#should have set that fucking nametag on fire as soon as i got home

[karnalesbian]

Ah fuck dude not like this. My day did not need to get worse in any way and certainly not this way man

[stonyiscanon]

Milkshakes (Bucky Barnes x Reader) CAFÉ AU

Notes: okay but busboy! Bucky makes me want to drown thank you very much. To the person who commented that I should do a Bucky fic, thanks lol, I hope I did okay, this is my first Bucky fic *cue gasp*

Warnings: angst if you squint, insecure! Bucky, oh no! a few bucks in the swear jar, SHITTY WRITING LET’S GO

Words: 4.0k

Summary: The evolution of Bucky’s relationship with you over time.

You come into this café Bucky works in every day. It’s only now that Bucky’s worked up the courage to take your order.  (The Avengers working in a café, that should be enough for you to read this.)

WE LOVE A GOOD STRANGERS TO BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE

           Bucky clocks into Sugar & Spice, the café he’s been working at since he had started high school with his best friend and roommate Steve, every morning at 7:45, since they open at 8. Well, he’s really supposed to clock in at 7:30, but he can’t be bothered to wake up that early. So, when he comes in, all the staff are already getting ready for the day.

           Normally Clint and Thor are together doing something stupid, (Bucky doesn’t know how they’re not fired yet), whilst Steve frantically tries to fix whatever the hell they inevitably broke. (This morning, it was a kettle the staff uses to make tea.) Natasha is always calmly wiping down the counters, and it’s all accompanied by Tony screaming at them to do work with shitty café music playing, as Sam and Wanda sings terribly from the kitchen while cooking up their breakfast menu of the day.

           Even though he’d never admit it, Bucky loves this place and the dim yellow lighting everyone’s always complaining about. He takes a deep breath and smells the mixture of everyone’s morning coffee, Tony’s obnoxious cologne, and Sam’s infamous breakfast pancakes everyone came to the café for, and he smiles. He’s home, after all.

           That smile lasts for about three seconds before Bruce yells something about Bucky being late. So, he claps Steve on the back, hastily ties his apron on, and whizzes around the room, setting cutlery and jugs of water down, getting ready for the breakfast regulars.

           Every day at the café is pretty much the same. Everyone universally refers it as ‘The Cafe’, since everybody knows that Sugar & Spice is a dumb name. The morning goes by rather quickly, it’s his turn to deal with annoying customers every other day, pretty much all the same people come around, and the part-timers, Peter and Shuri, comes at around 3, by the time school ends for them.

           So Bucky knows exactly what he’s doing on the dot. By 8:30, the café is pretty much packed with early risers. Pepper, Tony’s wife, drops in for a break from her morning jog to say hi, and sometimes she’ll have a coffee, but she’s always out by 9. Stephen Strange and T’Challa are both morning regulars, and Bucky knows their order by heart, and he always has them ready before they even get to the café. They’re both lame as fuck anyway, getting black coffee, a plain croissant and reading the papers every morning.

           Why you would have a croissant without chocolate, Bucky will never understand.

           Around 10-ish, the people who drank too much last night will usually come in for Nat’s hangover cure in a cup. Except nobody really asks what’s in it, because nobody really wants to know. Bucky tries to ignore the fact that this café attracts a ton of alcoholics. Usually Peter Quill comes around now, more often than not because he got too drunk last night, and Thor always takes his order. (Just to spite him, since Peter clearly hates Thor for being perfect.)

           The rest of the day goes by really fast too, and before he knows it, Bucky’s saying his goodbyes at around 9pm, with Steve, and they both go home on their bikes.

           The only thing Bucky’s never sure about is you. You’ve been coming to the café for maybe around half a year now, sometimes just for a drink, a coffee in the morning. Sometimes you’ll drop by during lunch, grabbing a sandwich and running out quickly. Bucky doesn’t know why you leave so soon during lunch. Probably work. Sometimes you’ll drop by after a long day and you’ll have a drink with Nat. You don’t come with friends very often, but sometimes you do, bringing them along for dinner, usually.

           In the winter, you’ll come in shivering, bundled up in massive coats and scarves, and getting a hot chocolate. Every time that happens, Bucky physically swoons.

           No matter what, you always take a seat at the bar with the high chairs that are almost annoyingly too squeaky that everyone complains about, even though no one actually can be bothered to fix it. You’ll laugh with Nat, as she’s usually at the bar, preparing drinks, and Steve will often take your order. To be quite honest, Bucky pretty much knows nothing about you, but here are the things he does know.

           He knows your name is Y/N, since apparently, everyone else is pretty close with you. Guess that’s what happens when you come into a place daily for two years. He knows all your usual orders by heart, even though he’s never the one to take your order, since he’ll force Steve to do it every time. He knows you’re funny, sweet, kind and charming.

           He also knows that looking at you makes him act like he’s a fucking sixteen-year-old on prom night and he hates it. Whatever happened to the charming, sweet, womanizer Bucky Barnes? Down the fucking drain, that’s for sure. For two years, he’s tried to approach you and talk to you. And for two years, Steve has called him a coward. Bucky doesn’t know what washes over him when he sees you. He’s normally great with the ladies, if he does say so himself.

           But every time you come into the café, whether it be in the morning, afternoon, or night, his heart jumps and his mouth freezes and he can’t do anything but stare at you as all the other staff members greet you with a smile.

           He hates it so much.

           So, this morning, when he clocks in, and doesn’t hear his stupid friends freaking out as usual, he knows something’s up. Everyone grins at him like they know something he doesn’t and Bucky has to touch his forehead, wondering if they drew something on his face without him knowing again.

           “What is it?” He asks, looking at everyone suspiciously.

           “Guys, what did you do? I swear, if I go over to my apron to find that Tony drew dicks all over it, I will kill all of you in your sleep.” It’s kind of sad how no one reacted to what he said. Bucky decides that he probably threatens people too much.

           Everyone smiles at him again, going back to work, and in two seconds, the whole café is back to normal, topping it off with Sam screaming his horrible rendition of Marvin Gaye in the kitchen.

           They clearly had been talking about him before he came into the café. Boy, Bucky was really regretting sleeping in now. He marched over to Steve, and hissed in his ear.

           “What the fuck is going on? If this is a stupid prank I swear to God, Steve--”

           Steve smiles weirdly, and he sighs, saying, “Go back to work, Buck, you’re imagining things.” Steve is almost too much of a good person, and how bad he is at lying makes Bucky wince, because it’s way too obvious that he’s not telling the truth. The bead of sweat trailing down from his temple gives it all away.

           So Bucky sighs, deciding to torture the information out of his friends later, and get to work. Everything seems to be in order, and he almost forgets the events of that morning, all up until three o’ clock, when Shuri and Peter come in, and even they seem odd. Peter’s maniacally grinning about twice as much as he normally does, which is alarming, because nobody ever knew that lips had the capability to even stretch that far.

           At five forty-five, there’s a slight ring from the door that Bucky doesn’t notice. Everyone else does, though. Clint almost pushes Bucky to the front cashier, and yells out some sort of excuse that Bucky can’t hear and Clint speeds off into the kitchen. Steve runs to the staff bathroom, yelling something about really needing to go, and Nat almost flings the wet towel she was using onto the counter with the high chairs, and yells to Bucky that she needs a drink, and asks him whether he would clean up while she was gone.

           Begrudgingly, he agrees and extremely confused, he turns around to see which customer he had to seat only to see you standing there, bundled up in a scarf with a soft smile on your face.

           Oh, those fuckers.

           Swallowing his fear, Bucky attempted to speak up, you know, bring on the usual Barnes charm, but he probably looked more like a frog, opening his mouth like he was gaping.

           “Are you alright?” You asked, seemingly worried, because of course you are, Bucky thinks, how fucking adorable.

           “I don’t think I’ve spoken to you before, but I’m a regular here.” You smile, and introduce yourself. “I’m Y/N.” You peeked at his nametag, and smiled, holding out your hand.

           “Hi, James.”

           “Bucky.” He flashes a smile, hoping he doesn’t look as terrified as he is on the inside. “Call me Bucky, doll.” He reaches out and grabs your hand and almost melts. Damnit, how gorgeous. Yeah, that confidence didn’t last very long when you moved forward and sat at your usual spot, and Bucky tripped over his own feet following you.

           Shuri throws a towel at his face and gestures to the counter you were sitting at.

           ‘Clean.’ She mouths, and Bucky’s so very tempted to throw it back to her, but he stalks over to your chair and starts to wipe the countertop, awkwardly averting his eyes from you and the counter, thinking of all the ways he could kill his co-workers after this.

           “Are you new?” You ask, completely oblivious to how weird the Café was today. Bucky noticed though, and he glared at all his friends, who were hiding behind the kitchen door, spying on them.

           Bucky suddenly realized why Steve wanted to watch The Parent Trap yesterday night.

           “No, I’m not. I guess we’ve just never met before.” Bucky’s heart stops when you smile at him, and his body releases tension that he didn’t know he was holding in his muscles. Deep breaths, Buck. He thought to himself.

           He flashes a sharp smile at you as you look up from the menu.

           “Yeah, Probably. Nat or Steve usually takes my order, but I thought I knew everyone who worked here. You do seem familiar, though.”

           “Yeah,” Bucky says, with a nervous look on his face. “You seem familiar too.” He can almost hear the entire staff face-palming behind him, but he desperately attempts to ignore them.

           “What milkshake flavors are there? I’ve been coming here so long, for some reason I’ve never sat down and had a milkshake.” It takes Bucky a full five seconds for him to tear his eyes from your face and realize you had asked him a question.

           “Chocolate, vanilla, caramel and strawberry.”

           You groan, pouting a little bit, and Bucky can’t decide whether his heart just broke because of you showing any sign of sadness or just how goddamn adorable you were.

           “I can’t decide,” You say, still pouting. Bucky’s about to suggest Vanilla, since that’s his personal favorite, but you speak up again. “Is there any possible way you can just take all the milkshake flavors and put it in one cup with a straw?”

            Bucky breaks out a smile. He knew there was a reason he liked you so much.

           “Sure, doll. Is that it?” You nod, smiling at him. That smile. Bucky spent a minute behind the kitchen doors with a goofy smile on his face until Natasha slapped him and told him to get his shit together.

           “I guess we’ve just never met before” Tony says mockingly, popping out of nowhere and laughing his ass off. Sam shoots him a toothy grin.

           “Oh, yeah, doll. There’s that infamous Barnes charm, huh?”

           If Sam Wilson and Tony Stark ended up dead the next morning, Bucky definitely didn’t have anything to do with it. Peter Parker, a ‘literal angel child’ according to Tony, says something sweet about how you seemed really into him, but Bucky pays no attention to him. He’s more focused on how he’s so whipped for this girl he doesn’t even know, that a fucking fifteen-year-old is expressing sympathy towards him.

           He sighs, scooping a small scoop of every single ice cream the café had and dropping it in a blender. Maybe tomorrow he’d be less awkward.

           He didn’t get more comfortable the next day. Bucky actually somehow managed to trip over your shoes when you came in for lunch, and landed on Steve, also effectively covering himself in the spaghetti Steve was holding, all while Clint and Thor laughs their asses off about it as he’s wiping spaghetti away from his eyes.

           You giggle, but only for a second, as you help him up and pluck away a few pieces of spaghetti in his hair that was sticking out.

           “You’ve never looked better.” You tease, a playful smile gracing your lips.

           Bucky decides that being covered in spaghetti wasn’t the absolute worst thing after all. Well, until he finds out Tony filmed the whole thing and posted it on YouTube where it already accumulated over three thousand views before Bucky persuaded (read: forced) Tony to take it down.

           Bucky does, however, get more comfortable around you over time. The week after the spaghetti incident, he cracks some joke about Nat that he can’t even remember anymore. The only thing he remembered was how damn melodic your laugh sounded. Were those stars in your eyes?

           Jesus Christ, he was whipped. The entire café watched every single day as Bucky scrambled to take your order with that goofy smile on his face. You both exchange numbers after you complained that you only got to see him when you were at the café, and ever since, Bucky checks his phone periodically every 10 minutes, just in case you send something he doesn’t want to miss.

           You start traditions like every other Friday was a movie night, and every Tuesday was a takeout board game night. You slowly wormed your way into his life and Bucky would be a liar if he said he didn’t love it.

           “Bucky!” You squeal as he throws the leftover popcorn kernels from the bowl at you.

           “You asshole! I’m going to have to vacuum this later!” The long forgotten movie about a superhero named Eagle or something was playing in the background, but Bucky had already stopped paying attention to that a while ago.

           Watching you watch a movie was quite possible the most entertaining thing Bucky’s ever seen. Sometimes you would get so entranced, you’d shove popcorn in your mouth and miss, leaving some popcorn bits on your nose and the rest falling in your lap.

           Bucky smiles, and he doesn’t know it, but this was the start of your forever.

           “Oh my god,” Steve says in-between laughs and his seventh beer one night at some random bar they stumbled into.

           “You’re falling deep, Buck.” Even drunk Bucky, who had already consumed God knows how many cans of beer, tried to deny it.

           “Of course not!” He says, but Bucky has a sinking feeling in his gut and he can’t decide whether that’s a good or bad thing.

           He misses Steve and Nat exchanging knowing looks every time you come to sit down for another every-flavor milkshake. Over the span of the next half-year or so, you and Bucky chatting whilst you sipped on a colourful milkshake underneath the dim lighting became a regular in the café.

           Bucky remembers almost everything about your relationship. He was introduced to you as a stuttering mess and slowly became your best friend who crashed many nights at your apartment when Steve started dating Peggy. He calls you things like doll, or baby, or sweetheart, attempting to act like that’s normal for best friends to do, even though he knows damn well it’s weird. Sometimes he looks in your eyes, and he knows you feel the same feeling in your gut when you stare at him. He’s sure of it. But every time Bucky opens his mouth to say something, he freezes.  

           More often than not, some old lady would stop you in the streets, crooning about what a lovely couple you both were, and Bucky knows it’s definitely not normal for best friends to be acting like a couple.

           No matter how many times his friends urge him to ask her out, he always hesitates. The words ‘She doesn’t feel the same’ and ‘Just best friends’ would usually come out of his mouth. But in the end, Bucky’s just a coward. Whenever he tries to be the confident, normal guy around you something goes wrong.

           Because you make him feel like a person, and he’s so afraid of asking you out and ruining everything he’d rather than tear his own heart apart, so it doesn’t get broken by you. ‘She’s happier like this’, Bucky would think. But he’s not happy, and doesn’t he deserve to be happy too?

           Bucky doesn’t know why he’s always so willing to put himself in pain. He tries to ask you out almost fifty times before he just didn’t bother counting anymore. It’s not that he doesn’t like your friendship, this is possibly one of the happiest times in his life. And at the same time, he’s miserable.

           “Hey, doll?” He says, coming into your apartment with the spare key that you leant him.

           “Hello? Hey, if you’re in the bathroom, can I crash here for the night? I don’t even want to know what Steve and Peggy are up to in our apartment right now.” Bucky gets no answer, and he’s confused. It’s Wednesday night. Where could you possibly be? He sends you a quick text and he hears a slight ding coming from your dining room table. Your phone sits there, his text illuminating the screen. Wherever you went, you didn’t bring your phone with you. Bucky had a bad feeling.

           He’s about to have a breakdown when you come into the apartment, clearly puzzled.

           “Buck? Why are you here?” You say, your arms together holding a large package.

           “Oh, thank God. I came to stay the night, but you weren’t here, and you left your phone, I thought something must’ve happen- ” He stopped, noticing something.

           “Y/N? What’s that?” He asked, pointing to the large, colourful flowers wrapped up in your arms.

