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eleanorfenyxwrites · 1 year

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The Romance of Anonymity

Part 1 / 2

@polyshipweek 2023 Day 1 - Road Trip

What universe is better for road trip vibes than the 90's strip mall AU? As per usual in this universe there's virtually no plot to this, just flirting and Vibes™. Part 2 will be 'Bed Sharing' for day 3 of the prompt list ♥

--//--

Sunlight flickers red and burning orange against Meng Yao’s eyelids, the searing heat of it tempered slightly by the intermittent ruffle of the breeze through his hair. Under the monotone rush of the wind past the cracked-open window and the hum of the asphalt beneath their tires, he can just barely hear his boyfriends talking quietly together in the front seat, a soft, safe countermelody to the road noise that had lulled him to sleep some indeterminate amount of time ago.

“I can’t believe he’s short enough to lay across the seat like that,” Mingjue marvels, snagging Meng Yao’s pleasantly wandering attention away from contemplating a second nap.

“Well darling it’s not like he doesn’t have his legs curled up as well,” Xichen laughs quietly. “He only barely fits on it better than you or I would.”

“Still!” Mingjue protests, on the verge of laughter that Xichen quickly shushes through his own chuckling. “I feel like I always forget how small he is and then he pulls shit like this.”

“I may be asleep but that won’t stop me from kicking your ass, da-ge,” Meng Yao pipes up, smiling blindly up at the roof of the car when his boyfriends laugh without muffling themselves, all of them a little giddy from the hours they’ve already spent in the car over the last day and a half.

“A-Yao, sweetheart, you’re going to get a crick in your neck,” Lan Xichen frets with a soft hand laid on his bent knee. Meng Yao cracks an eye open and turns his head enough to squint through the sunlight on his face at his boyfriend turned around halfway to reach over the top of the front seat of Mingjue’s Cutlass. “Do you want us to pull over and get the pillow out of my suitcase?”

Meng Yao stretches his arms straight up towards the roof before he turns onto his side to face the front seat with a sigh, one eye still stubbornly shut against the early-afternoon sun cutting through the window above his head. Lan Xichen lifts his hand to allow the movement but puts it back the moment he’s settled, palm rasping pleasantly over his jeans as he rubs it back and forth, calf to knee to thigh and then back down.

“Mmm maybe. How long did I sleep?” he asks around a yawn.

“About an hour and a half,” Mingjue tells him, head lifting a bit as if to look at him in the rearview mirror though Meng Yao can’t see the mirror well enough to meet his eyes at this angle. “A-Huan and I were planning to switch at the next rest stop in about ten miles, so we’re pulling over anyway.”

Meng Yao spends another long moment indulging in the sleepy lassitude of the hot sun, the rumbling of the car, the road, and the attention of his boyfriends before he lets it slip away in favor of waking up properly.

He sighs again, mutters a grumpy, “No, I’ll wake up it’s fine,” and props himself up with a hand on the seat beneath him, forcing himself upright with the promise of kissing Xichen for a reward. Xichen smiles and goes up on one leg to lean back over the bench seat and accept his kiss easily, the both of them ignoring Mingjue’s grumbling about the unfairness of being the driver and why doesn’t he get any kisses just because he has to pay attention to the road.

“Ten more miles, da-ge,” Xichen soothes when they break apart. Meng Yao gives himself a little shake to wake himself up properly as Xichen turns to lay his head down on Mingjue’s shoulder, beseeching and teasing as he tuts over Mingjue’s many hardships and how he’s so brave to endure them anyway just to get him riled up.

Smiling at the familiar tune of his boyfriends’ banter, Meng Yao reaches down to the beat up igloo cooler from the gym down in the footwell behind the driver’s seat to rummage around for something decent to snack on. (The problem with dating two health-conscious gym rats is that they think grapes constitute a snack. Which…fine, maybe, but Meng Yao is of the opinion that cheap, filling junk calories of any kind are far superior, and he’d insisted they pack accordingly.)

“A-Yao?” Mingjue calls when they seem to notice his foraging up front.

“Hm?”

“Did we bring beef jerky?”

Oh of course, how could he forget the only other acceptable snack for the non-vegetarian gym rat boyfriend?

“I could never part you from your one true love, da-ge.”

This time he’s in the perfect spot to look up at meet Mingjue’s eyes in the mirror when his boyfriend sighs and raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

“Sassy. Go back to sleep, you’re still grumpy.”

Meng Yao withdraws the package of teriyaki jerky and pinches it delicately between thumb and forefinger to slowly drape it over the middle of the seat between Mingjue and Xichen, wiggling the package back and forth a bit to make it crinkle.

“No thank you, da-ge. You’re going to eat what you want of this, brush your teeth at the rest stop, and then we’re going to make out in the back seat while Xichen tries not to run somebody off the road from trying to watch us.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyes in the mirror crinkle up as he grins widely enough Meng Yao is sure his dimples are as deep as they can go.

“A-Yao,” Xichen doesn’t quite pout but it’s close, turning to look at him again to better hit him hard with his best pleading eyes. “Can’t we stop somewhere for a while so we can all…relax?”

Meng Yao offers Xichen a sweet smile and stands up a little, hunching over to avoid hitting his head on the roof (though his hair still rubs against the microfiber lining) and leaning over the seat to bury his face in the crook of Xichen’s neck. He presses a few kisses to one of the spots that makes him shiver and punctuates them with a little nibble.

“Of course, er-ge, that’s why we’re stopping at a motel tonight,” he purrs. He’s still getting used to so many things: being wanted – by two handsome men – and telling one or both of them ‘no’ (even temporarily) are probably the biggest ones. But he hopes he never gets so used to the effect he has on them that it becomes mundane. Xichen tips his head to the side to give him better access and swallows thickly, turning into putty even from such a light touch.

“The faster you drive when it’s your turn the sooner we can make that happen,” Mingjue adds, always his partner in crime when driving Xichen up the wall is on the table. Meng Yao feels Xichen shiver again and he peeks an eye open to see Mingjue’s taken one hand off the wheel to rub it slowly up and down Xichen’s thigh with clear intent. “Just, you know…If you need an incentive to drive faster than the average 90-year-old.”

Meng Yao snickers into Xichen’s neck, effectively ruining the sexy vibe he’d been going for but he doesn’t mind. He smacks another kiss to the skin under his mouth before he sits back down again and resumes his hunt for his own snacks as Xichen sighs and opens up the bag of jerky to start handing pieces to Mingjue while he drives, the 5-mile sign for the rest area flashing by the window just as Meng Yao sits up with a triumphant cry for having found his bag of goldfish tucked safely in a separate bag where they wouldn’t get crushed.

--//--

As all motel rooms are, theirs is dingy and unimpressive. Meng Yao lugs his suitcase in first with a grunt, sticky in the small of his back and under his arms even just from the short walk from the parking lot up to their room on the second floor. He steps aside to let Mingjue and Xichen through, relieved when Xichen immediately heads for the AC unit under the window to flip up the lid and start fiddling with the dials. Mingjue barely even bothers to kick the door shut behind himself before he yanks his shirt off over his head by the back of the collar and rolls his shoulders with a sigh of relief.

“Mingjue, darling, you have got to get a car with a working air conditioner,” Xichen whines from where he’s draped himself over the humming unit, cold air fluttering the strands of his hair hanging damp with sweat over his forehead.

“Can’t hear you!” Mingjue shouts back from where he’s soaking a rag at the bathroom sink to scrub over the heat-flushed back of his neck. Xichen rolls his eyes at the blatant lie but seems a bit too wilted to bother arguing. Meng Yao drops a kiss to his sweaty hair in consolation before he makes what is, objectively, the best decision out of the three of them and goes to monopolize the shower.

“There is absolutely not room for two in this shower, da-ge,” Meng Yao hums a few minutes later when the man pulls the curtain back about halfway, enough to lean against the wall so they can chat without the floor getting soaked.

“Could be, you don’t know.”

“Considering what happens when we shower together, yes I do know.”

Mingjue smirks at him and gives him a long, appraising look down the length of his body while Meng Yao turns to grab the complimentary bottle of shower gel that contains enough soap for roughly half a grown man’s body.

“Fine, suit yourself. We’re thinking about ordering pizza from that spot we passed on the way in, A-Huan’s too hot to pretend like he doesn’t want to be spoiled with junk food. I’m assuming you have no complaints?”

“Not a one. Don’t let him order mushrooms though, he doesn’t have to pretend to like them for our sakes.”

“Sure. You want soda?”

Meng Yao shrugs and preens under the way Mingjue’s watching him attempt to stretch the shower gel as far as it can go to clean the sweat-salt off every inch of his skin, looking very much like he’d absolutely be the one doing it for him if Meng Yao would let him.

“Coke’s fine, or there’s always water from the sink.”

