to scribble the playlist names onto each. You felt like wrapping them would be too extravagant so you settled for tying a ribbon around the two.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What the hell do you want?” Kyotani says as he pulls up next to you on the curb outside your place. You had texted him earlier while he was at work, asking if could stop by after he got off. He has the window rolled down and you take it upon yourself to unlock the passenger door and climb inside.

"I wanted you to test these out"

You were hoping that you had done everything right with the computer.You hand him the CD's, he flips them over in his hands inspecting them.

“Is it cool if I take these ribbons off?”

You nod and he turns the car radio on to insert the CD’s. As the first song starts playing you turn to him.

“This is that band you like right? The one on that poster in your room?”

Kyotani is visibly flustered by this.

“Yes? Did you...did you make these for me?”

You throw your head back in a laugh.

“Yes, I made them for you,”

“Oh,”

He says in a rather soft amazed tone.

“Look, I didn't mean to, but when I was in your room the other day I tripped over that shoe box you have,”

You keep your eyes trained on the street outside the dashboard window. Unsure and a bit nervous to see what Kyotani is thinking. Tempted by curiosity though, you do look at him for a brief moment, only to find him also intensely staring off into the street. His face lit up red with embarrassment.

“I’m glad that I saw it though. Because that stuff is important to you and I want to know what you think is important”

The air in the car feels like it is clinging to your skin with tension. You think the pressure will start to crack your bones when Kyotani’s voice splinters the suspense.

“It's easier to feel something when its tangible, when you can hold it, it's why people still buy polaroids and go to museums and shit”

You nod, a jovial ease overcoming you as he continues to speak.

“I don't really like, uh, I guess physical affection or even talking or it’s not like talking, people call it words of affirmation or whatever,”

You hold the smile of your lips down, you don't want him to think you’re teasing him in this moment. You're just happy that he is comfortable enough with you to say such things.

“I know lots of other people like to have those types of things though, and I worked really hard to get used to stuff, but I don't know, this is what I like,”

He says gesturing with the CD case to you.

“I mean so like, birthday cards, post-it notes, bus transfers? Things that are directly attached to memories and people? Anything else you want me to know about?”

While it hurts a little that he’s struggling to talk about this matter, you can't help but revel in the unusual brash shyness of Kyotani. He does mutter something, but when you lean in closer to signal that you didn't hear him the first time he repeats himself.

“Event pamphlets. I know it's trash but I like it”

“Promise you won't get mad?”

You drawl your voice out and make it sweet so he knows you're messing with him.

“Hm?”

He says, eyebrow quirked in question.

“I think you'd be really into scrapbooking”

“Shut the hell up before I kick you out of my car”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: Took a break from my current writing obsession to spit this out .

#kyotani x reader #kyōtani kentarō #kyoutani kentarou #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #kyoutani kentarou x reader

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

"Not My Yacht" *Chapter 2*

Yes, for two days this is a semi short chapter, but I had another long today and have one more tomorrow and I wanted you to have SOMETHING. Weirdly though I had an entire different chapter written in my head, but when I started typing this came out instead. My original idea is still coming, this just added a fun little bonus getting there. I promise, tomorrow you will get a longer chapter.

Thank you loves for sticking by me through everything! I love you all.

Also, I'm finally using CHAPTER. I kept wanting to use it instead of PART but I just kept writing PART and was like WELP. But they're chapters, right?!

Ok I'll shut up.

Part 1 Here

Part 3

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

And @storiesofsvu for Rita check. lol.

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

When five o’clock rolled around, Rita came walking out of her office with a stack of papers and her briefcase, balancing her purse on her barely free arm.

“Y/N, Why are you still here? Did I not unlock your chains?” She laughed.

“Haha….no, ma’am” You nervously laughed. “I um, I think I’m waiting for someone,”

“You think?” She raised a curious eyebrow. “If you’re waiting on Barba, you’re going to waiting a long time, sweetie,”

“Wha-? How--? Why, exactly?” You asked her totally flabbergasted by the insinuation that not only had Rafael asked you out, but was bailing already.

“He tends to get a little...involved, in his cases. Poor man is a workaholic,” She feigned pity for him.

“Right,” You nodded to her comically overflowing briefcase and papers. “Something you know nothing about,”

“Touché,” She winked. “I’d give him a call, make sure he hasn’t forgotten about you, dear. Before the cleaning staff shows up,” She laughed and sauntered out of her office, leaving you alone in the dark.

You glanced down at your phone. He hadn’t really specified a time, just-- “Tonight”. What did that even mean? Tonight. Like early evening dinner, or a midnight snack after he was done with his cases? You should probably text him. Or call him. Or text him.