           ‘Oh!’ You say, seemingly glad that he asked.

           “Ryan from the next door gave me these. Aren’t they gorgeous? He’s a nice guy.” You say, humming about as you fished an old vase from the bottom of your sink.

           “That’s why I left my phone here. I just went over to pick these flowers up. You really shouldn’t worry so much, Buck. One of these days you’ll get a heart attack.” You’re softly singing as you fluff out the flowers and place them into the vase that’s filled with water.

           “Perfect.” You murmur, then you turned to him, throwing the TV remote and a pack of microwaveable popcorn at him.

           “Come on, old man., We’re going to watch Inception. I still can’t believe you haven’t watched it. It even won an Oscar for something I can’t remember.” Bucky stays behind in the kitchen for a bit, clutching at the bag of popcorn that was threatening to pop in his tense grip. He had a terrible feeling sinking deep in his chest as he looked at the flowers that you set on your kitchen countertop.

           “You don’t even like dahlias.” Bucky says, plopping down onto the sofa, hands full of popcorn. You frown, reaching out and grabbing a handful and stuffing it in your moth before saying,

           “Yeah, but it’s still sweet, isn’t it? Besides, how the fuck you know so much about flowers? Didn’t even know they were dahlias, I just remember telling you I don’t like the look of those big, poofy flowers.”

           “Yeah, but dahlias aren’t romantic. He should have gotten you roses, or beautiful lilies, or-” Bucky caught sight of your weirded-out look and thought he’d better shut up before you found out he liked spending time in a flower shop during middle school.  

           “Whatever. Never mind” He grumbled instead, ignoring the confused look on your face, and pressed play, beginning to watch what apparently was ‘Leonardo DiCaprio’s third best movie’ Obviously behind Titanic and Wolf of Wall Street.

           That terrible feeling remained in his chest.

           It’s 8:00 PM and Bucky’s about to clock out, he hangs up his apron, about to close up when you come over running, and for a moment he’s absolutely stunned you exercised willingly.

           “Are you guys closing up already?” You say, panting. Bucky wonders whether you ran all the way from your office to the café.

           “Ugh. My day went terribly. Can we go inside so I can rant? Actually, I’ll just tell you on the way to your apartment.” You’re rambling, and you look so cute bundled up in all your coats, facing the bitter Brooklyn cold. Bucky stares at you and he swears he fell in love in that moment. What was so special about it, he didn’t know. Looking at you, wrapped up in all your layers. You breathed out, smoke coming out from your lips from December’s freezing temperatures. You ran all the way from work, to tell him about the bad day you had, Bucky liked that he was the person you went to.

           “God, my lunch date was terrible, you were right, Ryan is a douche and I hate dahlias. I detest them. You were completely right, lunch dates are awful, and he’s a terrible person. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen, remind me to always do that. My boss was in a horrible mood and he must have-“

           Bucky steps towards you, and cuts you off, by placing his lips on yours. He can tell you’re taken back, but he’s so angry at himself for not doing this sooner, because kissing you must be the best thing he’s ever done in his entire life. Your hands are stopped midway, about to stop this madness, but then your frozen lips begin to melt and turn warm against Bucky’s.

          And before you know it, your hands are slowly sliding up to his hair, tangling your hands into his hair and his arms are wrapped around your waist. He kisses you passionately, none of you even seem to realise you’re in the middle of the street. Bucky was making out with you in the middle of Brooklyn, and he doesn’t give two shits about who was watching them. The end of the world could happen right now and he’d continue kissing you like his life depended on it. He feels you smiling into your kiss, and he feels downright giddy. You almost push against him, almost as if you’re making up for lost time.

          You bring your hands down and push his chest away, still processing what just happened. Bucky runs his thumb over your lip, and for a second he’s feels scared. Why did you push him away? Oh, shit, was I not supposed to do that? You smile, leaning into his touch and relief flushes into Bucky. You speak, so quiet Bucky barely hears you and your voice is hoarse.

           “Took you long enough, huh?” Your hand is placed on his cheek, and your hands are so cold Bucky’s surprised you haven’t gotten frostbite yet, but he doesn’t care. Bucky blinks, feeling something land on his head, and he laughs as he spots the small flecks of white landing on the ground.

           “As if this couldn’t get any more cliché,” He muses, whispering into your ear. “It’s snowing, doll, look.” You tear away from his body but he keeps one arm pressed against your waist as you walk home to your apartment. Boy, was Steve going to get a surprise when he woke up the next morning.

[emmaniamh13]

I can make it better, I can knead you tighter

Summary: Yoongi has been working 24/7 lately and Namjoon has had enough of seeing his best friend resembling a corpse walk through their apartment door at ungodly hours. So he forces him to relax. Little did he know, Yoongi would find a more fitting stress reliever for his body but Namjoon really didn't need to know that much.

Tags: Semi-Public Sex; Rimming; Fingering; Anal Sex; Bottom Yoongi; Top Taehyung; Slight Dom/Sub; Unprotected Sex (Stay Safe Kids)

Part 01 ; Part 2

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

The door fell shut with a loud bang. Yoongi just wanted to get to his bed he was too tired to care about making too much noise

"Hyung is that you? God do you know what time it-"

Namjoon stopped in his steps after coming around the corner

"Dammit Hyung!" he cursed lowly "Have you looked in the mirror? You look like you've been hit by a bus. Multiple times" he emphasized with a frustrated huff

Yoongi just shrugged and tried to move past the younger, not in the mood for the other to pester him about his habits.

But Namjoon didn't let him, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards the living room. Before Yoongi could process, he had been pushed onto the couch and locked into place by Namjoon's frame.

"I'm not letting you do this to yourself anymore Hyung! You're gonna take a few days off and if I have to imprison you for that to happen then so be it" he spoke while folding his arms in front of his chest for emphasis.

Yoongi just stared up at him bewildered, his tired mind trying to figure out what his friend and roommate  expected from him right now. When it looked like nothing more would come from Namjoon he felt like he needed to respond.

So he did.

"What?"

And he watched Namjoon deflate slightly

"Hyung" he whined

"Pay attention, will you? I'm not letting you go to work for the next few days that's what"

Now Yoongi had enough time to process and when the pieces slotted together, he literally jumped of the couch to protest only to be pushed back down by his dongsaeng, landing on the soft pillows with a huff

"Namjoon what the hell" he growled but the other just continued to block his way, unfazed.

"You have to promise me, you'll stay home tomorrow and actually sleep a little"

"The hell I will" the older threw back "I need to finish that project and you know it"

Namjoon nodded "Yeah I know" he answered matter-of-factly "but that project isn't due until the 20th and I know for a fact that you're nearly finished, so a few free days won't hurt" he stated

"Namjoon" he warned "Let me sleep I need to be out early tomorrow"

"You're not going anywhere tomorrow and that is final" Namjoon didn't move from his spot and his features seemed to brighten suddenly, and Yoongi sighed. That could only mean he had some sort of idea and most of them he's had, ended badly for Yoongi. Not that Namjoon didn't always have his best interest at heart, Yoongi was aware, but Namjoon's idea of fun and relaxation was quite different from his own- to put it nicely

"Except to a Massage Parlour"

Yoongi's eyes went wide

"What"

"You heard me. I'm gonna book you an appointment at this really good one not far from here. You'll love it I promise" he sounded excited but Yoongi just groaned

"Just please let me go. I'll try to take more breaks in between I promise" he started to whine, his body screaming desperately for much-needed rest

But Namjoon only shook his head "That's the plan and that's final. I'll drag you there if I have to"

"Okay. Okay I'll do it just let me get to bed. Please" if he weren't so sleep deprived he would have rather shoved his way through Namjoon's human barricade but well, that sadly wasn't the case

Namjoon lit up and immediately helped Yoongi off the couch to bring him to his room "Perfect! I'll ring first thing in the morning"

Yoongi only nodded slowly and waved him off, mumbling some curses under his breath as they walked into his room and as soon as Namjoon let go he let himself fall, sighing as he felt the familiar feel of soft mattress underneath.

He was out like a light.

He woke up to his alarm, groaning at the loud noise blaring through his ears and hitting directly against his brain.

A headache. Just great.

He didn't stop groaning, nearly falling off his bed in the process of trying to roll out of it. The all-nighters and dozen coffees probably weren't the best routine-idea he’s ever had.

He felt like shit. But he didn’t dwell on it.

He’s plan was to go to the kitchen to start his day with a coffee; the first out of another dozen he guessed; until he noticed that he couldn't. His door was locked.

Fucking locked.

Rattling at the door, he got more furious by the second. "Namjoon!" he barked "Did you lock me into my fucking room?" He yelled for him again when he didn't hear anything

"Yep" he heard the shout back

"What the fuck!"

"I told you, you're going to stay at home today and you agreed. Luckily I know you well enough to know that you'd try this" his voice sounded closer this time "You're going to stay in this room and do anything but work, then I'm going to drive you to the parlour. You'll feel better afterwards I promise. You're going to feel brand new in that worn-down body of yours" He was right in front of the door by now

"Open the door right now or I swear I'll-"

"I'm used to your threats by now so they're no use" Namjoon deadpanned "Go to sleep Yoongi or I'll knock you out so that your body has a chance to rest, you inconsiderate idiot"

"You can't just lock me in here! I'm a grown man and I can do whatever-"

"Yeah you might be but you're a man with absolutely zero consideration for the body you're inhabiting. So fuck off and rest for once.” he continued humorously “I'm going to work! See you"

---

He got pulled through the door so fast he didn’t even know what happened. All he knew was that Namjoon grabbed him, threw him into the car, drove like an idiot , nearly crashed into a fire hydrant, ended up here and yeeted him through the parlour door in a way Yoongi seriously started to question time, space and his life. All while managing to not utter a single word; which made the whole situation even weirder.

Namjoon was busy talking to the receptionist behind the wooden desk so all Yoongi could do was look around, analyse every nook and cranny just to find a meagre flaw to use as excuse and get out of here. He really didn’t fancy getting touched by a stranger; especially on areas that were anything other than his hands.

The reception desk was right at the front and beside it was a small, cozy looking sitting area. Past the desk led a hall to several doors on each side, probably various Massage rooms. It seemed clean and the receptionist friendly

Just like Yoongi had always imagined shops with services like this – basically using those he always saw on TV as his base of knowledge

Shit there wasn’t anything wrong with this place on first glance. And what the hell could he say anyway to make Namjoon let him off the hook?

The receptionist seems too friendly? The waiting area too comfy? The floor too clean?

Nope he was fuck-

“Hyung?”

“Huh?”

Both Namjoon and the receptionist were looking at him expectantly

“Mr. Park asked you to wait in room 4” Yoongi met the Man’s eyes then flickered shortly down to his chest, where his nametag read Jimin Park

“It’s the second door on the right. Taehyung will be with you shortly so just get comfortable”    

“Taehyung?” was that a name they used for woman nowadays?

Jimin nodded curtly, showing a friendly smile “Your Masseur”

Yoongi blanked for a second before he gave a quick  "ok” as response and hurriedly scurried towards room number 4.

The room was smaller and darker than the foyer but nevertheless it gave off a rather warm vibe, a lavender scent in the room hitting his nostrils instantly and soothing him slightly. In the middle stood a massage table with a hole in the top – probably to squeeze your face through. The rest of the room was just filled with a cabinet and a stool.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scented whatever that floated the room. He was really nervous.

How does this work? Should he already strip? How many clothing items should he even get rid of? Or should he just wait? Jimin did tell him to get com-

Upon hearing the door open he nearly tripped with how quick he turned.

And then there he stood, like a deer caught in headlights, staring with shock-filled eyes at a complete stranger. A rather handsome one, he had to admit.

“So you must be Mr. Min” he spoke with a smile “it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Taehyung and I will be the one who’s going to be touching you today”

Yoongi wondered if this was a dream and if he should just punch himself in the face despite the answer to that, muscles seizing up even more, eyes widening in plain anxiousness. His masseur seemed to catch on to that, eyes also parting a bit further as he watched the display of sheer terror.

“Uh..” he started awkwardly “I’m sorry I thought I was being funny. You know, break the ice and..stuff” he grimaced, scratching the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

Yoongi just nodded but not trusting his vocal cords to fabricate words right now.

He realized that this was really happening. Unless he pukes all over the room or faints right on the spot he won’t be able to get out of this. Namjoon is waiting right outside and if he makes a run for it - he'll notice.

Taehyung shut the door and began walking further into the room, heading for the cabinet and setting something on top of it- probably ignoring the way Yoongi flinched at the sound.

“So what massage option did you choose?” he asked with his back still turned

“Uh” Yoongi had no clue “M-My friend set me up for this so I- I don’t really know”

Did he just fucking stutter!?

Taehyung hummed “Ok no problem I’ll just check your profile” he turned to face the other, eyes meeting

And Yoongi was able to really look at him for the first time. He looked like he was in his early twenties, black, longish hair that fell over his forehead casually, a straight nose, full rosy lips, ears that could’ve been too big but complemented him perfectly and tanned skin that reminded him of honey.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Taehyung starting to move back to the door “You can strip and get comfortable under the towel. I’ll be back and knock on the door, just tell me if you’re ready or not.” He spoke calmly, grabbing the handle

Yoongi froze again “Strip?”

Taehyung also halted and turned around halfway “yeah for the massage” he smiled warmly “we don’t have a massive variety of massages but for most of them I need to be able to reach as much muscle as possible. Unless you chose a foot massage?”

Would Namjoon make such a fuss just over a foot massage? Nah he doubted that. So he shook his head

The masseur huffed an amused laugh “Well then I’ll need you out of those layers” he pointed at Yoongi’s black jeans and sweater with a certain glint in his eyes that Yoongi failed to notice

“Again, I’ll knock so just tell me if you need more time” and with that he left the room

So he decided to do just that. Strip

But to what extend? He didn’t know. And for him it was another reason to have another inner crisis.

Down to his trousers? To his underwear? Or completely nude? He just started to undress and by the time the expected knock came from the door he stood there in only his underwear, not knowing how much the young masseur wanted him to wear and he only had a few seconds to decide. All in or chicken out?

“Mr. Min? Are you ready?”

“Yeah just, just give me a second”      

and Yoongi just yanked the only clothing item left on his body down his legs – flinging it to the rest of his poorly folded pile and hurrying to the bed to get under the white sheet. Again he was overwhelmed with the decision of how much of himself he should cover with the cloth but he just decided to pull it all the way up to his neck.

Taehyung can fix it, if he needs to

Another knock resounded through the room “Ready?” And Yoongi heard himself call out a short “Yes!” – Probably a bit too harsh for a completely relaxed client about to get a massage

The door opened and in strolled his masseur with towels and various bottles in hand “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable” he spoke in a light tone and Yoongi just stayed quiet, not knowing if Taehyung was expecting a response.

“So” he continued, lowering his voice, perfectly fitting into the relaxing atmosphere with his fruity voice “I’ve brought multiple scented oils with me. Do you have any preferences or should I read them out loud and you pick or how do you want to do it?”

Yoongi thought about if he wanted to smell anything in particular right now but his mind was blank except anxiousness and the feeling of the table hole straining his face. At least he knew that he wasn’t going to get any extra wrinkles by lying here.

“No not really” he remembered to answer “You can pick if you like”

Taehyung gave a hum of acknowledgement “Alright. I can do that” From his position on the bed he heard rustling, the water tab running and stopping again. Footsteps followed – wandering from left to right. Then suddenly he felt a touch at his shoulder and he flinched, not expecting it.

“Oh sorry I should’ve said something” Taehyung apologized but Yoongi laughed it off nervously “It’s fine. I should have been ready for it”

With that the touch was back “I’m going to move the sheet to your lower back ok?”

