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wordynerdygurl · 4 years

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Seven Minutes in Heaven

Author’s Note: Well hello my friends! Since hitting 1000 Followers in July (WHAT?! STILL UNBELIEVABLE!!!) I’ve been working on the requests sent in by my amazing troop of readers! This is another one of those stories which I’m pleased to share. As always, help my unending need for validation but re-blogging or liking the story! Also, you can send asks, make your own request, follow me, or be added to my tag-list! Last, @sammy-jo1977 is my beta... and my ride or die home girl! Thanks lady! Pairing: Loki x Female Reader, appearances from most of the Avengers

Summary/ Request: @queenofmischief asked for a story where “Loki and you guys are friends growing up and you realize you like him and try to hide it but somehow at a party or something or another, maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven is involved, it comes out and really hot smut ensues?”

I used some of the ideas you gave me, dear reader, but made it a little more mature, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Lots of 80′s references... music, movies, clothes, etc. References of smut, heavy petting and kissing

ENJOY!

"But, like, I really don't want to go." Your cellphone, pinned between your ear and shoulder, pushed your earring into the tender flesh behind your lobe. It probably didn't help that the jewelry in question was a pair of huge hoops, fluorescent in color and hard plastic.

You heard Wanda sigh, "Yea… I know. It's just, we all are… and you know it'll be worse if you don't show up."

"I really hate it." Using a sing-song voice didn't change the feelings behind your words. Going up to the main floor of The Avengers Tower for a theme party was not a thrilling idea.

"I know you do-", pulling open the door between your room and hers, you palmed your phone, frowning at your friend, "-But you look great!"

"Radical… or wicked… or tubular would be more 80's appropriate." Still, her compliment made you smile. It really was a great outfit, totally encapsulating the MTV generation's vibe, complete with hot lime colored leg warmers.

Your cropped REO Speedwagon t-shirt was cut off at the neck, dripping low enough to expose one whole shoulder, and a wide stripe of the magenta colored tank top underneath. Having tucked the camisole into your acid washed denim micro miniskirt, you finished the ensemble with a pair of black pumps, and the obligatory scrunchie of cheap yellow satin. It pulled your hair into a low, side ponytail.

For makeup you'd painted your eye-shadow on, bright turquoise with pink under your brows. Lipstick in a shimmery rosy hue brought extra attention to your lips. And you stored your cell phone, lip gloss and keys in your iridescent fanny pack.

Wanda couldn't help giggling at the sight of you and your collection of clashing colors. For her look tonight she'd dawned a pair of skin tight leggings, an over-sized button down shirt with a stretchy black belt that was about four inches wide. Ballet flats, teased out hair and stark makeup had Wanda looking like a video vixen. It was impressive.

"See, you went sexy… and I went silly." Pouting now, you flopped onto your bed, "Can I just not?"

Sitting down next to you, patting your knee, "You don’t look silly, but you do look like you could be a hair band groupie! That’s sexy!” Shrugging your shoulders, unconvinced, Wanda added, “Besides, tonight… It may be fun. And, worse case? You get blitzed like a teenager on prom night."

"No… that's not the worst case. Worst case? He's there."

Sighing, Wanda shook her head, "He does still rub you the wrong way, huh? And, yes, he may be there… but-" standing, taking you with her, "-it would be a shame to waste all your wicked cool work!"

Hearing her use the dated vernacular made you grin. She was right. Tonight could be a blast, if you were able to get out of your head. Jumping off the bed, unsettling one of those fashionable leg warmers, you hugged your friend tightly. You could do this. You wouldn't be alone. And if Loki was there, he'd just have to get over it. You weren't going to pay him any attention.

---

"Mr. Loki… can we please go? We're already stupid late."

Bending to straighten his red suspenders, Loki smirked at himself, "Greed is good."

Sighing, exasperated and edging into anger, Peter pulled open the front door, "I don't know what that means, but you look… greasy."

"Like I could steal your company in a corporate take over? Maybe steal your woman too", Loki questioned, excited at the idea.

Crossing his arms over the red puffy vest he had bought specifically for tonight, Peter grunted, "Uh… I… I guess. I meant more like one of the assholes in Wolf of Wall Street."

God, you had better be there tonight. Loki was putting a lot of hope on Stark’s little shindig and he wanted to make sure that all of the little details were absolutely perfect, giving him every advantage. Standing now, slicking back his long dark hair, "That, my young spider friend, is exactly what I am going for… Evil 80′s CEO."

"Great."

Loki heard the frustration in the young man’s voice. Someday he would understand, Loki thought, turning to the youthful Avenger beside him, "You certainly make a dashing Marty McFly, Peter. Truly."

"Aw! Really, Mr. Loki? Ya mean it?" That made the Spider Boy preen, popping his collar, and standing a little straighter.

"I do! Now-" flashing a rakish smile to his reflection as he passed, "-let's get upstairs and see how everyone else is doing!"

---

Everyone else was ready to party. The last mission, a particularly difficult one, involved Hydra agents banging it out against our heroes along the rough terrain of the polar ice cap. Draining the physical and emotional resources of everyone, including you and Loki, Tony had planned a little party to kick off a period of rest and relaxation.

As soon as the elevator opened you knew it was going to be an insane night. Everything was brightly lit. Paper streamers were strung up haphazardly along the walls and ceiling. Big plastic buckets of chips and cheese curls were put out on the counter along with a huge punch bowl that reeked of rum and sugary fruit juice. On the floor in the kitchenette was a garbage can, freezing, full of ice, only the keg tap visible. A stack of red plastic cups was at the ready.

Someone had ordered pizza. Well, dozens of pizzas. The boxes were piled along the table already crammed with pretzel bags and Doritos.

Steve was being instructed on the basics of Beer Pong and, you decided, definitely being hustled by Sam. Bucky looked on with curiosity, quietly sneaking closer to the chips and dip, hoping no one would notice. Rhodey was watching them both through the reflective lenses of his aviator shades, doing a great job of looking like a Top Gun cadet, including the tight jeans and broken-in bomber jacket. Grinning as he drank down a bottle of beer, Rhodes shouted, "Hey Stank! Is all of this really necessary?"

"Don't come for me Rhodey!" Wearing a pair of neon leopard spotted knit pants, a green polo shirt and white sneakers, Tony was clutching a glass bowl filled with little slips of paper to his chest. No one had managed to figure out what they were or why he held them. Drinking two beers from his plastic, can holding helmet, Tony would answer only with a slightly slurred, "It's my trashy 80′s party and I do what I want!"

And Tony had thought of everything. Sounding like a mixed tape pulled from the radio, the tunes didn't let up! Ratt, Foreigner, Cindi Lauper, Madonna and Tom Petty all took turns blasting through the room. So many hits from the past pumped through the sound system, getting people on their feet and keeping them there. You were swinging and swaying along, having a blast, but when Bon Jovi hit the group of Intergalactic Warriors went wild.

Clint, rocking a mullet wig and a vest with no shirt, jumped onto a table making the motions of an air guitar champion. Singing into a beer bottle like it was his microphone, "Whoooooaaaa we're halfway there…"

Guffawing, you hid behind your Bud Light filled cup, already red cheeked from the non-stop laughing and alcohol in your system. At some point you had given up Wanda to Vision in a varsity jacket, doing his best jerk-off jock impression, and not quite pulling it off. It wasn't his fault that he was too polite to put people down in the way of Eighties movie bad guys. Alone, feeling flushed, but happy, you needed a break and some quiet. Flinging yourself onto the soft sofa, watching the frat house style antics unfold all around, you couldn’t help laughing. Tony always found a way to knock the group out of their post mission funk. Sometimes that meant week long Caribbean vacations and sometimes that meant dressing up in retro attire and scream singing with a cold beer in your hands. Either way, it seemed to bring everyone closer together, and the pictures were certainly worth framing. The couch dipped as someone joined you. Swiveling, not quite drunk but not quite sober, you couldn’t help the groan that left you. “Oh. It’s you.”

Not exactly the response Loki wanted, he was just grateful that you spoke to him at all. Lately you seemed to flee any room he entered, a hurt and heavy sigh escaping you before you'd make your exit, never looking back. Loki couldn't understand why.

After all, it had been two months since that night. The one where he'd stumbled on you, glowing blue in the light of the television set, alone and in the darkness. You asked him to join you, he had accepted.

The movie was called "Say Anything" and Loki had to admit, as far as romance on film went, this story was very moving. But that was an unexpected bonus to being so near to you. Before the credits rolled, you had burrowed against him, snuggled under his arm with your head on his chest.

Stroking your hair, Loki pressed a kiss to your forehead, thoughtlessly, naturally. Pushing away, looking up at him through hooded lashes, "You… you kissed me?"

Words failed the silver tongued devil, something he still pondered all these weeks later, so a nod was all you got for a response. Kneeling, your sleep shirt riding over your thighs, Loki watched your small hand rising to cup his cheek. Feeling your lips against his own was the beginning of the best night of his life.

And then, nothing. It was like a switch had been thrown and no matter how many ways he tried to reach out for you, Loki wasn't able to connect. Not like that night.

So, he was going against his nature tonight. Joining the group, drinking a bit of his brother's mead, wearing a dated but pristine business suit. All done in the vain hope that something would shift in his favor.

He had already lost too many nights to memories of you. Soft, full skin under his broad palms. The tiny moan you exhaled when Loki’s tongue met your own. How your wet, willing body accepted him, without question or stipulation. And in the afterglow, when your head rested in the crook of his neck and your cherry cola scented breath circled him, you let Loki hold you close.

But he buried it all. Tonight he was the embodiment of all things slick. Nothing could stick to him; not when he had a goal in mind and this much gel in his hair. Loki Odinson would be taking you home tonight, come hell or high water. Wolfish, Loki’s grin was wicked, “Yes. Your dream has come true.” Sitting back, he crossed his designer suit covered knee at the ankle, exposing socks with little golfers on them. He let his right arm rest along the back of the sofa, not around you… not yet, but inching closer. “What is that cologne you’re wearing?” “Don’t you like it? I’m told Drakkar Noir was quite the scent of the 80′s. I did my research.” Twisting, you looked him over, impressed despite yourself. The suit was totally of its time. Black, pinstriped and you were sure the jacket that came with it was draped somewhere safe. His shirt was shiny but soft and bright, blinding white. Suspenders of red matched the tie that draped down the center of his chest. With his hair combed straight back and held in place with some kind of product, Loki looked like he was capable of eating a six course lunch at Sardi’s, complete with dirty martinis, then jetting back to the office in time to defraud a corporate spending account. The kind of executive that blackmails a co-worker with pictures of a mistress. The kind of douche bag that tries to take over a rec center to build a mall. In short, an avarice little asshole. So, why was it so hot? “It’s… overpowering.”, boy, was that an understatement. Loki’s whole aesthetic was overpowering right now. And, was he moving closer? His bent knee brushed against your own as he leaned near enough to be heard at a whisper, “You look adorable, you know that?” Scrunching into the corner of the couch, eyeing him suspiciously, “Oh? Really?” “Really.”, his hand brushed over your exposed shoulder, making you jump at his touch.

Uh uh. No way. You would not be so easy to seduce this time around. Even if those wide hands sent goosebumps growing all over your body, Loki would not charm his way into your panties again. Not like last time.

It had been spontaneous. Genuine, at least for you. And in the moment, it felt like Loki had given you a little piece of himself, a tenderness that no one else ever saw in the far flung Frost Giant.

Maybe that's why Clint's words hurt so much. He had told you so casually, holding up a spoonful of Cheerios, "Loki said his last girl was a drag. Basic bitch? Is that what the kids say?"

Thinking about it now made your heart hurt. You had given yourself to someone who thought you were beneath him. Loki couldn't want you. You would never be good enough.

But that night haunted you. His soulful kisses that stole your breath. The drag of Loki’s hands over the swell of your bottom as you straddled his hips. His solid chest under your own hands, dark head curved against the couch cushion, but those burning eyes never leaving your face. “I thought you said I was plain. Simple. Boring.”

Leveling his own words back at him made Loki straighten in his seat. How could you think that? Unbalanced, stammering, “Uh… I… I’d never…” “Never expected me to find out? I believe that. And, let me tell you this-” Pushing yourself up with the help of the couch’s arm, you rose on unsteady legs, “-I’m not nearly drunk enough to fall into your arms again.” Spinning away, you made a dash towards the people in the kitchen, without looking back. Watching you go, Loki could do nothing but stare after your retreating form, flummoxed.

“That was… painful.”

He knew that voice well enough, frustrated, confused and unfit for company, “Go away, Tony.”

“I don’t think I will. In fact-” sitting down in your empty spot, patting Loki’s knee, “-I’m going to make myself comfortable. Now, tell Uncle Tony all about it.”

Rolling his eyes, unable to find you in the crowd, Loki risked a sideways glance at his replacement companion. Was he really going to indulge in this? Tell his almost friend about you… about your one night together? Loki raked his hands through the pomade in his hair, growling low, “If you breathe a word of it Tony, I’ll-” Lowering his wrap around sunglasses, peering at Loki, Tony smiled, “Your secret is safe with me.” ---

Thinking less and less about Loki as the night went on should have been a relief but it seemed like the scent of him followed you everywhere. Unable to get free of him, you busied yourself with drinks, dancing, and munching like you were a kid again. Anything to keep your mind from wandering.

It's not like the party was boring. Not at all! There was plenty to distract you and you let it. Natasha made you her partner for beer pong and somehow you successfully won against Rhodey and Sam.

Next, Wanda needed you, which is how you wound up sitting on the bathroom sink listening to her go on about Vision in that wistful, loving way that made your own heart ache. Being a little drunk, you had to fight the urge to cry because you were lonely and hurting. “I saw you talking to Loki… what was that about?” She was reapplying ruby red lipstick, studying herself in the mirror, not looking directly at you.

Wanda's voice cut through your self doubt spiral though, something you were thankful for, and with a casual tone you countered, “He was trying to get something started, I think.” Eyebrows lifting, Wanda’s interested piqued, “Really? Loki was hitting on you?” “Yea… I mean, I think so. Was coming on awfully strong too. But… he’s been a jerk, right?”

Wanda cleaned up her eye make-up taking a minute, after washing her hands she looked at you, “I mean, he is here.” “So?” “So, you know he’s not really a joiner. More of a lone wolf. In fact, I think this may be the first of these little parties he’s come to. Maybe he’s changed… grown a bit? And, honestly, you never asked him about-”

Hopping off the counter, cutting her off, more than a little huffy at her good sense, “No, I didn’t and I don’t plan to. Loki thinks I’m a bore? Too basic for him? Fine. I have better things to do with my time.” Laying her hand on your shoulder, Wanda stopped you, eyeing you in the mirror once more, “I know his words hurt… but you’re going to have to clear the air eventually. Especially if we’re all going to work together.”

Shrugging, you offered your friend a small smile. There was truth in her sentiment, even if your slightly drunken brain rebelled against hearing it, “Yea, you're right… plus-” looking around the small washroom, just to make sure no one could hear the pair of you, “- he looks really hot tonight!”

Giggling, Wanda hugged you close, “I didn’t want to say anything, but… yea he does!” The pair of you were still laughing together, standing at the back of the crowd as Tony turned down the music, announcing, “Gather round children, Uncle Tony needs your attention!” There were a few groans, mostly from the beer pong table, as apparently Bucky was unhappy about forfeiting his winning match. Everyone else, in all their high haired glory, were congregating near their host, curious and more than a little drunk.

“Tony, what the hell, man? You killed the tunes!”, Clint shouted, spilling Bud Light foam as he joined the tightening circle. “Patience, my drunk friend. You all remember this?” From the table nearby, Tony picked up his glass bowl, triumphant, “Our Destiny!”

Pepper, sighing with a smile, “So dramatic!” Shaking the bowl in her direction Tony smirked, “Ok smarty, then you pick first. Go on… Pick!” There were oohs and ahhs from the assembled Avengers. Rolling her eyes, Pepper reached in, grabbing the first slip her fingers found. Pulling it free, she grinned, eyeing Tony, “It says ‘Loki’...” Hearing his name, Loki snapped his head up, surprise registering on his face, “Excuse me?” Holding it up for his examination, Pepper waved the slip under the regal nose of the junior Odinson, “See… your name.” “Yes, but why?”