TO BARBA: Heyyy….

Wait. Was three y’s too many? Wasn’t that a rule? You show affection by how many y’s you use? Is that a thing kids do these days? Wait, no you’re not a kid. And he certainly was NOT a kid. No. Be a grown up about this.

TO BARBA: Hi I’m just...checking in.

Checking in? What did that even mean? And why the ellipsis? There doesn’t need to be a pause in a text. That’s why it’s a text. You pause in your mind before typing. Idiot.

TO BARBA: What’s up?

Ok. Short and simple. To the point. No pressure, no demanding. Just... ‘checking in’. You hated yourself. Alright fine, good enough send it. SEND IT. HIT SEND NOW.

MESSAGE SENT.

Your phone shook in your trembling hand as you waited for the ellipsis of him writing back. That was too much, no no just put it back in your pocket and he’ll text you when he--

BARBA CALLING

Oh god, a phone call? Who calls people anymore? Grown ups, that’s who. Answer the phone like an adult.

“H-Hello?” You answered it as if he had the wrong number.

“Hey, Cinderella,” His smooth voice came through your earpiece. “I’m so sorry, I should have been more specific about the time,”

“Oh, yeah no-- no big deal, I’m just here at work….alone, in the dark…” You muttered the last words to yourself as you looked around the dark office.

“Right. Well, I’m kind of wrapped up in this case right now--” He started, making your heart drop. Well, Rita called it. He’s just married to his job, no time for women, let alone you. Time to just--

“....Would you hate me if I asked you to come help me?”

“...I’m sorry, what?” You blinked in confusion at your phone. So, was he actually asking you out or trying to snake you as an assistant from Rita? Is that what he meant by ‘dinner’? “Hey come bring me food and help me file these cases, because I’m so sexy and cocky and--”

“You know what, I’m so sorry I just heard how that sounded. You’ve been doing this all day, the last thing you wanna do is come--”

“Sure!” You cut him off a little loudly. What were you doing?! You’re just going to lay down and let him use your services for free? Well, when you put it that way it sounded pretty skeezy about yourself.

“....Are you sure? Because we can just have dinner another night--”

“....Yeah I have a feeling that will never happen,” You cut him off with a laugh.

“Wha--no, it will! I just--”

“Your wife comes first, I get it,” You cut him off again.

“My wife?”

“Yeah you’re married to your work,” You smirked into the phone.

“Wow, quippy Cinderella. Guess you’re more confident on the phone without my gorgeous face tripping you up now, aren’t you?”

“Do you want my help or not, Casanova?” He was totally right; without those green emeralds staring into your soul you were actually a pretty funny and smart person. Maybe it would be better to just have this date on the phone.

"Yes, absolutely," He sighed with a smile.

“Did you want me to bring food, or am I just supposed to eat paperclips and vending machine leftovers??”

“I’ll order some pizza, do you like pizza?”

“....I live in New York Barba. Obviously I like pizza,” You teased.

“Right,” He chuckled. “Well I’ll be here--”

“I know where your office is,” You cut him off for the third time.

“Oh, do you?” He asked in a sneaky tone, as if he thought you’d been googling him or something.

“Um, yeah,” Your voice fell an octave softer. “Actually I’ve been there several times, dropping off stuff from Rita for you,” Of course he wouldn’t remember that. Why would he remember that? You weren’t anything special.

“Shit,” He muttered as if chastising himself. “Y/N I’m so sorry, I--”

“It’s fine,” You assured him as you headed down to the subway. “I’m uh, I’m getting on the train so I’ll see you soon,” You hung before he could reply.

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

It wasn’t that far to Rafael’s office from Rita’s, just a few stops away. You quickly hurried up the stairs back into the Manhattan air as you swiftly walked through the sea of people leaving corporate America to go home to Suburbia. Finally you reached the building, went for the door and-- it was locked.

Well of course it was locked, nobody else in their right mind would be here this late-- so clearly you and Rafael were out of your minds. Shit. Should you call him? Was there a buzzer? Before you could think of another solution a pizza delivery man was walking up to you. Maybe ‘man’ was too generous, he was probably around 16 or 17.

“Delivery for Mr. Barba,” He handed you the pizza. Did you look like a “Mr. Barba” to him?!

“I um,” You stammered as the hot pizza burned the sides of your arms you were holding it on. “I’m not Mr. Barba,”

“Are you taking it to him?” He asked you with a slight attitude.