After Yoongi consented he started lifting the fabric, Yoongi tensing at the feel of cold air hitting his bare back. “Good? I’m going to start with your arms alright?”

Yoongi noticed that Taehyung now tried to talk him through all the movements – Probably noticing his hesitance which didn’t take a body language expert to say the least. He confirmed another time and so he felt Taehyung’s fingers on him once again, slicked up with a rosy-smelling oil and starting to massage down the side of his right arm with a pressure that instantly soothed him.

“The pressure okay? Just speak up if you want it harder or softer” and the other only grunted, too lazy to move his mouth The masseur continued to stroke his arm, sometimes wedging his thumb into a knot below his armpit and eliciting a groan from the older.

Once he was done with the first arm he moved to the other to repeat the pattern.

“I’m going to move to your back now. Feel free to mention any areas you might have problems with” he spoke up again, voice low

“Everywhere” the other deadpanned

“What?”

“My back always hurts. Everywhere” when he didn’t get a response he continued “I work a job that requires a lot of sitting and -well – my friends like to say that I’m quite the workaholic” he elaborated further

“Alright” The masseur answered, sounding in thought “then with which part do you have problems the most?”

Yoongi mulled the question over in his head, thinking about different situations where he had to deal with back pain – which were a lot

“Well I think my lower back kills me a bit more than the rest” he chuckled drily “I have shit posture in general”

“Then I’ll do your upper back first and spend a bit more time on your lower back” the other suggested

“You’re the professional” Yoongi shrugged, which he assumed only looked like a light shoulder lift in his position but Taehyung got it anyway

So he started working his shoulders, feeling the other literally melt under his fingers and hearing him yelp once or twice when he tried to dig out a particularly tight knot. “Well even if you hadn’t told me about your back I would have felt it” he began “it’s like I’m massaging stone”

And he heard the older laugh for the first time, apparently finding the worrying state of his shoulders funny “Well it’s good that I warned ya then isn’t it?” he shot back playfully

Taehyung smiled and continued to press his fingers into different pressure points

“So what do you do for living then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Uhm I’m a producer” came the muffled reply

“Oh? Impressive” he grinned “Well did you work on any songs that I might know?”

“I work more with Rap Artists so if you’re into that scenery you might- AH”

“Sorry” Taehyung apologized sheepishly, moving away from the base of his neck for the time being. “I do like Rap actually” the masseur continued the conversation “It’s not my main genre but I do listen to a few artists. So shoot! Maybe I’ll know someone” he encouraged

“Okay uhm- do you know Zico for instance? Or J-Hope? I’ve worked a lot with them until now” he paused, thinking “I’ve worked with DEAN as well. I don’t know if you might know him he’s more in the R&B scene -uh and I did a bit of stuff for a few kpop bands as well.”

“I actually know all of those artists!” The other exclaimed “Wow so you are quite the bigshot huh?” he teased

Yoongi chuckled “Nah nothing like that”

Taehyung hummed “Someone’s being modest here I see." He smiled "If I’m allowed to ask, how was it working with J-Hope? I’ve heard quite a lot about him, isn’t he like - one of the biggest Rappers in Korea? I mean, I’ve listened to his music and the lyrics sound so sincere. Like he’s telling a proper story, you know? I also love how he's not so stuck on Rap, there are quite a few songs from his that are slower, more emotional if that makes sense. I like to say I'm a fan”

Yoongi chuckled quietly at Taehyung’s excitement

“He’s really good to work with. Knows what he wants but is always open for change or another’s opinion, which in return allows him to try new stuff and see a perspective of things that he’s not familiar with himself. So yeah Hobi’s an amazing artist and an even better person. Not to mention a literal ray of sunshine so I enjoy working with him every time” he felt his mouth pull into a smile at the thought of Hoseok. He should text him again some time.

Taehyung's hands continued down Yoongi’s back “Wow you sound like you’re very fond of him. So I’m guessing by how you just called him that you know him more than just a co-worker? You friends?”

“Yeah. He’s the total social type so he gets on with literally anyone – well if he wants to that is. Even if you’re the grumpiest human on the planet he’ll get you to like him.” He chuckled breathily as the memory of their first meeting flooded his mind. God did he want to lock Hoseok into the toilet back then so that he wouldn’t have to hear his laugh every fucking 10 seconds.

Now it was one of his most favorite features that came with Hoseok, that made him - him. “I feel like we complete each other, as cheesy as it sounds. He’s so lively and I’m- well not that much. We’re complete opposites but I could never get mad or annoyed with him because I know that he always wants what's best for me. Fuck sorry that got a bit too deep didn’t it? Didn’t even notice I was rambling..” he trailed off quietly

Gosh was he friend-whipped

“You really adore him don’t you?” Taehyung answered after a while of comfortable silence

“I guess.. Again sorry, you didn’t need to know all that”

“It’s more than alright Mr. Min trust me. I asked didn’t i? It’s nice to hear about a person living a life in public; how he’s in private and not just how the tabloids portray him. How you just described him makes me instantly want to meet him.” He laughed

“Yoongi”

Taehyung’s hands faltered slightly “Sorry?”

“Call me Yoongi. After what I just told you I would feel uncomfortable if you keep calling me Mr. Min” he huffed “But yeah maybe if you’re up to it someday I can introduce you to him. He’s always excited to meet new people”

“I’d be more than just up for it” He answered quickly, smile seeping through his voice “So I’m done with your back is it okay if we move on to your legs now?”

“Right yeah” Yoongi felt the sheet being lifted from his lower back and settle lower, right before his back rounded into his arse. He realized that his breath caught a little in his throat at the mere thought of being exposed like that.

He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t gotten laid in ages due to being pent up in his studio nearly all of the time.

Damn, fuck Namjoon and his fucking valid points.

Plus, he had no idea why that thought just crossed his mind in the middle of a massage, when the masseur wasn’t even near an area where it would be acceptable to have thoughts like this. Not that it was acceptable in the first place.

And once this thought had broken through the barrier it had created a hole for more. And Taehyung’s hands really didn’t make it any better. More like the opposite, funny enough

The young masseur was now busy with kneading the flesh around Yoongi’s hips, pushing his thumbs into the muscles. Sometimes his fingers would slip a little lower- maybe a milli-centimetre under the sheet to reach the skin and that alone made Yoongi’s thoughts spiral

And it just felt so good.

Taehyung was moving his hands perfectly, with expertise and found just the right pressure for Yoongi to feel it through his muscles straight to his core. And that’s when he didn’t catch himself fast enough to notice the sound that just escaped his mouth. Only when Taehyung halted, did his eyes fly open in horror, realising how that moan just sounded. He knew it sounded dirty. But the other must have recognized it as a moan of pain-relief or something along those lines because he continued, moving his hands as if nothing happened.

After that embarrassing incident Yoongi made sure to keep quiet before he made another fool of himself. But that caution flew out the window rapidly when the Taehyung first began massaging tightly into his calves, then moving up to the back of his thighs. He spread his thumb and forefinger and slid up to where he had lifted the white cloth off his legs and back down again.

And sometimes – just sometimes – his thumb would slip toward his inner thigh and Yoongi felt it every time with an intensity, he didn’t want to admit. He begged Taehyung in his head to let off that spot. To avoid it. But he didn’t utter a word and sadly the masseur was no mind reader. So after a few times of slipping, Taehyung just gave up and just let his thumb slide freely. Over his inner thigh.

And yoongi felt himself twitch. Fucking twitch on a fucking massage table in a massage parlour getting a fucking massage from an unbelievable handsome young man. Yep these thoughts definitely made it better.

He cursed himself. He never guessed he would be the type to get a semi hard-on during a massage but his fingers were just. So. Good. The way he pushed his fingers into sore spots and how he dipped into his skin just to soothen it back out afterwards.

“Is it ok?” he heard the soft voice “You haven’t said anything in a while” Yoongi could just grunt hoping he understood it as the consent to continue. And he did, to the elders relief. It even seemed like the feedback spurred him on, his fingers digging into his skin a bit harder, drawing circles a bitdeeper.

And then his finger ground hard against his inner thigh and it caught Yoongi by surprise. Which led a deep grunt to escape his throat. But this time Taehyung didn’t stop and only ground over the inside more often, with more pressure – obviously noting that Yoongi seemed to squirm whenever he let his fingers glide over the skin there.

Laying on the table he started feeling too restricted, too crushed and he really didn’t know how he was supposed to get out of this without the masseur noticing. The said man started to switch legs, starting the same routine on the other. But this time he knew which buttons to press.

Yoongi had been fairly quiet throughout the massage but once he pressed there, he saw the other tense. Felt it.

And he liked it. The way Yoongi was trying to keep it together but wasn't aware of how tight his grip on the cloth below him had gotten. The way his moans sounded absolutely filthy and Taehyung couldn't stop imagining how sweet he would sound if Yoongi let him touch him. Properly. Because Taehyung wanted too. Really wanted too.

He knew this wasn't professional and normally he wouldn't encourage this. This has never really happened before. Of course he had clients that were moaners, or had fetishes that Taehyung really didn't want to feed. But Yoongi was different. He was rough around the edges and looked intimidating as hell. But he had the biggest heart for people that he cared about, even if he didn't like to admit it.

And he was just so fucking pretty. He wanted to ruin that porcelain skin the moment he saw it without fabric blocking his sight. And just the thought of tearing him down, to make him leave his tough facade so that he's only left with broken sobs and a chant of Taehyung's name on his tongue. Yeah. Now that's what he really wanted to witness

So the same process occurred, Taehyung paying more attention to the inner thighs and Yoongi trying not to drool or rut against the bed. But the next thing Yoongi knew, he was letting out a long, guttural, breathy moan, not even trying to hold back and he felt himself leak onto the table beneath him. The young masseur had decided to take both his hands and deliberately press and grind up and down his inner thighs.

He did it again, just to test, and again Yoongi couldn’t help himself; The moan escaped and his breath was shaky, desperately trying to get his act together but it was just so hard

“Taehyung” he groaned, half-biting into the fabric of his face hole

The other hummed in acknowledgement

“W-What are you doing?”

“Why. Don’t you like it” it wasn’t a question and as to confirm, he ran both his thumbs down the inside of Yoongi’s thighs until he reached the bed underneath with both, so close to his already painfully squashed dick but yet so far. Yoongi nearly whined at how sensitive he was but was able to not embarrass himself entirely - though a whimper still made it past his lips

“Taehyung stop I-I’m going to-“ another swipe; this time back towards his ass, grazing it lightly with his nails

“ghn”

“Seems to me that you like it Hyung. I mean look at you. Trying to act like you’re not half-rutting against the fucking bed” Yoongi’s eyes flew open. He hadn’t even noticed-

“Oh don’t stop just because I caught you now. But if you really want me to stop…just say the word” His voice was sincere; the complete opposite of his fingers that wandered further and over his cheeks, giving them a good squeeze and spreading the oil over his ass at the same time. Yoongi could feel the fingers wander towards his crack slowly and then hesitating

“Can I?” Taehyung sounded unsure

“Please” came his strained reply. And from there on he knew it himself - he was oh so fucked

[adams]

there’s snow coming down (i’m watching it fall) // stenbrough // ao3

Working at the mall isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. At least, not for Bill Denbrough, college sophomore extraordinaire and current elf to Santa Claus at the Derry strip mall.

Until now, of course. Now, there’s a boy.

Bill has a crush on a boy working at the mall, doesn't talk to him, and still expects to end up happily-ever-after. Denbrough logic.

Working at the mall isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. At least, not for Bill Denbrough, college sophomore extraordinaire and current elf to Santa Claus at the Derry strip mall.

When his best friend Richie told him that he had found them jobs for their winter break from school at the mall, Bill was excited, giddy, even. His thoughts were full of fantasies about the discounts at the Gap, or eating leftover fries in the food court. But alas, the job was not only a temporary position, but a humiliating one at that. They made him wear a hat with ears on it, for Christ’s sake, and leggings! And ever since Richie had been fired for trying to get his boyfriend Eddie to “sit on Santa’s lap” while the real Santa was on lunch break, the only upside came when Bill’s younger brother Georgie visited. He was too old to tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas, but he was just old enough to bring his brother a much needed cup of coffee from the kiosk down the hall and to listen to Bill complain about the hoards of screaming children.

Until now, of course. Now, there’s a boy.

Where the North Pole set up is located in between the two corridors of stores and the food court, Bill has a pretty good view into nearly every storefront in the mall. After Richie was fired, management shifted Bill’s position from Santa’s left-hand man (similar to his right-hand man, but with less speaking) to the front of the sleigh to avoid anymore Richie-related incidents. The front of the sleigh was home to a big bag of warehouse candy that all came in plastic bags that Bill is in charge of handing out, but it was also where the stereo was housed. One of Bill’s new responsibilities was to maintain holiday cheer by queueing up as many classic Christmas tunes as he could. He had full control over what songs played and when, although he was highly encouraged to only pick the ones from the corporate approved list of appropriate artists, meaning Mariah Carey was played more than a few times a day.

When Richie found out about Bill’s great new job, he had practically cried, falling dramatically from his feet to the carpet in Bill’s bedroom with a hand against his forehead.

“How could they do this to me? Don’t they know I would have been the greatest elf DJ in the history of elf DJing? What a waste!” 

Bill had just laughed and nudged him with the tip of his shoe, telling Richie to be grateful that he wasn’t, or that he’d probably be banned for life from the mall for scarring some children with Marilyn Manson or something. Bill was probably right.

From his new perch at the front of the sleigh, Bill has a direct view of the store diagonal to Santa’s Workshop, which happened to be one of the most quiet in the entire mall. It was a small corporate run bookstore called The Bookbag, one with a wide selection of fiction and a wall of toys near the front register. Local teens often made it a game to run to the back wall labelled Romance/Erotica and read the dirtiest passage they could find out loud before the cashier could catch them and kick them out.

Bill hates the store for their corporate agenda- there were two of them in Derry alone, let alone dozens across the coast, and they seemed to be pushing to replace libraries and small independent bookstores like the little hole-in-the-wall cafe-slash-bookstore that Bill liked to go downtown to write in. His feelings change quickly and drastically, though, when he notices that the usual cashier, a sweet looking blond boy, is replaced by someone who, even at this distance, Bill recognizes as the single prettiest and most attractive man he had ever seen before.

The Boy was almost severe looking, with narrowed eyes and a sharp jawline. There’s something soft about him, though, in the way that his blond hair curls around his face, framing it in a way that drew attention to his eyes. Bill desperately wants to reach out and run his fingers through his hair. The Boy looks disinterested, flipping errantly through a book, until a customer approaches the counter with an arm full of books to be read and the Boy looks up with a kind smile, the soft sort of smile that melts Bill’s heart and leaves him weak-kneed on the floor.

At first, Bill figures that it’s a fluke, just a friend filling in for the usual cashier’s shift for the night, but as the weekend drags on, the Boy is sitting behind the counter more often than not. Bill ends up staring through the window at him more often than not, as well, eyes darting away as soon as the Boy looks up, cheeks red as he continues to pass out candy canes to eager first graders.

And then, their eyes meet. Bill can’t glance away fast enough and he finds himself making eye contact with the prettiest boy in the mall, who smiles that soft smile at him, and his heart skips a beat. He, of course, immediately embarrases himself when he raises a hand to wave and accidentally throws a handful of candy at the children nearest the sleigh. Bill darts his eyes away too quickly to see the Boy laugh, a hand over his mouth and smile wide as could be. It’s probably for the best, too. Bill’s crush wouldn’t be able to handle seeing that.

“You should ask him out,” Richie says, lying on the floor of Bill’s room (as usual), tossing a hacky sack into the air repeatedly.