Butting in, Tony snatched the scrap from the hand of his lovely fiance, practically dancing with glee. Turning to Loki, “Now you, Gordon Gecko, pull a slip.” Aware of all eyes locked on him, Loki reached into the jar, digging around a little more than necessary. Finally satisfied, the thin paper pinched between his fingers, Loki opened the folded note. When his fierce gaze met yours, you knew without a doubt. It was your name he had grabbed. Throwing a thick arm across Loki’s broad shoulders, Tony hugged him close, “Well? What’s it say?” It all made sense in that moment. The tacky costumes, flat beer and endless music. A drunken moment of clarity had descended. Tony, waving his arms, eating up the crowd’s reactions, heads turning to gauge your response. Swallowing hard, your hearing failing you, you just faked a smile. You and Loki were going into the closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. Only there was no way you were going to do that. Not after what he’d said. Not after your one night together, right? But you felt a gentle hand pushing your forward, into the center of your circle of friends and for some reason, your feet followed.

Refusing didn't enter your mind. With everyone ogling you and Loki, making a scene would only cause more speculation, something you weren't keen to do. Instead, you stepped next to Tony, outwardly eager to play along.

You just shouldn't have dared to look at your proposed make out partner. Laser focused, Loki’s lusty look hadn’t wavered. No, the light in those thundering blue eyes was carnal, darker than you had ever seen, matching your own. Against your better judgement, you wanted Loki, too.

Whatever Tony was saying was a blur, merely sounds, because you were utterly stunned by the nearness of Loki. The roaring laughs of the rest of the group were drowned out by your pounding heart. A door opened to a dim room, the pantry maybe? You didn’t know and in that moment you didn’t really care.

With a small smile, Loki ducked into the cupboard, lacing his fingers with yours, offering a bit of his strength. Dragging you inside, your body pinned between a shelf of snacks and the hard body of your frenemy, a whimper of want passed your lips. Loki still smelled so good and now he was so close. “Have fun you two!”, Tony’s words were accompanied by the door shutting you and Loki inside, in the dark. Surrounded by silence, Loki’s sharp pants were the only sound louder than your racing pulse, which was saying something. Afraid to move, afraid of spooking you, Loki struggled to search your stare in the low light. He had already experienced your angry dismissal of his attention tonight. It wasn't something he wanted to relive, not when you were so close with sweet and speedy breath, your chest brushing against his own at each exhale.

Lifting a hand, grazing over your uncovered shoulder, Loki's touch was electric. You moved towards it, towards him, needing more of his energy. Craving it.

Bold in the dark, you grabbed at Loki’s suspenders, tugging him closer. Rising on your toes, covering some of the distance between your mouth and his, you pressed a hot kiss to those soft, pink lips. Under your fluttering fingers Loki shivered, "Darling-"

"Shut up. I… I don't care."

"But I never…"

"I told you. I don't care. Now kiss me like you mean it, because we only have about six more minutes!"

Not needing any more encouragement, Loki found the flare of your hips in the shadows, molding your curves to the rigid planes of his body. Desperate, needy, you felt his tongue move against your own. Want, plain and simple, led your own fingers to the collar of Loki’s starched shirt and the tangle of his raven hair. Fisting it, tugging against those luscious locks, you couldn’t seem to get close enough to the tall God sharing your cupboard. Whining, his name on your lips, you drew Loki tight enough that the press of your breasts was edging towards pain. Demanding, true to your word, with every pass of Loki’s magical mouth over your own the last few weeks were forgotten. Hungry for more, Loki roughly squeezed the flesh of your ass, grinding you against his wool blend covered crotch. Stuttering, his arousal was so stiff, for a minute Loki worried about making a mess. But that feeling was replaced with unbridled ecstasy when your lips found the tender skin below his ear.

A nip, enough to make Loki hiss, was soon soothed by your sucking on the same spot. Resting your butt on the nearest shelf, you didn’t have to stand on tip-toe to reach the soft, sweet sections of Loki where you longed to lavish attention. He took advantage of your new position by sliding a free hand along the swell of your separated thighs. “I just need to feel you, dove. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.” It was a husky whisper, directly into your ear, and it sent an arc of icy fire to your core. When his long fingers skimmed over the silky slick of your panties you moaned in unison, bucking into Loki’s touch, lost in the moment. Stepping between your legs, Loki took one of your hands into each of his own, pinning you wide open against the boxes of cereal and granola bars that lined the pantry walls. Devouring you slowly, Loki kissed along the column of muscles at your throat, across the exposed line of your clavicle. You could do little more than take his delicious torment as more and more of your sweat dappled skin was serviced by his silver tongue. “Yes… Loki…”, tumbling out of you, just like the night when you first came together, you crooned his name in delight. Breathless, boneless and broken with need. CLICK! The sound made you both freeze. Snapping swiftly, Loki’s head swung towards the door where the bright light and noisy crowd of the party was intruding into your private pantry. “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! What do we have here?” Swinging into the tight space, Tony’s shrewd look took in the scene in seconds, “What were you two doing in here? It was a very quiet seven minutes!” Straightening to standing, Loki stood, blocking you from sight as you readjusted your clothes. Smoothing down his tangled strands, sarcasm dripping, “Talking. Very quietly.” When he was sure you were decent, Loki offered you his hand, and blinking you stepped back into the wild and raucous party still in full swing. Tony, flashing a knowing grin your way, nodded, “I hope you didn’t smush the chips! We still need those!” Giggling, you locked onto Loki’s arm, letting him lead you towards the keg and away from the shouted questions of your friends. You knew there was no mystery about what happened in those seven minutes. Hair mused, makeup smudged, lips swollen and shirts twisted, the pair of you were walking neon signs for getting to third base.

Silently Loki poured you a beer, taking a small glass of Asgardian mead for himself, before raising his glass your way. Returning his gesture, you downed the frothy ale fast, feeling a little parched after your spit swapping time in the hall closet. Boring into you, his eyes followed each of your movements, searching for a sign of your feelings. Dropping your empty cup on the counter, you turned and jumped onto the marble ledge, feet dangling. “Loki?” Placing his own glass down gently, Loki took his position between your bent knees, looking down at your darling face, “Yes?” “Did you say those things? That I was… boring? Basic?” Shaking his dark waves no, Loki bit into his bottom lip, “Never. What I said was, my last girl, ages ago, was those things… but my new lady-” tracing along your jaw, tipping your chin his way, “-she is everything I could ever want.”

“Am I… am I your new lady, then?” With a fierce flicker of fire in his eyes, Loki nodded yes this time, “Absolutely.” Leaning into him, arms around his neck, you tugged him down to meet your waiting lips. “Good. Good to know. Because I think I’m going to watch a movie tonight.” “Really? I recall really enjoying the last one.” “Hmm… me too.” Sliding off the counter, ducking under Loki’s long arms, you turned back to face him, “My room… say, an hour?”

Snapping his suspenders, smirking, “I’ll be there.” Watching you skip away made Loki’s pulse pound in anticipation. Pouring himself another glass of clear liquor, he chuckled, amazed at the change seven minutes had created.

“You’re welcome.” “Ah! Yes, many thanks Tony.”

Leaning against the counter, Tony knocked into Loki’s shoulder, “You’re cute together, Rock of Ages, but don’t make me regret helping you tonight! Treat her right.”

“Of course. I... truly, thank you.”, sincerity seeped from Loki at the favor from Tony. “No worries! No worries!” Waving away any additional gratitude, Tony looked over the group of half cocked, and totally cocked heroes before him, “Of course the real bitch was getting Pepper to pull your name from the bowl…”

My Marvelous Minxes tag-list: @queenofmischief @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @sammy-jo1977 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @is-it-madness @jenjen8675309 @alexakeyloveloki @poetic-fiasco

#loki x reader #loki x you #hot loki #loki smut #loki love #1000followers #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #80's #80's loki #80's mcu

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seattlesea · 3 years

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Percy Jackson Characters + Styles of Dress

Percy- Alternative + Skater He looks like a skater boy and dresses like one, too. He wears a lot of Thrasher shirts, checkered Vans, chains, beanies, ripped jeans, long socks, light studs, baggy shirts, jeans that are usually black or dark blue, and jackets that are usually leather or denim. His main colors are black and blue accented with gray and white. He accessories perfectly and lightly and always has that one thing that tips his outfit off a bit but otherwise he dresses pretty well and only dresses for himself (and almost never combs his hair). He has a lot of pins and sewed stickers on his jackets and usually has his skateboard with a bunch of spray-painted designs on the back with him. He sometimes wears ripped tank tops and/or jeans and flannel shirts and his favorite article of clothing is a black beanie Grover bought him.

Annabeth- Nerdy Academia + Comfy Half the time she wears skinny jeans, cardigans, scarves, long-sleeved shirts, button-up shirts, baggy pants, and the occasional skirt and the other half of the time she wears oversized hoodies, sweatpants, sweaters, and baggy shirts. She owns a hundred different belts, mostly wears short boots, and likes to accessorize with small gold jewelry and always has some sort of brown purse with her to hold her books and blueprints. She usually looks like the human personification of the coffee shop aesthetic and her main colors are brown, white, and cream with dark yellow and black accents. Her favorite article of clothing is a dark orange dress shirt that goes with anything.

Jason- Prep + Plain He wears the epitome of the Dad™ outfits- polo shirts, jeans, t-shirts, belts, sneakers, khakis, knee-shorts, sandals, and striped or button-up shirts. He sometimes wears suspenders and looks super nerdy in them but otherwise has a very plain and simple style. He likes to look presentable but doesn’t care that much about fashion. He’ll wear the occasional denim jacket, hoodie, and combat boots and the only accessory he has ever worn was a watch until Reyna bought him a gold chain necklace he always wears but tucks into all his shirts. His main colors are white, purple, and blue with light gray accents. His favorite article of clothing is a white polo shirt from his favorite shop at New Rome.

Piper- Casual + Simple She wears basic, everyday clothes most people own like sweaters, denim and snowboarding jackets, sneakers, hiking boots, t-shirts, tank tops, shorts, and skinny jeans (ripped and not). She likes to keep it plain and simple- just like Jason- and rarely accessories, usually just going for whatever’s comfiest. She doesn’t really care about fashion but will occasionally wear a cardigan, small accessory like a bracelet or necklace, or hoodie that most likely belongs to Jason. Her main colors are green and blue with orange and white accents. Her favorite article of clothing is the white snowboarding jacket her mom returned to her after claiming her at Camp Half-Blood.

Frank- Cozy + Athletic He loves comfy, warm clothes. His wardrobe mostly consists of large hoodies, sweats, cuffed jeans, baggy t-shirts, zip-up sweaters, and sneakers but also often wears athletic clothes like Nike tank tops, workout shorts, gym shoes, and athletic tops. Other than that he wears the typical Camp Jupiter outfit and his main colors are blue, purple, and white with accents of red and brown. He also likes wearing clothes with Canadian-flag prints on them. His favorite article of clothing is a large, dark gray Adidas hoodie that mysteriously goes missing every few days (ahemHazelahem).

Hazel- Old-Fashioned + Cottagecore Her style is the cutest. Sometimes she wears vintage clothing from the early 1900′s as that’s what she’s most used to, so she sometimes wears cute vintage dresses, gloves, and pearl jewelry, but she mostly wears flowy dresses, riding boots, skirts, comfy shirts, jeans, baggy sweaters, and overalls and overall shorts and usually accessories with her own jewelry, cute pins, and flowers, especially flower crowns (courtesy of her step-mother Proserpina). She loves floral-print, often steals hoodies and t-shirts five times too big for her from Frank, likes wearing sparkly makeup (usually in gold), and her main colors are white, cream, and light brown with pink and light green accents. Her favorite article of clothing is a pearl necklace similar to one her mother used to wear.

Leo- Work + Eccentric He has two very different styles. He usually wears clothes that are best suited for his work like plain tops, cargo pants to carry all his tools, army jackets, tool belts, khakis, jeans, and Timberland boots, but whenever he’s out in the mortal world or not working, his style completely changes. He wears bright, flashy colors that don’t go together, random prints (especially floral and cheetah-print), and accessories with different jewelry, mostly bracelets. He owns a lot of silly and graphic tees and has a bunch of fandom merch. His colors for his work clothes are brown, white, and green and his colors for his everyday clothes are every color imaginable. His favorite article of clothing is a yellow t-shirt with a Pikachu face on it, which he bought cause he always used to watch Pokémon with his mom.

Reyna- Androgynous/Butch/Tomboyish + Low-Key Punk Her style screams badass. She wears a bunch of unisex and tomboy clothes like button-up jean shirts, baggy and button-up shirts in general, flannel shirts, jeans, sneakers, beanies, hoodies, and sometimes polo shirts and suspenders but also wears punk-ish clothes like denim or leather jackets, studs, fingerless leather gloves, ripped jeans, combat boots, and punk accessories (courtesy of Thalia), and she looks awesome in a suit. Sometimes she wears binds and mostly accessories with pins and earrings but is comfortable with any style of clothing and it honestly ranges day-to-day, and sometimes when she’s feeling nostalgic she’ll do her hair and makeup really well like she used to at Circe’s Island. She cares about her appearance and every outfit is always on-point and perfect, even if she didn’t try that hard and some colors don’t match with the others. Her main colors are purple, brown, and gold with white, red, and black accents. Her favorite article of clothing is a button-up jean shirt she bought while out with Nico.

Nico- Emo/Grunge + Girly His style is unique, but not as eccentric as Leo’s. A lot of the time he wears the basic black skull t-shirt, black leather or aviator jacket, black jeans, chains, combat boots, and light accessories with a few studs, but he mixes it up quite often. He also frequently wears grunge-like clothes like faded clothes, floral-print, plaid shirts, baggy sweaters, cardigans, beanies, distressed jeans, denim jackets, and parkas, but- with the help from his Big Sister™ Reyna and feminine queen Drew Tanaka- he experiments with transvestism and loves wearing crop-tops, skirts, flowy dresses, cute tops, and light makeup, usually eyeliner and blush. His colors range from main black with gray and white accents to main brown, blue, and black with green and silver accents to main pink and black with white and light brown accents. He also loves stealing clothes from Reyna cause they’re so big and comfy. He has two favorite articles of clothing- the silver skull ring from Bianca and a black denim jacket with a white skull stitch on the right lapel from Reyna.

Thalia- Punk + Goth She wears mostly punk clothes- ripped-up jackets, studs, chains, band pins, ripped jeans, leather jackets, chain jewelry, and graphic or band tees- but sometimes will go full goth when she feels like it and will wear all-black outfits, black combat boots with a bunch of belts on them, heavy jewelry, studs, and baggy or lacy clothes. She’ll usually just wear black eyeliner but will go all-out with awesome black eyeshadow, black lipstick, and small black designs near her eyelids (courtesy of makeup-professional Reyna). She also wears gold and silver accessories and owns a bunch of lightning-bolt clothes (courtesy of her frenemy Percy). She only wears Hunter of Artemis-style clothes like silvery parkas, gray camo pants, and gray hunting boots when out hunting with the other Hunters but always wears her silver lieutenant circlet. Her main colors are black with white, dark blue, silver, and sometimes gold accents. Her favorite article of clothing is the black leather jacket Luke gave to her before she got turned into a tree.

Rachel- Artsy + Cute She wears clothes that are the epitome of the Artsy Friend™. She usually wears oversized and baggy shirts, jeans with poked holes in them, casual shoes (mostly colorful Converse), overalls and overall shorts, bright-colored and/or striped tees and sweaters, mom jeans, beanies, and jumpers. She carries a palette and a few paintbrushes around with her everywhere in a kanken and always has doodles and paint splatters on her clothes, hands, and arms and sometimes chalk beneath her usually-painted fingernails. Sometimes she practices her art in makeup-form and does amazing detailed eyeshadow or scarily realistic drawings on her arms and legs. She also loves wearing bandanas, sandals, hair pins, scrunchies, and gold accessories. She wears pretty much every color but mostly red, orange, and yellow with green, blue, and purple accents and likes wearing rainbow clothes as well. Her favorite article of clothing is a bright yellow jumper Percy bought her for her birthday.

#heroes of olympus #percy jackson #annabeth chase #jason grace #piper mclean #frank zhang #hazel levesque #leo valdez #reyna ramirez arellano #reyna avila ramirez arellano #nico di angelo #Thalia grace #rachel elizabeth dare #rachel dare #demigods #styles #outfits

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desiraypark · 4 years

Text

“Thief!”

For @bluestarego Characters: Officer Ronnie Peterson (The Dead Don’t Die) x Black Female Reader Content: Smut. Roleplay (Officer and Burglar). Handcuffs. Oral sex (M receiving) - minimal face-fuck (gagging); unprotected sex; riding/cowgirl; cumshot; spanking. Includes some links.

Word Count: 2.6k

The blonde wig? Yes. Light, colorful makeup? No. Dark. A smoky eye and red lips. You searched through your closet and dresser for the perfect burglar outfit. A black turtleneck sweater. Damn, you didn’t own a single pair of black jeans! Leggings would have to do. No high-heeled boots? Stiletto pumps would do.