“I um,” You thought a moment. Well you were going to see him, so yes theoretically you would be taking the pizza with you to him. “...Yes,”

“That’ll be 46.57.” He whipped out a credit card scanner on his phone.

“E-Excuse me?” You were taken aback. Now Barba had you buying him dinner? And what kind of pizza costs basically 50 bucks?!

“2 Large pizzas, an order of cheesy bread, a dessert pizza and delivery fee,” The kid read off the receipt from his phone. “I only accept credit or debit cards, and please tip generously,”

“Yeah right,” You muttered with a roll of your eyes as you pulled out your credit card and swiped it across his phone. The light turned green and a receipt printed off an attachment to his phone. He ripped it off and handed it to you, then nonchalantly walked back down the stairs to wherever he was parked.

“Awesome,” You sighed. You still didn’t know how to get inside, and now you were carrying all this hot food. All of this for a pair of green eyes?!

To make matters worse, your phone started going off in your purse. You groaned and tried to put all of the boxes down softly, but the night wind blew them onto the pavement, HARD.

“Shit!” You groaned louder as you tried to salvage the food while pulling your phone from your purse. Of COURSE.

BARBA CALLING

“I can’t get in,” You simply stated as a greeting on the phone.

“What?”

“I can’t get in the building, Barba,” You grumbled, now on a 8 on the annoyance scale.

“Oh! Oh God,” The line went dead. Awesome.

After a few minutes while you were trying to rebalance all of the boxes in your arms, one of the big glass doors swung open right into you. The boxes all pressed against you, their hot, saucy, cheesy and chocolatey goodness smearing all over your work outfit.

“SHIT!!!!!!” You screamed in horror.

“Oh my god, Oh god Y/N I am SO--” Rafael started to apologize profusely, but you noticed he was trying his best not to burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, do you think this is funny?!” You asked angrily while you peeled a pepperoni from your hair.

“No, not at all,” He shook his head vigorously, but kept giggling behind his eyes.

“You do!” You stomped your heel, causing marinara to roll down your legs. “You are absolutely laughing at me being covered in all of your stupid food that I had to pay for by the way--”

“Oh no, really?” He suddenly turned sincere.

“No, Rafael,” You scoffed as you tried pulling cheese from your skirt. “I just had sex with him in the parking lot and we called it square,”

“Really--?!”

“NO NOT REALLY!”

“Okay! Okay I’m sorry, really I am,” Rafael tried to show you sympathy, but you looked so damn cute covered in a tasty meal.

“Yeah I can see that, you’re grinning like a five year old,” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N I really am,” He gave up trying to hide a laugh. “But you have to admit it’s pretty funny--”

“I DON’T THINK--” You started to scream at him again, but his smile made these cute little crinkles in his eyes, and his laugh was like an angel’s chorus. You might have been covered in food, but you would be covered in manure if it made him laugh like that.

“For what it’s worth, you look delicious,” He teased you, pulling an actual full piece of pizza from your chest and biting it.

“Oh my god, you’re so gross,” You did your best not to laugh, you were still supposed to be angry.

“Yum, Y/N flavor, my favorite,” He laughed for a moment just as you both realized what he had said. “Uh, I mean--” He looked away in embarrassment, and you swear you saw his face flush red.

“Um no counselor,” You bit your lip with a smile. “I’m pretty sure I taste better than a mix of pizza sauce and chocolate,”

“I’m sure you do,” Rafael bravely retorted, now that he knew you were in the playing mood.

“....But seriously, now I have to go home and get this shit off--”

“I have a shower in my office,” He blurted out.

“....Excuse me?” You blinked, not believing you heard him right.

“I...I have a shower in my office,”

“Oh my god, Rafael Barba are you that addicted to work that you live here?”

“No!” He rolled his eyes. “It’s for emergencies,”

“Emergencies? Like what?”

“Like a beautiful woman covered in pizza toppings and chocolate,” He smirked. “Now come on, I don’t want anyone around here thinking I’m dating a crazy person,” He opened the glass doors again and escorted you into the lobby of the building.

Your mind didn’t know what to focus on first; the fact that he had this mysterious office shower, that he had offered for you to use said shower, or the fact that he just referred to you as a ‘woman he was dating’. You just followed him silently into his office with a smitten grin on your face.

He wasn’t lying when he was in the ‘middle’ of something. Papers were strewn all about his desk, a white board with bullet points for arguments and cross examinations scribbled on it. You finally got a good look at him without the anger of having food all over your judgement. He looked tired, not the usual smooth and pristine Rafael Barba you were used to. But when he looked back at you to show you where his shower was, his green eyes sparkled gazing into yours.