“Or at least go into the store and talk to him,” Eddie adds, unhelpful as ever.

Bill buries his face into his pillow and lets out a groan.

“I can’t do that,” he whines when he finally comes back up for air, “He’s hot and he’s seen me wearing a fucking elf hat. Richie, you of all people know how humiliating it is to be seen in that thing.”

“Maybe he’ll think it’s hot! He does look over at you a lot, right? Maybe it’s a kink thing; ask him if he wants to take a ride on Santa’s sleigh.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill scowls and reaches a hand out, catching the bag midair before Richie could.

“Fine,” Richie sighs, exasperated, “But don’t come crying to me when someone snatched that hot nerd out from under you and breaks your heart.”

The holidays approach faster now, especially with his job keeping him busy, and Bill does indeed find his heart broken.

It’s the fifth week of Santa’s Workshop, nearly the week of Christmas, when Bill works up enough courage to go into The Bookbag and finally talk to the Boy. He has a whole plan to smile and wave when they make eye contact, end his shift at six pm as usual, go change out of his stupid elf costume, and then go into the store to introduce himself, sans hat.

Richie tries to tell him to just ask the Boy out again, but just asking for the Boy’s name feels like an insurmountable task as is.

However, all that falls away when Bill arrives at work and looks through the glass only to see that the Boy isn’t behind the counter at all. The only person in the store is a tall, broad-shouldered man rearranging a shelf of novels. He smiles as a customer approaches with a question, and his smile is sweet, but not the same. Bill feels his heart sink.

Still, he manages to drag himself over to the sleigh and pass out candy to ungrateful children, playing Wham! on the stereo loud enough to deafen himself beside the speaker through the entirety of his grueling shift that seemed to drag on forever.

He drags himself to the employees only bathroom in the mall that everyone still uses anyway to pull his hat off, change into jeans, and pull a red flannel on over his ugly striped elf shirt. While that only takes him a minute to do, it takes him much more time to work up the nerve to even leave the bathroom.

Twenty minutes pass by quickly, and Bill finds the courage to shake out his arms, smile in the mirror, and tell himself, “You’ve got th-this.” He makes his way to the bookstore.

Bill still doesn’t see the Boy immediately when he reaches the store, but he doesn’t let that stop him, he spent too much time working up the nerve to get here to turn back now. He approaches the counter where the same boy as earlier leans against the register. Bill briefly wonders how they’re hiring all of the prettiest people out of Derry.

“H-hi,” Bill says, the boy’s attention zeroing in on him.

“Hey there,” Mike, as his nametag proclaims, says, “Anything I can help you with today?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. I’m, uhh…” Bill trails off, losing his courage, “Looking for a book about, uh, birds?”

“Right this way!” Mike begins to lead him away from the front of the store as he shakes his head at himself, disappointed in his stupid cop-out. He takes a deep breath and steels himself for embarrassment to actually ask what he came here to ask. 

“Where, uh, where’s the usual cuh-cashier? Isn’t the b-blond b--buh-boy usually here?” He says, grazing a finger over the paperback spines on the shelves as they make their way to the non-fiction section.

“Oh, he’s moving to Portland this weekend, so I’m the new guy,” Mike grins and pulls a book off of a shelf labelled Animal/Nature Interest. “Will this one work for you?”

Bill looks down at the book titled A Beginner’s Guide to Ornithology, and despite the feeling that his heart had been cut a thousand times, he gives Mike a weak smile back and nods. Now that the holidays are ending and his dreams of the Boy are dashed, Bill figures he should pick up a new hobby.

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” Richie rolls his eyes, “He was just a boy at the mall; go look now and they’ll be twelve of them in the Gap right this second. Go get over the boy by getting under one of them.”

“I’ll go get under one of them if you don’t learn how to keep a job,” Eddie pushes Richie’s long legs off of his lap. Richie’s new job at the Sunglasses Hut has already brought the news that, unfortunately, due to an incident with a beagle and a pair of Raybans, he has been let go.

“Give Bill a break, melodrama is in his blood,” Beverly says, laughing as she sits on the floor between Eddie’s legs and the coffee table, “Remember when he dedicated his fiction piece to me in ninth grade creative writing?”

“That was a dark time for me!” Bill throws a pillow across the room at her from his position on the couch.

“I just really thought that the Boy and I had this…. connection.” Bill sulks.

And sulks. And sulks. And sulks a little bit more.

In fact, Bill sulks for so long, and so intensely, that even his workplace begins to take notice.

“What do you mean I’m fired? It’s the week of Christmas! There has to be some rule against that.”

“We don’t want to be firing you right now either, Bill. It’s literally the busiest week of the year, but we’ve had more than a couple of complaints from parents about you, and I can’t say I disagree with them.”

“What are you even talking about? I’m great with the kids!”

“Usually, yeah, but whatever kind of a mood you’ve been in this past week has kept you from smiling, and you’ve played some mightily inappropriate songs over the speaker.”

“They’re all Christmas songs, though!”

“The Ramones ‘Baby, Please Come Home’ is not a Christmas song for four year olds, Bill.”

And so now Bill doesn’t have his shitty temporary, seasonal job as an elf anymore. Fucking Doug, his annoying bald manager, hands him his last check and tells him to turn in his uniform after he washes it, as if Bill is actually going to do that. He just rolls his eyes and leaves, keeping his head down after he tears the dumb elf hat off as he walks towards the front door of the mall. He doesn’t spare a second glance back towards the Santa’s Workshop, or even one for The Bookbag.

Bill does look up, though, when he runs straight into someone walking briskly in the opposite direction. He looks up to either apologize or yell at the person, but his words die in his throat when he sees who it is that ran into him.

“Book Boy?”

“Book Boy? Good to know I left an impression, then.” The Boy chuckles good-naturedly, a dimple forming beside his smile. Bill feels his heart beating significantly faster and he grins back, unable to help himself. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your ears.” The Boy gestures to the hat still gripped in Bill’s hand.

“Yeah, well,” Bill used his other hand to rub the back of his neck, “That’s n-not going to be a puh-problem anymore. I got f-f-fired for p-playing the Ramones.” The Boy raises an eyebrow and when he replies, Bill swears that he sees hearts.

“Well, if they don’t like the Ramones, then they’re definitely not worth you.”

Bill’s grin nearly doubles in size before faltering when he remembers why he was playing the Ramones in the first place. “Wait, I th-thought your coworker said you muh-moved to Portland? What are you doing b-back huh-here?”

“To Portland? I would never set foot in Portland if I could help it,” the Boy scoffed, “No, that’s Ben, the other cashier.”

“Oh. Th-then why have you been g-gone all week?”

“This past week was Hanakkuh, I’ve been celebrating with my family.” The Boy says slowly, smile fading a little. “Why, is that a problem?”

“N-no!” Bill assures him, voice high and a little loud. He knew he would fuck it up, but Richie’s voice in the back of his mind telling him that he’s just a boy in the mall kept him from falling apart, ironically enough. “My n-name is Bill.”

“Um, okay. I’m Stan,” Stan. Bill could get really used to saying that.

“Okay, Stan. Will you g-go out to dinner with me?”

“Like on a date?” Stan’s smile returns, along with his dimple. Bill really, really wants to kiss that dimple.

“Like a d-date.”

“I would love to.”

[gwaciechang]

Say When (King and Quinn) (1/3?)

“I see you there Don’t know where you come from Unaware of a stare from someone Don’t appear to care that I saw you, and I want you.” -The Fray, Say When

Guess what my favorite band besides The Amazing Devil is, lol.

Um, heavy, heavy violence warning. Also, see if you can spot the characters from my Pierre fic, my Callum fic, and my Bobby fic. Actually, if you can’t spot that last one, you need to re-read. I’m setting up the Joey Batey Cinematic Universe now, and yes, I do have an “endgame” in the works.

You've barely put your apron on when Robin takes theirs off and rolls their shoulder, and you can hear the crinkle of the bandages wrapped around their shoulder. “Table #15 wants a screwdriver, a bloody Mary, and three vodka cranberries,” they say as they wash their hands. “I’ve got the last one made already, so do you mind if I duck out early?”

When you turn to look, the man from table #15 gets up and walks up to the bar. You groan, knowing you're going to have to deal with this. “You couldn’t have warned me their drinks are late?” you know how Robin gets when they feel like they’re being chastised, so you try to keep your tone light.

Not light enough, they still look apologetic. “I have to go home,” they wring their hands.

“Go take it easy, alright?” you clap their good shoulder before you leave and get the orange juice out to start on the screwdrivers. “I’ll have it ready in a second, sir,” you give the man at the bar your most winning smile, which he doesn’t return.

“Take your time,” he peers at your nametag, “Quinn. I was just hoping you could make mine a virgin Mary.”

Huh, maybe he did smile back at you, and you just couldn’t tell because his long hair and glossy beard obscures most of his face. Upon a closer look, he also has tattoos peeking out of his sleeve, so not the type not to indulge. “Designated driver?” you guess.

“No,” and he turns his head, but you can tell he’s blushing. You can also tell he’s good at hiding his blushes using his hair and beard, but more importantly, his silence tells you he wants you to call it a bloody Mary because he has a reputation to uphold.

“Three vodka cranberries, one screwdriver, and one bloody Mary,” you announce loudly as you give him the tray.

“Thank you very much, love,” he winks at you. It’s too theatrical to be real, but you give him a real smile anyway, and now you can see that he’s been smiling this entire time.

Then another customer gets your attention, and another, and you forget about the biker-looking man until the gunman shows up.

“What’s your name?” he demands.

You’ve been told your whole life not to let strangers know your name. But telling dangerous people your name is good, right? Because it humanizes you? “Quinn S-”

He doesn’t let you finish. “Tell me where Robin Choi is.”

“Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know if they’re still here.”

“So this is when she usually leaves work?”

“I don’t know, man, I just work weekend evenings!” you know your voice is getting too high, and you’re drawing attention because people are looking at you and getting scared, but you can’t see anything but the pointed at your stomach. Last Friday, a particularly strong drunk kicked a hole through the wood, so there’s no way it would stop a bullet.

“I think you should leave,” the biker-looking softie from earlier stands up and rolls up his sleeves.

The gun is now pointed at him, and he gestures to the others at his table to leave. It’s like a switch gets flipped, and suddenly everyone’s running out, including you, but your shaking hands can’t get a good enough grip to let yourself out from behind the bar.

And now the gun is back on you. “Tell me where she lives.”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know where they live or when they work. Only my manager knows that and I don’t know where he is!” why did assholes always yell at minimum-wage workers for shit way above their pay grade?

“Tell me where he is, then!” and oh god, now he's pissed off.

“They just said they don't know,” the biker-looking softie actually gets closer, is he crazy?

“I’m getting really tired of listening to you,” the gunman turns his gun away from you, and yes! The latch opens and you run toward the door, only for the gun to turn back at you and freeze you in your tracks.

A glass smashes into the side of the gunman’s face, and he accidentally fires a shot, proving what you already knew about the wood’s structural integrity. He fires another shot at the biker-looking man, who grabs his arm and falls with a shout. The gunman aims at his head, the biker-looking softie lets go of his bleeding arm to push the gun away from his face, and you’re frozen watching them struggle against each other.

“Go!” the biker-looking softie glances at you for a split second.

You want to, but he drew the gunman’s attention and stayed behind to help you, so you can’t let him die.

What you can do is pick up the biggest piece of glass off the floor and jam it into the gunman’s arm.

He lets go of his gun to cradle his hurt arm, and the biker-looking softie scrambles out from underneath him to grab you and push you toward the door. He's just grabbed the handle when he freezes. You can guess why.

The door opens anyway by someone you vaguely remember having served. They stick an large, iridescent knife into the gunman’s throat, if the gurgling and splash of hot blood on the back of your Critical Role shirt is anything to go by. They yank the knife out, pushing the body away from it so it lands with a sickening squelch, before wiping it on their own Critical Role shirt and dropping it in their purse. “Sorry about the blood on your shirt,” they say before walking off.

“What the fuck?” the biker-looking softie stares after her.

If it weren’t for the cooling blood on the back of your shirt, you would swear that the last five minutes were a dream.

“Um, thanks for helping me,” you squeak.

“Yeah, well,” and after all this, somehow, he’s still blushing, “thanks for not leaving me behind. But that was really dangerous, you shouldn’t have-”

You don’t hear what you shouldn’t have done because that’s when the police arrive to gather everybody’s statements, although you can guess. He doesn’t continue his lecture while you two sit outside an interrogation room listening to someone desperately explaining the non-nefarious reasons they carry a flogger everywhere while your neck gets uncomfortably itchy.

“Shelley,” he says unexpectedly.

“Hmm?”

“My name is Shelley.”

“Oh, um, Quinn. But, like, you already knew that, since you literally said it earlier and I'm still wearing my nametag,” god, how bad is the adrenaline crash that you’re babbling like this?

“You remember what I say?” he looks surprised.

“Well, yeah,” in for a penny, in for a pound. “You said it in a really cute way.”

“Cute?” if he was surprised before, he’s absolutely flabbergasted now.

“Yeah, the way you were hiding behind your hair and blushing? Very cute,” you tease him, hoping to see the exact same thing.

He scowls as soon as he’s aware what he’s doing, then flips his hair back and growls, “You saw me wrestle a man with a gun.”

“Yes, and I also saw you blush.”

“Thank you, thank you so much, ah shit,” the person with the flogger trips over the threshold in their hurry to get out of the police station. You don’t blame them, this places gives you the creeps.

“I hate cops too,” Shelley whispers.

You shoot him a grateful smile, and scoot a little bit more closely to him.

“I owe you a drink, I think,” you say hopefully, “seeing as you threw yours to save my life. Virgin Marys are on me next time I see you.”

“Only if you let me buy you one too, seeing as you saved mine right back,” Shelley winks, and when you don’t respond the way he expects, he falters. “If you’re okay with it.”

“Do people not flirt with you often?” you ask. “That’s hard to believe.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Usually, when people look at me, they expect a certain type of relationship, one that ends with both of us bruised in the best way, and parting ways in the morning.”

“Well, if you’re not against the idea of having a drink in the morning, we can get breakfast after all of this,” you gesture around the police station.

“I’m not.” His face is soft, and his eyes are sparkling. How had you not seen them behind his hair until now?

[neoclapyourhands-blog]

EXO Love Shot: Cruel Favour (Mafia!Chanyeol x Reader)

warning: mature, gore, yandere themes

word count: 4.7k

Love Shot Mafia Series

The atypical mafia troop EXO was formed in the disguise of a modeling agency, in which eight young handsome men use their charms and sly tactics to deceive the aristocracy. Through the practice of their lucrative methods of pulling off heists and discretely eliminating their competition, they are able to make a name for themselves, and rise as the most prestigious agency in Korea. But what happens when an intruder discovers the dark secrets and intentions of EXO, intentionally or not?

A collective series of one-shots (all x reader) featuring the EXO members as mafia gang members. Inspired by the latest comeback, Love Shot, of course.

Night shifts were too agonizing for you; your back would ache from the long hours of standing, and eventually start to slouch due to your bad habits and lack of proper exercise. Your boss wouldn’t let you sit down as you worked the cash register, already scolding you once without reasoning, until you did it again and he started to berate you with a lecture of how unprofessional you would look, portraying the store in a bad manner. Even then, you remained silent during his lecture, biting your tongue back from revealing the sarcastic snides running through your head, like the fact that this was a gas station convenience store, and not some high class restaurant. 

No matter, you were grateful of the pay and what the job entailed. You simply had to stock items here and there, and assist customers when they would come in to pay with cash, or when they picked up a quick snack. Along with the location you worked at, which was relatively isolated from the closest well populated city, it meant that the workload and customer interactions would only be way less. 