You looked over Ronnie’s dresser and grabbed his watch. It wasn’t a Rolex but it was still nice. You grabbed your phone, held up the watch, and took a selfie--mischief all over your face. Then, you put the watch on your wrist. It dangled a bit, but you winked and blew a kiss to the camera, anyway. ____________________

Bzzzzz…

Ronnie and Cliff were on their way back to the station when his phone vibrated. He got a look at the photos in the text message. Then, he read the text: “What a terrible police officer. Leaving your door unlocked.” Ronnie slipped the phone back in his pocket.

Read. ____________________

Ronnie’s headlights shined through the curtains. You turned off the television, jumped off the sofa, stepped back into your pumps, and ran to the bedroom. Eeeernnnn went the screen door. Two locks turned with loud clicks and steel-toe boots hit the hardwood floor. You hid in the closet.

“You left the light on, perp,” Ronnie said. You could tell he was still in the doorway.

He walked to the bed.

“Breaking and entering?” he asked. Your chest moved up and down and you peeked through the slats of the closet door. Ronnie bent down and looked under the bed, then he stood back up and rotated on his axis, searching the room--avoiding the obvious spot for a second. He walked to his dresser and looked through the jewelry dish you’d made for him a couple of years ago. His watch was gone.

“Larceny? The rap sheet grows with every move I make…”

Ronnie finally turned to face the closet. He took slow steps and you backed up into the clothing. He stood at the door for a few seconds. Then, the closet door flew open and he yanked you out by your right arm.

“It’s always the closet,” he said.

You laughed. “Yet it took you so long to find me, Officer.”

He grabbed your other wrist and examined his dangling watch.

“Are you going to arrest me for your negligence, Officer?”

With no expression on his face and looked you up and down. “No. But I will punish you, you naughty girl.” His eyes fell on the watch again.

“Do you like this watch, thief?” he asked.

“It’s alright. I figure it could get me about a hundred dollars…”

“What else did you see in that ugly dish?” he asked, dropping your wrist.

You paused. Did he just?

“Another watch. A class ring.” You shrugged. “Nothing to write home about.”

“I hear the lady of the house has a few expensive items. Clothing. Jewelry...” He looked down at your feet.

“...and a seven-hundred dollar pair of shoes that she thinks her husband hasn’t notice.”

“ShegotthemoffeBay,” you quickly interjected.

Ronnie yanked you close. “I suppose I could let you take what you want....”

You turned on the flirtation and rested your hand on his chest. “Would you, Officer?”

He gripped the wrist near his chest and squeezed it tight. “But you have to work for it, thief.”

“What do I have to do, Officer?”

Ronnie stared at the bed, then looked into your eyes. “Get on the bed. Take your clothes off. Everything but those shoes.”

You bit your lip and sauntered over to the bed.

“And no funny business,” he added.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Officer.”

You sat down on the bed and lifted your turtleneck over your head--hoping it didn’t shift your wig. It didn’t. You let it drop to the floor and revealed your bare breasts.

“No bra? A thief and a little minx with no care for back pain.”

You bit your lip to hide a laugh.

“The leggings, too.”

You lifted your hips and pushed two layers of fabric--your leggings and your panties--over your hips, thighs, and legs. You put in extra work to get them over for shoes. Finally, everything was off, and there you were, on the bed in your lamp-lit bedroom--tits out, belly exposed, and thighs hiding your puffy mound.

Ronnie pulled the handcuffs out of his duty belt.

“Officer, you said you wouldn’t arrest me,” you said, scooting back on the bed.

He stepped toward you and took your hands. “I’m not arresting you. Only making sure you don’t run away from me. From your punishment.”

Ronnie cuffed your hands in front of you, then pulled off his duty belt. He walked to his dresser and gently placed it on top, then walked back over.

“Would you let me have anything in that belt, Officer?”

“Absolutely not, thief!” he said. His volume low but his pitch was a little high. How dare you ask such a question?! He grabbed your jaw and bent down--his lips mere centimeters from yours. “That belt is property of Centerville PD. Not to be handled by your grubby little hands.”

You moaned at the pressure his thumb and fingers inflicted on your jaw. Then, he licked a stripe up your lips.

“Mmm…” he said. “Rihanna lipstick with no liner. A risky criminal.”

Ronnie let go of your face and straightened his body. He worked the belt of his pants, slowly pulled it out through the loops and let it drop to the floor. Then, he worked at the button and zipper. He toed off his shoes, and pulled down his pants and boxers--revealing his semi-hard-on.

“I want you to suck me until I’m hard as a rock,” he said. He began to stroke himself. “And I’d advise that you not get any of that lipstick on my cock.”

Your eyes widened. “Officer…” You swallowed.

“That would be extremely difficult. This is a very rich--”

Ronnie pulled your head toward him and tapped your lips with the tip of his dick. Right away, you spotted red smears on the underside of the head.

“Suck, perp.”

You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around Ronnie’s head as he held his dick near the start of its shaft. Then, you licked swirls around it. After getting it nice and wet, you began to bob your head up and down, meeting Ronnie’s thumb.

“Mmm, touch my thumb every time, Sweet One,” he cooed. You touched his thumb once more, then when you pulled back, he slid his hand down to the middle of his shaft. After about a dozen sucks and red stains to his thumb after every head drop, he moved his hand down further--his free hand still resting on the back of your head.

“Your mouth feels so warm and hot around me, Beautiful…” he flattened his fingers and let them rest against his thigh--his thumb was nestled in his pubic hair.

“To my thumb,” he repeated.

You took him all in and gagged when the tip met the back your throat. Ronnie kept your head in place. “Mmm...so what’s your name, perp?”

“Y/N,” you garbled with a mouth full of dick.

“Oh, that’s a beautiful name,” he said. He released your head and you flew backward with a gasp.

“Fuck!” you shouted.

“Mmm...watch the language, Beautiful…” he reprimanded while slapping his dick against your bottom lip. “Keep sucking.”

Ronnie didn’t put his hand back behind your head, but he held his dick for you. With no hands, your head moved forward and backward, inhaling his length. You focused your teary eyes on his.

“That mouth feels wonderful,” Ronnie said. “So wet around my cock. It’s so hot for you. Blood rushing through all of those veins. Excited to have such a beautiful little minx like you pleasing it. Getting it nice and hard...”

Your eyes fluttered and you moaned. You suddenly felt everything around you--the warmth of your home juxtapose your stiff nipples. Your nerves were alive--every atom in your body was aching to be touched, to be shaken and stirred. Your clit was warm, and your hot pussy was building a reservoir of honey.

“How should I take you, perp?” Ronnie asked. “Missionary? Should I spread your beautiful legs wide and watch the pressure build in your face as I give you every inch of my cock? As I watch your breasts bounce? As I watch the tears well in your eyes because your sticky fingers can’t grab anything?”

You moaned again and pressed your thighs together.

“Or should I take from behind?” he inquired. “...bend you over and bury myself deep inside of you. Watch your beautiful ass ripple with every thrust…”

You pulled away to take a breath. Then you kept sucking.

“Ahh…” Ronnie said, smiling to himself. “I forgot that I’m supposed to be putting you to work.”

He pulled himself away and looked down at his dick. Red marks were all over it. He shook his head.

“Lipstick all over my dick.” He tsk’d. “Do you know what the punishment is for that?”

“No, Sir…” you whimpered.

Ronnie ran the back of his palm over your face. “I don’t, either. But Desiray will think of something.”

You scoffed and chuckled. Then, you raised your cuffed hands. “She can’t even figure out if she wants this watch to be significant.”

Ronnie raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement. Then, he unbuttoned his shirt. You rotated your hips, anxious for friction and relief. He pulled off his shirt, and undershirt, as well. Then, he sat on the bed and stroked his dick.

“Put that beautiful pussy to work, thief,” he commanded, staring into your eyes.

You stood up and wobbled a little. Those shoes were a mistake. But you put your arms over Ronnie’s head and rested your hands behind his neck. Then, you straddled him--your knees pressed on either side of him and your chest flushed with his. He moved his hand around under you.

“Sit down,” he said.

You lowered yourself and felt the head of his dick at your entrance--warm flesh meeting warm and wet flesh. Then, you pressed your hips down further. Your eyes closed and your head flew back as your core opened and welcomed his throbbing length. Down, down, down you went--he guided you--until the his warm head reached the bottom of your canal.

“Bounce.”

You lifted your body and crashed back down. Up...down...up...down...Ronnie smacked your ass.

“I said bounce, perp.”

You shifted your body--pressing it against Ronnie’s as his dick stretched your walls wider with each tiny movement. Then you bounced up and down. You cried out with each stroke and let your breasts fly free in his face. He walked the tips of his fingers up your sternum, over your chest, and wrapped his hand around your throat--not pressing down, however.

“Naughty girl. Bouncing on an officer’s dick to keep from getting arrested. For some jewelry and a few trinkets. Coating his dick with her sweet juice…”

“Fuck Ronnie…” you mumbled.

His hand flew up to your jaw and he squeezed. “Excuse me?”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s strike two on the language, Angel. And that’s Sir or Officer,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I just can’t take it--it’s too much,” you whined. “My thighs are burning.”

“As they should, you fucking crook,” he said.

“Ahhh!” you cried out. Every nerve in your body was frayed--your entire body was pulsing. Your thighs burned but your pussy clenched Ronnie’s girth--dripping, weeping, and squelching for more of the stinging pleasure.

“Lift your arms,” Ronnie said, his voice less stoic.

You lifted your arms over his head and Ronnie fell back on the bed with you on top of him. You rested your arms along his torso and he wrapped his arms around your waist, and worked his hips up toward you--slow and deep.

“You don’t deserve a break,” he said. “But I’ve got the urge to fill your filthy pussy with my cum.”

You moaned and shifted your arms around, careful not to press the metal restraints into his skin.

“Do you want my cum?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” you whimpered.

“I can feel you clenching. Hungry little pussy. I’m gonna feed her. I’m gonna fill her up so well and fill her deep. Gonna cover her poor, stretched out walls…”

“Please, Officer,” you pleaded. “Then, can I have my gifts?”

Ronnie laughed. “You haven’t received your punishment yet, Sweet One.”

“Did Desiray figure it out?”

“Yes. Not as creative as I’d hoped. But a punishment is a punishment.”

He slapped your ass and fucked up into you hard and just a little bit faster--making you clench and moan and scream and writhe. He offered no kisses or comforting rubs. He just burned you with his stare and watched every expression on your face. Then, you felt the pressure pooling in your belly. Your pussy throbbed and fluttered around him, and you began to meet his thrusts.

Suddenly, Ronnie flipped you over on your back, pulled out, and stood up.

“Ah!” you screamed.

“For soliciting an officer, you get forty-eight hours without an orgasm,” he said.

You stomped your feet on the floor and whined.

“If at any point you provide yourself with an orgasm and I find out, I will fuck your throat raw,” he added.

Ronnie put his knee against the mattress and stood over you. He rubbed his dick--spreading your juices all over his length--stroking and stroking until he neared his climax.

“Where do you want it?” he asked. You opened your mouth and wagged your tongue. Ronnie kneeled over your face and covered your chin, lips, and tongue with ropes of his cum. You swallowed what fell in your mouth and licked your lips. Ronnie didn’t bother wiping your chin. He just grabbed you by the arms and picked you up. He sat back down and put you over his knee.

Then, he rubbed your ass. “Five spanks for breaking and entering...five for marking my dick with your lipstick...and fifteen for being a terrible cowgirl who couldn’t handle a little thigh burn.”

You whined again.

“Count them…” Ronnie commanded.

He rubbed your ass again, then smack! on the right cheek. You jumped.

“Fuck you Desiray!” you shouted. “One…”

Smack!

“Two…”

Twenty-five spanks to your poor buttocks. A few landed on your wet pussy lips, too. When your punishment was complete, Ronnie sat you on the bed, walked to the dresser and retrieved his handcuff keys.

“Can I take these shoes off, now?” you asked, rotating your ankle.

“Oh, absolutely, Honey,” Ronnie said. You kicked off your shoes and he kissed you on the lips. He unlocked the cuffs, tossed them on the bed, and rubbed your wrists. He sat down beside you and gave each wrist a kiss. Then, he looked down and picked up one of your shoes.

“These don’t smell like they’re from eBay,” he said.

“What the fuck does eBay smell like, Ronnie?” you asked. You fell back on the bed.

“These shoes are $695.00 on Christian Louboutin dot com,” he said, ignoring your question.

“But I didn’t pay that much. And what do you know about them?” you asked. “I know what bloody shoes look like and I know they’re expensive,” Ronnie said.

“Bloody sh--”

The song played in your head and you chuckled.

Still examining the shoes, Ronnie tapped the heel against the palm of his hand. “Decent weapons.”

You huffed.

“Can you get up here and make me come, please?!”

You spread your legs open.

Ronnie looked at the heel of your shoe, then your pussy--then, your shoe again.

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly.

Ronnie looked at me. I looked at you. Your eyes burned a hole into my soul. I moved my fingers from the keyboard and held my hands in the air, surrendering. Then, I clicked the Grammarly icon in the corner of my screen and considered this entry ‘done’.

#ronnie peterson smut

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bearseokie · 4 years

Text

Working Other Occupations | GOT7

got7 m.list | navi.

Mark: Gas Station Clerk;

knows everyone because his store is so busy

the store has two checkout lines, but his is always the longest

knows the best brands in the stores, constantly recommends them

gets frozen yogurt every day, collects his spoons

never leaves the slushie machine alone, his tongue is always red or blue

hates cleaning the bathrooms

prefers the night shift over the morning shift

blasts music

begs people that buy cigarettes to try quitting by chewing gum

steals energy drinks

pays for people's items when they don't have enough to cover it

smiles at everyone for no reason

found a stray cat behind the store, named it and deemed it the gas station kitty

stands at the counter, refuses to sit down

raps to songs playing while he restocks

runs around the counter to open the door for elders

challenges himself to see how long he can stand in the freezer

befriends the cook that makes hot food so he gets free meals

pumps gas for his friends and elders so he knows they get taken care of

hoodies

Jaebeom: Mechanic;

works on vehicles part time

gets stuck somewhere almost every day. once it was his hand in the exhaust pipe. once his entire body got stuck between the bottom of a truck and the creeper. it was a funny call for help.

wears a black jumpsuit and boots every day, loves that his name is embroidered onto his uniform.