“So, I have some spare suits in a closet here, would you mind hanging out in one of my dress shirts while I wash...these?” He gestured to your dirty clothes. Wait, wash?

You suddenly realized he had led you into a secret room to the side of his office, behind a bookcase.

“Wha…” You looked around the room. There was a shower, a wardrobe, a washer/dryer combo, and a suit steamer. “Jesus Barba, are you sure you don’t live here?”

“No I promise I don’t,” He shook his head with a laugh. “...But I may have on occasion fallen asleep here enough to invest in this,”

“And what happens when this office is passed on to a new ADA?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Then I’m sealing this place off like a mausoleum,” He stated very seriously, causing you to giggle. He loved your giggle, it was so small and soft, just like you.

“Anyway,” He shook off his momentary daze at your giggle hoping you didn’t notice. “Like I said-- Shower, dress shirt. Just put your dirty clothes in the washer and we’ll pop them in the dryer later,”

“Right,” You nodded, definitely having noticed his dreamy stare at your giggle. How had you gone from completely under his radar to making him giddy like a school boy in two days?

“Right,” He nodded back. “I’ll just be out here...ordering another pizza,” He smirked. “By the way, I’ll totally reimburse you for the one you’re wearing,” He stuck his tongue out at you with a huge grin.

“Oh you better,” You gave him the same face back. “Or I’ll cover you in it,” You lightly pressed a marinara sauce covered finger into his perfectly white dress shirt. He glanced down at it in horror.

“Oh that was so--” He started to tickle and attack you, but realized that would only make his outfit dirtier. “This isn’t over,” He wagged a finger at you as he pointed you to the shower. You gave him one last cheeky smile as he walked out and shut the door to his secret room.

What was happening? Why were you getting to him so easily, so fast? How could he have not even remembered that he had ‘met’ you several times? Well, one thing was for sure. He was never going to forget this night.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #not my yacht

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s-horne · 4 years

Text

for @maguna-stxrk based on this prompt 💖

------

“For the last time, Tony, I am not going to ask them if they sell coffee by the gallon. I’m pretty sure that would kill you.”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“But it does hurt to drink that much coffee. Even if they did, which they don’t, I’m not risking it. You don’t need any help in endangering yourself.”

“I resent that.”

“And I don’t care,” Steve said back. The queue moved forward and Steve stepped closer to the till, already feeling slightly more awake than he’d been before he’d been hit with the scent of fresh coffee. “I’m not helping you with a caffeine overdose.”

“Think of it as a science experiment.”

Steve huffed, moving with the line again. It was going quickly and his mouth was practically watering at the thought of his sweet morning pick-me-up. “I don’t do science.”

“Do it for me,” Tony wheedled, his voice not quite as convincing over the phone as it would have been in person, but still enough to make Steve wish he could do what Tony was asking. He was always weak around Tony. It was something of a problem. “Please.”

“Wow.” Steve paused mid-yawn. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Tony let out an indignant huff. “I say please.”

“No, you don’t. It’s part of having the Stark charm – everyone just does what you want without you having to ask nicely. Or even ask anything, for that matter.”

“Ooh,” Tony said, smirk clear in his tone, “are you saying you find me charming?”

Rolling his eyes so hard he was almost worried for himself, Steve moved his cell to his other ear and reached into his pocket for his wallet. “You wish. Anyway, I’m nearly ordering. Did you actually want anything? A real order,” he said quickly before Tony could say anything to the tune of ‘all the coffee in the shop’, “nothing that could be fatal. Or illegal.”

“Spoilsport,” Tony muttered and Steve could just picture his pout. “No, I’ll be okay. If it isn’t 99% caffeine, there’s just no point.”

With another eye roll and a soft laugh, Steve shook his head. “Goodbye, Tony. Please make sure my computer is on. I know you’re sitting in my office to avoid Pepper. But please don’t be playing games on it – last time you downloaded something and the music started playing when I was on a conference call.”

“I have to hide; she’s on the warpath! I only forgot one piece of paperwork. I don’t deserve the punishment that I know she has lined up for me.”

“See you in 10.” With a laugh at Tony’s expense, Steve hung up just as the line moved and he was up to order.

“Morning,” Steve said to the young woman behind the counter.

“Morning,” she said back with a smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Mocha, please. To-go, medium, thank you. Oh, and a raspberry muffin,” he added when the girl started typing on the till. “I’d better get him something.”

“Is that for your partner? You two sounded so close.”