To your pleasure, things ran quite smoothly for the first two month. You played mini games on your phone to pass the time and not fall asleep from boredom. As a college student, you were very much used to staying up late, but it certainly didn’t help that the white LED lights of the store were sleep inducing because of your straining eyes begging to close. You managed to never let it happen, though, as you were well aware of the security cameras set up for your boss to review later and instantly fire you if you were caught for the third time. 

It was a Friday night when the first strange encounter with a particular customer occurred. Your friend had invited you out to a dessert shop, but you had to decline because you wanted to pick up the extra shift. So from 10 PM-5AM, you were stuck by yourself yet again...or so you thought.

Three o’ clock rolled around, which you took notice of from the clock on your phone, and you let a sigh escape your chapped lips, before purposefully releasing the ugliest yawn you could muster. You lean against the counter top, palm raising up your cheek, as you stared down the aisles. Your vision was starting to blur and get hazy, and before you knew it, your eyes had been closed for 5 seconds too long. But the distance muffled noises of a vehicle was approaching your hearing, and although you were in the state of zoning out, you were became immediately alert and hyper aware as soon as the sound reached your ears. You sprang up from your slump, hands sticking to your sides. For once, you thanked god that there was a customer, otherwise you would’ve definitely fallen asleep.

You watch from your register as a man on a motorocycle pulled up to one of the filling stations, the rumbling of their engine sounding erratic, as if it was quite low on fuel and quite literally about to run out. The man on the bike hopped off, his stature quite intimidating  from your position, as the dimmed lighting of the station made him appear as a tall, dark shadow. However, his long legs were taking him over to you, and not to the station to start filling up the bike. As he came closer, his striding figure was illuminated by the lights inside the store, and you were able to examine him. He was dressed rather peculiar, in merely an all black attire consisting of a leather jacket and denim jeans, within the dead cold of the night surprisingly. You could barely make out his expression because his dark greasy hair was hiding most of his face, aside from a his lips that were parted and cracked. His abs, which were of great detail, were certainly not hidden nor shy, as it the sweat accumulating all over his chest shone under the glaring lights. 

You start unintentionally sweating, not willing to admit to yourself that you were very much intimidated. You always heard of horror stories of employees that worked night shifts, especially those who worked at convenience stores. But you felt more assured that your fears were valid when the customer had caught your eye on his way to the entrance of the store, and never looked away until he was directly in front of you.

Towering over the counter, causing you to lean back slowly so he wouldn’t be able to tell that you were frightened, he pants heavily and asks, “You work here?”

You hesitate, looking up to him, wavering eye contact between his two pupils. His stare was sharp and cold, almost lethal at this level of proximity. 

“Well?” His voice is coarse, and he has to clear his throat. He eyes your nametag as you answer him back.

“Uh, yeah?”

The customer looks back up to meet your eyes, his focus solely fixated on you. Out of nowhere, he suddenly breaks into a smile.

“Can I borrow some money?”

You freeze. What an oddly polite way to rob a store.

“E-Excuse me?” You manage to answer back, still confused as to what his intentions were. 

“You know, money. I don’t ever carry cash, and I left my card at home. I swear I’ll repay you. Just this once help a guy out please!” The man starts to plead with you in a daringly innocent manner. You really would’ve thought it was cute and tried to warm up to him if it weren’t for the fact that he still looked like a he just came back from a turf war. 

Out of fear, you run inside to the staff room, where the man assumes you’re going to get the money he’s asking for, as he calls out “Five dollars please!”. You hide behind one of the walls once you entered, where he wouldn’t be able to see you. You stand motionless for several seconds, contemplating your decisions, before ultimately deciding to give the man what he wanted so he would leave you alone later. He wasn’t exactly threatening you or anything, and you didn’t really mind sparing the five dollars that you were supposed to have used today on delicious cakes. The thought was bittersweet; just because you didn’t have the perfect day you wanted doesn’t mean you should bring his day down.

You fished out five dollars from your purse, and then rushed back out to make sure he wasn’t actually a thief trying to take advantage of your kindness and steal behind your back. Luckily, he was still there, arms crossed, but a wide grin still present on his face. It surprisingly grew wider at the view of the crisp bill in your fingertips.

When you handed him the bill, he held it as if it was the most sacred treasure in the world. 

“You ever think about how money runs the world?”

You were caught off guard by his question, wondering why he would ask such a thing as he stared at the bill longingly. 

“Sure, but if that’s how the world runs, then I got to make sure I make ends meet.” You reply, a hint of snarkiness apparent in your tone, to which the stranger snickered at.

“You’re an interesting one. Here, I’d like to pay for gas and a snack.” He hands back the bill to you, and you give him a puzzled look.

“What snack, exactly? I need to know the price.”

The customer scans his surroundings briefly until he lands on a particular food item, which was a chip packet. He seems to not have read the label carefully, but picks it up anyways, and throws it onto the counter without hesitation.

“This one, exactly.” The cockiness in his tone is well matched to your early remark. You don’t question it and quickly ring him up, to which he throws his hands into his front pocket and smirks. When you look up to give him his change, his gaze has shifted and he looks innocent again, gladly accepting the small amount of change with a bow and murmur of repetitive “thank you’s”. 

You think you were rid of him finally once he was leaving your presence, but a sense of fear fills your being when he turns around and greets you goodbye:

“I’ll be back soon!”

“Forgot your card? Again? Really, Chanyeol, you can’t be pulling shit like this when we have scheduled plans like this!”

Kyungsoo reprimands Chanyeol, who is sprawled across the couch, the back of his hand rested against his forehead.

“Look at me, Chanyeol, this is serious!” Kyungsoo demands, and Chanyeol only groans in response. Kyungsoo looks over to Baekhyun and Suho, who are leaning against the wall, and if motions with his arms for them to help him knock sense into Chanyeol.

“Chanyeol, I-” Suho sighs, “You really are compromising everything by making silly mistakes like this.”

“You should carry cash.” Baekhyun adds.

“I already told you guys, I don’t carry cash. And I already apologized, let me live we have to be early tomorrow just let me sleep.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, while the other two tilt their heads in annoyance.

“What if while you were escaping, one of his men were able to catch up to you and get to you?” Kyungsoo proposes his scenario.

Chanyeol finally sits up to face Kyungsoo directly, sending an equally piercing glare and stating, “Well, it didn’t happen.”, before flopping back down and grabbing the closest pillow to huddle with.

“For fucks sake, you also revealed yourself to a local in your attire, and on top of that you asked them for money? You, a millionaire, and someone who’s life would be ruined if he owed a debt or favour to anyone, asked for money?” Suho’s tirade had began.

“Trust me, you guys. I know what I’m doing. Plus, she wouldn’t be the type of take advantage of anyone. In fact, I could’ve actually taken advantage of her, she was that weak, fun to mess around with.”

“You don’t know that. She could be dangerous. Anyone can be.” Baekhyun chimes in again, his voice much gentler than the other two. The silence that followed was obviously from Baekhyun’s hint at their own identities.

“You know we’re just saying this so you can be safe. Just don’t be irresponsible, okay Chanyeol?” Suho breaks the tension. When Chanyeol doesn’t respond to him, he iterates, “Okay?”

Chanyeol grunts, “Yes.”

Chanyeol wasn’t lying when he said he’d come back soon. At first, his words left you terribly afraid that he might come back and be eve more creepy, or just actual try to rob the store this time after gaining the knowledge that someone as feeble as you worked behind the counter. However, your sleepless nights and requests to stop working the night shift ceased the day he came back. It had been a week at this point since that Friday night, but this time around he came in early. It was eleven o’ clock when he strolled in, but this time not dripping in sweat and screaming “edgy”. He was dressed in more casual clothes, rather aesthetic and expensive looking attire, actually. He walked in and tried to make small talk with you, occasionally attempting to flirt. When he finally told you his name, he was surprised that you had never heard of him before. 

“Why, am I supposed to know you? Are you like a big celebrity or something?”

“Hah! Wouldn’t you wish I was so you could go on and brag to others that a celebrity flirted with you?”

“Nice try, weirdo.”

The conversation was much more fluid and natural, since the two of you were warm and open towards each other, quite the opposite of the high tensions from the previous meeting. To be fair, Chanyeol was quite stressed and tired that day, along with broke, and you were scared and tired. But being able to start fresh, especially with him dressed so nicely like a regular guy his age, made you warm up to him much more than you thought. Chanyeol’s personality was bubbly and fiery, which you could tell from his frequent smiles and bursts of laughter. You even dare say you found him more handsome each time he visited you. Soon, there wouldn’t be a day at work that went by without at least a 20 minute visit from him. Sometimes, he would stay for longer if he and the EXO members didn’t have any plans, or any life threatening escapes to make that required them to stay inside their house at all times. And you never complained, because you enjoyed his company, and his addicting smiles.

Eventually, what was more of a friendship where you pretended to tolerate him and his shenanigans turned into more. He would make passes at you more often, and you couldn’t tell if they were jokes or not, but you hoped they weren’t.

But you didn’t expect things to go south the day you were supposed to sneak out and go on a date with him. It had been a few months since you both met, and considering you both hit it off well at your second meeting and throughout, Chanyeol wanted to ask you out. And when he did work up the courage to ask you, you were slightly shocked, but nonetheless agreed gleefully.

You were standing outside of the store at around 1 AM, having already locked the building and turned off alll the lights. You clutched the key in hand, dressed in your best date outfit that you could pull off. Chanyeol had helped come up with an excuse for you to tell your boss, which would be that the cameras malfunctioned, so you had to turn them off, which was why he would have no footage. 

The harsh winds nipped at your bare legs and kept lifting up the short skirt you were dressed in, forcing you to hold down the skirt to prevent it from flying up. You stand for what seems like hours in the darkness, staring down the abandoned road, waiting for any light or sound of Chanyeol motorcycle. You could feel anger bubbling inside at some point, particularly after a full hour had passed without any sign of Chanyeol.

It was at this point that you decided to head inside and just work the rest of the shift, and if Chanyeol came, you would ignore him or yell at him, depending on how you would feel once he did show up. But as you waited, you would process your feelings and trying to calm down and warm yourself up from standing in the cold for so long. 

But as soon as you inserted the keys into the lock of the building, you heard a loud roar of an engine interrupt your angry thoughts, and when you turned around, Chanyeol is driving his bike up to you beyond a speed of your comfort. You start to yell for him to slow down, but your voice is drowned out by the roaring engine sounds. As Chanyeol pulls up to you, you notice that he has a potato sack behind him, strapped to the seat of the motorcycle. He gets of the bike and starts to untie the sack out of it’s little seatbelt. With his back turned to you, he begins his lengthy apology,

“Look, Y/N, I’m so so sorry! I really didn’t forget, I swear. Please forgive me. I had to deal with a last minute mission- er, I mean a last minute...” Chanyeol pauses in between his speech, and then turns around to examine you. He notices you’re pissed, but continues anyway, “You know what, you probably already know by now, or were at least suspicious of it when we first met. But Y/N, I have a huge favour to ask of you before we go on our date.”

“A favour? Chanyeol how dare you come an hour late, and then come and tell me to do you a favour? This is ridiculous, I don’t want to even see you right now.” You try to end the conversation, holding back tears from the confrontation, and try to turn around, but Chanyeol grabs ahold of your shoulder, and makes you sharply turn around to face him and his pleading eyes. 

“Please, just...I don’t know how you’ll react after this, and you might even never want to see me again, and that’s fine, but just do this for me and I won’t ever bother you again, I swear.” His promise to you this time was much scarier than before, wherein you were only intimidated by this stranger, but now you would possibly lose this new love interest and friend who you truly grew to love over the past few months. “You’re saying this favour could potentially drive me away from you, to the point that we will never see each other again? Are you trying to indirectly break up with me, or get rid of me somehow? This is all such a cruel joke.”

“It’s not a joke, Y/N. But, I will admit. It is a cruel favour.”

Chanyeol takes the sack in his hand, and throws it at your feet. The jawstring at the top of the bag loosens, and it reveals a part of what’s inside the sack. 

“Hide this dead body.” 

What you witness from inside the bag scars you; a bleeding, scalped head, with parts of the skeletal bones peeking at certain points around the face, suddenly sticks out from the opening. Startled at the cracking sound the sack made against the ground, you take a few steps back, but you let out a blood curdling scream when you notice the head.

Chanyeol yanks your shoulder hard to try and quiet you down, but you manage to escape his grasp and run across to the street. You stand on the road, tears relentlessly falling, and you’re on the verge of a mental breakdown as you threaten him, “I’m calling the police!”

Granted, this wasn’t your best option, as this only made him chase you down the road, to which you narrowly escape. But you were able to phone 911 while he did and scream the details about your location as you ran for your life. The distraction of your phone almost allowed him to catch up to you, but you were still able to run away.

“Y/N stop! You’ll regret doing this!” Chanyeol shouts at you, his tone sending a chill down your body. It wasn’t his usually sweet and endearing tone that he uses to address you. This time, it was terrifying, which only triggered you to run faster.

You were able to make a full circle and run back to the entrance to the store, and you decided to go inside and lock yourself in so Chanyeol wouldn’t be able to follow you inside. Your hands shook violently as you shuffled through the keys on the designated keychain you were given; the staff room key, bathroom key, and other unnecessary keys were all hard to tell apart in the dark, and you had no time to spare trying each one out, since a murderer was hot on your tail. By the grace of the heavens, the first key you fumbled into the lock had worked, but when you tried slamming the door with your back, Chanyeol had already reached you, and began slamming his own body weight against the door. You were powerless against him, and you were thrown onto the floor after his second push. He climbs over your body and straddles you, and he traces a finger across your jaw and down to your neck.

“Sweetheart, no point in running away now. I know everything about you. You ought to do everything I tell you to do.” He leans down to whisper into your ear, the weight of his body being pressed against your sides, limiting your ability to breathe.

For a moment, he lets his sadism show, and he grinds his body against your writhing, struggling form, as you let out weak coughs from your inability to properly breathe. He simply kisses your temples whenever you show any sign of struggle or react to his sloppy kissing. 

Consciousness almost gives up on you, and you slip in and out of it for a while as Chanyeol violated you and prevented you from breathing. The slow choking caused black dots to appear in your vision, and you almost didn’t hear the blaring alarms of the firetruck and police cars that pulled up right in front of the store. You almost didn’t hear the sound of the police banging against the door, threatening Chanyeol to put his hands up and freeze. Finally, Chanyeol had gotten off of you, and you lifted the cheek that was pressed up against the cold dirty floor to look up at your saviours. They were able to open the door, a group of them with large guns and varous weapons aimed at Chanyeol, while another group reached out to you with blankets and water cups. They escorted you out the building and towards the firetruck, repeating words of comfort to you, as well as asking you if the “attacker” had hurt you in any place specific, carried anything, did anything illegal, and too many questions that you knew the answers to now, unfortunately.

Who would’ve known that the sweet, energetic guy you fell in love with months ago would turn out to be this way?

The last vivid memory you had of him from that night was when you turned around briefly after entering the ambulance, and he was being pushed against the back of the police car, hands cuffed behind his back, but he was facing you. But this time, there was no glare, no terrifying stare, but rather a smile.

That sickly sweet, damned smile. 

You could never forget it.

And when you moved to the big city after 3 years of the incident, you would still never forget that smile, or how it followed you on every billboard that was advertised in the city. Him and his posse, as you learned dubbed themselves EXO, were plastered on every city street, wall, and building possible, and you were scared for the first time in 3 years that you would encounter him once more.