blasts alternative music in the shop

thinks his job is like math

all of his co-workers are buff dudes with tattoos, and he admits he looks out of place

long hair that gets caught in Everything

sits on the creeper and rides it around when he's too lazy to stand up

is actually really good at his job, and has never had a complaint

women stop by to request that "he must look at their car because the check engine is on" but it's just a glitch, he gets their number anyways

always offers to buy food for his co-workers when they've been working long hours

always is on coffee duty

keeps a jar of lollipops for the client’s kids

got pranked by his co-workers once, hopes it never happens again

they asked him to get into a car to check if the steering wheel was even, then they lifted the car. he was in the air, stuck for almost an hour while they worked on it because "it would be a waste of time to bring it back down to let him out", he still appreciates them though

knows a lot of the rich people in the area specifically because he works on their cars

loves working on Ferraris and Lamborghinis

got to drive both to test run them, he was in love

is always covered in grease and oil, smells like them too

rough hands

Jackson: Workout Trainer;

always wears black tank tops

goes into the gym to do his own workout before his client shows up

brings extra water

gets way too excited when his client wants to do another workout

has a personal connection to all of his clients

will treat them to meals and give gifts to support their hard work

all of his fits match

wears insoles for extra support and asks his clients to get them too so they won't be as sore

is naturally loud but is quiet when he works out / when he is watching over a client

real bike rides & hikes

always makes clients start off with the basics, the smallest weights, shorter movements even if they are familiar with the workout / equipment

wears sweat bands like they're actual accessories

messes around from time to time by "running" on the gazelle, skipping on the treadmill, swings from the pull-up bars

acts like he's done more than everyone else when they aren't paying attention

pretends he can't lift a heavy weight when his client tells him they don't know if they can, so they feel inspired to try and be better than him

the best spotter

gets angry at other people in the gym when they are checking out / flirting with his clients, tries to explain that they are focused

protein shakes that smell okay and taste awful but he considers them a necessity

headbands like he's in an 80's workout video

always bouncy and excited, even when he's tired

Jinyoung: Dental Receptionist;

holds his index finger up at people when he's in the middle of something

types very fast

will hang up on you if you're rude to him

is friends with all of the dentist's in the building, and constantly chats with them even if people are waiting for their appointment

dentist still hasn't come back? they're talking to jinyoung

has a jar of mints on his desk, never offers them to anyone

is only nice to kids

bought new toys for the kid's waiting room because the old ones were boring, now none of them make noise but are enough to busy them

will purposely shred important papers just to give people a hard time

hates his desk chair

plays generic stock music in the office

goes through pens like crazy

hates check-in calls to remind people of their appointments, so he doesn't even do them most of the time and just hopes for the best

no insurance? sucks for you now you have a bill in your name

staples aggressively

plays solitare

makes the waiting room freezing while he's perfectly fine

gets up in the middle of someone checking in to walk around doing nothing until he feels like coming back

shows no emotion unless he hears a kid laughing

waves goodbye instead of telling people to have a good day / evening

Youngjae: Librarian;

shushes people that shush others

sneaks up behind people when they are focused

laughs way too loud and bothers everyone

the scanners hate him so much that they will glitch and shut down the entire computer

wears plaid pants and comfy tees, pushed back hair and glasses, never wears his contacts to work

brings his own lunch / snacks but still buys things from the staff room's vending machine

plays music in his earbuds when restocking and reorganizing

puts his own name down for newly released dvds so he gets to watch them first

carries a backpack of random stuff for when he gets bored

doesn't actually like books that much

accidentally sings at full volume to the music in his ears

buys stickers to give to the kids when they check out their books

runs up and down the aisles when no one else is around

recommends the same four books to everyone

writes in his notebook for half of his shift

when the kids get lost from their parents, he holds their hand and lets them hang out with him at his counter while he calls over the intercom

thinks there should be a bigger music section

wears a watch but still stares at the wall clock

bad sleep schedule so he's always dozing off

loves decorating the library with themes

Bambam: Retail Employee;

very sassy

wears brands even his own store doesn't sell

is actually the nicest person ever to work in retail

fingertip length organized racks

perfectly folds Everything because he believes presentation is one of the most important features of anything

will change a mannequin while people are shopping if he hates the fit enough

rants about how more people should thrift clothing instead of buying new things every time because it's better for the environment to recycle and benefits & supports local thrift stores

holds up clothes when people are checking out and compliments their taste

actually enjoys comfy clothing over designer, but will never admit it

takes a whole shift just to choose one pair of shoes to put on display

loves when kids ask his opinion on what they should get

spends his breaks looking over the jewelry section

steals candles

hates when people mess up the t-shirt section because he always has to fix it

electric shopping cart races

always has his long sleeve uniform shirts rolled up to his elbow

has knowledge of the best makeup brands in the store

severe hatred for the low-quality tees with weird quotes on them

loves all of the jeans with rips in them and always recommends them to customers

can make the floors so shiny he sees his own reflection in it

Yugyeom: Roller-Rink Employee;

part time dj, part time employee

puts on his favorite beats and skates around until he has to switch songs

kids try to climb him because he's so tall

has multiple pairs of skates for different days of the week

skates backwards

big shirts and ripped jeans

usually the leader of kid's birthday parties

held one of the parties and became the special guest because all of the girls loved him so much, they made him their prince for the day

loves watching people hold on to the walkers because it's funny

teaches old people how to skate safely by holding onto the edge of the rink

has to make the girls that flock around his booth find another activity to do

aggressively competitive lazer tag player, always gets his vest on first so he gets a head start

drinks monsters like it's water

doesn't buy the food they make inside, just steals it

hates being on rollerskate duty, always has to clean them and restock them properly because the high school kids place them in random spots

dyes his hair a different color every month

thinks the blacklight is the coolest feature of the entire rink

has so many high scores on the old arcade machines that kids cry trying to beat him, he buys them candy so they stop being upset

decorates the dj booth with neon colors

once got stuck putting his arm into the claw machine trying to get a toy that he wanted for himself

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 reaction #got7 imagines #got7 au #jackson wang #mark tuan #im jaebeom #choi youngjae #bambam #kim yugyeom #park jinyoung #got7 headcanons #kpop headcanons #kpop au #got7.headcanon

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qhostqizmo · 4 years

Text

Date Night

*pounding fists on table* Let them date!! Let them date!! Let them dATE!!

- - - - - - - - - -

She played the conversation over and over again in her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny that everything about the invitation had been rather… intimate.

Maybe Adela and Abe had been right when she’d offhandedly brought it up to them. It sure sounded like Amon had asked her out on a date, as the duo suggested. Just her, and the heir to the Illiad name; no one else, going to dinner and play. No one else had gotten an invitation. No one else had gotten to see his quirky nervous half-smile, and see the color rise in his cheeks, or the joy in his face like she had.

She could make the excuse that because they were Aurumval, everyone else had other plans in mind. Adela had been hitting up the jewelry shops a lot lately. Rava had been joining her, or trying to pester the Master Seeker into further training pranks. Sulhadur was spending much of his time with his idol or practicing alongside Abe; and Abe himself was spending time with either Sul or Pen (when the later was not out looking for a lay). Even Pri’cha had found themselves a hobby in meeting with the local shopkeep at Whitemore’s for conversation and study.

But the fact that the nobleman had asked no other than her was suspicious. He hadn’t made it secret that he’d only come to her, but the word ‘date’ had never entered his vocabulary. She’d thought nothing of his offering, other than eagerness at being able to spend any time with her nobleman.

Staring at the sets of clothes laying out out on the bed, Essätha was at a complete loss with what to do.

“Wear the wine one, it makes the gold of your eyes stand out and goes with your skin tone.”

“But should I really be wearing a gown? Maybe just a shirt and slacks…”

Adela peered up from the necklaces she’d been picking through with an empty expression. “Honey, he’s taking you to the theater in Aurumval and out to dinner. It’s going to be an event. This isn’t a ‘nice blouse and skirt’ occasion. You’re in the capitol. Everything’s going to be expensive taste and fine etiquette.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Essätha folded up the camisoles and pants to put away. She peeked over the dresses left; some more conservative than others. The deep purple one Adela pointed out did have a nice off the shoulder, with a cinched waist, and a flowy bottom. There was a slit on the right side that went a few inches above the knee, though.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… much?” she choked out.

The Tiefling did a sideways glance towards the garment. “Looks fine to me.”

“I like it,” Rava agreed, her hand getting swatted as she reached over to examine a bracelet. She pouted at the jeweler pitifully.

“No touching, you’ll mess up my organization method.”

“What are you even doing with all that jewelry?”

“Trying to find the right hues of gold and amber that fit well with the dress and Essie’s eyes, now shush. Let me concentrate.”

Essätha met the wood-elf’s gaze. The young elf shrugged helplessly. She’d only joined the preparation party as a way to scope out Adela’s gemstones.

Giving an enormous sigh, Essie picked the dark plum dress up off the bed. As though stamped with a life sentence, she sulked with her head low in the direction of the bathroom.

“Wear this with it too,” Adela remarked, pointing at a thin cashmere shawl. It looked like it was made of spun gold, and had a sheen over it.

“Uh… okay?”

“Listen if I can’t go out with my fiance, I’m going to have to live through your date,” the Tiefling explained. “Now go get dressed and let’s talk about some shoes while we get your hair and makeup done.”

“That sounds a bit selfish,” Ravamora remarked, picking up a set of earrings to study. “How much are these?”

Determined to escape the squabbling (and the rogue’s attempt at learning to gauge jewelry value, as if that couldn’t go wrong), Essie discretely slipped into the bathroom and softly closed the door behind her. She thunked her forehead gently to the doorframe to groan with despair.

Which was worse, going over the top to a mediocre event, or going underdressed? And frankly, why did she care?

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she ripped it roughly off her head, musing her bun in the process and scattering her hair pins to the floor in frustration.

She was going to make the best of the damn evening with Amon, regardless.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Essätha, are you ready to go?”

Ready as she was ever going to be.

Smoothing out the front of her gown, Essie opened the door to the restroom to slip nervously out. She clutched her hands nervously in front of herself to avoid messing with the tedious waterfall of braids Rava and Adela had done for her. The one thing she’d managed to push the pair off of was cosmetics. The last thing she wanted was a test run between the pair of them. She went with her usual mostly nude hues, with only a single outrageous change from her comfort zone; adding a shimmering metallic gold eyeshadow that went well with the glittering jewelry.

She didn’t bother to look up, tightly holding her clutch in her hands. “I think I’m ready…”

The gasp that escaped Amon was partially a wheeze, as though someone had struck him in the chest.

Startled, she looked up from the short pumps her eyes were fixated upon to the Briarton Lord. His jacket was a tailcoat was a shade of navy so dark, it could almost qualify as black. The white dress shirt he wore beneath was crisp and freshly pressed beneath his dull gray-blue vest. The only color on his person that stood out in his hands; which were shaking, a single hybrid peachy to red rose.

Her face felt as hot as Amon’s looked; as though someone had dusted his features with a the pink of a setting sun. A wash of humiliation immediately settled over her as he had trouble staring at her for more than a second at a time, twirling the flower in his hands.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?”

The nobleman cleared his throat. “No… No you look… sublime… like perfection.”

“Thank you.” Her face felt even hotter. “You look exceptionally handsome yourself, m’lord.”

His jaw worked, and he swallowed loudly. Essie reached for his hand out of impulse. He looked so distressed, she couldn’t help herself.

He startled beneath her touch, looking from her hand to her face. The tension in his smile was still prevalent as he offered her the bloom sheepishly.

“For you,” he squeaked, voice cracking.

“Oh, thank you.” She accepted the rose, holding it awkwardly. Her eyes looked around the room. Should she leave it here…?

“Um. Well. Here, may I?”

“… S-Sure?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think this through,” he mumbled, accepting the floret back. She stood absolutely still as he tucked the stem carefully behind her ear, through the bouncy twirl of her curls. The brush of the back of his hand skimmed her flush skin and against her cheekbone as she glanced shyly away. He had a tremendously careful touch, adjusting the petals and lightly brushing his fingers along her hairline.

“There… Your beauty accents it well.”

“I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.”

The warmth in Amon’s eyes grew. His smile softened. “No. Your beauty definitely outshines even the most exquisite flower.”

She gave a stiff, nervous laugh. “Perhaps I should wear a dress more often, I didn’t realize it made such a difference.”

A pained look of hurt flickered through the nobleman’s eyes. “It’s not the garment that makes you so gorgeous, Essätha.”

“… What?”

“I… I just… You are a very beautiful woman, Essie. You don’t need any of these things to prove that. I was a bit stunned; in a good way, seeing you in something so different, but you are always… breathtaking.”

She could not meet his eyes. She could not look at him any longer, fearing the trembling in her knees and fluttering beneath her ribcage. If he had any idea the way he made her feel; strong yet vulnerable, resolute but shy, spirited and on the other hand calm. She felt a hundred emotions around him; some old, some new and freshly budding that she had never felt before. She wanted things her mind could not comprehend, her lungs could not voice. Things her heart yearned for against the protest of sense.

How was she supposed to keep eye contact with him tonight, when he was so lovely, so sweet, and so charmingly handsome that it made her insides nauseous with want?

He took her hand; the one not holding her handbag, with a gentle grip. It was a safer place to look then to the ocean of his eyes that she would otherwise get lost in.

“May I escort you to our carriage, Miss Essätha?”

Straining on a nervous giggle, she curled her fingers between the spaces between his. She liked this better than simply holding his forearm, even if her palms were a bit sweaty. It was like a security blanket. She knew everything would be okay, if he kept his hand in hers.

“You may; I will grant you that honor.”

“And what an honor it is.”

Gods have mercy, she was going to faint before the evening was over.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The coach came to a halt outside of what looked like an elite restaurant. Everyone stepping in and out of the building was dressed in finer clothes; though few had attire quite as nice as the two of them. It made Essie’s insides squirm all the more as Amon lead her out by the hand of the chariot. He spoke briefly to the coachman as she anxiously bobbed her weight from one shoe to other, passing him a few shillings and a nod before joining her once more.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, just affirming roughly the time he should be back by to pick us up from the theater. It’s only a short block away from here, so I thought we could take a stroll there after we dine in…” His eyes suddenly widened with panic. “Unless you would rather take the ride-?”

“No, that’s okay. A walk sounds fine.” Gods she hoped her smile didn’t look as dopey as it felt. A walk? Like, a romantic stroll down the boulevard?”

Amon only appeared somewhat relieved by her answer, taking hold of her hand in his once more. His fingers were clammy, and a bit awkward as he fumbled with hers. “Let’s get checked in for our reservation.”

She nodded, stupidifed. Reservation? How long had he been planning this? She hoped it hadn’t been booked days in advance. This seemed far more high-class and over her head then she was used to.

He opened the door for her as they approached the building, as usual. It eased some of her nerves. Some things never changed, just like the bold triumphant lingering in his eyes upon hers. He took her hand again as they stepped inside, sending sparks hurtling through her bloodstream once more. So much for clear-headed. She felt drunk off him all over again; and intoxicated by the aroma of ginger, sage, and tonka bean blended with leather and agarwood on his skin.

Holding on to his hand, Essie’s gaze moved throughout the elegant décor while he spoke to a gentleman up front about their reservation. It was even more dazzling on the inside than the outside. Everything was glowing in shades of amber, illuminated by glass and mirrors that made the candlelight bounce from room to room. Her insides swelled, taking a daring moment to glance at the distracted, chuckling man at her side as he spoke with the doorman.

Definitely even more wonderful on the inside than the outside; which seemed impossible, but true.

“Right this way,” the host acknowledged, nodding to the pair of them as he snapped his booklet shut. Amon passed her a proud but shy smile, following their guide close to her side as they made their way through the establishment. The man stopped at a privately enclosed curtain, adjusting it for them to pass with a murmur for them to enjoy their meal.

The view was spectacular. She held her breath, staring out at the remnants of the setting sun and incoming twilight stars sprinkling the skyline. Her eyes ventured to Amon’s, and the patient but bashful expression he wore.

All of this, for her?

“Here, allow me,” the nobleman rasped, clearing his throat while tearing his gaze away from her. He appeared flustered as he pulled the cushioned chair out from the table.

Brushing the back of her dress flat, Essie gratefully accepted her seat. She looked up, seeing how distant the other end of the table was with a twinge of remorse.

“How much trouble would we be in, if I asked you to move your chair closer?”

Was it possible for the man to have a devilish grin of mischief? It seemed so.

“I’m renting out the space, I think they’ll make an exception.”

She snickered as he picked up his seat to place it adjacent to hers. Her greedy hands sought his to hold as she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder, staring out at the last light of the day fading.

“This is nice.”

“I thought you might like this place.”

Biting into her lower lip and smudging the stain of color on her lips just a touch, Essätha tilted her head so her eyes could meet his. They were twinkling with the light of the stars, and the flame of the lanterns throughout the space.

“I… I meant this,” she clarified, her voice small as she squeezed his hand.

There was no mistaking his wide-eyed surprise. The shape of his pupils exploded within his iris.

“I…”

“Good evening, monsieur and misse- oh, m-my apologies-”

The pair of them instantly sat up straight, eyes snapping towards the red-faced waiter stepping through the thin curtains.

“I- I will be back I’m so sorry-”

“N-No that’s okay,” Essie rasped, her fingers still lingering in Amon’s grasp. “You can stay.”

The man’s face went from her, to presumably Amon’s. Too embarrassed to look back, she wondered what the nobleman’s face said to the man. Probably something impassive. He was good at covering his emotions, unlike her.

“Very well,” the gentleman squeaked, slowly approaching to offer out two identical sheets of fine parchment. It had very few items on it to choose from. “Can I get the two of you anything to drink to start off with?”

“Bring a bottle of sauvignon blanc, thank you,” the nobleman requested hoarsely. Essätha’s lips pulled into a frown as she side-eyed the nobleman. He was very flush.

“Excellent choice sir, I’ll be right back,” the server replied, bowing quickly before he disappeared behind the veil.

Lord Amon cleared his throat, taking her hand from beneath the table to hold fondly. He looked mesmerized even through the pinkish blush on his face as he smiled adoringly back at her. “Now then. You were saying how much you enjoyed the view?” he teased.

Giddy laughter bubbled up in her chest, and she made a playful swatting motion towards him.

“I do. The atmosphere is… staggering, but I’m glad you’re here to keep me grounded. I’m happiest when you’re with me.”

His smile was downright goofy now. “As am I, when I’m with you.”

“Really?” she breathed, amusement dancing in her eyes as she insisted, “You’ve outdone yourself. This is a stunning location. The view reminds me a bit of a lodge I stayed at once. It was situated at the highest point in the town; made it an easy landmark for people to direct around that way, and it had some of the spectacular sunset horizons above the buildings and treetops…”

“Tell me more.”

She wasn’t sure who was more breathless, him, or her. Equally absorbed with only each other, as the rest of the chatter from the restaurant seemed so distant in their private space.