Steve fumbled with his wallet, fingers slipping on his card as he pulled it out. “Tony? Oh, no,” he said quickly. He felt his cheeks color and he looked down with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I wish. He doesn’t see me like that. We’re just work colleagues.”

“Oh.” The barista sounded as disappointed as Steve felt on a daily basis, but gave him a smile and a shrug. “He talks to you like there’s something, from what I could hear.”

Steve didn’t know what to say and had only managed to splutter out a few nonsensical words before she printed his receipt and handed it over.

“And you’re taking him a muffin. Well, that’s a guaranteed way to his heart.”

How Steve wished that were true. If that were actually the case, then they would have been together for years.

Even with Tony being his superior in the office, Steve had quickly realised that Tony did not take care of himself and had felt an urge to do it for him. More evenings than not, Tony would be the last person in the office and at lunchtimes Tony would stay in his office, long conference calls trapping him as everyone else went off to eat.

It was in Steve’s nature to provide for people. He couldn’t see someone not taking care of themselves and just walk away. His mother hadn’t raised him that way. Despite the slightly uneven feeling and his colleagues gently teasing him that Steve was only trying to get a salary increase, Steve had started adding to his morning order at the coffee shop and doubling his lunches. They had only been boring sandwiches and the occasional salad back then, but Steve reckoned it was better than nothing at all. He’d left them on Tony’s desk at the very beginning with nothing but a sticky note telling him to take a 5 minute break to eat. It hadn’t taken Tony long to warm up to Steve and, before Steve had even realised what was happening, he had a new best friend to share his lunch break with every day, the two of them alternating whose office they sat in and who paid for their meals.

But that was all. Colleagues turned best friends. End of the story.

“Order for Steve?”

Steve jolted out of his thoughts and lifted a hand as he hurried over to the counter.

“Go get him,” the barista called from the till with a wink and Steve laughed, ducking his head when most of the customers turned to look at him curiously.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Steve heard as he left the shop and fell into step with the crowds on the street.

He nodded and huffed a short laugh before he realised whose voice it was. Tony?

Panic flooding him, Steve fumbled with the cup and takeaway bag in his hands to look at the phone screen sticking out of the top pocket of his jacket. Tapping it frantically, he was met not with his lock screen photo of his baby nephew, but with the call screen informing him that his connection with Tony was still very much live. He was also somehow on speaker.

“Does the whole shop know now?”

“Fuck!” Steve transferred the pastry bag and hot cup to one hand and jammed the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Tony?”

“Yup. You didn’t hang up.”

“I never do!” Steve answered, voice betraying his panic. “Whenever I used to, you threatened to tell our boss because you said it was rude to hang up on a superior! So then I just stopped – it wasn’t worth the teasing. You were meant to hang up!”

Tony laughed. “Still can’t believe you fell for that. Anyway, I think we have something to talk about, don’t we?”

Steve could say no. He could brush it all aside and pretend that it had all been a joke or a big misunderstanding. It would be so easy; it would save him from any awkward conversation, from a broken heart when Tony let him down gently.

But, he didn’t want that. He wanted to take a chance, didn’t he? What if there was something there?

Didn’t he owe it to himself - to himself and Tony - to at least try?

He wanted the hugs, the kisses. He wanted the late nights and the lazy mornings in bed; he even wanted the arguments and the yelling that would no doubt be inevitable one day.

“I think so,” Steve finally said, voice quiet but sure. “I’m on my way now.”

“I’m in your office,” Tony said and Steve smiled.

“Aren’t you always?”

“You love it,” the smile was clear in Tony’s voice, any hesitation gone as he fell back into his familiar teasing. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Steve said immediately, automatically, whether Tony had been expecting an answer or not. “Stay there. And stop playing games on my computer!”

“Never! See you in a bit. With my muffin.”

Steve grinned even wider. He was getting predictable, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. “Yes,” he said, fondness that could be heard a mile off seeping into his tone, “yes, I got you a muffin – that you never actually said you wanted.”

“My hero.” There was a pause. “Hurry?”

Wild horses couldn’t have stopped Steve when he knew what was waiting for him at the office and he clutched the phone tighter, dodging a dog sniffing at a streetlamp and a cyclist hurtling towards him. “I’m coming. Five minutes. Less than, even.”

“Good. I’ve already been waiting too long.”

#you are an enabler who reblogs things that make me want to write even though i gavethat all up #i wrote a thing #well attempted a thing anyway #stony fic #stevetony fic #stony au #stevetony fic rec #stony fic rec #stony #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #BASED ON A WRITING PROMPT #I hope you enjoy this #you deserve fluffy things

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