Your friend Mia, who was a coworker of yours at the gas station that you befriended, allowed you to have the opportunity to even move to the big city, so you were more grateful than scared, if anything. The fear mainly came from the fact that you never heard of Chanyeol’s state after that night, whether he was put in jail time or let go. But you knew nothing, no matter how many times or people you asked, they all refused to disclose the personal matters of Mr. Chanyeol, they would tell you, as if they were his associates.

You only realized that they very well could have been associates, or something of the sort, now that you realized he was one of the biggest celebrities in the country. You regretted not knowing him in the past; perhaps it would’ve scared him off if you were his fan, or let alone just knew of him and shown any signs of being star struck. 

But what mattered now was that you were starting off completely fresh at a new company. Granted, Mia was the one who also got you the job, but never told you the name because she said it was serious business, and you had to attend a meeting with the CEO first. However, the job she was offering to you pleased you enough, which was dress design and sewing, but you still had to prove your credentials and background at the meeting because you weren’t quite experienced as much as Mina. You were glad you would be working under her, though, and she would be able to guide you through the process of moving in and working under a professional business, and not odd jobs in the town like before.

When you arrive at the headquarters of the company, you are intimidated, to say the least. The skyscraper seemed to pass beyond the clouds when you looked up, and the multiple guards that surrounded the area were quite heavily armed and serious. You felt paranoia as you went up to them to try and enter, and twitched when the female officer asked for your ID and license. You gulped as she scanned the two, wondering if she would kick you out, or judge you. Somehow, you felt fearful, and you haven’t entered the building yet and stepped in for your meeting. You blamed it on the pesky butterflies eating away the inside of your stomach and causing your anxiety to shoot up. 

But with a polite, strict smile, the officer hands the two back to you, and lets you in,

“Welcome to EXO Headquarters.”

You freeze at her words.

“Did I hear her right?” You think to yourself, but enter through the door anyways, not wanting to stand outside any longer and let yourself have a breakdown. When you do go inside, you have no time to reflect on what she said, because the man of 3 years ago is standing only a few feet away from you in a suit and tie.

“Long time, no see Y/N.”

His voice engulfs you with a wave of memories, and you stare back in awe. Chanyeol takes this as a compliment, and takes a step closer, but your jaw stiffens and you shakily gulp. 

He takes in all your features, drinking in the delicate, innocent image he has of you, as though you never changed. From all these years of stalking and keeping up with every detail of your life, he was finally able to get you back into his arms. 

But God, you didn’t pay any attention to any of him, except his stupid smile. It was like he could never wipe off that stupid smile, and even during the events of that horrid night, his smile had never disappeared, it just portrayed a twisted message behind it. Even now, you wanted to believe he was the man he was before he showed his true self.

“I trusted you, Y/N.” Chanyeol whines in a low voice.

"Why would I trust a murderer?” You mumble, clenching your fists.

Chanyeol frowns, “I’m more than just that, you know. I was hoping you’d accept me on your own terms, but now I have no other choice but to force you to.”

He takes a bigger step forward, but this time holds your back with his arm so you couldn’t retreat away. Your breath hitches at the closeness, his overpowering cologne threatening to knock you out from the severe headache you were forming already.

“I’m leaving, let go.” You demand, trying to push his arm off you, but his grip reminds you of how weak you are compared to him.

“Leaving? Knowing this much about the truth of EXO? And asides that, you think I’ll sacrifice all this work over the past couple of years to find you, just to let you go? I’ve been waiting for this moment for too long, to see your reaction to me, unaffected by the little stunt you pulled years ago.”

“You’re just a rich, corrupt murderer, I should’ve known you were from the beginning.” 

“Ignorance is bliss though, isn’t it? That’s why I fell in love with you.”

A pang of regret hit you hard when he confessed this. So you really could’ve prevented all of this from happening, if only you just knew.

“What do you want from me?” You mumble softly, gaze down, shredding all sense of hope and dignity left in you.

“Well, now that you’re here,

I gotta repay the favour.”

yOOOO idk what the actual fucking fUCK that shit was... that was messy hhhh what the hell even happened? idk dont ask me hhhhhhh im over here trying to figure out my own stories

[poppingpromises]

Bonnie & Clyde

Jaeyoon x Reader

Requested

Note: Inspired by Uh huh by Julia Michaels

A/n: This might already be pretty long but would you guys want a part two?

/It's electric how my lipstick/Makes its own way right into your kiss, and/It's pathetic how we both get/Kinda fucked up, hanging on each other/

Shots were fired as you sped through the crowds of people, barging the doors open as you ran carrying bags of money on your shoulders. Police guards chased you till you got to your car, throwing the bags of money onto the backseat behind you. You turned over to Jaeyoon who jumped into the passenger seat of the car, grabbing him by his shirt into a passionate kiss.

Your boyfriend pulled away, out of breath. “Alright, babe, we gotta go.”

As you sped off in the car, several more shots had been fired again in your direction. “Fuck this.” You tore the masquerade mask from your face and wiped off the dark lipstick you use to disguise your lips. With smeared lipstick covering half your face you furiously drove on, laughing as the cops fell behind. They had lost you. And you? You just robbed $25,000 in cash. A little small for what you usually steal but you preferred light loads over getting easily caught.

/We're ahead now, should we slow down?/Should we slow down now?/'Cause I'm getting some kind of shake without you/

You recall the very first time you met Jaeyoon. You hadn’t thought much of him at the time. He was often quiet and kept to himself. Little did you know at the time, that he often robbed houses of the wealthy while they were away.

You had just returned home after finding out your fiance had been cheating on you to find a stranger rummaging through your closet. You were already too tired to be afraid of what the thief would do to you for catching him. “Can I help you?” You asked, already irritated.

He froze in place. He really didn’t want to kill anybody that night. It would just add on to what he had to do that night.

“Oh yeah sure. If I don’t move, she can’t see me. I’m not blind dumb ass.”

For some reason, your sarcasm had eased him into laughter. “So you’re just gonna let me rob you that easily?” He said as he chuckled.

“I don’t care anymore. Take whatever you want.” You started for the bed when he looked up. His heart had almost stopped. You had to be the most beautiful being he had ever seen. How your hair had slowly fallen in place around your head and shoulders as you yourself had fallen onto the bed. Had he been aware that you were no longer with your fiance, he would have taken you with him then and there.

/Uh-huh! I think you're movin' in too close/

A few days after finding out you were no longer with your fiance, he had arrived at your house, this time knocking at your door instead of picking its lock.

You answered the door. “Who are you?”

“Um… I’m just here to check your fridge?” Of course, you remembered who he was. You just wanted to see how he’d play along. As a thief, he wouldn’t actually give you his name would he?

“Why?” Was this guy really about to use the fridge as an excuse to steal from you?

What you didn’t know was that he just wanted to see you again.

“If it’s running…” He slyly grinned, “I’d like to catch it for you.”

You laughed at the joke. Not because it was anywhere near funny but because this guy had actually thought he was witty and clever for using such a cringeful joke. “Fine… but be quick.”

/But I think that it's my body wanting it the most, like/Uh-huh! I don't know what it is I feel/But I know it's my emotions going in for the kill, like/

What am I doing? You asked yourself. You were letting a thief back into your house to steal from you again. A normal person would never had done such a thing but after conversing with a thief as he stole from your house, after finding your fiance in bed with another woman, after realizing there was some sort of magnetic pull this thief had, here you were laughing with a criminal.

/Uh-huh! I think you're movin' in too close/

The next day he was back. This time with a bouquet of roses obviously stolen from the neighbor’s front yard.

“Oh, you’re back!”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out on a date with me?”

/But I know it's my emotions going in for the kill, like/

“Sure…”

****

Later on that day you found yourself entering a bar with him. You felt a little uneasy as the bar had been well hidden and heavily guarded by several bodyguards.

“Come on, ease up a bit.” Jaeyoon said with a smirk.

It was easy to see how tense you were: Your arms crossed, soulless eyes, a scowl marked on your lip.

As the night went on and after a few dances on the dance floor, you had eased down. That is, until police had barged into every entrance of the building.

Jaeyoon had rushed off but before doing so, he had  forced a piece of paper into your hand and gave you a very passionate kiss.

The coolness of the moment. You’re pretty sure that at that moment, you had fallen in love with him. Cool and composed as he ran out the building. You were escorted by the police out the building to your house.

The very next day you waited for him only to find in the papers that he’d been caught and taken to jail. There was no way you were going to let that night be the very last night you saw him. You had decided that right there, you were going to marry him. You knew he loved you. You could see it in his eyes that night. When he danced with you. When he drank with you. When he spoke to you. No one had ever looked at you like that before. Not even your ex fiance.

/But I know it's my emotions going in for the kill/

A new life awaited you. At the crisp of dawn you rushed to the to the jail he was confined at. If a new life awaited you, there was no way you were going to live it without him. You talked to security at the entrance to let you visit Jaeyoon.

“Not happening.”`

“Please?” You begged in a pouty manner, doing your best to charm the security into letting you visit Jaeyoon. If you couldn’t charm the security guard, maybe you could seduce them. You read the nametag on the guard that spelled out his name.

“Look, officer… Sanghyuk, I really need to see my husband. We’re expecting a ‘gift’, so maybe the two of us could find a way for... this to work?”

He scanned the traces of your body down to the spots of his interests and after a few minutes, he had let you in.

The guard opened the gate, carefully eyeing you as he allowed you to enter to talk to your “husband”. As soon as you saw him you ran to him as quickly as possible. It didn’t even matter that a set of metal bars separated the two of you. You could touch him, hold him, and that was all that mattered. He held you in his arms, tightly pressed against the cold metal quickly becoming warmer. He kissed you. He really kissed you. None of that bullshit fake lovey dovey crap filled with lies that your ex husband fed your lips before you left him. No. Jaeyoon kisses you with a passion that left you quivering. You craved for more of his touch. More of his taste. Just... more of him. And likewise, he craved you just as much. He craved the feeling of your lips crashing into his. Messy kisses as your teeth clashed in all the chaos that arose between the two of you. And even if you could only hold each other in this chaos, even if it only lasted 5 minutes, the thundering chaos of wandering hands and  clashing teeth was the most bliss you’ve ever felt.

/Uh-huh! I think you're movin' in too close/But I think that it's my body wanting it the most/

The guard started, “NO TOUCHING!” He yelled. He quickly marched towards the two of you. Before he could reach his destination at your side, you briskly handed Jaeyoon a small gun which he then hid behind his back. You made your way back to the exit, looking back as Jaeyoon gave you a small smirk and wink.

Later, in the mildly rusted brown truck hidden behind greens and greens of wood, you waited. Jaeyoon was leaving jail that night whether the guards wanted him to or not. In the distance, you could see a light frantically swinging back and forth, growing closer with every step Jaeyoon took as he ran to you. You started the car as soon as you figured it was Jaeyoon. If there was anything you learned from your past marriage, it was that you weren’t going to allow yourself to waste anymore time away from someone who loved you back just as much as you loved them.

You drove as quickly as you could through the wood, rushing from the prison grounds as Jaeyoon brightly laughed. He reached over from his seat to brush a strand of hair from your face. He looked at you and smiled lovingly. How is it possible he was able to woo the girl of his dreams despite the way he lived? Without even thinking, he leaned in and kissed you. As smoothly as you could, you stopped the car on the side of the oncoming road.

/It's phonetic how our mouths grip/Almost too tight to the words we're sayin'/

Your fingers gripped Jaeyoon’s hair, mouths immersed in every part of eachother. His hands searched every inch of your body as he softly kissed you. You could feel the tingling sensation crawl up your spine as his fingertips found their way to your thighs, circling the most sensitive areas before slipping into the pool that built up in your underwear. His head lowered to nip at your neck. He switched between leaving soft kisses and tiny rough marks as he trailed down your body.

Suddenly, a siren heard from almost a mile away had made the two of you jump. You quickly started the car and drove off before the cops could even come close to reaching you. As you drove, Jaeyoon remained at your side, softly kissing your neck.

[widowtracer-week]

Gift for Redcap3

Secret Santa for @redcap3

Every day the woman came in, at ten in the morning. Sharp.

Lena looked forward to it, to the teasing of her coworkers and irritation of her manager.

The coworkers around her age merely laughed about it, an in-joke in their cramped work space. Always making sure to make sure Lena was on register whenever the woman showed up. Even if only to give her a second of happiness.

Her manager Jack on the other hand had nothing to say but “get back to work.”

It seemed like every single day the odd woman had a different outfit on, her closet must be simply endless. Whatever it is this woman does, it has to be very, very lucrative. Not to mention every pieces was as elegant, unique and striking as her.

And all that was quite a feat considering the woman was completely blue from head to toe.

Of course, nobody had any idea why she was like that.

In fact, the woman was a mystery beyond the barest facts that Lena had managed to lowkey squeeze out of her. Her name is Amélie and she seemed to work in dance or possibly theatre. Lena knew that there was a theatre nearby but had purposefully restrained from looking it up. Didn’t need to become a stalker.

But Lena wanted nothing more than to know the woman better but what could she do? She was at work. It’s not like she can say ‘bugger the line, it’s flirting time.’ She had, at the very best, a minute of time wherein she could impress the woman before handing her her drink and ending the transaction.

Her coworkers endeavored to help their perky friend but to extremely limited success, which is to say, absolutely no success.

 Angela suggested asking her out directly after giving her her order.

Jack said he’d fire Lena for that.

Fareeha had suggested with a confident smirk that Lena should write her number on the woman’s cup.

Jack said he’d fire Lena for that and dock Fareeha’s pay for giving her the idea.

Hana suggested she just lean over the counter and give her a smooch on the cheek.

Jack said he’d fire Lena, Hana and Angela for good measure if that happened, causing the last to squeak out an offended objection to her unrelated looping in.

Either way the man took a hard stance on flirting with customers. Soon after Jack went into the back to deal with some paper work though, leaving Lena to sigh and look up at the clock forlornly. It was almost time for the woman to show up, as always, and she was not even a lick closer to having a plan. 

Well, there were plans but only with fireable offenses and if she got fired where would this all be? In the trash can considering she’d never see the woman again. Unless she became a weirdo that just happens to show up.

Straightening herself up, Lena tried to fix her hair the best she could in the reflection in the coffee maker.

Sighing, it remained the shapeless mass it always was. Adamant that it wasn’t going to cooperate with her efforts to tame it. Never did get the hang of that.

Lena supposed, or rather hoped, she didn’t look too horrible as her big brown eyes grabbed ahold of the odd blue woman slowly traipsing pass their wide windows to the door. As always, she looked stunning.

Long, dark blue hair twisted up in a high ponytail with pearls- probably real- weaved into it. Elegant, almost Victorian dress coming to her knees as it blew gently in the breeze. A vision of black velvet and lace. Probably custom made. A pearl necklace gracing her neck the cherry on top of the cake.

But this time, Lena realized another person was with her. The woman in purple whose name she always forgot, admittedly because she was paying too much attention to Amélie.

Perfectly manicured nails wrapped around the door’s bar and pulled it open with a soft jingle from the bell above.

Lena ignored the jab in her side and the quick little eyebrow wiggle from Fareeha as the woman approached the counter.

“Welcome to Kofi Aromo! What can I get you?”

- - - 

Amélie was a creature of habit, to a nearly alarming degree.

Every day she’d wake up, eat, get dressed, go to work at Talon Theatre, go to the same coffee shop, go back to work, go home, eat, then go to bed.

Her daily motions were almost robotic in nature, a frequent joke among her coworkers.

Especially one in particular. Sombra.

Now, the woman had come along with her to the coffee shop a few times. While it wasn’t nearly as frequent as Amélie’s visits the woman wouldn’t object to an overly sugary coffee now and again. More of a sweet than a coffee but Amélie wasn’t here to judge.