Beaming from ear to ear, she jumped right in to the story, finding it never easier than that moment to tell anyone about her past in her life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Huffing, Essie pushed aside the plate containing the remains of the chocolate lava cake. “Not another bite.”

“You? Turning down sweets?”

She scowled at the taunting curl of Amon’s smile. “You fed me too much food! If I eat another bite, I’ll explode.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He adjusted the shawl as it slipped, wrapping it delicately back into place. “Oh, here, let me just…”

She froze, confused as the nobleman lifted his napkin from his lap. She squinted her eyes as he dabbed at the corner of her lip.

“Ganache.”

“Thank you.” Oh dear. That was embarrassing. Not nearly as embarrassing as the idea of how she’d wished he’d taken it off though; her face inflamed at the thought.

Amon’s gaze lingered a moment too long on her mouth. His face turned a shade of beet red as he cleared his throat, scooting back his chair from the table and tossing the cloth upon it.

“We had better start walking, I’m afraid. We’ll be late for the play otherwise.”

“Oh… okay.”

Amon dug into his coinpurse, leaving a large handful of extra coins on the table. Before Essie could decide what to do; conflicted, the nobleman slowly drew her chair a bit from the table for her to slide out easier.

“Always a gentleman,” she remarked warmly, stroking his arm. Amon’s gaze followed her touch, and his throat jumped once more.

Timid once more, she drew her hand back to fiddle with her clutch.

As they stepped from behind the drapery, their server hurried over. Amon spoke quietly to the young man as her eyes scanned the main room, now bustling with even more bodies then when they’d entered.

A large, round table of boisterously laughing men near the doors to the kitchen looked their way.

Essätha looked away, but it was too late. Two of them had already gotten out of their chairs, and were headed over.

“Lord Amon? Is that you?”

“Oh… Hello.”

She winced in sympathy to the hollowness in Amon’s voice. Not everyone was aware of his stripped title.

“And who is this scrumptious treat you have here with you?” one of the men inquired, offering a respectful bow. He extended a hand towards her.

“Essätha Meduza, sir.” She placed her hand uncertainly in his. That’s what he wanted, right?

“Essätha? An exceptional name for a fine looking lady.”

As the man lifted her hand respectfully, his lips puckering, she quickly pulled it free of the man’s gentle grip. He seemed a bit surprised, but quickly corrected his composure.

Her eyes slipped towards Amon’s. She hadn’t done so terrible taboo, had she?

His jaw shifted like he was grinding his teeth. He had a narrowed gaze locked upon the man who’d touched her. If he’d known any sort of magic, she’d swear he was preparing to cast an inferno upon the wealthy looking gentleman.

“Found yourself a young lady willing to tolerate your time, aye Bearmaster?” The other man jested, passing a wink to Amon.

He smoothed out much of his expression, but she could still see the frosty annoyance beneath his eyes.

“I do hate to break a reunion short, but we’ve a play to get to-”

“Oh. Oh I- we- apologize, milord. We should get together though, sometime. Maybe a hunt. It’s been what, three years since I last saw you?” He nudged the other man with his eyes still taking in Essie’s face. “Let us leave these two to their night. It was nice to see you Amon, Miss Meduza. Enjoy your show.”

Confused, she inclined her head to the man politely. He grabbed the other by the arm, almost requiring to drag him to get him to take his eyes off her. She ventured her gaze, meanwhile, back towards the nobleman at her side. Amon stiffly tugged on his coat, trying to get it to lay flat again as he unbuttoned and buttoned it. She reached out, brushing her fingertips against his anxious hands.

He turned his eyes back up to her, slowing his movements to a crawl while staring into her eyes.

“Ahem, I…” Swallowing, Amon offered out his hand with a nervous smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Squeezing his hand, Essätha gave a short nod. “With you, m’lord Amon, of course.”

The rigidness in his shoulders relaxed. With a tender regard upon her, he steered them through the restaurant and out to the street. With the darkness settled in on the city like a chilled blanket, Essätha shivered as the night air struck her exposed arms, creating goosebumps.

Popping open the buttons he’d frustratingly just fixed, the nobleman dragged off his tailcoat to drape it across her shoulders as soon as she went to clutch herself, shivering.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulled the sides around her to block out the breeze with a smile. She stepped closer, sighing gratefully as he tentatively wrapped his arm around her waist. There was an open spot on his shoulder for her to rest her head against gratefully.

“I guess I should have had the caddy pick us up…”

“Don’t feel bad; this is fine.” She breathed in deeply, soaking in the scent of his fragrance that was in the coat.

He chuckled quietly after a moment, resting his cheek against the side of her head as they wandered down the cobblestone street.

“Let’s not waste any time though, I don’t want you to get a chill.”

She hummed in vague agreement, too focused on how good it his arm felt against her, and the heat of his jacket that felt like a permanent embrace of him hugging her, encircled all around. She was fine catching chill, and going slow, if it meant stealing a little more time, and a little more him, all to herself for just a while longer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon fished their admissions out from his pocket, and slid them across the table to the ticketmaster. With a nod after they examined the stiff pieces of paper, the manager motioned for them to enter into the parlor ahead.

Essie moved to shrug off the jacket and return it to the nobleman, but he shook his head gently. “Keep it a while longer; if you get too warm I’ll take it back.”

That suited her plenty. When he took her hand to guide her inside, she smothered her face discretely into the collar of his coat. The scent of his cologne made her insides feel warm, light, but lonely. It was a weird feeling that made little sense when he was right in front of her.

The venue entry was spectacular. Sofa arrangements were in the middle and around the sides of the room, allowing people to sit and converse during half-times and prior to the plays. Servers were wandering the floor, offering out drinks and small hors d’oeuvre’s. A large chandelier hung high in the middle of the room, with glass dangling off to send the candle flames dancing across the room. Smaller candelabra dotted around the room as well, and the carpeted floor had a fanciful looking golden pattern upon plush red.

Unlike the restaurant, where Essätha felt her clothes were a few tiers higher quality then most of the nice blouses, skirts, and dresses some women were wearing, she felt positively peasant-like here. Women were wearing dresses studded with gemstones, large pearl necklaces, colorful decorations and even a few exotic furs and feathers. Meanwhile she was in a single-tone gown, hiding beneath a coat too large for her that she wished could swallow the rest of her up.

“Would you care for some wine, Essie?”

“I’m okay, thank you m’lord. Help yourself though.”

There was a twinge of concern in the frown that tugged at his lips. As they stepped further into the room, his hand holding to her own, one of the waiters did approach.

“Can I get you two anything?”

“Water, please.”

The server raised their eyebrows, but made no objection. They bowed elegantly from the waist, replying, “Give me a moment, sir and madam, I will return with two glasses at once.”

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for some place less stuffy to stand. It smelled vaguely of alcohol and tobacco through the theater, although no one appeared to be smoking or chewing anything at the moment.

“Would you like to take a seat somewhere?” the Illiad heir inquired, licking his lips anxiously.

“I…” Her eyes moved around the room, pausing awkwardly on a woman staring directly at her. The lady smiled, and before Essie could decide which flight instinct to follow, she was already moving their way, tugging a man along with her.

“Well hello there! Lord Amon, is that you? Fancy seeing you here!”

The nobleman winced slightly, and turned to offer the woman a polite smile. “Lady Darcy, Lord Moreno a pleasure seeing you two as well.”

“Yes yes I know,” Darcy sang, ignoring him completely. She had her thousand watt exuberant smile aimed towards Essie, which was a touch on the overwhelming side.

“Who are you, sweet dear? Awful young to be seen out with an old dull man like this one.”

Amon’s face turned scarlet, and he looked torn between appalled and infuriated by the insult.

Uncomfortable in her own right, Essätha offered a poor courtesy. She refused to loosen her grasp on the coat as she introduced herself quietly, “Essätha Meduza, ma’am.”

“Meduza? I’ve never heard that house name…”

Essie’s smile grew tight. “You wouldn’t have.”

“Mmm. I see. Where are you from, dearie? And what in the God’s name is someone as youthful and with a face as pretty as yours doing with the Bearmaster of all folk? Now I have a nice son-”

“Darcy.”

“Oh but honey I’m only kidding!”

“I’m so sorry Miss,” her husband muttered, joining in on the congregation of blushing and humiliated individuals. “She’s got a poor sense of humor. Love her to death with or without it though. Don’t mind her trying to sell our boy off, she’s always trying to push him on any lass we meet.”

Pawing at her partner as though to silence him, Darcy leaned eagerly towards Essie. “Where did you say you were from, dear?”

“Ahem, Lady Darcy, though I hate to intervene, Essätha and I were going to take a moment to go find where our seats are going to be in the theater. If you don’t mind…”

“Oh, always a bore Amon. Yes, go, run away with her if you must.”

Nodding curtly, he gave the smallest tug on Essie’s hand to draw her attention. She obliged, murmuring a respectful ‘good evening’ as she trailed at Amon’s heels.

“She’s… interesting.”

Amon grunted. “Darcy is a… nice woman. Means well. She gets under people’s skin though.”

“I can see that a bit, yeah.”

The nobleman gave her a thin smile. She twined her fingers in through his, until the nervousness in his expression melted into one more genuine, and sincere.

“I guess we really should go check where our seats are…”

Spotting the server hurrying in their direction briskly, with two goblets, she leaned into the warmth of his side with a grateful sigh.

“I’m okay with that.”

She wondered if it was her imagination, but she could swear through the hitch of his breath, the noise, the lights, the laughter in the room, she could feel the sound of his pulse acutely against her wrist, jump erratically. It was a steady heartbeat; strong, confident, dare she think almost wishfully… beckoning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Listening to the drama unfold on the theater floor; actors shouting, singing, throwing their arms into the body language of their character, it was miraculous. A true character of showmanship. Parts were funny; parts were sad, other things made her question and ponder.

She rested her head on Amon’s shoulder; turned into a parenthesis curling against him. The arm of the chair prevented her from climbing into his lap, but only just. He found his own way to the edge of his seat; his cheek atop her head, his arm around her, rubbing heat into the coat. She wished his hand was beneath it. The thought of him any closer made her shiver; conflicted and yearning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The concession area was even more packed than before as the show cut into half-time. Those who showed up late, or went to seat early, all were huddling into the room for drinks and snacks, or hitting the bathrooms off to the left. There wasn’t enough seating for some, left so squat or shuffle if they didn’t go back to their seats; a lady or two taking up residence on their date’s lap here and there. Essie had to smile, catching two young women huddled in an embrace on the arm of a chair, oblivious to those around them to share quick pecks between words.

Her eyes moved to look up to Amon, and down to their unified hands. Nagging questions nipped at the back of her mind, and the ache in her heart seemed to intensify. She couldn’t put into words the solitude in her bones; the sense of homesickness in her veins when she looked at him. What did she possibly want? What did he have that some part of her needed; something beyond the wonderful friendship they shared?

Among the conversation and quiet chatter they picked up; between each other and some of the other guests, they sipped their glasses. Her own held a sweet dessert wine, while she was pretty sure his red was something dry. It smelled good though, on his breath. It made her curious how it tasted.

If her cheeks weren’t already a bit heated from the drink, they sure would be then from the mortifying thought. He wasn’t likely to share his drink. Shared backwash and all that. She tried to ignore the root of the thought; the true though, buried in the back of her mind. She’d not drank nearly enough to think in such a manner. Warm, soft lips…

“Oh milord, it’s been far too long.”

Essätha’s thoughts shattered, turning her attention to the blonde-haired woman that approached them. Her eyes were like seafoam, and there were pointed tips on her short ears. Half-elf, she’d assume.

Amon straightened against her; his spine going rigid. It made her go tense, too.

“Good to see you, Carmen.”

She offered her hand out. To Essie’s surprise, he tried not to notice. He nearly gave himself whiplash snapping his head to turn to the nearest server, and take a fresh glass.

The woman’s lips thinned, but she recovered to place her hand against her hip. “You still look quite regal in your outting clothes.”

“Thank you,” he grunted. His grip tightened against her side. Essie looked between them, her confusion only growing.

Carmen’s eyes darted over to her. Essätha could swear she saw the woman’s lip twitch, like someone resisting a sneer before she smiled wonderfully once more, reaching out to stroke Amon’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, casanova. Thought you might try reaching out to me again after a while.” She pouted. “At the very least, see if you needed someone to help you keep that shoulder loose and everything else… stiff.”

Oh. Oh no.

Mortified, she looked between this Carmen woman; her hourglass figure, seductress bedroom eyes, and to Amon, who was grinding his teeth and blushing deeply. She tried to unsee the way the woman looked at him, like she was undressing him with just a glance.

“My shoulder’s fine,” Amon reported in an impassive tone. His eyes darted over to meet hers. He looked nervous? She blinked, and he had shouldered off Carmen’s hand to angle himself more towards her.

“Carmen, this is Essätha.”

The half-elf woman forced a smile over towards her. “Nice to meet you! Are you Amon’s… secretary?”

“She is my friend, and my date for this evening,” Amon jumped in firmly.

“Oh! Oh a friend, I see. Well, we all must have plenty of those lying around, shouldn’t we? Never enough friends in the world.”

Essie’s smile grew less real the more her stomach twisted into knots as she stared back at the woman and her lethal cheeky grin. The woman was vile. She wore her jealousy shamelessly, and spat venom like a cobra.

But why did it hurt so terribly?

She looked off to the side, feeling a rift crack through her. She just wanted to go home.

As Carmen turned her proud smirk back to Amon, Essie glanced up to him, hopefully.

He was still looking at her, concern in his eyes and a soft smile.

She flickered his glance towards his ex-lover, and back to him. He ignored the woman’s ramblings. He seemed to be waiting on something. Or looking for something?

Whatever it was Lord Amon searched for from her expression, he must not have found it. He looked even more worried, and gently took hold of the Carmen’s wrist as she flamboyantly flung her hand in the air. She grew silent. There was fire in her eyes. Victory. Desire that was more than hunger.

“It was nice seeing you, Carmen. Perhaps you should go see if your own escort is looking for you?”

As though she had been slapped, the half-elf recoiled; her cheeks pink. “I…” She snapped her gaze down at Essie. She was livid; and barely managing to conceal it.

Amon overlooked the wounded, angry look in Carmen’s face; jaw hanging open, to pull Essätha closer. He smiled down at her, muscles taut but otherwise, calm. Focused. He kept his composure, and his attention, on her.

“Let’s see if we can’t stop another server; your drink’s getting low.”

“Amon?” Carmen weakly murmured.

He raised his brows questioningly to the woman. Her mouth worked, but no words escaped her.

Essätha looked between the pair of them. He shut her down without hesitation. Turned her away without a second thought. She still wanted something from him; but he wasn’t looking back he was looking… forward.

His puzzled gaze darted over to meet hers.

I choose you.

Now she was certain no drink could ever make her face feel as hot as it did now. She had to be glowing.

Between the women who knew him who knew him how long enough; still hanging on for hope, still flirting with him, teasing him, yearning. He was turning down a woman who clearly held some kind of status that had been hoping to catch his eye again, all these years, to spend his time with her. Her, who came from nothing; escaping herself and a place thousands of miles away, staring at her like she brought out all the stars in the night sky.

He must really think the world of her, to give up an open invitation to spend the remainder of the night with her.

She could almost scoff at herself. And to think, she’d been frightened and intimidated by the woman. Carmen was about as much a threat to their time and happiness together as a fly was; obnoxious, but easily disregarded.

“M’lord Amon,” Essie piped up, winding his arm around her shoulders. “I can get the drink myself, if you’d like to finish your discussion?” She held her head up confidently; pretending that the half-elf’s dagger-eyes were bouncing off metaphorical armor.

“No, we’re already done here, right Carmen?”

The woman faltered. “I-I…”

“Wonderful. Again, charming to see you,” Amon remarked, dipping his head. His arm tightened around Essie’s shoulders. “Lead the way.”

Essätha passed the woman a smile. It truly said what she could not; that she wished her all the best.

She looked defeated, and dejected.

Her heart pitied the half-elf. She tried to picture being in her shoes, and shuddered. Maybe it would be easier to consider if it was any other man other than Amon shunning her, but that image…

Just to check. Just to verify the fearful stab her soul took, she peeked up at the nobleman.

He was still all warm, enchanted grin and dark eyes unwavering upon her. All her energy felt zapped and gained all at once. She wanted to collapse, but at the same time she never felt taller, braver, and more empowered.