Mingjue nods, pushes off from the wall with a sigh, and finally looks up to meet his eyes again, clearly unembarrassed by his own brazen behavior.

“ ‘Kay. Hurry up, that looks really fucking nice and I think A-Huan’s actually going to fuse with that air conditioner if I let him lay there too much longer.”

“Him you can send in to share,” Meng Yao turns his face out of the spray to say, earning himself a heartfelt, “Oh fuck you,” that makes his laughter bounce off the walls of the tiny closet of a bathroom when Nie Mingjue turns to head back out into the rest of the room.

Xichen, when he arrives just as Meng Yao is finishing his rinse, plasters himself to his back and crowds him under the weak spray with eager kisses along his neck and shoulder that make Meng Yao laugh, quieter this time, as he reaches back to pat clumsily at Lan Xichen’s thigh.

“Hi, Huan-ge,” he hums. Xichen nuzzles into his hair and wraps strong arms around his chest to hold him close as he turns them around with shuffling steps to sigh as the cool water hits his back. Meng Yao chuckles again and leans his head to the side to pillow his cheek on Xichen’s bicep, eyes drifting shut to better appreciate the contrast of smooth, warm skin and the cool slide of water between and over them both tangled up together.

They stay there like that for long, quiet minutes, just standing together under the water, swaying ever so slightly as Xichen hums something that they’d had on in the car earlier under his breath. Meng Yao relaxes his (yes, sore) neck a little further until his cheek is fully smushed against Xichen’s arm, lazy and utterly unconcerned with how he looks. He’s just held and comfortable in the too-dim bathroom of a Motel 6 in some tiny town where no one but his boyfriends knows him.

They’ll be gone in the morning, a few strange faces in a rotating cast of them through this place, a battered blue car on the road going somewhere no one around them will care about. Meng Yao feels the weight of years fall off his shoulders in the anonymity of it, secure in the knowledge that he won’t be lost, he’s still known by the most important people in his life and they’re right here with him, but outside of his partners no one else cares.

It’s more freeing than he would’ve ever expected.

They get out of the shower when Xichen decides to unstick himself from Meng Yao’s back with a few parting kisses tender enough to make Meng Yao’s eyes sting. Xichen pats him dry, smiling, with the scratchy motel towels that smell of strong industrial bleach. Meng Yao returns the favor with another identical towel, ruffling up Xichen’s long hair for good measure to stop it dripping on his shoulders and making his boyfriend wrinkle his nose at him when he emerges from the towel, rumpled and soft around the edges.

“Hi,” Meng Yao says again and earns a kiss to the tip of his nose for it. The careful brush of knuckles against his cheek.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Not fair not fair not fair. Meng Yao tries not to melt at the tenderness in Xichen’s voice and realizes immediately that that will be impossible while stuck in this tiny bathroom looking up at him and his stupid kind eyes. He needs Mingjue.

He returns the kiss to his nose with a smacking one to Xichen’s bare chest and then he’s wrapping his towel around his waist to head out into the room again in search of something sharper to force him back into the shape of his body.

Mingjue’s sitting on the edge of the bed nearer the door still in just his jeans, hunched over enough to rest his elbow on his knee to better hold the room’s phone to his ear. Meng Yao climbs up onto the bed behind him and knee-walks his way across the slippery (stained? Ew) bedspread to drape himself over his back the way Xichen had done to him in the shower, arms over Nie Mingjue’s shoulders and his cheek resting against the back of his head.

“I told you Xichen left food in the fridge for you to have for dinner,” Mingjue snaps in the way he only talks to Nie Huaisang – beleaguered and affectionate in equal parts. Meng Yao has been reliably informed that that’s simply the curse of having a little brother. He privately thinks his own brother wouldn’t feel like that if they were on speaking terms. (Or...’acknowledging each other’s existences’ terms.)

Nie Mingjue covers his eyes with his free hand at whatever Nie Huaisang says in reply. Meng Yao ghosts his fingertips up and down the familiar contours of Nie Mingjue’s chest as he focuses more on the vibration of his boyfriend’s voice thrumming through him where they’re pressed together chest-to-back while Xichen putters around them, getting dressed and turning down the covers on the other bed for the evening.

“Okay, fine, whatever, but if you spend all of your allowance eating at every restaurant in town I’m not giving you more. It’s your choice, money for the arcade for the week or dinners with your boyfriend.”

Meng Yao smiles a little as Nie Huaisang whines on the other end of the line, too garbled up for him to hear from here, and brings one hand up to card lazily through Mingjue’s hair, brushing it back from his too-warm forehead.

“Alright, A-Sang, whatever! Did you go help Zonghui with the gym today like I asked?”

Meng Yao ducks down a bit to start pressing featherlight kisses along the shell of Mingjue’s ear, smiling when his boyfriend leans his head further to the side to allow it as well as hold the phone receiver between his shoulder and his head to grab Meng Yao’s hands in both of his to squeeze his fingers, raise them to his mouth to nip at his fingertips in between his own little kisses in return.

Meng Yao sharpens his kisses into little bites the longer Mingjue spends hemming and hawing to his brother on the phone, until finally he’s gnawing on his boyfriend’s earlobe (much to Xichen’s entertainment where he’s pretending to meditate on the other bed) and Mingjue gives up with a huff of irritation, sitting up straight again abruptly and catching the receiver before it can fall away from his ear.

“A-Sang I have to go, we need to order dinner and get to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow night, okay?”

Meng Yao smirks in triumph as Mingjue practically slams the phone down to turn and tackle him to the bed, teeth bared as he lunges in to return the favor with hard bites up and down the expanse of Meng Yao’s entire neck.

“No fair!” he gasps around breathless laughter, “I only went for your ear!!”

“I’ll order dinner,” Xichen offers, reaching for the phone and the laminated page of listings for restaurants that deliver in the area off the nightstand. Meng Yao doesn’t even have time to chide him for this betrayal in not rescuing him before Mingjue is kissing him hard and dirty, fitting all the too-soft parts of him that Xichen drags out into the light with barely an effort back under the surface where they belong.

For now.

Xichen orders dinner and Meng Yao makes Mingjue leave him be long enough to get dressed in lounge pants at least before the pizza arrives. They all pile into the bed they won’t be sleeping in to eat, sitting cross-legged with knees knocking and toes brushing ankles, dinner piled up between and around them on the bedspread that has absolutely seen worse than some stray pizza grease. Meng Yao lets the feeling of it settle into his bones, and he decides that before this road trip is over he’s going to tell them both that he loves them. Out here, where it’s just them and the road and a string of motels they’ll never see again, he feels like this is the way he can say it first.

Unwatched.

Unmonitored.

Just a man who loves his chosen People.

One of many.

#the untamed fanfic #PolyshipWeek23 #The Romance of Anonymity #3zun #90's strip mall AU #Meng Yao #Lan Xichen #Nie Mingjue #fluff #Tales from Jianghu Shopping Center #<- universe #NMJ's car (for those who are curious) is a 1994 oldsmobile cutlass which is the car my sister and I learned to drive in as teenagers #It was a GREAT car it drove like a fuckin tank and it had a bench seat in the front that was tilted at the back #so it felt like driving while sitting on a couch #in the notes of the fic on AO3 I've got a link to an article about one that was being sold last year that's got some good pictures #so you can appreciate the beautiful 90's yacht of a station wagon that it is

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moldwood · 21 days

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okayyyy pointy strahd going joker mode. now i get back to work

#i am certain this will become a sketch that gets out of hand but i already did one of those today #i have to draw a soup can now #errrrwhateva it can go in the tag. sketches go there anyway #my art #its secretly of the modern au strip mall strahd i have in my head. but i dont like to post about it ♥ but i'll still finish and post this #piece eventually regardless

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funkily · 1 year

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seriously i love biggri so much i WISH they werent cheaters that would make my job so much easier

#rambling in tags (for once im happy for the quotation mark thing)#id have to make an au where they arent morally reprehensible but thats a lot of work /silly #but fr i cant .. i can only do romantic angst in small doses and guilt is not my friend #the normal solution would be polyamory but that seems difficult to .. set up . in a death game .#esp dl bc like #all the other polyams im attached to in the life series i imagine happening spontaneously you know . but in dl theyre both #explicitly paired off with someone else . in b and rens case theyre couple coded #and also i think id be pecked by birds (hermitcraft fandom) if i didnt portray scarian that way too #just . ITS HARD #the closest thing i have is an old strip mall au but that was more focused on the divorce quartet #IM . SO SORRY . THATS A LOTJDHDNDDN #babbleeng #double life

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tojipie · 11 months

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thinking very hard about truck driver toji !

passing mention of sex but no actual nsfw content !