Except for the parts where she absolutely judges and made a slight, jabbing note of it each and every time. But she felt fairly justified in this considering Sombra’s delighted mockery of Amélie and the coffee shop girl.

The first time her coworker had insisted on coming with, Sombra had caught every detail of the small woman’s flustered exchange with a bright eyed Amélie and she was frankly delighted.

Ever since then, Amélie has never heard the end of the teasing.

Today was no different except, perhaps, even more intense than usual.

For whatever reason, Sombra had gotten it in her head lately that Amélie actually had to DO something about this crush. Despite her coworkers protests against it.

Leaning over a set piece, putting the usually shorter woman on eye level with her, Sombra teased, “Hey, I’m coming with you today. Gonna make it happen myself and you can’t stop me.”

“No, you’re not,” Amélie flatly replied, not even looking up from the clipboard in her hand. 

“Last time I checked you ain’t the boss of me,” Sombra sang, “Gabe is the boss of me. Or Akande. Or Moira. Well, pretty much everyone but you.”

“They like me more, don’t test me,” Amélie said, setting the board on the desk to pull her coat around her, “Do not follow me.”

“Ohhh, you know I am,” Sombra said with a smirk as she slid off the set piece and started bouncing after her.

It was a fairly short walk from Talon Theatre to that particular Kofi Aromo even though the Theatre lay far away from the main roads, coiled in between small office buildings. It had been Amélie’s original thinking in picking that one.

When they walked in, the girl was as she always was. Standing at the counter, greeting them cheerfully.

Sombra left Amélie to that as she quietly skulked over to the other side of the counter, just out of the two women’s sight. Reaching out, she managed to grab the second barista’s sleeve and stop her in her tracks. Leaning over, Sombra took a glance at the nametag. Fareeha.

“Hey, you got a sec?” Sombra crooned, mischievous smile on her face.

Reasonably, Fareeha looked a little weirded out but replied politely nonetheless, “What can I help you with?”

“Can you get pixie pants over there to take her break? While my friend’s still here?” Sombra asked, voice sappily sweet as she batted her eyelashes. Jerking her head towards Lena for effect as the woman finished taking Amélie’s order.

While Fareeha appeared unshaken by this she seemed to be on the same page as Sombra nonetheless. Nodding curtly before walking over and tapping Lena on the shoulder, “Hey, Jack said you had to take a break today, your shift’s almost over.”

Lena started at that, “Ohhh! I forgot! Explains why I’m so hungry!”

Fareeha fished the chicken salad sandwich she knew Lena loved out from the counter and handed it to her, “Why don’t you take your lunch and eat it out front today?”

“Why would I-” Lena started before being shoved towards the exit, Fareeha flipping up the removable countertop and shoving her through.

Stumbling, Lena found herself being apprehended again on the other side. Looking over, she saw Amélie’s friend grinning at her, “Heyyy, pixie pants. You’re gonna have lunch with us.”

A confused and slightly alarmed glance to Fareeha acquired her no help as Sombra dragged her towards an equally confused and slightly alarmed Amélie. With a small yelp, Lena was tossed onto one of the many cushy armchairs that littered the floor with her wrapped up sandwich still gripped in her hands.

Abruptly, Sombra spun around and started walking towards the exit again with a cheery, “Hey, uh, just remembered that I fucking hate coffee and love cheeseburgers so if you need me I’ll be at McDonald’s.” 

At that, Lena and Amélie were alone.

For a cold and frozen minute both of them just sat there and stared dumbly at each other.

Eventually it was Lena who broke the ice, “Is, uh, is your friend always like that?”

“Unfortunately,” Amélie sighed, resigning herself to this entrapment, “She never knows when to leave well enough alone.”

“Sooo, uh, you work in the nearby theatre right?” Lena said before quickly following it up with, “I’ve overheard you talking about it with that woman before, right?”

“Yes, Talon Theatre,” Amélie nodded, “She works there as well. Also unfortunately.”

Lena giggled at that, “Is she truly all that bad?”

Amélie was quiet for a second to sip her coffee before sighing, “I suppose not. Just… frustrating.”

“So, uhm, you… come in here a lot,” Lena said, awkwardly rubbing at the back of her neck, “You must really like coffee.”

“It keeps me awake,” Amélie shrugged.

Lena looked over to Fareeha for support but only found the woman trying not to make eye contact as she spied on them from behind a menu.

“So… got any cool plays you’re working on over there?” Lena asked with an awkward smile.

“We are doing a production of Faust soon,” Amélie nodded, “I am to be in it as a dancer as well as assisting with most of the choreography and stage direction.”

“That sound really neat!” Lena chirped, fiddling with the still unopened sandwich, “When I was a little girl I always wanted to be an actor but when I got older I kinda lost interest. Right now I’m in college to become a pilot.”

“Is that your passion now?” Amélie asked.

“Very much so,” Lena nodded, “Back in high school my interests changed. The second I saw that airshow I was hooked, wanted nothing more than to soar through the skies like them. Is theatre your passion?”

“Dancing, more so,” Amélie replied, “But I do not mind doing the other parts so long as I can still dance at some point.”

“I bet you’re a great dancer,” Lena beamed, trying to make the best of an awkward situation.

“I am,” replied Amélie with such confidence it almost made Lena giggle, “I’ve been doing it since I was such a little girl.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re very impressive at it,” Lena said, “I mean, even just walking around you’re-”

Lena cut herself off as she dropped her still wrapped sandwich to slap her hands over her mouth, face bright red. For a second, it seemed to have flown over Amélie’s mind. But only a second. When it hit her what Lena had been saying the smallest, barely there-est smile snuck onto her face.

Lena immediately moved to apologize, “I’m so so so sorry, I just-”

“I never use my guest tickets to my shows,” Amélie interrupted, taking a final sip of her coffee before setting the empty cup in front of her, “Perhaps you can have one. Maybe more. In the future.”

Before Lena could really answer, Amélie stood up and reached into her bag before pulling out a small strip of paper and handing it to Lena who looked at it dumbly. It read for a production of Faust, next week on Friday.

Lena nodded dumbly, “I’d… I’d love to.”

“I’ll see you then,” Amélie said with a smile as she turned to leave, “Although I suppose I’ll see you before then, no? I do come in on all my breaks after all. Maybe yours can be at the same time sometimes as well?”

Lena chirped up, “I- uh, I can definitely move my break time later!”

“I look forward to it then,” Amélie said with a much wider smile than you usually see from her, “But for right now… perhaps you should finish your lunch?”

Looking down at the long forgotten sandwich Lena stuttered out, “Y-yeah! See you tomorrow!”

“Au revoir,” Amélie nodded, letting the door slam behind her.

Perhaps her lunch breaks would be a little more enjoyable from now on.

[fanarchoslashivist]

April Showers Bring What Again?

“On the one hand, shopping is dependable: You can do it alone, if you lose your heart to something that is wrong for you, you can return it; it’s instant gratification and yet something you buy may well last for years.” Judith Krantz

*

When his powers had first manifested Jackson Overland had not in his wildest dreams imagined they would lead him here.

At most he had figured he’d be transferred to a cold storage facility, or a cryogenic stasis unit. He had eagerly registered his elemental ability with the goal of a higher wage and better benefits for himself and his family. Maybe move somewhere out of the lower city levels, somewhere high. An apartment with a view that didn’t include the next building’s wall and waste storage.

Now he was opening his own store.

His, not a franchise location, not a corporate office, not a temporary crisis building. All his.

He looked at his twenty employees, his employees, gathered at the entrance, the sliding glass doors polished to invisibility, and couldn’t feel his face for the amount he was grinning.

“Tomorrow is opening day.” he said, though the countdown on the tack board behind him had been saying so since this morning, “and I can say that I have never had a team work like you. I know it’s not what most of you were hired for, but you all came through as a team and did an absolutely fantastic job putting this store together.”

They didn’t share his joy, he knew. They were hourly employees, with lives and responsibilities of their own, and this was just a job, but he didn’t blame them for that. Thirty years ago working in the factories he had been the same, two years and three months ago when he had handed in his resignation as the manager of a small unit in the Department of Climate Control he had been the same. Just another clock punching, hour counting, putting in the work for someone else employee. Until he had finally struck out on his own.

“I know there have been setbacks, the tropical department’s humidifier is still being unruly,(an understatement) and the glacier dispensers haven’t come off the truck (even though they were due two weeks ago), but I want you all to know how proud I am of you. We came in this morning with a lot of work still ahead of us, but I can say that this store is as ready as we can make it.” And it was, from the perfectly zoned shelves to the spotlessly cleaned floors. Each and every corner of his store was the physical manifestation of his dreams. “So go home and get a good night’s sleep, because at nine am I want all of you back here for the grand opening.”

They cheered, and it felt like a stadium of people applauding. It felt like the end of the movie, when the hero won the game, and the team rushed together in shared glee.

As he watched them file out, heard the whisper quiet shh of his doors, he imagined every day like this.

Though he hoped the anxiety would dampen over time. He pressed a hand to his stomach that was cramped and aching from his constant worry. If this went on he’d have another ulcer in no time, and hadn’t he left the DCC because it had been stressing him? The bureaucracy, the politics, the smug smothering presence of those in power? He had hated it all, but what he had loathed the most was sorting through file after file of weather requests. Simple target storms that could have taken him five minutes to create, but his hands had been tied. A farming town in a mild drought, a conservation under fire threat, a mountain resort without snow that month.

But they were short staffed, and his job involved too much time and resource management. Budget cuts and politics ruled in his old job, a drought kept people dependent on municipal water, the Forestry services were confined to natural weather unless under extreme circumstances, and of course the fact that government resources could not be used to aid private businesses.

Denial after denial after denial had weighed on his heart. They were not natural disasters or difficult jobs, nothing that should have been banned. They were simply not important enough for the government weather service to waste time on. But Jack, who had sat in an office after spending thirty years climbing his way up trying to find a way around that red tape, who had chafed under the constant reminder that he and those under him were nothing but a ‘government resource’ to those in power, who had always always remembered the years in the factories as an ungifted, an unwanted unusable uneducated drone good for nothing but building magical devices for those greater than himself, they were important to him. He had wanted nothing so much as he had wanted to find a way to help them.

Now he had.

Jack smiled as he picked up one of the snowglobes from the display, his personal favourite. An instant snow day. With the proper tools any weather pattern could be seeded, and Jack had spent the past thirty years studying how to do it.

His life in the factory had paid off. Very few magical people bothered making their own things these days, that was the job of the ungifted, whose lack of talents made it near impossible to contaminate or sabotage the tools. For the first twenty-seven years of his life he had been trained on how to create things of a magical nature without any knowledge of the magic itself.

Then suddenly he had gifts, talents, a rare and intimate connection to the weather. His ability to radiate cold, not dispel heat or transfer it, but to physically devour the energy around him and use it to fuel his gifts made him one of the best weather witches in the country, possibly the world. Few could create as he did, and fewer bothered to.

Replacing the globe he began to close up for the night. He had a little under seven hours before he had to be back and preparing the store for his employees to arrive.

Grand opening. His belly did little flips at the thought. Would people buy? He hoped they would, he hoped he had finally solved the problem everyone was facing with their weather system. The monopoly of power centralized in the hands of the government, and the dependence on said government for fair skies.

As he lowered the gates in front of his wide windows he thought of what the world would be like now that anyone could have a little storm of their own. The problems it would solve, the pranks it would inspire. How soon until someone broke a rainshower over a wedding? How long would it take before kids unleashed snowdays on school grounds? He couldn’t wait to find out.

Just as he was shutting off the lights and heading to the upper level and his own living space the bell at the back buzzed aggressively through the dark store.

Irritation slashed through the nerves. The sign clearly said closed. The banner over the store had the exact date for their opening. They had handed out fliers all week with the information of when they would be opening and at what time. Still, still he had dealt with people walking into the store all day as they had been trying to work. He had had to set up a door guard for just that purpose, like a fucking Walmart greeter.

The bell continues to buzz like a pissed off bee as he stomped back down the stairs and to the doors. His nerves were beyond strained,and while he hated to give any kind of poor impression to a potential customer he was not, currently, at work. He was at home, and the store was closed. Right now, he was just another person, and he was very very tired.

Taking his nametag with its MANAGER title off and smacking it down on the greeting booth with glee he unlocked the beloved glass doors and shoved one open. It offered no resistance, all debris vacuumed from it’s slot.. “What?” he demanded.

A large creature of indeterminate species cut an imposing figure against the parking lot flood lights and he had the sudden realisation that answering the door in the middle of the night was a very good way to get robbed.

Then the upper part split and, aside from the quick hysterical horror that it was the jaws of a monster opening to eat him, he realised the person was not in fact a towering eight foot tall beast but a moderately sized Pooka.

“Ye got a Humidifier need fixin?” The alien asked. It was.. It was not a voice Jack would identify as Pookan.

“You’re late.” Jack straightened, hoping he hadn’t gawked. “I put in the request two months ago, Opening Day is tomorrow.”

“The unit ye got here is registered in D.C. ye wanna explain how it got to Pennsylvania?”

Jack’s irritation doubled and he swallowed the sarcastic insult because of fucking course the paperwork hadn’t been updated, why had he expected anything else from the Government. “Its a decommissioned unit.” He explained, with Pooka it was important to be to the point. They had, as he had quickly learned, no sense of humor. “I requested it as part of my retirement package when I left the DCC.” It had been the only thing he wanted, and he had still plucked his way through a tangled knitting basket’s worth of red tape to get it. Just because something was sitting in a junk storage somewhere didn’t mean the government was going to give it away. The Government’s livelihood depended on them being the only one to have something. Only the legal assurance that he wouldn’t be using it to form his own vigilante weather service made them let go.

“Come in.” He sighed and stepped back to let the alien through the doorway, closing and locking up behind them. “Its this way.” He led the Pooka through the departments, weaving past the displays and around the aisles. It was tantamount, he knew, that no customer be able to reach their goal immediately. There had to be some form of meandering, some light browsing, otherwise the store invited bankruptcy. Impulse buys lined every fixture, the cheapest of their items, anything under $20, and things he believed would catch the eye. As he walked he flipped through his mental plans for each aisle entrance fixture. He had a department for seasonal events of course, but it was important to put that holiday in the mind of the more focused shopper. Someone just coming in for a garden storm wouldn’t think of the approaching halloween, so one needed to have the fog charms out on full display.

“Quite the place ye got here.” The Pooka’s comment was unnerving. Jack had never met a Pooka who volunteered an opinion in anything but dry facts. His experience was that they prefered not to interact at all, and simply be left to their work. Jack had braced himself for being dismissed as a distraction as soon as they arrived to the unit.

“Its ah, its pretty great yeah. I’m happy with it.” He said, and ran a hand along a shelf full of sunshowers. They looked like fist sized golden marbles with a twist of blue at the center. The slide of his fingers across the display had them humming, the familiars within them singing like crystal at the presence of their creator.

“Quite the bunch of familiars ye got here, must’ve taken an army to make ‘em.”

“Hmm? No.” Jack informed as he opened the barricade that separated the aisles from the employee station within the department. “Its time consuming, but I make them myself.”

“Ye made all these?” The Pooka looked alarmed. “It must’ve taken ye YEARS.”

“Oh it did, two full years, but it was worth it.” Jack picked up one of the waiting crystals with his familiar inside, too parched to be anything but a little scout yet, but with the right amount of water it could become any storm he wished. Working with the DCC he had created an endless amount of them, sending them out into the world like sheepdogs to herd storms towards the assignment, after he had always simply let them free, he had never had the heart to cannibalize them as others had done, but over the years he had learned that he was the exception.