He picked her in that moment. Wearing her most giddy, ridiculous smile, she felt as though she’d won everything she’d ever wanted, or needed. Even if it only lasted a little while, right now, she had it all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Moving through the corridors of the palace, Essie couldn’t shake the events of the night out of her head. She wrapped up Amon’s tailcoat like a blanket, his arm around her, it all seemed so surreal. Maybe it was the liquor talking but it really had felt a lot like a… date. All that careful planning, just the two of them. The special spot for them to dine, the seats close to the front to see the play, the way he stood up for her; held to her most of the date.

As the nobleman opened the door to their bedroom, her brow knitted as she stepped inside. The gears were turning over and over. The rented carriage ride throughout. The walk to the theater, where she could see other’s; couples, making their way in a similar manner to the theater. Even recalling the ride back; how she’d rested, leaning into his chest and his arms around her, the heat of his breath tickling her neck, the steadiness of his hands warming her and their legs tangled.

As Amon stepped into the room, closing the door, she turned to look up at him.

“M’lord, why did you only ask me to go out with you tonight?”

He startled, and staggered. She hoped all that wine wasn’t getting to him, too. Making him see things… feel things…

Scratching the back of his head, he exhaled loudly. “… I thought it would be nice, just the two of us. Did you… not enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” she affirmed quickly. “I… I enjoyed myself immensely. I’m just… trying to process. You didn’t ask anyone else, did you?”

He shook his head, wide-eyed and breathing heavy. What was he acting so shaken up about?

Reaching up, she tried to run her fingers through her hair. She’d forgotten about the waterfall braids; tangling her fingers through some of them. A curse tumbled out of her, and Amon stepped closer. He murmured something; she was too flustered to really hear, and helped her remove her fingers from her hair.

Gods he was close. He looked more than just flush from when they’d left the play. It hadn’t been cold out enough to warrant him looking quite this red. How much had he drank? No more then her, and she was pretty sure she was still mostly clear-headed…

Their fingers were still wrapped around each other, and she was lost in his eyes. She breathed in; breathed out, mumbling, “Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“Why only me?”

The demanding note in her voice slurred a bit. His smile crept up further; grew more handsome and made her entire body ache. She wanted that joy more then anything. She wanted his happiness like she wanted air, or water. It was so fulfilling; so beautiful and so perfect. She wanted that for him, always; and she wanted to give it to him.

“I like spending time with you,” he explained sheepishly; the red wine still on his breath. He held her hand close to his chest. “You make every occasion better, and brighter. I like how you make me feel. I like how you make the world feel. I only asked you because… I didn’t want to split my concentration. And I didn’t want you to split yours,” he admitted, almost guilty; shameful.

“So… you wanted me all to yourself?”

His gaze was strangely piercing. “Does that upset you?”

Her heart fluttered. “… No. No I… I like being all yours.”

Amon smiled. It was dangerous. It did things she couldn’t explain inside her.

“I’ll let you use the bathroom to get ready for bed first,” he whispered.

She nodded, numb and aware she was doing so. “Okay.”

There was indecisiveness in his stance. He teetered for a moment in place. The blackness of his pupil was an eclipse, and it was washing over her.

He leaned in, and brushed his lips in a kiss against her cheek she barely felt.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Essätha.”

He was too warm, and too close. The deep, raspy huskiness of his whisper made her knees turn to jelly.

Suddenly afraid she was going to do something stupid and irrational, like throw herself at him, she turned her burning gaze and cherry-red face away. “It was my pleasure, m’lord,” she crooned softly. How her feet found locomotion to move towards the bathroom door, she’d never know. Perhaps she had a bit more power left in her then she thought.

As soon as she was inside the restroom, she closed the door behind herself, and placed her back to it. Sure enough, she slid down; her jelly-legs unable to support her weight until she sagged to sit upon her rear on the bathroom floor.

Placing her face in her hands, Essätha breathed raggedly. The whirlwind in her chest had turned into a hurricane; throwing her world out of balance. An incredible first date; unexpected, denied up until the very end but… She knew what she wanted; what she needed, what her wanton heart longed for.

Him. Every road, every yearning, every happy thought and plan for the future, it all lead back to him. Her nobleman.

She groaned into her palms, grinning so hard it hurt. She was in love with Lord Amon Thomas Illiad.

She wondered if he was in love with her, too.

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #softly written

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ilovethings-somuch · 6 years

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Saturdays Away

Frank Adler x Reader

Finally another addition from my 1,500 Followers Celebration! This one was requested by my dear @princess-evans-addict and she requested the Wearing Each Other’s Clothes trope along with the line “I could do that, but I won’t.”

Morning afters with Frank were uncommon. He was usually a little paranoid about Mary coming home early from Roberta’s when we were at his place, and when we were at my place he always felt that he needed to get back so he could take Mary off Roberta’s hands. This weekend, however, was a bit of a treat. Mary was going on a little camping trip with her girl scout troop which meant she was out of town from Friday afternoon until Sunday morning. Frank was staying at my place for the duration of Mary’s trip and I was beyond excited about getting so much time with him.

Frank decided we should go into the city to try a new restaurant and I was excited by the prospect of dressing up to impress him. Frank planned to pick me up at 6, leaving me a mere hour to get ready after work. I rushed between my closet and the bathroom, trying on all of my dresses before settling on the first one I had tried on. Jewelry was a whole new issue. I was always afraid of overdoing it so I decided to wear a set of earrings that matched with a necklace and skipped the rings and bracelets I was considering. I simply touched up my makeup from the work day and added a little extra eyeshadow and lipstick before moving onto my hair. I had meant to curl it this morning, but a small alarm clock issue had left me throwing it into a bun as I ran out the door. I took it out of the hair tie only to display a wild monster. I ran my brush through the knots a few times before plugging in my straightener and getting to work. It was always pleasing to see the transformation as the straightener did its job and I was left with straight sleek lengths. I pulled part of the front away from my face and secured it with a round pin.

I managed to finish getting ready moments before Frank knocked on the door. I called for him to come in as I sat on a stool to get my shoes on. I stood to meet him as he closed the door behind him. I immediately took in his grey suit, the white shirt tucked tightly into his pants and the deep red tie he was sporting.

“I was worried I was going to be overdressed,” I admitted as I watched him look at me same way I had just looked at him.

“That’s impossible. You look stunning,” he took my hand and I leaned in for a kiss. “We should get going,” he reminded me once we broke apart. I nodded my agreement and grabbed my purse as Frank led the way out the door.

The restaurant we went to was impeccable. The food was amazing and Frank even ordered a nice bottle of wine to go with our meal.

“I feel like we’re celebrating something,” I noted as the wine was served.

“We are,” Frank said. “We’re celebrating us.”

“To us,” I raised my glass and he gently bumped his against mine.

I was a little bit tipsy as Frank drove us back to my house. I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering to all the things I wanted to do with him tonight which lead to me sliding closer to him on the bench seat of his truck and nuzzling into his side.

“What are you doing?” Frank asked, a smile dancing on his lips.

“Just getting comfortable,” I smiled back at him before stretching up to kiss the corner of his jaw. I trailed my lips down and places kisses along his neck, occasionally swiping my tongue across his skin. Frank squirmed slightly and I noticed his pants becoming tighter. I continued to tease him the rest of the ride home and by the time we were in the door his pupils were blown wide and he was devouring me in seconds.

I woke up with Frank’s arms wrapped securely around my waist. I had forgotten how good it felt to wake up in his arms and know we had the whole day to waste together. After laying in bed a while longer, my growling stomach made it clear that it was time to get up. I maneuvered my way out of Frank’s arms and as I stood up I saw Frank’s white button up from the night before strewn across the bedroom floor. The thought of how Frank might react to seeing me in his clothes had me pulling on his shirt as I made my way to the kitchen.

I started cooking bacon once the pancake batter had been mixed. The kitchen warmed up quickly with the cooking and the smell of food only made my stomach growl more. It took Frank longer than I expected to wake up and I had begun to wonder if I started cooking too early, but shortly after that thought crossed my mind, I heard the sound of water running in the bathroom.

Frank came into the kitchen and smiled lazily at me. He had pulled on the pair of sweatpants he left at my house a few weeks ago but his chest remained bare. I turned back to my cooking before I could accidentally let it burn and Frank met me at the stove. Hands wrapping around my waist and the slight scruff that brushed along my neck was definitely something I could get used to.

“So that’s where my shirt went. I was going to wear that, you know,” Frank said, his breath ghosting across my skin.

“Oh, well you can wear mine if you want,” I teased.

He spun me around as I finished the comment and looked me up and down, “I could do that, but I won’t.”

“Probably for the best,” I pressed my lips together to suppress my laugh. I watched as Frank’s eyes slowly glanced down to my lips, but the smell of smoke interrupted us before we could get any farther. I turned back to the stove quickly and got the bacon off the frying pan and onto a plate before I turned back to Frank, “You need to go sit over there until I’m done cooking.”

Frank put his hands up in surrender as he chuckled and walked over to sit behind the breakfast bar. He started talking about all the things that were happening around town today. There was an art fair happening by the water that he thought I would enjoy and normally I would, but when faced with the option of either staying in all day with Frank or literally anything else, I had to choose staying in.

“What about that movie we didn’t get to see in theaters. I bet we could stream it from somewhere by now,” I suggested instead. By this point, I had finished cooking the bacon and was finishing up the last couple pancakes.

“That sounds good, we’re talking about the Bond style one right?”

“Actually I was thinking that scary one that I said I would prefer to watch in my home where I could hide in your arms the whole time. We could definitely do both though, drop the whole art fair thing and just stay here,” I shrugged as if I didn’t have a preference. Frank stood to help me get the last couple additions to our meal.

“You really don’t want to go anywhere?” He asked as we sat down and started plating our meal.

“I’m not totally against it if you want to, but we don’t get the opportunity to lay low very often. I thought it would be nice to just stay in. I’m sure we can come up with plenty of things to do here,” I tried to add a wink at the end but it came off way less smooth than I had hoped it would. Frank laughed into his coffee before soothing my pout with a kiss.

We did end up having a bit of a movie marathon before we ended up back in bed. The sheets were a tangled mess on the bed and Frank and I were tangled within them.

“I wish every weekend could be like this,” Frank admitted as his fingers ran along the length of my spine.

“Maybe it could be,” I said. Frank looked at me quizzically making it clear I’d need to explain further. “I don’t mean the sex necessarily, but Mary likes me right?”

“We’ve been over this, Mary loves you,” Frank assures me with a smile.

“So then, maybe we could take our relationship to the next step.”

“What step would that be?”

“We could move in together.” I wish I could say I had been confident that Frank would agree, but honestly, the thought had only recently occurred to me and there I was blurting it out in front of him.

“You think we’re ready for that?” Frank asked, almost instantly crushing any hope I’d had that he would agree.

“You don’t?”

“Of course I do,” he moved his hand to cup my cheek and kissed my forehead before continuing. “I just want to make sure you’re ready, ready for me and Mary.”

“I am. Besides, I do have a spare bedroom that I’m sure Mary would love.”

“Oh, you think we’re moving here? You might have to fight Roberta on that one,” Frank tells me with a smile as he moves in to kiss me deeply.

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gwynne-fics · 6 years

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Silver Lining

chapter thirty-eight

I’m going to be late these next few nights. I have a competition coming up and I need to focus on training for it. He’d warned her about this when they were scheduling dinner but she was still a little disappointed by it. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t like dinner was all that enjoyable. They often didn’t know what to talk about and mostly ate in silence.

Her plan that first night backfired. She’d hoped to make things easier between them by focusing on the one thing they both enjoyed together. And it wasn’t like the sex was suddenly bad or not happening. They were still having it and it still felt nice.

She called Rachel to meet her for dinner so she could give Ha-Jin the night off. “Only if you wear the yellow blouse and white pants I put in your closet,” Rachel said. “I’m not being seen in public with you if you aren’t bothering to dress up for me.”

Eun-Sang looked down at her pantsuit and wrinkled her nose. “I’m wearing one of your tan pantsuits with a white blouse. Is that good enough?”

Rachel had a smile in her voice as she asked, “To highlight the necklace?”

“I’m not wearing it,” Eun-Sang lied as she started to take it off and put it in her jewelry box.

“Should I send you this morning’s pictures or will you just put it back on? Change into the outfit I want and I’ll meet you anywhere you want. Ye-Sol is out on a job so I have time to play with you.”

“Fine. Why are you watching my necklace? That seems a little masochistic.” Eun-Sang put it back on and changed her clothes. She hunted in the back of her closet for her motorcycle jacket. Young-Do got it for her once they started the lessons she didn’t need. He also got her a really good helmet. He wasn’t home to stop her from riding and she would probably be back before he got home to know she’d used one.

Wook was under orders not to let her get her hands on any of his keys.

“Where do you want to meet?” Rachel never answered questions she didn’t want to answer. Eun-Sang named a nice restaurant near Rachel’s office. Soon Eun-Sang was on one of Young-Do’s smaller bikes and speeding into the city. She was usually more careful on a motorcycle than she was in a car because she wasn’t stupid.

It was a good neighborhood, so she locked her helmet to the seat and shook out her hair. Rachel was waiting by the door and her eyebrows went up. “You really would ruin me for Ye-Sol if I was into the butch aesthetic. If I could get you to ride that thing with heels on, I would be done for.”

Eun-Sang rolled her eyes. “But you like girls in pretty little dresses kneeling at your feet. I would never be like that.”

“Your one flaw.” Rachel took her hand and they went into the restaurant together. They were seated and had ordered their food before she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sentimental with the necklace. It’s pretty and I like it. There is nothing wrong with wearing it every day.”

“Does he comment on it?”

“We don’t see each other often enough for him to notice. Dinner…” Eun-Sang slumped in her chair and wished she could have a drink. “He’s not a great conversationalist. I’m not either, not the way Hyo-Shin and you are. So it’s not working. And he has so many issues, Rachel. I’m not the girl to handle his issues. It’s only been six months and…”

She trailed off and Rachel was thoughtful for nearly a minute as she sipped her water. “I don’t think you’re in love with him. I think you want to be though. I remember when Hyo-Shin hit you with dinner at home. You’re trying to recreate it. You want it to be better than it is and you’re frustrated it isn’t working.”

Her eyes stung slightly. “I’m back to wishing he would cheat on me. That would be easier to handle instead of…”

“You have a feeling of responsibility towards this. If it fails, part of the blame will be on you because he’s trying hard.”

Eun-Sang closed her eyes. “He put together a movie activity for Bo-Na’s girls and included the single mothers in his company with their children. He’s trying too hard and I can’t match it.”

Rachel let out a low whistle just as their food came. They lapsed into silence as they started eating. “Are you going to support him at his competition?”

“He hasn’t invited me.”

That got an eyeroll. “You need to go, wear your necklace, and a pretty, feminine dress because this is a very masculine sport that he plays to stroke his ego. When he wins, you need to go up and kiss his sweaty self. I’ll do your hair and makeup. You can make it a surprise.”

“He doesn’t like surprises. I surprised him with something and it almost blew up in my face.”

“He’ll like this one.” Rachel stuck a piece of fried zucchini on her rice bowl. “He does this to feel like a man and if you cheer for him at the right moment, he is going to feel like a man. And when he wins and you congratulate him, he’s going to feel like trying too hard was the right course of action. Eun-Sang, I may be a lesbian but I know Choi Young-Do. His issues might be many in number but he doesn’t half ass anything. He’s all in. You need to be all in, too, or you will regret it. Trust me, I know you better than anyone else.”

Rachel was right so Eun-Sang ate her fried zucchini and resigned herself to being Rachel’s doll for the foreseeable future. “It’s on Sunday.”

“Text me when he leaves and I’ll come over.” Rachel kissed her cheek and Eun-Sang was glad she asked for help unraveling her feelings. Her phone started ringing and she was a little surprised it was Young-Do. “You smile when he calls.”

Eun-Sang stuck her tongue out at her. “Hello?”

“Why is my motorcycle outside the Golden Rabbit?”

“I’m inside with Rachel. How did you know?”

“My run route takes me past it. You can’t keep stealing my cars.”

“I’m your wife. What’s yours is mine.”

“If only that worked in reverse,” he muttered. “You told me you couldn’t ride.”

She wrinkled her nose and shoved a bite of rice in her mouth to stall just a few moments. She had absolutely nothing he wanted. Well, except for her cute ass and he was denying himself. “We need things to do together and I’m not above pretending you’re smarter than me in motorcycles. Besides, I had to sell my car and bike to keep my company afloat. These things, much like you, are meant to be ridden.”

Eun-Sang enjoyed the little choking sound he made whenever she bluntly brought up sex. “You can’t do any riding of me until after this competition. I need my edge to do well and sex takes that away.”

“Well, now you’ve turned it into a challenge.”

“If you seduce me and I lose, I absolutely will blame you.”