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lugging cargo across the country is no joke, with individual jobs spanning weeks at a time. fortunately, toji somehow ended up with you to keep him busy, his forever passenger princess.

a blurry picture of you two taken on a disposable camera hangs on the dash mirror. the shot is encased in a clear frame and strung up by beaded thread. you’re holding the camera towards the two of you, blowing a kiss towards the lense as toji stands with his arm slung around your shoulders. he’s smiling, a marlboro red pinched between his molars.

toji tries not to smoke in front of you most of the time, opting to pull over at a weigh-in station when his hands start to shake. he’ll kick the same pebble around while you stretch behind the truck, waving at the occasional biker.

it’s rare that men in his profession have anyone to spend the drive with, toji makes the most of it. the older man uses your little stowaway situation as an excuse to take you all across the country, picking up little keychains and stickers for you at every gas station the two of you visit. it’s hard to keep busy when all there is to do is pump gas and fuck, but you’re content with the little dynamic you have.

he’ll pull into a rest stop every time he starts feeling tired, dragging you into the driver’s side seat so he can cradle you in his arms like a little teddy bear. real sleep is done in the truck cab, under a weighted blanket he’d picked up at a strip mall in the mountains.

your “bedroom”, or the truck cab really, is a modest little room behind where the driver’s compartment is. toji tore out the twin sized mattress 2 weeks into your little arrangement, replacing it with a queen sized memory foam one. “a good investment” he called it.

you two rarely if ever sleep in there though. opting for the comfort of a hotel room over the glorified backseat of a sleeping arrangement his truck has. toji can afford it, that much is obvious from how much he spends on room service per week. the man had taught you that a truck driver’s salary was more than enough to keep a girl happy, and with how much you two had been on the road, he was easily reaching the 6-figure mark.

most people would get sick of being forced to spend so much quality time with each other. you never will.

you’ll never get tired of waking up in a different place every morning, spending hours exploring new cities with your favorite boy. you’ll never get tired the way you learn something new about him everyday. a new detail about the family he grew up with, a beauty mark you never noticed on his back, the way his nose scrunches when you say something funny.

you’ll never get tired of the way he stalks up to you after every other rest stop visit, hands clasped behind his back as he prepares to surprise you with whatever trinket he just bought you. and you’ll never regret your decision to be his permanent little sidekick, experiencing every day right alongside him.

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a/n: hii ! i rly rly love this au hehe, i might even like it more than prisoner toji. lmk if this should be a series, and feel free to send in related asks if u want :D

#adah’s asks #truck driver!toji #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji x fem reader #toji x fem reader smut #toji x fem reader angst #toji x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen

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urhoneycombwitch · 8 days

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my baby puts his mouth on me

foreword: okay this is kind of written as a bonus scene for i know what they call you bc that version of reader deals with being quiet, too! (not necessary to read that one first but does provide a bit of context as far as interpersonal setting.) sort-of AU that ignores most s4 events. anon request can b found here 💖

wc: 2.2k

cw: discussions of college, shy!reader, oral + fingering (R receiving), R has breasts and a V, weed usage, softdom!Eddie, shifting POV a bit soz

___

Somewhere between Eddie’s late nights at band rehearsal and your early morning diner shifts, you’ve both been too exhausted to properly fuck when you do see each other, barely time for a spare handjob in the past week. You’re crawling out of your skin by the weekend, missing and craving Eddie in equal measure.

So when your Saturday off happens to line up with his, Eddie makes an afternoon of it- picnic lunch on the shore of Lover’s Lake, lazing around in the August sun while your food settles, then stripping down to your underclothes (even though the spot Eddie scored was totally isolated, you’re still leery about skinny dipping) and cooling off with a quick dip in the lake.

You’re both sprawled out in the blanketed back of Eddie’s van, sun-warmed bodies pressed together, legs dangling out of the open rear door; smoke hangs hazy in the air from the joint being shared.

“Almost end of summer,” Eddie says, nestling his nose into your neck, arms wrapping around your middle. He can’t look at you, dread unfurling in his stomach but needing to ask, to clear the air, to prepare in case this is one of the last times he gets to touch you like this- “Thinkin’ of going to any colleges?”

”Maybe.” One of your hands slides into Eddie’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp while the other lifts the joint to your lips for a long drag. “They love me at the diner and I make good tips, so I’ll prob’ly keep doing that. Can’t afford anything fancy, anyways- I’ll likely just go to Hawkins Community.”

You still haven’t told him the full story of the mall fire, yet- or about the underground world simmering beneath the surface. He never pushes you to share more than you’re comfortable, which you’re grateful for, but he knows something happened: something that paints your sleep with dark night terrors, something that causes you to slip in the middle of conversations, mind spiraling where he can’t follow.

For reasons you can’t fully explain to Eddie, college is real low on your priority list- you’ve dedicated this summer to reconnecting with base instincts (weed and Pretty Boy being at the top of the list).

Meanwhile, Eddie tries to still the vibrant thrum of his heart at the news of you staying local, possibly for the next few years; he lifts his head to press his lips against your collarbone. “You should go to college. Jus’ try it out, at least. You’re certainly smart enough.”

“Mmm-” you hum around the joint, another inhale-exhale of smoke before murmuring, “So are you. For the record. We could apply to be nerds together, if you want-”

With a sharp gasp, your sentence drops out of midair when Eddie kisses over your nipple, already peaking through the thin material of your bra. In his hair, your grip tightens, and Eddie groans.

In one fluid movement, he props himself into his elbows on either side of your torso, bottom half of his weight pinning you in place, plucking the smoldering joint from your grasp to dampen it into a nearby ashtray.

“Gonna be my little student,” Eddie says, wet kisses trailing down your neck, flash of teeth making you squirm. “Get you some academic… skirts. The ones with the pleats. Maybe some stockings…”

“You’re so- oh, fuck- dirty…” It’s hard to keep the admonishment in your voice as Eddie noses between your thighs, bumping at your clit through the thin cover of high-cut cotton.

“Mm-hmm.” He seems pleased with the already-visible wet patch, your core leaking steadily as he burrows deeper, until all his senses are blacked-out with nothing but the sharp tang of your honeyed arousal- who needs weed. He could get high off your smell alone.

Eddie suckles at your throbbing clit, purring encouragement low in his throat when your hips jolt forward. “And you love it.”

He’s one deep inhale from being completely pussy-drunk, mouthing sloppily at the junction where thigh meets pelvis, nibble fingers toying at the band of your underwear. He slides them down and off your legs, and you let him, wiggling in anticipation against the pressure he’s keeping you pinned with.

“Could take an electrician course.” Well aware of how close to the wire this conversation is sliding, you let the crown of your head tip back, staring at the van’s ceiling, handfuls of the flannel floor blanket squeezed into fists as you try getting one last word in- “You’re good with your h- hands.”

Said hand is cupping your bare sex, warm and wide between the V of your legs, other hand pushing your thigh back to spread you wide, obscene and on display how Eddie likes; embarrassment blooms hot in your chest as he runs a finger through your folds, slick practically loud against the far-off backdrop of forest sounds.

“What was that about my hands?” He’s teasing now, can hear it in his voice even though you can’t see the lazy grin it’s paired with; a long middle finger breaches your entrance, wet warmth swallowing the length greedily.

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing. There will be a time for arguments again but right now, with a second finger addition and Eddie’s mouth working you up, there’s no room for speech.

On your end, at least- Eddie’s proven on multiple occasions to be a master at multitasking, talking you through it while managing your pleasure, and this afternoon is no exception. His fingers curl expertly into the gummy front wall of your cunt, mouth running every second it’s not latched on to your pulsing button, dirty talk smooth and easy in his low timbre.

“Yeah, honey, that’s it. Fuck, you’re so hot. Can feel you squeezin’ around my fingers, y’so tight, angel, shit… like that- there you go…��

Etcetera. Until he’s bullied his way completely into the cradle of your legs, lying flat on his stomach to get as close as possible; until your cunt is spasming around the push and pull of his fingers, wet dripping and pooling into his palm and down your ass to the blanket below.

There’s a familiar tightness coiling in your stomach, thighs bracing around Eddie’s ears in anticipation of the unraveling. A pleasure-soaked sob gets caught in your throat, dull whine escaping instead through clenched teeth, grip on the flannel doubling until your knuckles creak in protest.

“Hey.”

There’s a confusing lack of authority or command in Eddie’s voice; you sift through the brain fog of arousal, propping your weight up into your elbows to look down at him.

Eddie looks crazy. Debauched. Lips pink and spit-soaked, chin shimmering, pupils blown out with lust as he presses a chaste kiss to the wiry curls at your mound. “Kinda quiet up there. Everything okay?”

His thumb sweeps a comforting path up the soft skin of your thigh, the abrupt switch from animal to gentleness making your head swim. He’s still looking at you with those puppy-brown eyes, fingers still buried to the hilt but unmoving; you stammer out an excuse.

“Um- yeah. M’sorry. It’s just been awhile, since you’ve had me… like this.”