“T-TWO YEARS?” The Pooka sputtered, and that was a unique experience, watching a member of the unflappable Pookan race gape at him wordless. “How are ye not in a COMA?” he demanded.

“I’m a weather mage,” Jack explained, as he had done a thousand times before, “ but my talents are cold creation.”

“Ye can’t.. Ye can’t create cold.” The Pooka explained, like the frustrated teachers who had tried to guide him in the ways of magic after developing his talents so late in age.

“I can. The energy in the matter around me feeds my magic, instead of taking it from myself, and makes everything cold.” He had never taken it to an extreme, the world they lived in was teeming with ways for magic users to replenish themselves, so he had never proven if he could reach absolute zero, but he didn’t doubt he that could. “This is the unit, we rewired it and changed out the crystals, even replaced most of the outer panels, but it’s still not functioning.” Jack put his hand against the flat stone box, looking to the untrained eye like any other green granite counter.

Jack had paid his supplier North a fortune in high compression ice to get his hands on that much green granite. Witches loved nothing more than aesthetic.

The Pooka was studying him in a familiar way, Pooka were frequently giving him the side eye at the DCC as they went about with their many inventions, they were not permitted to interact with the local populace, and often didn’t care to, working only with the planet’s governing forces. Trading their magical technologies for resources only Earth could provide. They had always given Jack the creeps, with their rigid speech and severe faces, he had never been able to reconcile their personalities with their far too adorable appearance.

They also had an uncompromising dislike for the mentioning of their resemblance to Earth rabbits. Which Jack couldn’t make sense of.

If Jack had looked at all like something adorable on an alien planet he would milk it for all it was worth. That was grade A bartering material there. But he didn’t expect a race that sneered at all things emotive to understand the importance of such a bartering chip.

“Well, lets start her up and see what the problem is.” The Pooka said after moments of uncomfortable silence. He bent down on his haunches, his long legs perfectly made for squatting peeked out from under his green coat and Jack realized the alien probably wasn’t wearing any pants, at least not the loose floor length ones he associated with them.

The sight of the delicate black pattern against soft grey fur caught his eye. He had never seen a Pooka out of their strict military dress robes, but this one was in nothing but a long green trench coat, he knew from offhanded rumor that they had clan markings magically dyed into their fur, but had only seen what was prominently displayed on their foreheads.

The panels, easily six inches thick and a literal pain in Jack’s back to take apart slide aside easily under the Pooka’s hands, claws ticking musically against the granite. “Everything seems t’be working proper like, ye did a good job restoring it. What seems off?”

“Its not that it isn’t working as it should, its not working the way I want it to.” Jack explained, passing his familiar between his hands. “Its a life support system for familiars.”

“Yeah, in extreme circumstances. Its supposed ta collect the atoms and humidify the air even if there is little t’no water present. Not exactly life support though.”

“You’ve never been in a forest fire.” Jack countered. “Normally our familiars herd storm systems, or collect water vapors and create systems if there are none, the humidifier can take water fed into it and replenish a system, and as such any weather or other water based familiar. My problem is that it should be able to transfer that humidity to a dormant familiar, just as a water spirit can be sealed away in an item, but every time I try nothing happens. I can’t figure out what’s blocking the machine from storing the humidity.” Jack sighed and leaned over the top of the granite counter, rolling his familiar between his hands. “Its a pain to keep dunking them in the fountain to gather the water I need for the storms, and its costly. Water is not cheap, even for a weather witch. I can’t rely on the air around my customers’ location, many of them are buying storms because there IS none around them, and I can’t guarantee a familiar will herd for a customer without me there. Too far out and they tend to drift off by themselves.”

“Wait.” The Pooka held up a paw, and Jack was surprised to see the little pads of skin on the tips were black instead of pink like his nose. “Yer telling me that this machine, hand made by Pooka to create vapor into the AIR to create life supplying storms for undeveloped planets, and ye want t’use it like yer refilling water bottles?”

Jack had expected irritation from a Pooka, they were almost religiously strict about how their technologies were allowed to be used, and any kind of adaptation was considered an insult. This one though, seemed like he was trying to talk around a mouthful of laughter.

“I’d hardly call my familiars ‘water bottles’.” Jack said cooly, staring down his nose at the smirking alien. It was an act he could only do while the creature was hunched over, since he barely reached halfway past five foot himself.

“Ye want t’just lob those little crystal balls o’yers into this box and fill em up with water.” That was unmistakably a cackle. Was this Pooka mad? Had the DCC, in retaliation for his retirement, sent him the one malfunctioning Pooka in the whole damn galaxy?

“Is that a problem?” Jack asked, smiling with far too much teeth.

“Not one bit.” The Pooka said, and unbuttoned his coat to reveal nothing but a leather strap underneath. The sight of so much fur openly displayed on the normally prudish species had Jack jolting back embarrassed.

“W-what are y-” he stammered.

“M’gonna modify it some.” The Pooka explained, tugging his strap over his head and opening the pack. He began pulling out small items that Jack recognized as tools of their trade, it was the only thing aside from the ears that were comfortably familiar about this encounter.

They had sent him the crazy nudist of the species. He was going to absolutely ruin that department. He was going to make them so obsolete the Politicians would be clamoring to underfund them and absorb them back into the EPA. He was going to turn the whole damn planet into a paradise just to spite them.

“These older gen models were built t’be gifts.” The Pooka explained as he set to work taking the humidifier apart. “To keep them from being abused as a source of water for only those in power, or a weapon to storm out an enemy, they were outfitted with a few failsafes. One being that they can’t create water themselves, only add vapor into the air for natural storms to form.” he pulled out several of the crystals powering the object and set them aside, reaching in deeper to delicately wiggle out the panel holding the fist sized created lapis Jack had received as a gift from his mother for his thirtieth birthday. He held his breath around his objection, his mother had few years left, and it had taken her most of what she lived to buy that for him. Savings that she had scraped to send him to a technical trade school he would never see. “We just need to bypass those little restrictions.”

“And then I can use it on my familiars?”

“When I’m done with it, ye can use it for yer own personal lake.”

Jack made a pleased sound in his throat and leaned back, grinning. The Pooka’s ears swiveled in his direction, but he remained elbow deep in the device. “So,” Jack asked before the silence could extend farther, “I didn’t catch your name?”

The Pooka ears flicked in what Jack recognized as irritation, like he was being harassed by an ear obsessed fly. It was a reaction he often got when chatting with Pooka, and he signed, resigned to being dismissed after all.

“Bunnymund.” The alien mumbled. “E. Aster Bunnymund.”

Jack gawked. He couldn’t help it. Bunnymund. THE Bunnymund. The Pooka’s, Bunnymund’s, (BUNNYMUND’S oh gods he was going to have a panic attack) ears flinched like they wanted to lay flat but stayed erect through force of will. Jack realized he was probably making an absolute fool of himself as he stared but BUNNYMUND, the actual FOUNDER of the planet, the Pooka who had terraformed Earth and the closest thing they had to a living God was in his store TOUCHING HIS THINGS.

Oh gods he’d snapped at him. He’d actually told Bunnymund, creator of continents, that he was late. He was going to die of humiliation.

He wanted to apologize, he wanted to shower Bunnymund in gratitude for fixing the device HE INVENTED and bypassing what was probably his own failsafes so Jack could use it to- Oh god Bunnymund had called them waterbottles. He wanted to die. He was going to burn the store down and kill himself.

Instead he blurted out “Why are you naked?” in a voice that didn’t even crack.

Something that embarrassing should not have come that casually from his mouth.

Bunnymund’s ears perked up stiff in his direction. “Ah.. I run.”

“You… run?” that made … no sense.

“Underground mate, I have me tunnels. Gets me everywhere, but they’re a bit cramped, ye follow?”

“You run.” Jack repeated, his imagination conjuring the image of the Pooka running full tilt like a rabbit in a tunnel. He couldn’t help it, he laughed. It was long and gasping, and Bunnymund looked severely pissed off, he couldn’t stop. He’d try, but as soon as he saw the Pooka’s face he’d laugh again. “You.. on all fours.. and naked!”

“Oi!” Bunnymund stood up, insult in every tense quivering muscle and bristled tuft of fur, but Jack just slid down, back to the shelf of his familiars, and laughed until he couldn’t breath.

It had been a long day.

He fully expected Bunnymund to collect his things and storm off, leaving Jack with a half dismantled Humidifier, but the Pooka seemed to deflate as Jack calmed down.

“S’not that funny.” Bunnymund mumbled.

“Have you SEEN your species?” Jack choked out from behind he breathless grinning. His stomach had cramped again, but he wasn’t sick with nerves this time so he didn’t care. He did need to pee now though.

“Course I have.” Bunnymund said tersely. “Bunch of a-holes.”

Jack gaped at him all over again, then cackled.

“Don’t start that again.” Bunnymund warned.

“I can’t help it.” Jack grinned. “My hero is a crazy swearing Australian and fixing my box, naked. I’m having the BEST dream.”

“Ye have bizarre dreams there mate.”

“You’re in one.” Jack informed him. “What does that make you?”

“A crazy naked Australian?”

Jack laughed again. “okay, no more.” He begged. “I need to pee. I can’t laugh more.”

“Thanks for sharing.” Bunnymund crouched back and started work on the Humidifier again.

“You’re welcome.” He chirped.

Bunnymund grunted, but didn’t reply. Probably afraid Jack would go crazy with laughter again and piss himself.

Jack just sat cross-legged and watched. Bunnymund was much more animated than the Pooka he normally interacted with in the DCC, more interesting. His ears moved, instead of staying focused on his work Bunnymund seemed to be listening to his own thoughts, they displayed more emotion, frustration or interest as he attempted to recreate his invention, and they turned towards Jack often. He would frown, his whiskers vibrating, but his eyes stayed on his work.

Jack didn’t mind the silence, unlike the other Pooka Bunnymund didn’t creep him out at all, and he was very nice to look at. Like a very pretty rabbit, with all his fur on display and fluffed up from his previous agitation Jack had the very powerful urge to reach out and touch him.

But even with an eccentric Pooka, that was a good way to get your hand chomped off at the wrist.

He signed, it would be nice though.

Bunnymund’s ears turned towards him and he held out a paw, surprising Jack. Fuck, had he spoken out loud? Did Bunnymund… was he going to let him touch him?

“Ball.” he demanded.

“What?” Jack flinched at the green glare that earned him, but clued in. “Oh, here,” he passed Bunnymund the familiar still in his hands.

Bunnymund set the granite panels back into place and stood, slapping one of the premade plastic sheets Jack had next to the device onto the counter he placed the crystal in the center of the inked design and began to mutter the humidifier’s incantation.

There was no glow, no noise or surge of magic. The air simply got heavier with moisture, like breathing too long in a confined space. Then Jack’s familiar began to hum, and in a snap, like a crack of electricity, the moisture was gone and in the center of the crystal was a thick twisting band of blue.

“Ha! Nice!” Jack scooped it up and surveyed the globe, searching out his weather spirit for any signs of discomfort. It seemed happy, less thirsty, and eager to get out and play. His familiars were always very friendly.

“Wow, this is awesome. I can’t believe it worked. Which spell did you use?” Jack leaned over to study the template. Whistling when he recognized the fire suppressant spell he had crafted for drought seasons. “That’s a powerful spell, a good strong soaker storm,” and not a template he intended for general sale. Custom order only. Too bad, he disliked when a powerful spirit had to sit for too long, they got irritable. But a forest wasn’t likely to complain about a thunderstorm. “You okay?”

“S’fine.” Bunnymund’s eyes slid sideways, not meeting his gaze. The spell wasn’t as exhausting without creating the familiar, but it still took a good chunk of power, and Jack doubted Bunnymund could grab it from the air the way he did. “No worries mate, its not my first time.”

“Okay.” Jack let it go, magic users tended to get irritable if you babied them, especially if you did something that would knock them on their ass and looked fresh as a daisy the way Jack always did. Egos were abundant among the gifted, so he didn’t push.

“I’ll buy it.” Bunnymund declared, and Jack looked back at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Its for sale right?” Bunnymund demanded, and why did he look so pissed off? Didn’t it work? Wasn’t this a success? “I’ll buy it.”

“Um.. yeah but.. are you sure? It’s a pretty big storm. Not criticising, I should have had that template stored, but do you have the room for it?”

“I live in Australia mate. Got a whole continent.”

Jack held the crystal closer. “You’re sure?”

“Is it for sale or not? Blimey.” the Pooka snapped, and Jack had a good view of teeth.

“Y-yes.” He looked between Bunnymund and the familiar, trying to decode the suddenly tense situation. “Here, this way.”

Jack led the way back towards the registers, mind retracing the last few minutes. He knew he’d probably irritated the Pooka when he laughed, but the guy had settled down and got back to work after. Why, if he was so pissed off, did he want to buy a storm? Did he want to smash it in the store and cause chaos? Surely someone as old and powerful as Bunnymund knew Jack’s familiar wouldn’t act out while Jack was there to command it. So.. why?

Jack waved a hand over the register, his sapphire ring activating the device without prompting.

“If ye have them set for runes, why the key cards?” Bunnymund asked, indicating to the employee cardswipe.

“I have ungifted employees.” Jack explained as he calculated the price based on his estimate of the square footage it would cover. “I don’t discriminate based on talents.”

“Progressive of ya.”

“Not really. My family is ungifted, I’m an anomaly.”

“That why ye let yer hair go white?”

Jack paused in wrapping and tugged on the hair at his ear self-consciously. It had silvered in his late forties and he had, like others, dyed it to maintain the image of eternal youth. But after leaving the DCC he hadn’t really bothered. Why should he, when his mom and baby sister were struggling with their mortality and he hadn’t changed a day beyond his awakening.

His cells, taking energy from the world around him, simply did not age.

“Yes.” He answered simply and changed the subject. “This large a storm will be $350, American.”

Bunnymund tugged a wallet out from the pocket of the coat slung over his arm and handed Jack a credit card. Normally Pooka paid in gold or silver, but what about Bunnymund had been normal anyway?

Jack handed the Pooka his card back as well as the glossy blue paper bag with his familiar, Bunnymund’s familiar now. “Thanks for fixing my box.” Jack tried to salvage at least some part of the conversation. “You’ll get most of your money back when you bill me.”

“No charge mate. Its in my contract.” Bunnymund gruffed.

Jack was left pondering that as he unlocked the cage, and then the glass doors to let the Pooka go. “Well, thank you, regardless. I probably shouldn’t have charged you for the storm then.”

“She’s aces.” Bunnymund walked past him.

Well, if that’s how it was, then that’s how it was. It wasn’t to first brush off from a Pooka he’d gotten. But…

“Actually, there is somethin.”

“Yes?” Jack looked up eagerly. In the beat of a heart Bunnymund had a fistfull of Jack’s shirt and Jack had a face full of… face.

He blinked rapidly, mind trying to process the sudden position he was in. Bunnymund was.. They were. Were they kissing? They were. They were absolutely kissing.

Bunnymund pulled back and grinned wickedly at him. “Revenge,” he explained, “for laughing at me.”

“Oh.” Jack said stupidly brain numb.

“Sweet dreams mate.” With a tap of his foot he disappeared down a hole in the ground and Jack was left staring blankly at the the the…the WEED growing out of his freshly laid concrete.

He reached up to touch his lips, but missed and ended up brushing his cheek instead. It didn’t matter, an entire side of his face tingled from the kiss, the fur against his nose and cheek, the way every time he blinked his eyelash had brushed against Bunnymund’s face, the feel of.. Of of of.. the feel of..

Jack closed the door mechanically, shutting the cage and locking it and turning off the lights. Mind still… minding…. with thoughts and junk.

Then he was struggling to get it all open again because if he left the flower there it was sure to get trampled by his employees on their way to work.