“You know, some men and at least one woman, would jump at the opportunity to be with me as often as I try to seduce you.” She caught Rachel smirking and ignored her.

“These men are not nationally ranked in completive judo. You’re very adorable, you have an amazing ass, and I would love it if you would stop stealing my motor vehicles.”

“No promises. Especially if I’m not allowed to seduce you. Are you still training?”

“I’ll be late and will have to leave early to get another workout in. Please drive the speed limit on your way home. The bike is replaceable. You are not.” Then he hung up.

“No wonder you’re unhappy,” Rachel said after a moment. “You can’t admit you’re in love until he admits it. You two are ridiculous.”

“He won’t admit it because he’s not and I won’t admit it because I’m not. Flirting isn’t love and you can’t insist otherwise until you admit that you care about Ye-Sol past torturing her with orgasms.”

Rachel gave one of her rare, happy smiles. “That is so much fun. One day she’s going to explode at me and I can’t wait.”

#silver lining

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[RF] Lovebug

LOVEBUG by Brandon Haffner

I’d been huffing model airplane glue for two years before I met Beef Gilbert, but he was the first person to make me feel stupid for it. The few friends I had couldn’t be counted on to look out for me; they could hardly look out for themselves. Those poor teachers at Woodland Acres Middle had bigger messes to clean up. And Mama—she was clueless. Too busy watching Golden Girls or The Price is Right or The Twilight Zone—didn’t matter what it was as long as it buzzed bright on that box of hers—and I couldn’t blame her, because Pops died in a freak accident when I was six, so she was all alone with me. This was another thing drew me and Beef together. His pops was dead, too.

By all accounts, Beef Gilbert was a maniac. He showed up at our school in August of 1987 and soon became known as “the kid who cut that cow open.” Like, if you were to see him for the first time, from afar, you might nudge the person next to you and ask: “Hey—is that the kid who cut that cow open?” Hence the name: Beef.

Around school he roamed the halls alone. Ate lunch by himself at one of those corner tables by the stage where the lighting wasn’t very good. He liked to remind people, loudly and half-grinning, that his mom worked at Wal-Mart and that he lived in a trailer park south of Jacinto City. Word spread that you could get him to do almost anything if you paid him enough.

I was on my second detention when I met him. Early September, the last breaths of stinky, sweltering Texas summer pouring in through broken window seals and cracked concrete. The air conditioning couldn’t keep up. During every lesson—x and y and z axes, power paragraphs, Ulysses S. Grant—we were melting.

I was fourteen and the only girl in detention that day. He was fifteen—he’d been held back a year at his old Houston school—tall for his age, slick blond hair, sweaty, and fat. His breath was a gargling wheeze. His too-big Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt sagged off him. His square, thick-rimmed glasses were the kind you’d find on a ninety-year-old man.

He sat surrounded by empty seats. The other kids huddled in the corners to sleep or draw or read comics. Beef was flipping through a porno mag. No effort to disguise the naked woman on the cover. I glanced at our detention monitor, Mr. Briggs, who was young and nervous, and my guess was, being a fresh fish, he didn’t want to bother with this notorious big boy.

If you asked me back then why I, a somewhat self-respecting girl standing on a fragile reputation built from hard-edged coolness and occasional witty jabs, sat next to Beef Gilbert that day, I would have shrugged and said I was bored out of my skull. Which wouldn’t have been a lie—I thought, as eighth graders do, I’d seen the whole world.

“Heard you cut up a cow or something, over the summer,” I said. “Why’d you do it?”

He put down his porno mag and glared at me. He wore dirty gray sweatpants and I saw under the desk he had a little hard-on.

“Me and that cow had a political disagreement,” he said.

I laughed. Then he laughed.

“Poor cow,” I said, joking now. “Was it still alive when you did it?”

“Check this out,” he said. He flipped the magazine around so I could see. On the page was a naked Asian woman on her hands and knees.

“I see the appeal,” I said.

“I doubt it,” he said. “They even got smut where you’re from?”

“Where I’m from? I live four blocks from City Hall,” I said. “I’m not some rich girl.” I thought about my bedroom the size of a janitor’s closet. Mama’s rusty Cavalier I could hear coming three blocks away. Frozen corn dogs, frozen fish sticks, canned noodle soup—our dinner rotation. Bedroom air conditioner that rattled and hummed all night.

But secretly I was flattered. All any fourteen-year-old girl stuck wearing off-brand clothes and cheap hand-me-down jewelry can hope for is that her sweet style and perfect makeup fool someone into thinking she doesn’t live in a run-down duplex.

Flatly, quickly, as if he’d said it before, he said: “Yeah, you’re not rich, and I’m not a lard-ass.”

I don’t know what it was like at other schools, but at Woodland Acres, teachers used detention on kids the same way I use duct tape to fix broken stuff around my apartment. Skipped a class? Detention. Late to school? Detention. Broke into a locker, tore down a poster, stole a kid’s pack of gum? Detention. Made fun of or disagreed with a teacher? Hit a girl, kissed a boy, spit a spitball, made a paper airplane out of a math test? Brought booze or weed or the wrong kind of glue to school? Didn’t stand up during the Pledge of Allegiance? Detention. Hell, if your parents called enough times to whine about your grades, you could go to detention for getting a D. Which meant some kids, God bless them, got detention just for being dumb.

With Beef and all his strangeness waiting for me, detention became something I looked forward to. Like the bell ringing at 3:15 every day, I could count on him being in that room when I got there. Same porno mag, same circle of empty chairs around him, the other kids keeping clear of his body odor.

“What’re you in for?” we started to ask each other, like new cellmates.

And he’d tell me the story, usually something like, “I threw my apple core at Miss Gracie. Ryan Bishop gave me fifty cents to do it.”

And when he asked what I was in for, I’d say, “Same as always.”

And he’d shake his head and say, “Stuff’ll fry your brain,” followed by, “Check out these titties.”

And I’d say, “You know I see titties every day. In the mirror.”

And he’d peer down at my chest, and when Mr. Briggs wasn’t looking I’d pull my shirt up to my collarbone, just for half a second, to show off how good they looked in my pink bra.

This, more or less, became our routine.

One afternoon in detention, I wrote Beef a note. Mr. Briggs had silenced our conversation with an urgent, pleading glance, and in the silence I stared at my notebook. Usually I would have drawn some crazy thing—a dragon with broken wings, an upside-down truck on fire—but that afternoon I was feeling chatty.

I wrote down some jokes about Mr. Briggs. Scratched some doodles of Mr. Briggs with various classroom objects up his asshole. I added, as a P.S., a suggestion that if Beef were to wear some clothes that fit him, clothes that maybe had been washed recently, he might look better. Not good, not handsome. Just better.

I passed it to him, and he gave me this look: anxious, embarrassed, confused. He seemed more shocked by this piece of paper than by my bra flashes. As he stuffed my neatly folded note into his sweatpants pocket, he coughed and asked, “You going to Ghoulish?”

The Ghoulish Gathering was the Woodland Acres Halloween Dance, the kind of mid-year, low-budget, cafeteria event that attracted only the school’s most desperate and dorky.

“No way in hell,” I said.

“Me neither,” he said.

I continued to write Beef little notes and to receive little notes from him. When he started calling me Lovebug—never in person, only on paper—I returned the affection.

“Dear Lovebug,” we’d start off.

His drawings were faceless stick figures with enormous penises, or terribly drawn motorcycles, or symbols of sports teams. Sometimes he’d draw abstractions, lines and curves and dark spots that had me searching for some deeper meaning. His letters were short and disjointed.

Dear Lovebug, one of them read. I ate like no food this week and am still fat. The universe is unfair. Please stop sniffing glue. It’s gross. One of these days you got to tell me how your dad died.

That was it. No sign off.

About a year before I met Beef, my best friend Mia—who was the type of girl who said “fuck” for no reason and dyed her hair a wacky new color each month and wore rings on all her fingers—walked me over to the gas station one afternoon to buy me my first tube. It felt weird in my hand, hard like a rock, only I could push the sides in a little. Testors brand. “Works the fastest,” Mia said. That same summer she showed me how to stuff tissues into my bra in a way that didn’t look lumpy and I showed her how to cut little slits into the front of her jeans to show off some thigh. “You bad little tease,” I said when she put the jeans back on.

At school I huffed straight from the tube. But at home I used the bag. To get the best high, you squeeze half an inch into the bottom. Place the bag over your mouth and nose. Inhale, exhale. Repeat, repeat, repeat, each breath deeper than the last, and soon you’re riding an escalator up a grassy, flowery hill, above the clouds, and if you’re lucky, it’ll be sunny up there, and if you’re luckier still, you’ll meet Jesus Christ. Boredom was never so beautiful.

Beautiful for about twenty good minutes anyway, and then I’d start finding myself in the bathroom wiping blood from my nose with toilet paper. I started buying tissues at the gas station every time I reloaded my supply.

I started looking for Beef in the halls between classes. One time, I stopped by his locker and asked him about the pictures taped to his door. Mostly cutouts of women in bikinis. A few photos of his Rottweiler.

“His name’s Ass Wipe,” Beef told me.

“Fitting,” I said. “He looks like shit.”

“And this one’s my dead dad.” He pointed to a young-looking, physically fit bald man wearing a collared shirt, clean white dress pants, and shiny dress shoes. He was sitting in a rocking chair, smiling at the camera.

“How’d he die?” I asked.

“Overdose,” Beef said, laughing and wheezing, then coughing. He looked at the photo and pressed his index finger against his dad’s head. “Yeah. He was a dumb bastard.”

And another time by his locker we were playing rock-paper-scissors to see who’d get the last piece of gum in the pack we’d pooled money to buy from Patrick Hutchins last detention. Beef threw paper and I threw rock, so he covered my little fist with his big hand, then said, “I don’t want it,” and handed me the last piece.

“Thanks Beef,” I said, popping the blue stick in my mouth. “What’s your real name anyway?” I asked.

“Dennis,” he said. I’d expected a war to draw it out of him, but he didn’t hesitate. “Dad used to call me Denny.”

“Denny? Like that breakfast place?”

“I told you he was a dumb bastard.”

I was only trying to play along when I said, “Well at least someone’s continuing his legacy.” I even elbowed him in the shoulder and winked big and hard to exaggerate the sarcasm, but I knew as soon as I said it I’d cut some place in him that was dark and bruised.

“Whatever. At least I don’t wear kiddie clothes and a gazillion layers of makeup,” he said, punching his locker shut. “You look like one of those creepy five-year-old pageant girls.”

Normally his lines about my dress weren’t so vicious. More like failed attempts at flattery. This particular year I wore a lot of pink. Pink fingernails, pink T-shirts, pink bobby pins, pink shorts. I even owned a pink watch. I didn’t wear all this at once, of course. Tasteful pink. “Your highlighter shorts are blinding me,” he’d say, or “My little cousin has a Barbie in that same outfit.” He’d gurgle and wheeze and laugh at his own joke and I’d roll my eyes.

But when he crossed the line—“I bet you got a whole dresser full of pretty pink panties,” for instance—I’d make a point, in front of whoever was watching, to demean him.

I’d say, loudly enough for a few bystanders to hear, “Give you two bucks to fall down these stairs,” or “Give you a buck fifty to slap Mr. Briggs on the ass,” or “How about you full-on sprint to each of your classes today, Beef? A quarter per class.”

Sometimes Mia was with us. She would help me find loose change to give him.

“He’s hilarious,” she’d say. “He’s something else.”

He’d do whatever I asked. Every time. Didn’t matter how many people were around to laugh at him, or how much detention it landed him, or how bad his coughing got afterward. He took the money up front. Usually he smiled about it, his dorky sad smile beneath those gigantic glasses. The kid was a walking cartoon character and he knew it. A clown. Almost everyone seemed amused by his act.

Sure, I stood and watched with the rest as he performed. But if anyone had glanced in my direction, they’d have seen how I felt. More than once I caught myself pressing my hands together and shifting my weight from foot to foot, hoping to God the poor idiot didn’t hurt himself.

Now that I think back, it wasn’t nervousness or even guilt. It was much more. It was that sick, stabbing pain in my gut, almost how you feel when your lover betrays you. Disgust. Disbelief. It was that he’d truly do anything. It was that, after a long day of shit grades and nasty looks from teachers and throbbing glue headaches, sometimes all I wanted was detention, his big dorky eyes looking at me and his sweaty notes making me laugh. It was fear that this poor fat boy loved me. It was fear that I could love him.

Tuesday after Labor Day I sat on one of those concrete benches overlooking the school’s brown front lawn, waiting for Mama to pick me up. She was late as always.

I pulled out my notepad and drew gargoyles and princesses. When detention got out, Beef walked through the glass doors and sat next to me.

“You got any pot?” I asked. “I been thinking about trying pot.”

“You know I don’t do any of that shit,” he said. He shook his head for emphasis.

“Just fooling with you,” I said. “Grump.”

We sat. An airplane ripped the sky open. Someone far away pumped some life into a lawnmower.

“When I first heard about you I thought you’d be some tough guy,” I said. “Some brute. A name like Beef. Beef who killed a cow. But I bet you’ve never even seen a cow in your life.”

No response.

“Sorry I missed you today,” I said. “What were you in for this time?”

“Wasn’t my fault. Just some assholes being assholes,” he said. “Like always.”

“You gonna beat them up?”

“Shut up, Emma.”

“I bet you never hurt anything ever.”

“How much?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“How much you want to bet I’ve never hurt a thing? For real,” he said. He was wheezing again.

“You should see a doctor about that chest problem you got,” I said. “Because that shit ain’t normal.”

“How much?” he asked.

“A buck,” I said. “Show me what you got.”

We went behind the school and into the woods, down a long hill on a foot-worn pathway, over a wooden bridge, and across a creek littered with beer cans and cigarette butts and candy wrappers. I’d never been back here before. After twenty minutes, the woods opened up into a green-yellow pasture, a few sun rays spotlighting the place, including, in the distance, an old blue farm house and its grey barn, and, just beyond the barn, the highway coming into the city.

Beef grabbed hold of the low wooden fence in front of us. Just a few feet away, like a joke, was a “No Trespassing” sign, accompanied by a bigger, handwritten sign that read, “I Will Shoot You.”

“Seems taller than it was before,” Beef said, running his hand along the fence. He lifted a heavy pale leg over the wood, made a grunting noise, and landed clumsily on the other side.

Then I climbed over. He watched me.

“Even I’ve got more grace than you,” he said.

I punched his arm. He pretended it hurt.

I followed him away from the house and down near an algae-covered pond. Mosquitoes swarmed.

“Here it is,” he said, pointing down at our feet.

It was so much a part of the earth it was hardly noticeable. But yes, indeed, there was a dead cow, or a pile of dried-up cow parts I should say, in fact not recognizable as a cow at all, except that I knew what I was looking for. There were no flies because the flesh was gone. Just a few bones, dead grass, and a big dark-colored spot on the ground.

“Tell me the truth, Beef,” I said. “You did this?”

“Fuck yeah, I did,” he said. “I’m a murderous cow-killing machine.”

“A true psychopath,” I said.

“A raging psychopath,” he corrected.

“Twenty bucks says you found this cow dead of natural causes.”

He kicked the small pile of fragile bones. Dirt and bone fragments everywhere. The mosquitoes were giving us both hell, and he swatted at them crazily, like each bite was a surprise.

“I like this dance you’re rocking,” I said.

Then he grabbed my wrist hard and he pulled me away from the bones. He led me back to the fence. My wrist started to hurt and my fingers were going numb, so I yanked my arm away.

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

“You don’t have to insult me every second, you know,” he said.

We walked through the woods without talking. The crunching leaves. His labored breathing.

When we got back, Mama’s brown station wagon was waiting for me.

“Want Mama to give you a ride home?” I asked him.

But he ignored me. He sat on the bench, took his glasses off, and set his chin in his hands as we drove away and left him there to wait for whoever.

I spent a lot of time in my room that year. I listened to Blondie and The Clash. I drew two-headed unicorns and tornadoes uprooting neighborhoods and man-eating plants. I threw darts at an old dartboard I’d found in a Pizza Hut trash bin when Mia and me were wandering around town one night looking for stuff to do.

And I talked to Beef on the phone. He was sometimes funny, sometimes stupid, sometimes sweet. But always surprising.

I’d ask, “What are you doing right now?”

And he’d say, “Taking a dump,” or “Training for the Olympics,” or “Waiting for you to come over one of these days so I don’t have to play checkers by myself anymore.”

And I’d make suggestions for the future, like the time I said, “Once you get your license we should go to the Cinemark. You like horror movies?”

“Nah,” he said. “My life’s a horror movie.”