It’s the truth; over the last busy week in your lives, time has eroded some of what Eddie’s been working on building with you, bravery at making noise faded with the lessened practice time.

“No one else out here, ‘cept you and me, sweetheart.” Eddie’s coaxing his fingers back into steady rhythm, watching your face carefully for any signs of withholding. “Can make as much noise as you want. Lemme hear. Please?”

Usually, Eddie’s not so soft- a sharp crack of palm to ass, flesh jiggling as he draws all the noises he wants from you- but here, in the back of the van, heady weed and warm sun an intoxicating mixture as he asks you to melt for him.

You obey. Let the floor take your upper body’s weight again as you fuck yourself on his fingers, hips lifted and seeking release. His mouth seals over your clit again, tip of his tongue lashing quick and precise against it, frizz of his curls tickling the insides of your legs as he shakes his head.

The weed is certainly a help as trapped noises heave from your chest, mouth falling open, lax and pliant with moans. “Oh, my god, Eddie. Fuck. Holy shit. Hah- right there, please, don’t stop-”

As if he would. Eddie moans in tandem with you, his own hips chasing the maddening pressure of the floorboards against the hard jut of his cock, leaking through the front of his boxers as he adds a third finger, spurred on by the fountain of breathy words this pulls from you-

“Oh god, oh god- f-fuck- Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

Your speech devolves into a mindless, babbling chant of his name. That coil pulls taut, has you crunching forward in a half sit-up, hands fisting at the roots of Eddie’s hair to hold him in place (perhaps harsher than you intend but based on the way his hips stutter and grind, you can safely hazard a guess that he’s into it).

The pattern breaks when he grazes his teeth against the pulsing nub in his mouth; you have just enough time to gasp out, “I- I’m coming, Eddie, shit, m’gonna come-” before the orgasm hits you full-force.

There isn’t room in your brain to hide all the noise that threatens to suffocate, so you let them all out, muscles tightening and flexing around every bright point of pleasure that he fucks you through. High-pitched whines, panting that wracks your lungs, a moan to top it all off that feels like it comes from your toes.

“Jesus christ.” Eddie swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, sounding wrecked himself as he climbs back over your body, silver chain necklace and dark curls swinging in front of your blissed-out face. “Fuck, princess. That was so hot.”

“Yeah?” Bashfulness hasn’t fully settled in yet, you’re still loopy from the force of your pleasure, arms slipping over the boy’s freckled shoulders as he leans down to kiss you.

His tongue has a bright tang of you, as you lick into his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulder to trail down his chest. Dark ink whorls beneath your fingertips as you reach the scratchy trail of hair just before his boxers-

“Shit.” Eddie hisses, forehead thunking into yours when you palm the hard length of him, precum soaking through the fabric, softness of your palm contrasting with the damp and rough drag of cotton. His long lashes tickle your cheek, eyes fluttering closed, soft exhale magnified by close proximity as he slowly pushes into your hand.

You’re mildly surprised he hasn’t come, yet- usually Eddie gets off on getting you off, then uses the rest of his energy to make you both come again, together.

What Eddie hasn’t told you yet is that he’s done some prep of his own, this week: every night you haven’t spent in his bed, his own spit-slicked fist has taken him right to the edge, stopping just short of coming with a choking grip at the base. The idea was to build up his stamina a bit, to take advantage of lonely evenings in service to a future you.

A very noble cause that is quickly being forgotten as your hand moves with more intent and pressure against his aching cock- the drug haze is almost enough to have him completely at your mercy, to tuck his nose into the curve of your neck and find sweet release by way of your pretty palm.

But he recovers. Get just enough distance from the warmth of you to clear his mind and snake his own hand down between your bodies to capture your twisting wrist.

The protest dies on your lips when Eddie brings your hand to his mouth, sucking your middle and index finger against the pad of his tongue, saturating your digits in spit.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do.” His eyes stay locked on yours, even as he guides your newly-wet fingers back down your bodies to rest atop your cunt. “You’re gonna touch yourself until you come. Again. And if I feel like you’re holding out on me with your noises, I’m gonna make it real difficult for you to make any noise. At all.”

A thrilling shiver races up your spine, goosebumps prickling in response to the shift in Eddie’s tone. His eyes flick to your lower lip, which he bites, unable to help himself, before following the path of your hand south.

There will be time for unwinding the past, for dreaming about the future. For now, there’s a boy between your legs and the feverish glow of summer calling your name.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you

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bokutosbiceps · 9 months

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i love you

fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, nanami kento, (separately) x gn!reader | fluff | words 2.2k

summary: the retelling of the moments that some of the jjk boys tell you they love you in their own way. *NO CURSES AU*

warnings: mild cursing (it’s Toji, duh), handsy!Toji, suggestive themes

a/n: again, i tried to make this gn but pls let me know if there are any gender specific words, etc !! btw, i'm just going to set this as 18+ since toji is in it + it's a lil suggesstive in both toji's + satoru's. these are all grown men LOL. anyways, enjoy 🌸

18+ MDNI

fushiguro toji

“I think you look good in just about everything, or nothing at all.” Toji ran a hand over his face in exhaustion. “Why do you keep fucking asking me?”

You pouted and put your hands on your hips as you whirled around to meet his gaze. “Because I wanna wear things that my boyfriend likes! Is that bad?”

“I just told you I think you look good no matter what.” Toji smirked, “You just wanna hear me compliment you, huh?”

You blushed and turned back around, looking at yourself in the mirror before proceeding to strip. If Toji wouldn’t okay this outfit, then you didn’t want it. If Toji didn’t help you choose some outfits, then you were going to make him shop all day long. You got dressed in the clothes you came in before grabbing the bags full of clothes you had already purchased. “To the next store, then.”

Toji grunted and followed you, placing his hand on the small of your back as the two of you waded through the mall crowd. Toji would only willingly be in this sea of assholes because you asked him to. He grinned at the memory of you begging him to come to the mall with you on his day off. He would’ve said yes if you’d just asked him normally, but he really wanted to see you beg.

After about twenty minutes of window shopping, you set your sights on an outfit that you were absolutely in love with. Toji cursed as you disappeared inside of the store, gritting his teeth as he bumped shoulders and elbows with people coming out as he was trying to follow you inside. Toji looked for you all over the store, even venturing to call your name a few times in a deep, hushed yell.

An unsuccessful search for you led Toji to the fitting room, where he asked the attendant if she’d seen a “little, excitable brat wander into here.” The attendant smiled knowingly, chuckling a little bit at Toji’s exhausted expression.

“Your partner told me to keep an eye out for you.” The attendant motioned for him to follow her. “Follow me, please.”

Toji followed the attendant to a fitting room at the end of the hall, thanking her gruffly before knocking on the door twice. The door swung open and Toji, for the first time in a long time, found himself speechless.

You were standing in the doorway of the fitting room, wearing the outfit that had seemingly caught your eye. He could appreciate your taste—this outfit hugged your body in all the right places and you looked absolutely stunning in it. You were nothing short of blinding to him. He let himself rake his eyes over your body before pushing himself into the fitting room with you and closing the door behind him.

“Toji, what are you—” You were shut up by Toji’s lips finding their way to yours in a rush, his hands running up and down your sides before dipping lower to squeeze your ass. You moaned into his mouth at feeling his growing erection against your thigh.

You pulled away from him, panting and with a thin string of saliva connecting your lips to his. “I take it you like the outfit, then.” You teased.

“Strip.” Toji ordered, before leaving the fitting room and closing the door to give you some privacy. You were left completely confused, yet you obeyed, taking off the new outfit and putting your clothes back on. As soon as you set foot outside of the fitting room, Toji grabbed the outfit from you.

“C’mon, we gotta get home.” Toji threw the outfit over his shoulder, grabbed your hand, and led you to the checkout counter, where he pushed the payment for your new outfit into the cashier’s hands. It all happened so fast, you didn’t even get a chance to offer to pay.

“Thanks, Toji. That was so sweet, you didn’t have to—” Toji cut you off for the second time in the past ten minutes by placing a rough, yet sweet kiss to your lips.

“Just ‘cus I love you, brat.” He snorted and ruffled your hair, taking your bags from you and walking off ahead of you. You stared, bewildered, at his back, trying to digest the words he had just said to you. You blinked once, twice, before running to catch up with him.

“Did the emotionless hard-ass Toji Fushiguro just tell me he loves me?” You teased once you had returned to your rightful place beside him.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it or I’ll take it back.” He sneered, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“No need!” You smiled happily as you took his free hand and laced your fingers together. “I’ll remember this moment forever.”

Toji would be lying to himself if he denied the squeeze of his heart at your sappy, sweet words. “Whatever. You can thank me by putting on a little show for me in that outfit when we get back to my place.”

gojo satoru

“Wah, y/n! You just dumped half of the entire bag on me!” Satoru whined, pouting at you behind glasses coated with flour. You giggled, imagining that his hair must have been covered in flour, too, but his pure white locks hid it well.