I laughed. One morning later that week, though, I got the sense of what he meant. I found a note in my locker he must have slipped through the little vent:

Dear Lovebug,

Chase who is my asshole step-brother and me and my cousins went to that pond last summer and they gave me a knife and said stab that cow. They didn’t pay me so I said no way. But they got this syringe and stuck me with it. They pushed me down so I wouldn’t get away. They are doing all sorts of drugs all the time with my stepdad so I might have gotten some drugs in me. They said stab that cow or we’ll keep on sticking you. I didn’t do it on purpose.

It could have been my imagination, but that note changed us. I mean, we never spoke about it. I made sure of that. In fact I made sure the word “cow” didn’t even come up in conversation. But this secret, twisted story had an effect. We joked less. Maybe we were nicer to each other. At least until those miserable weeks after Ghoulish.

One late night on the phone, after Mama’d gone to bed, I told Beef how Pops died in a factory fire, and that I hardly had any memory of him, just a flash here or there from some tiny corner of my brain, his image fading more each year.

Beef asked, “Was your dad nice to your mom?”

I was on my knees on my bedroom floor and prepping a huffing bag. I brought the bag to my face and breathed in, breathed out, in, out, in, out.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember what you’re doing?”

“If Pops was nice to Mama. Too young I guess.”

Sometimes our conversations went so deep into the night we’d start to nod off, phones pressed to our ears. One of those nights, I was in bed with my eyes closed and the lights off. A long stretch of silence went by. Beef was breathing slowly, loudly.

“You awake?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Me neither.” I said.

The rumbling air conditioner switched off. The crickets in the yard hissed and pulsed. A streetlamp buzzed.

“Why don’t you like your mom?” he asked. “I want to meet her. Decide for myself.”

“She’s lazy. Sits around the house all day. Gets her welfare check and goes straight to happy hour. And she hates me,” I said. “She hates everything. She’ll hate you too.”

“Well your taste in music is pretty terrible. And your drawings. If I were your mom I’d be disturbed by those drawings.”

“I don’t even think she knows I draw.”

“I’d send you to an institution.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she did. Get me out of the house.”

“You should show her. Draw something not so gross. I’m being serious. You know, guilt her into putting it on the fridge and shit.”

“It’s a little late for the fridge. I’m not six years old.”

My ear was getting hot, so I switched the phone to the other side.

“She a druggie?” he asked.

I almost laughed. “Mama’s not cool enough to do drugs.”

A long silence.

“Did your pops?”

“Did Pops what?”

“Do drugs,” he said. “You know. Crack. Pills. Meth. Weed. Glue.”

“He drank a little,” I said. “I don’t know.”

I tried to picture Pops. Maybe it wasn’t my memory—maybe it was Mama’s complaining for years after he died that created the picture—but with my eyes closed, my brain all afloat on glue air, I could see Pops with a glass of brown liquor on ice, sitting on the orange couch in the living room, watching MAS*H. That couch was the one our old cat, Juniper, used to piss on, the one Mama and me took sledgehammers to a few years ago. Juniper—I’d almost forgotten about him. Raggedy gray hairball, always hissing at everybody but Mama. If you wanted to find him, you’d just look under that couch—two narrow yellow eyes and a low growl would be there to greet you. Mama loved that cat. Saw herself in him a little bit, I think. Not long after we tossed out the couch pieces, I came home from school to find Mama crying on the floor holding a limp, lifeless Juniper. I can’t say I was too upset about that cat’s passing, but for Mama it was almost like Pops had died all over again.

“Emma?” Beef said. I realized he’d said it several times. I was almost asleep.

“Oh,” I said.

“Goodnight.”

Two weeks before Ghoulish, a tall boy from my lunch table asked me to go with him and I said yes. In detention one afternoon I shamelessly told Beef all about him, hoping, I think, to see the hurt on his face. The boy’s name was Alfredo, he was from San Antonio, and he said corny shit like, “You’ve got a great Emma-gination,” his eyes were starry green, and his hands were that perfect blend of soft but firm on my hip in the lingering moment after a goodbye hug in the hall when he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Sounds like an asshole,” was all Beef could muster.

But a week later Alfredo either forgot about me or changed his mind because he asked out none other than my Mia, and when I told Beef, he said, “Your Mia? Mia Mullins?” and I said, “That’s the one,” and Beef said, “What’s he thinking? She’s got more acne than you and me combined.”

As we parted ways, surprised to find my hand shaking a little, I handed him a note, which went something like this:

Dear Lovebug,

Have a hot date yet for Ghoulish? If not, want to go with? Don’t get ideas.

He handed me his response in detention that afternoon:

Dear Lovebug,

Hope you break dance cause I’m a champ.

That week on the phone, all he wanted to talk about was the dance. He said things like, “I’m going to bring a bag of sugar in case they play ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me,’” and “I bet you’ve slow danced with like a hundred guys.”

“I want to cut out like halfway through,” I said. And I told him I’d pictured the two of us talking in a corner, not dancing at all, maybe heading back to my room to listen to music and draw and talk, like Mia and me used to do.

“Your mama won’t mind?”

“Have you been listening to anything I’ve ever told you? Mama doesn’t mind anything.”

“Okay, but we gotta slow dance once,” he said.

“No promises.”

“Number one hundred and one, here I come.”

But of course we didn’t get that far.

Mama left me $20 a week. Every Monday morning there was one bill on the kitchen counter. Given that Mama had no job, I always wondered where this money came from. I found out later it came out of Pop’s life insurance. The poor man was funding my glue habit from the grave.

Back in 1987 you could buy a lot with $20. Four or five movie tickets. A new shirt. A Sony Discman. A decent dinner out. A shitload of ice cream.

Or a dozen eight-ounce tubes of Testors.

But the day before Ghoulish, when it came time to resupply, I found the Walgreens completely out. So instead I picked up some paint thinner—I thought I’d heard about one of Mia’s friends using it. Came in a plastic bottle a little taller and narrower than a soda can. I walked home and ran up to my room and stuffed the bottle under my mattress.

Then I went downstairs for dinner; I remember this dinner well. For some reason Mama’d cooked lemon pepper chicken and some type of stuffed pasta with actual dinnerware, not the plastic plates I usually took up to my room. It was the most impressive meal I’d eaten in months. Before sitting down, I asked:

“What’s the special occasion?”

I got this nasty look from her and some response like:

“Does it need to be a special occasion if I want to cook some damn chicken for us?”

“What’s up your ass?”

“If you’re gonna talk like that don’t talk at all.”

“Fine with me.”

We ate the delicious meal in dead silence, save for the smacking of our lips and the clinking of our forks against our plates. When I finished, I went upstairs, locked the door, cranked “Death or Glory,” stuck my hand under my mattress, pulled out the now-warm can, shook it, heard my liquid destiny sloshing around, and took, as they say, the plunge.

Dear Lovebug,

When I wake up to get ready for school in the morning and put my clothes on, I sometimes pretend my clothes are ancient armor. Many, many girls for hundreds or thousands of years have worn this same armor and now it’s mine. It’s all rusty and it’s got some holes because you know it’s so old, but for the most part it’s good trustworthy armor. Now that I write it down this seems dumb. But even though it’s pretend and I know I’m too old to pretend, the armor has got me through lots of mornings when I just didn’t want to go to school. You know what I mean? Do you know what I’m talking about?

Anyway I’m writing this note at the hospital so I won’t be at the Ghoulish and you’re probably not going to get this note in time but I thought I should write it anyway.

Yes, I’m in the hospital for the reason you’re thinking.

I guess that’s all.

Emma

At the bottom of that note was a drawing of my own face, frowning, a tear streaming down one cheek. The finished product—eyes way too big and wide, too many half-erased sketch lines around the edges, crazy hair, pointy nose—looked nothing like me.

As any idiot could tell you, huffing paint thinner isn’t anything like huffing Testors. Less like riding an escalator up through clouds than like riding a train that’s on fire and the cabins are full of smoke and the whole thing is sailing off the tracks down into a ravine and you know it’s just a matter of time before you hit bottom and blow up into smithereens, but until then your stomach is flipping and churning and you feel weightless and terrified at the same time as the whole world rushes past you at terminal velocity or whatever.

The instant I unscrewed the cap, my face a good foot from the bottle, the fumes filled my room. The smell swept me back to those lighter-fluid-drenched junk heaps in the woods. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I stuck my nose into the opening and took a huge sniff, followed immediately by another huge sniff, figuring I could skip a step—the bottle acted like a bag by way of concentrating and trapping those wonderful toxic fumes.

Who knows why we do these things to ourselves?

Imagine using two mortars to mash up some glass and habanero peppers, then jamming those glass-and-habanero-caked mortars up your nostrils. Even after I yanked my face from the bottle, grabbed a tissue, and began blowing, and even after those bloody chunks started falling out of my nose more thickly and rapidly than the tissues could contain—my khaki shorts and pink carpet were soaked with red by the time I passed out—the inside of my nose burned so bad I was crying.

If my life was a movie, I’d have woken up in the hospital bed. Peaceful and rested, surrounded by “get well” balloons and some doctor giving me a solemn but hopeful look. No such luck for 14-year-old Emma. No, I woke up in the ambulance, where the pain in my nose was still intense and burning. No way my nose survives this, I was thinking. It’s gonna have to be surgically removed. I’m gonna be noseless forever and they’re gonna make fun of me worse than they make fun of Beef.

Added to my nose pain was this unbearable headache, as if I’d banged my head on the ambulance door as they stuffed me in. I couldn’t stop coughing. My heart raged against my chest like a deranged gorilla. I was surrounded by fast-talking, stressed out, overworked strangers.

Other things I remember: Real bumpy ride. Blurry vision. Lights hurt my eyes. Cold as a freezer. Why was the air conditioning up so high in there? Where was Mama? Wet blood slowly drying on my face. Tried to open my mouth to ask for a Tylenol or something, but nothing came out but another painful cough. And no eye contact with the strangers. Not the whole way to the hospital. What I can’t tell you is if I was avoiding their eyes or they were avoiding mine.

After they got me all fixed up with tubes and oxygen, Mama walked in the room. There was no window, and everything was beige. She sat in the chair next to my bed.

Mama folded her hands in her lap and said, “Emma.” She’d been crying. It was obvious. Puffy red cheeks, wet eyes, that permanent frown of hers. Her half-gray,-half-black hair was a mess.

She put her hand on my hand. I was too weak to move it away.

I expected Mama to get up and leave after an hour or so. But I fell asleep, and when I woke up it was morning, and she was still there, asleep in the chair, her head leaning awkwardly on the beige wall. Later on it would dawn on me that this was the longest stretch of time we’d been in the same room together since Pops was alive.

Mama went and got me breakfast from the hospital cafeteria and came back and we ate together in silence.

“Are you depressed?” Mama said when we finished. When our eyes met I realized she’d been spending most of breakfast working up the courage to ask.

“No, Mama.”

“Did some boy hurt you?”

I laughed, then coughed.

“Well then what?” she asked, impatient. “What is it? People don’t do this for no reason.”

“Sure they do,” I said.

The nurse came in, drew my blood, and left.

“She seems nice,” Mama said.

“I don’t like her,” I said, which was a lie.

Mama stayed with me for the next day and a half.

“It’s no trouble,” she kept saying, as if I’d told her she was outdoing herself. “I’ve got nowhere to go.”

They rolled in a TV and we watched whatever Mama wanted to watch. I went in and out of sleep. The doctor told me I was a “perfectly healthy young woman,” but that I wouldn’t be this way much longer if I kept “poisoning my body,” and “brain damage” and “heart damage” and “sudden death” and this and that, and he handed me a pamphlet with the words “FREEDOM FROM ADDICTION” written at the top in all caps, which I threw in the garbage outside the hospital, and which Mama fished out of the garbage and clutched in her lap with her non-steering hand during the drive home and then studied at the kitchen table through her reading glasses for like a gazillion billion hours.

I must have called Beef fifteen times that weekend. On Sunday night, his mama answered the phone. She told me Beef—she called him Dennis—was resting up and wouldn’t be at school for a bit. Then Ass Wipe started barking and she said she had to go.

Mia told me the story at lunch that Monday. Turns out Alfredo had showed up to Ghoulish drunk. Slurring his words, not walking straight. Beef was there searching the crowd for me in his I’m-sure-ridiculous-looking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume. He found Mia and asked her where I was, and Alfredo, who was standing right there, asked Beef how he could be so stupid as to think I’d actually dance with him. Acted like I’d set the whole thing up as a gag. So Beef plopped down at one of the tables behind the crowd and just sat there like a lonely egg. But when Mia went to the bathroom, Alfredo tracked Beef down, acted all remorseful, told Beef I wasn’t worth getting all depressed over, that I wasn’t even that good a kisser—which is a lie—then offered Beef fifty bucks to sneak behind the cafeteria stage curtain, climb the spiral staircase to the catwalk above the stage, and jump off while hollering, “Cowabunga dude!”

So he did.

The stage exploded as if Beef were a human bomb. Broke his left leg and nearly his hip. But the worst part: this little shard of wood came up and stuck Beef right in the eye. Blood was everywhere. As Mia put it, “Everyone was running around screaming like it was the end of days.”

Monday of next week I finally saw him during my break between Spanish II and study hall. He walked toward me down the hallway on crutches, a black eye patch over his left eye. If I hadn’t heard the story first, I would have figured somebody was paying him a buck or two to act like a disabled pirate. When he came close enough to hear me, I took a risk and made a joke of it. I said, “Ahoy there!” But he didn’t respond. Didn’t even crack a tiny grin. Instead, from his right eye, he shot me this wild glare, kind of like the glare a horse—or a cow—gives you when you walk too close to the fence. Like they’re scared and pissed at the same time.

Then Beef lifted the patch to reveal a mess of purple and black flesh.

“Give me a dollar,” he said, “and I’ll let you touch it.”

I stood there like a dope.

“People been handing me money all day to put their fingers in my eye socket,” he said. He reset the patch. “Some people are so disgusting. Wouldn’t you say, Lovebug?”

I didn’t agree or disagree. I dug around in my rotten brain but the words were buried too deep. And after a few awful seconds, he limped off into the crowd.

At home that evening, in my bedroom, my paint thinner was nowhere to be found. My bed was made, too. And the next Monday morning, there was no $20 bill on the kitchen counter.

Weeks went by. I wound up in detention less and less often. The sweltering summer heat was replaced by breezy windbreaker weather. Beef and I still talked sometimes, in the halls. Not like before, but little stuff, like, “Does Mr. Briggs still pretend those ladies in your magazine aren’t naked?” and “Your mama got a new boyfriend yet?” Stuff like that. Then one day he told me he was moving to Louisiana over winter break to go live with his grandpa. Set to go to some high school in Baton Rouge. He’d already been out to visit.

“Best part is, everyone’s a lard-ass out there,” he said. “Even lard-assier than me. For real. I’m gonna be the hot jock.”

“The Hot Jock Cyclops of Baton Rouge.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

His mama’d had a heart attack or something, he said. Hence the move.

Christmas Eve. In my bedroom. Beef had been gone a week. “Train in Vain” blasting on my stereo. I was wrapping a present, believe it or not, for Mama. A pencil drawing of nothing special. A river, flowing down a canyon, and in the middle of it, this big zig-zaggy tree emerging from the water, branches reaching up toward the sky. It was pretty bad even by my standards—never was much of a nature drawer. Figured I might as well give it away. Plus once I’d finished and stepped back from it, that crazy tree kind of reminded me of her. Weather-beaten and old and strange. The type of tree all the tourists would come to see and snap pictures of while asking impossible-to-answer questions like, “How the hell did it get in the middle of the river in the first place?” and “Why hasn’t it fallen down after all these years?”

When she opened it on Christmas morning she cried so many tears it was like God had opened a bottle of champagne all over our living room. She gave me a hug—our first hug in I don’t know how long—and thanked me over and over. It was a little excessive.

After presents, we sat on the couch. She held my hand while her terrible Christmas music played in the background and we sipped the lukewarm hot chocolate she’d made. As she stared out the living room window—where there was nothing but cold, frosted lawn and a deserted street—she had this odd little smile. Her face was still wet. After a few minutes I cleared my throat, and she stood up and asked if I’d like her to reheat the rest of the hot chocolate. From her eyes I understood she wanted me to say yes.

I thought of a thousand smart responses. “Sure, nothing more delicious than chocolate water garnished with powder clumps,” or “But wouldn’t reheating mean it was once heated?” But when I practiced them in my head, none of my one-liners was the clever little needle I wanted. On this quiet Christmas morning, everything I thought to say was a jackhammer, a chainsaw, a blowtorch. So I gave it up.

Inhale, exhale. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

“Sure, Mama,” I said, handing her my empty pink mug.

Published on May 9, 2019

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