“Satoru, I told you not to run around the kitchen like that!” You bent down to pick up the bowl, now empty, and placed it in the sink. “It’s what you deserve.” You smirked while you washed the bowl and placed it back on the counter to redo the sugar cookie mix.

You felt Satoru’s arms snake around your waist and pull tight, earning a gasp from you and a chuckle from him. “What do you mean it’s what I deserve? Are you saying that I deserve flowers in my hair?”

“Flour in your hair, Satoru, flour.” You turned around in his grip and ruffled his air, sure enough causing a small cloud of flour to fall out. Satoru frowned when you turned back around to focus on the mixture.

“I should go take a shower, huh?”

“This is your place, do what you want, honey!” You quipped, focusing on the instructions on your phone. Satoru huffed and let go of you, making his way toward the bathroom in his bedroom. You heard the shower being turned on and water running.

“Wanna join?” Satoru yelled from his bedroom, knowing that you’d decline but, hey, the guy could always try.

“No thanks! Enjoy!” You yelled back, shaking your head as you used the standing mixer to make the cookie dough. Satoru’s forwardness had never ceased to amaze you. You’d only been dating for two months officially, but he was always making suggestive comments and trying to make you blush.

You’d love to be physical with Satoru, hell, you loved Satoru, but due to shitty partners in the past, you didn’t want to get physical with a guy who couldn’t even tell you he truly cared about you.

Baking cookies at his apartment and making out on the couch was enough, for now.

Once you had put the cookie dough in the oven and made the icing for the cookies, you plopped down onto Satoru’s couch just in time for Satoru to come out of his bedroom. You looked up to tell him the cookies would be done any minute but had to do a double take.

Satoru was shirtless and wearing sweatpants with strands of damp, white hair sticking to his forehead and shades nowhere in sight. You’d seen him without his shades many times, but each time was just as breathtaking as the previous.

“See something you like?” Satoru teased, crawling onto the couch and laying down with his head in your lap.

“You’re gonna get my leggings wet, Satoru.” You mumbled, running your fingers through his hair, eliciting a content sigh from him.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you that much, though.” Satoru teased once more before closing his eyes and relishing in the movements of your fingers against his scalp. The silence was broken by the oven timer going off, and you dutifully got up to take the cookies out, despite Satoru’s whining.

Satoru sat up to watch you in the kitchen. He watched as you knitted your eyebrows, rolled up your sleeves, and focused on cooling down the cookies before icing them. His mouth watered at the thought of the cookies he was going to devour in one sitting, but in this moment, he was focused more on your expression as you tasted a bit of the cookie and icing together. You seemed satisfied with your work and smiled happily to yourself. An overwhelming wave of affection overcame him.

“God, y/n, I love you.” Satoru blurted, playing it off like he meant to say that out loud. You turned to stare at him.

“Can you read minds?”

“I just told you I love you and that’s how you respond?” Satoru clutched at his heart and got up, reaching you in the minimum amount of strides. “You wound me, sugar.”

“I was just—” You remembered earlier, when you were wondering how Satoru actually felt for you. Now, you knew. You sighed and smiled softly at your freshly showered boyfriend, cupping his face and placing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you, too.”

Satoru’s lips slowly spread into a wide grin. “Sweet.”

nanami kento

You glanced up at the man sitting before you, taking a sip of your tea and not noticing how the heat singed the tip of your tongue.

Kento had insisted on sitting by the biggest window in the cafe, because apparently natural lighting was better for your eyes than the fluorescent lights that adorned the coffee shop. He had scouted out two green, velvet arm chairs that were facing each other, only a granite table separating them.

The two of you had settled into a comfortable silence, Kento reading a new book on how to properly express oneself to coworkers and you reading the newest installment of your favorite series. The only time either of you had looked up was when the waiter came by with your jasmine teas and coffee cake, Kento tipping him generously and with a polite smile.

But here you were, savoring the sight of your boyfriend, looking perfectly serene and relaxed on his day off, which he chose to spend with you. You wondered how you had gotten so lucky as to be in a stable, far-from-perfect-but-just-right-relationship with a man such as him.

“What are you looking at, dear?” You hadn’t even noticed Kento glancing up to meet your eyes, and the realization that he had caught you staring almost made you spill your tea.

“Nothing, nothing!” You said hurriedly, setting your cup down and picking your book back up. Kento just sighed, a microscopic smirk playing on his lips before he decided to follow your lead and turn back to his book.

The rest of the two hours consisted of content sighs and short conversations on something interesting one of you had found during your readings or wondering if you guys should order something else from the bakery. Kento had asked to finish the rest of your coffee cake and you knew that you would feel forever guilty if you had denied him, so you just ordered an entirely new piece for him, and the smile he thanked you with was nothing short of sunshine.

On the walk back home, with Kento’s arm wrapped securely around your waist and your footsteps in perfect sync, Kento decided he wanted some answers.

“Care to explain why you were staring at me earlier?”

“You remember that?”

“Of course. I thought I had something on my face, couldn’t figure out what you were staring at.”

“No, no, nothing like that.” You blushed deeply, knowing that Kento would get annoyed if you didn’t answer his question. But you couldn’t just give up your secret so easily.

“Then what was it like?” Kento pressed, turning his attention to you.

You kept your gaze forward, knowing full well that Kento was looking down at you. He kissed your temple, not really one for PDA, but hoping this would coax the truth out of you.

“I was just…looking at you.” You turned your head up to meet his gaze, hoping to convey exactly what you meant in just your eyes alone. Kento held your gaze before clearing his throat and facing forward, seemingly concentrating extremely hard on the path home, even though he knew it by heart.

A couple minutes of silence passed before he replied, “I love you, too, darling.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento #nanami #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader

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littlesmartart · 7 months

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DRAWTOBER #4 - Honey-Sweet and Heavy by @eleanorfenyxwrites

Sometimes you just have to save the cute twink down at the 24-hour laundromat from his shitty boss...and accidentally form a throuple with him and your best-friend-turned-boyfriend. Just another day of low-stakes gossip fuel in the Jianghu Shopping Center. -/- Lan Xichen rounds the corner of the building and smiles to see Nie Mingjue just getting settled into his preferred seat, a lounger that someone (probably the Jiang brothers during an ill-advised nighttime spree with Nie Huaisang) stole from the local pool. Wherever it came from, it now serves as a perfect place for Nie Mingjue to stretch out his tired muscles and soak up the honey heat of the evening to relax. Lan Xichen lingers just out of sight to watch Meng Yao smile at him as he perches in his lap to pass him a beer, the brown glass bottle already covered in citrine crystals, droplets of condensation reflecting the same sun that limns them both in late-summer gold.

this fic is part of a larger 90s strip mall AU is it's just so [chef kiss] brilliant. a very very fun take on a "modern" AU with delightful character dynamics and the way all the canon families fit within the strip mall structure is fantastic. there were so many bits I wanted to draw from this series - Songxiao clocking baby gays Wangxian, 3zun going on a romantic roadtrip via a bunch of shitty motels, SangCheng traumatising themselves by discovering 3zun - but I wanted a challenge so I attempted this scene, with 3zun squashed on deck chairs eating takeout (well. LXC is eating, and Meng Yao is trying to eat if NMJ would stop feeling him up for two seconds)

#3zun #nie mingjue #lan xichen #jin guangyao #the untamed #drawtober #drawtober 2023

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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hi !! can i request a stepdad!james out at the mall with reader and he gets so turned on by her pulling him to stores by his belt jfksk

thank you <33

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

this post is 18+ and dark, minors dni.

"James," You gush, finger hooking into his belt loop to yank him sideways, "Look!"

You're pointing at a sundress displayed on a mannequin that's posed in the window of a shop. James barely spares a glance at the fabric, his gaze is directed at your hand on his waist. Your finger is curled around his belt loop, holding him close. His throat tightens, and he dry swallows. There's something intoxicating about how close your hand is to where he wants it the most.

He hums in acknowledgement, grip tightening around the bag in his hand, "Y'wanna try it on, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please!" You nod, switching your hand from his belt loop to the leather strip itself, tugging him along by the waist, "What color should I get, red or green?"

"Red," James hums absentmindedly, catching a glimpse of your red bra beneath your tee, "Red looks lovely on you, darling."

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depressedhatakekakashi · 2 years

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SakuLee strip mall au?👀 I kinda like the idea of Lee being a blushy embarrassed ice cream shop employee who brings free ice cream (conveniently in her favourite flavour) to the stressed out, incredibly cute up and coming new doctor😌

eventually, if he doesn’t stop by because he has to close up the shop, she’ll stop by instead for a treat and stay for the conversation

Cute SakuLee? 👀👀👀

Lee just shows up one day with a little bucket of ice cream, and refuses to admit he asked Shizune for Sakura’s favorite ice cream because he wanted to surprise her

Sakura was so stressed out and at the end of her rope when Lee showed up, and just seeing him standing there holding ice cream out to her made all of her worries melt away.

She always looks forward to his visits. Not just because of the free ice cream, but because Lee is a sweetheart who she loves talking to. He always finds a way to cheer her up and make her laugh, even on the worst days.

If she can sneak away to visit him at the ice cream shop she happily will. Sometimes she’ll stop in after her shift and hang around chatting with Lee. On more than one occassion she has found herself staying till close, and even after.

Once they ended up talking so long that Lee had finished all his work and there was nothing left to do but go home. Instead, they went to the coffee shop to get a drink and continue their conversation.

Tsunade thinks it’s adorable but doesn’t comment at all

Shizune and Rin are fully supportive of this cuteness

Gai is always giving Lee pointers when he stops by the shop to get himself a little treat after a long day at the sports shop.

#SakuLee #Strip mall au

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jupitercomet · 10 months

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I Swear Somewhere This Works: Prologue

summary - You've known your entire life that you were meant to be with Bradley Bradshaw. Born with the rare gift of being a "matchmaker", you've been able to see your soulmate connection since childhood, just like you see the romantic pairings of everyone around you. But while everyone saw that as a gift, you see it as a curse. Because what's the point of knowing Bradley's your soulmate if he's never fallen in love with you? You've tried, altering time and space with your gift to find the one iteration of your life that you and Bradley are fated to be together. And, in every iteration of your life, you have to watch Bradley fall in love with someone else. But everything changes when one of these iterations puts you right in the trajectory of Jake, a matchmaker who's determined to convince you that the universe isn't always right.

warnings - soulmate au, my first time writing a love triangle, language, talks of death/dying, mentions of hospitals, no use of y/n, both Bradley and Jake are 6'7" because I said so

word count - 2.3k

i swear somewhere this works masterlist

I swear somewhere…

The heart monitor beeps continuously, filling the room with a kind of white noise that’s almost relaxing, despite the circumstances. The IV bag drips, drips, drips right past a strip of medical tape and into worn, leathered skin. It’s all so hazy, like early rides to the airport or empty shopping malls where time feels frozen, and you want to fill the silence with something—anything—but all you do is listen to the heart monitor and watch the IV bag drip, drip, drip.

“What do you think happens when we die?”

“Don’t say things like that, Bradley.”

He chuckles, but it’s hoarse and weathered, sounding more like air being pushed out of his tired, weary lungs. “I don’t think not talking about it is going to stop me from dying, Fig.”

Looking at him now, tucked under a tightly woven hospital blanket, he still looks like your Bradley. Curious, kind eyes wrinkled with crows feet etched into his skin from every laugh and smile that took place in his lifetime. There’s still that crook in his nose from when he broke it when he was eight. It never did heal right, but Bradley never seemed to mind. He’d break it twice more over his life and every time you recalled the stories you’d joke that it’s a miracle the cartilage hasn’t just fallen off yet. But, much like who it belonged to, Bradley’s nose was stubborn.

He looks like your Bradley, with his kind eyes and crooked nose. But he’s not your Bradley.

His hair is almost gone now, wispy and thin like it’s just laying on his scalp. Sun spots cover his skin, his complexion pale and fragile. And normally that would scare you, such an obvious display of his mortality, but it looks good on Bradley. He looks like he lived.

With large hands that have held the weight of the world, and then children, and then grandchildren. Chapped lips that have spoken more words of love, and compassion, and happiness than you would ever have time to listen to. Once sturdy legs that have now turned frail, the bones eroded with how many places they have taken him to.

And so he’s not quite your Bradley anymore, not in the way he was. Not in the way he could have been.

“I think I’m ready,” Bradley wets his lips, hardly moving his neck from his propped up pillow to look at you. “To die, I mean.”

Your hand squeezes in his—worn, and old, and not yours—his words constricting your heart in a dulled sort of melancholy. You’ve already gone through the five stages of grief weirdly, usually you aren’t this ready for it. But denial turned to anger, turned to bargaining, turned to depression, and here you are at acceptance, holding the hand of the only person who has ever mattered as he looks entirely dead and entirely alive all at the same time.

“Well, I’m not,” you say finally. It comes out shaky, maybe because you don’t entirely mean it. You are ready. You just wish you weren’t.

Bradley meets your eye with an understanding that only comes with age. “Yes, you are.”

You hate how well he knows you. How he can read you with just a look and say the words you need to hear. He knows everything about you. And yet.

“Will you miss me?” You ask instead. It’s an empty question—irrelevant. But still you want to know. Just to be reassured that Bradley even cares about you a fraction of the amount you do for him. That maybe he’ll realize, just once, in this hazy capsule of time, that you matter more to him than anything ever should.

Bradley smiles at you sadly. “Of course I will. When have I ever not needed my Fig?”

Your lips quirk up just slightly and you look down at your interlocked hands. “I cannot believe I’m 77 and you’re still calling me that.” You look up again to meet his eye, pretending to shake your head in exasperation.

“And I cannot believe that you’re 77 and still think you can hide things from me.” The crows feet by Bradley’s eyes crinkle when you fail to register what he’s referencing. “I see you sneaking off to the vending machine to get Fig Newtons when you think I’m asleep.” When your lips part in unprepared surprise, Bradley croaks out a laugh. “I’m 84, not senile.”

Even now, he makes your cheeks heat and you huff in your fluster. “Well, can you blame me? I’ve been eating nothing but hospital food for the past week.”

Your words make you falter, a crack of lightning in the room that illuminates everything you wish to forget. When the world feels so hazy, you can trick yourself into thinking that time is entirely frozen. It’s just you and Bradley and the universe. You can talk about anything—your love of Fig Newtons and how the hospital vending machine has criminally overpriced them—because you have time. All you have is time.

But time is running out, like granules of sand in an hourglass. Seconds with Bradley tick away and you can run after them all you want, but all they do is slip through your fingers. Slip, slip, slip.

If Bradley is affected by your words, he doesn’t look it, a calm sense of serenity washing through his eyes. For a moment, you can pretend that you would be okay with this, that you can finally let Bradley go. But it’s a little too late for that, you suppose. Because, somewhere, this has to work. Somewhere, you know everything about Bradley and he knows everything about you and he never has to stop being your Bradley.

It’s just as much for Bradley as it is for you. You’re his soulmate. Wouldn’t he be so much happier than this, having lived with his soulmate? You’re meant to be together and that’s all that matters. One of these times, Bradley will see that. You know he will.

“Can I get you some wa—”

“I’m going to die tomorrow,” Bradley decides.

You freeze, your question dying in your throat. There’s nothing else to say, you’ve done this song and dance enough times to know that. You only nod, pursing your lips to hold back the tears pricking at your waterline. You’re out of time.

Bradley turns to you with that familiar, childlike hope he somehow clung to his entire life. “Will you share a Fig Newton with me before I do?”

You swallow, your fingers tensing so much that the muscles twitch and you hide the hand from his view. “Of course.” You lift his hand to press a soft kiss on the back.

Bradley smiles and you feel like you’re going to be sick. He closes his eyes, shifting under the hospital blankets to get comfortable and you let out a silent sigh. You only get minutes of conversation with him now, before he’s too tired to continue. You sit with him anyway and, as he sleeps, you say all the things you never did over the decades of your friendship. He never remembered it anyway.

Bradley’s hand relaxes in your grip, the heart monitor spiking and dipping with his heart, and you try not to think about how he’s dying.

“This is going to sound like I’m crazy.” You look up at the sound of Bradley’s quiet voice, sleep tugging at the ends of it as his eyes remain closed. “But I can feel Alice waiting for me.”

He can’t see it, but you force a smile anyway, swallowing down the bile in your throat. You don’t say anything—you don’t think Bradley expects you to. That hazy feeling settles over the room as his breath evens out and, for several minutes, all you can do is watch him.

Maybe this isn’t fair.

But if this isn’t fair, then none of it is. Why would the universe give you a soulmate who didn’t love you? Why did you deserve to watch him fall in love over and over again while you waste your life pinning over a man who’s never even looked your way? Didn’t you deserve to be happy? Didn’t Bradley?

You look down at his sleeping features, entirely relaxed like he’s not plagued with a single regret or an ounce of hesitance. Maybe it’s because you’re full of it, taking it all for him because you don’t know how to do anything else. The heart monitor beeps continuously. The IV bag drips, drips, drips. And you close your eyes.

…this works

Sunlight filters in through the windows, waking Jake gently as he stretches out his legs on the sheets of his bed. He’s still in that peaceful period between wake and sleep, enjoying the warmth of his blanket as he regains feeling of his muscles. The first thing he realizes is that he doesn’t hear seven of his bones cracking. The second thing he realizes is that he’s very, very sore.

Jake sits up with a start, whipping his head towards the floor length mirror propped up by his dresser. He’s met with striking olive eyes and appropriately trimmed blond hair. He knew it.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Jake groans, rubbing at his eyes as he gets up from bed. He’s getting tired of this. He hadn’t said anything the first time it happened, nor the second, nor the third. But rewinding his life back to 31 for the fourth time? It’s getting ridiculous.

Moving into his bathroom, he puts his toothbrush into his mouth with a little more force than necessary as he wraps his head around having to live out the rest of his life again. Everyone else was lucky, at least they don’t know they’re reliving their lives every few decades. But not Jake, Jake knows. Just like how he knows everything about this shitty soulmate system. And so Jake is stuck living his life over and over until someone gets to be with their soulmate.

For a while, Jake had no idea who that person could be—there’s an infinite number of people he could have come into contact with, that’s just kind of how civilization works. But then it kept happening and the puzzle pieces kept fitting and Jake has a pretty good idea as to what’s going on.

He cannot believe his life is being actively ruined because of Bradley fucking Bradshaw.

At first, Jake didn’t think anything of the brunet and his infamous best friend/soulmate who had just moved to town. But it wasn’t hard to piece together the one-sided lingering looks and the somewhat charged interactions at the Hard Deck whenever Bradley had a bit too much to drink. You were in love with Bradley, that much was obvious. What hadn’t been as obvious was that you had the power to try to make him fall in love with you too. Which would be all well and dandy, if you hadn’t also dragged Jake into it in the process. He’s almost positive you’re the reason he’s currently reliving his life for the fourth time and Jake refuses to make it five.

Throwing an old shirt over his head, Jake exits his bedroom to snatch a banana from his kitchen counter. He eats it in large mouthfuls, lacing up his running shoes before making sure he has his phone and keys. Moving to throw away the banana peel, Jake also quickly grabs a water bottle and fills it up with cold, tap water in the sink.

Though he’s frustrated, Jake can admit that it’s nice to be in a body so young again. Granted, he’s currently suffering from the pushups Maverick must have put him through yesterday, but he’ll take that over the random aches and creaks he used to feel for seemingly no reason other than age.

With one last check to make sure he has everything, Jake opens the front door of his house, making quick work of the walkway steps as he breaks out into a light jog. His tennis shoes absorb the impact of his strides as he picks up speed, smiling politely at the woman he passes walking her dog. Taking a deep breath of the Miramar air, Jake takes the turn out of his neighborhood, his feet still crunching against the concrete.

He doesn’t entirely have a plan, all he knows is that he can’t keep doing this. And especially for this stupid of a reason. Jake had always been skeptical about the whole “soulmate” thing. Growing up, people always told him how special he was for being granted the ability to see soulmates, Jake just thought it was more trouble than it was worth. Now Jake knows definitively that soulmates are bullshit and he’s not about to let it ruin his life again.

The houses begin picking up in proximity again as Jake makes his way to another neighborhood. Sweat has started forming on his hairline, not quite enough to be droplets yet, and Jake wipes it with the back of his hand. He keeps running until a small, light blue house with purple flowers in the front and a brightly painted mailbox comes into view.

Jake slows to a stop, letting out a pant and taking a gulp of water before he starts walking towards the front door. He doesn’t have a plan, but he can’t keep doing this. Wiping some sweat from the back of his neck, Jake gently knocks on the door. When a minute goes by and there’s nothing, he knocks again, slightly louder.

This time there’s the sound of shuffling inside and Jake lets his shoulders slump as he catches his breath on the porch. The sound of footsteps gets closer and Jake swallows thickly, trying not to fidget. With a rickety creak, the door opens. You fill the doorway suddenly, still in pajamas and a sleepy expression, squinting at the sunlight you’ve let in.

Your eyes meet his and Jake watches your face crinkles with recognition and then confusion. “Hi?”

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 years

Text

Tales from Jianghu Shopping Center

@lansplaining made this post a few days ago reimagining all the Great Sects as shops in a weird roadside strip mall, and weird strip malls are, unironically, one of my favorite things in this world so I had to do this. I had no choice. For Vibe Purposes, I want y'all to know that this is set in the late 90's, early 00's, it barely matters except I think it really gives it a fun nostalgic ~flavor~. (Also I very much have a very specific strip mall that I like in mind for this because I'm normal 😂)

This is currently only a one-shot but I'm in love with this concept and would be happy to do more little one-shot vignettes/headcanons if anyone has anything in mind that they'd like to see! Ask box is always open ♥

[Masterpost] [AO3]

-/-

Lan Wangji stands behind the counter, hands resting lightly on the ever-so-slightly sticky vinyl as he listens to the thrum of the air conditioner lumbering to keep up with the latest midsummer heatwave. Through the windows - beyond the clustered rows of antique bric-a-brac and the glimmering crystal display winking in the blocks of light creeping slowly across the first few feet of the shop - the sun beats down unhindered to bake the blacktop tarmac and the handful of cars parked neatly between the cracking white lines. As he watches, a family of five steps out of a silver-gray van into the shimmering heat and heads across the lot, children’s hands tucked neatly into their parents’ likely-sweaty palms as they head for the corner restaurant a few doors down.

It’s lunch time, and though the strip mall doesn’t see a ton of business during the week, most days there’s always a bit of a bump right around noon, families and dating couples out for a wander passing through to enjoy the Jiangs’ cooking.

Lan Wangji lights a fresh stick of his favorite sandalwood incense and watches the smoke curl lazily up towards the half-length bead curtain clicking gently overhead, swaying a little in the breeze from the AC over the hallway through to the back just behind him.

“Wangji, do you want to take your break?” Lan Xichen asks from the back office, head poked around the door frame. He’s been doing the books and inventory this morning and Lan Wangji doesn’t envy him the job even if it is cooler back there, tucked well away from the sun-drenched front windows as it is.

“No need,” he says simply, the tip of an index finger tapping just once against the vinyl under his hand. “It has been quiet, I am fine.”

“Alright. I’m going to take mine and eat something, take yours when I get back alright? Shufu packed us cold noodles today, they’re perfect for this weather.”

“Mn.”

The smoke continues to curl lazily up towards the ceiling as Lan Wangji watches life go on outside the cool peace of the Cloud Recesses Antiques and Spiritual Supply Depot that’s belonged to his family for a few generations now, through several iterations spanning multiple decades. The air conditioner sputters but Lan Wangji doesn’t spare it a glance. Another family passes their front windows to head for the restaurant, and it’s only a matter of time now before he gets to appreciate his favorite sight of the day.

-/-

“I’m going!!” Wei Wuxian shouts over his shoulder and Madam Yu waves him off impatiently with her usual thunderous frown.

“Go, go!”

“Be careful A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli calls from where she’s standing over her favorite wok, hair pulled back tightly though the heat and humidity of the day - and the busy kitchen - have already coaxed little baby hairs around her ears and at her temples to hang loose around her sweetheart face. “It’s hot today, and people may not be paying as much attention as they should be.”

He gives both his sister and his aunt a salute and his usual wide grin before he hustles out the creaking back door of the restaurant, the storm door slamming shut with a clatter just behind him. The kickstand on his bike is a bit rusty but he knows just how much force to use to get it out of the way once he’s stuffed the crinkling plastic takeout bag into the insulated delivery pouch behind the seat. Not that he really needs the carrying pouch in this weather, he thinks with a sigh, but ah well. That’s the part of the setup that’s got the purple lotus logo, so he’s got to use it either way.

He kicks off from the pavement of the alleyway that burns his feet even through the soles of his sneakers and he’s off like a shot, pedaling furiously to an address he’s delivered to enough times that he hadn’t even needed to check the map back at the restaurant. At the speed he’s going the heat isn’t so bad, the artificial wind of his passing ruffling through his hair and through the gaping, cut-off arm holes of his t-shirt. The red of it is so sun-bleached it’s nearly pink these days and he really only keeps it because it’s the thinnest and therefore the coolest thing he owns for summer day deliveries (and because Madam Yu hates it with a passion).

“That’ll be 13.95,” Wei Wuxian says when he’s reached his destination a few minutes later, and he offers the guy a wide grin when he hands him a ten and a five and tells him to keep the change. “Thanks man, enjoy your meal!”

He hops down the stairs back down to the front walk and gets back on his bike to pedal back to the restaurant, a little less eagerly now that he doesn’t have to worry about delivery time but still more than fast enough to get a good breeze going in an attempt to dry some of the sweat turning his skin powdery with salt.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouts for him when he’s just about to turn into the parking lot of the strip mall again and he grins at his brother frowning at him in a perfect imitation of Madam Yu.

“Hi A-Cheng - good delivery?”

“Got stiffed on the tip for no damn reason,” Jiang Cheng grumbles as they both pull to a stop in the parking lot and hop off to walk their bikes the rest of the way to the restaurant.

Wei Wuxian pauses as he always does after his first run of the day in front of the window of Cloud Recesses to squint into the welcoming dimness of it and spot Lan Wangji standing primly behind the counter, right where he always is unless on the rare occasion he’s helping a customer. He’s standing there alone today as usual though, so Wei Wuxian cups a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun as he waves eagerly with the other, bike resting against his hip.

“Would you quit bothering Lan Wangji for one single day of your miserable life?!” Jiang Cheng demands with a shove at his shoulder, but Wei Wuxian ignores him in favor of watching Lan Wangji lift his hand to wave back at him in the cute, shy way he always does. Fingers still pressed tightly together. A tiny left, right, left, and then he puts his hand back down on the counter. It’s so little, but it’s also everything.

“Don’t be jealous just because I got a tip and Lan Zhan likes saying hi to me and nobody else,” he says smugly once they’re on their way back to the restaurant. They cut around the corner of the building to stick their bikes back in the alley before they head inside; Madam Yu’s glare at the both of them where she’s helping Jiang Yanli finish up the next round of dishes is the only thing that saves him from being shoved into a stack of produce crates in retaliation for his needling.

He steps up to the till and punches in the order he’d just delivered, slots the bills into the proper little plastic trays and snags a single from under its clip with a snap of the spring, though he doesn’t bother with the nickel. Jiang Cheng steps up behind him to punch in his own delivery, grumbling as he drops the exact change he’d been given into the proper spots with a rhythmless clatter.

The lunch rush continues just like that, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng running deliveries as the others run the restaurant. Madam Yu is seating and serving with her usual stern glare - no one dares complain about Jiang Yanli’s perfect cooking with her staring them down. Uncle Jiang, having helped with the prep in the kitchen during the morning, is holed up in the office as per usual. He always says he’s in there doing the books and ordering, but Wei Wuxian wonders how much time he spends in there actually doing nothing but avoiding the sticky bustle of the restaurant in favor of kicking back in front of their ancient window-unit and ducking away from his wife’s glares while she’s otherwise occupied.

Ah well. Lotus Pier Asian Cuisine runs just fine either way, a well-oiled machine full of the smells of home, and when the lunch rush is over he’s happy enough to sit down at one of the tables near the kitchen doorway and roll silverware while Jiang Cheng does the dishes in the back, clanking and splashing and swearing when he thinks Madam Yu can’t hear him where she’s balancing the till with ruthless precision.

-/-

“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue huffs when Nie Huaisang comes slinking out of the backroom - Nie Huaisang has been ‘reorganizing’ for the last two hour-long classes lest he be dragooned into service. A very strategic move on his part, he thinks, since the backroom is where they keep the box fan that’s at least better than nothing in the middle of the heatwave currently turning everything – him included - into soup.

“What is it, da-ge?” he asks and fans himself with the silk folding fan he’d picked up in Cloud Recesses and started carrying around a few days ago. It smells like it used to be in an old lady’s house but he doesn’t care if it still smells like mothballs and incense - it gets the air in front of his face moving so it’s an automatic win.

Nie Mingjue stops in the middle of the wrestling mats, bare feet sticking audibly to the vinyl when he lifts them and Nie Huaisang can’t help but wrinkle his nose. Their AC went out three days ago (hence the desperate search for a fan at Cloud Recesses), and while any sane person would see that as a sign to close up shop until it can get repaired, his brother doesn’t apparently see the wisdom in taking a rest. He’s drenched in sweat from the mid-afternoon boxing class and apparently unfazed by that fact, so very unlike Nie Huaisang’s wilting exhaustion that kicks in the moment the temperature creeps above a nice comfy 75. Considering the weather guy on the local community radio station said it’s ‘a sizzling 98 today!’ - in the shade - he’s far over his threshold for any work to be done. A tragedy, really, but one he’s powerless to stop. Oh well.

“Can you go over to Xichen’s and see if they’ve got any water in their fridge? We’re all out.”

“They’ve always got a whole tower of 24-count packs in the back,” Nie Huaisang huffs. “Can’t you just call him and ask him to bring a flat over?”

“I said in their fridge, A-Sang, come on,” Nie Mingjue growls and goes back to picking up the scattered body-pads off the floor, each step on the black mats still sounding like someone starting a fresh roll of masking tape. “I’ve been sweating my ass off out here, just go get me some cold water!”

Nie Huaisang feels the tiniest pang of guilt at that, and despite his hatred for the sun burning so hot it’s white outside he sighs and nods. Nie Mingjue goes back to clearing up with some more grumbling, and when Nie Huaisang finally manages to force himself to step outside with a jingle of the bell over their door he leaves Nie Mingjue furiously wiping down sweat-drenched exercise equipment with the strong smelling anti-bac spray that always makes Nie Huaisang’s throat tickle.

The fresh air when he steps outside is actually kind of nice, even if it feels like it singes his nose hairs off on its way down to his lungs. At least the air out here is moving a little, faint gasps of a breeze ruffling his sweat-stringy bangs against his forehead as he tries to keep to the shade under the awning even though it’s a losing battle this time of day. He waves at the Jiang siblings rolling silverware before the dinner crowd shows up on his way past the front windows of Lotus Pier, and studiously avoids looking into the front window of Golden Carp when he passes it next - no one wants to see Jin Guangshan if they don’t have to, and it’s not like Jin Zixuan’s stupid frown is much better.

“Oh sweet god, air conditioning!” Nie Huaisang sighs in heavenly relief the moment he steps into Cloud Recesses, dim and cool after the glaring brightness of the parking lot.

“Hello Huaisang,” Lan Xichen says warmly from where he’s sitting on the stool behind the counter flipping through what looks like an order catalog for at-home gym equipment. Why he would bother when their gym is right there, he has no idea, but whatever, not his place to judge.

“Hi er-ge,” he sighs with a particularly pathetic flutter of his fan that earns him a smile that’s equal parts amused and sympathetic.

“Still no luck with your air conditioning?”

“No one’s even been out to look at it yet, but da-ge swears he called somebody. I don’t know why he doesn’t just close until it gets fixed - I mean I know hot yoga is a thing but who wants to run around doing dumb exercises or boxing class with da-ge in a sauna?!”

Lan Xichen tuts at him and smiles again as he flicks his catalog closed. “A-Sang, you know Mingjue can’t just close down, especially not if he’s going to have to pay up front for the unit to be repaired,” he chides. “Though I do recognize that it must be very draining to be without cool air right now and closing is an attractive alternative in that respect. Would you like some water?”

“Yes, thank you er-ge!” Nie Huaisang huffs as pathetically as he can. “And can I have some to take back to da-ge too? He said we’re out-”

“I can take it,” Lan Xichen says too quickly to be totally casual, but far be it from Nie Huaisang to interfere in whatever that is. “You sit here in the cool and drink this - slowly! Don’t make yourself sick, just take your time.”

Nie Huaisang hops up on the newly-vacated stool with a pleased smile and a little kick of his feet as Lan Xichen sets a bottle of water in front of him next to their ancient – antique, they always correct him- cash register.

“Thanks er-ge.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll take Mingjue some water and stock up your fridge with more. When you’re finished with yours stay here until you’ve finished cooling off, no need to rush. I can help him until you’re ready to head back over.”

Nie Huaisang hides the urge to laugh behind his mothball fan and waves Lan Xichen out of the store with his armload of water bottles. He watches the man cross the parking lot to the Unclean Realm Fitness Center, sitting in lone, separate splendor caddy-corner to the Jiangs’ restaurant at the short end of the parking lot, and he wonders how in the world he doesn’t seem fazed at all by the heat turning the foot or two of air above the pavement into a shimmering mirage.

“Huaisang.”

“Wangji! Fuck!” Nie Huaisang yelps, heart hammering as Lan Wangji slips out of the back office and shuts the door quietly behind himself. “You need to start wearing a bell or something!”

“No need.”

Nie Huaisang grumbles around the mouth of his water bottle and fans himself as Lan Wangji steps up next to him to stand at the counter, hands resting lightly on the marble-patterned vinyl covering the battered wood top. A corner of it is peeling up near the register and Nie Huaisang wonders how Lan Wangji can stand here all day long and not pick at it.

“Er-ge just went over to the gym,” he says when the silence goes on too long. “Da-ge needed water.”

“Mn.”

They lapse back into silence then and Nie Huaisang pouts a little as he sighs, looks around the familiar interior of Cloud Recesses. There doesn’t seem to be anything new since he was in to buy the fan. The same crystals are displayed in the windows and in the glass case that makes up the body of the checkout counter. The same type of incense they usually put on is burning in the little dish beside the register, more scents displayed in a rack full of tidily stacked little boxes on the other side of it. The shelves in the middle of the floor and along the two side walls are laden with the usual selection of antiques : rusting tableware, random bits of kitschy crockery that look like they were last used in the 70’s, stained and/or creepy dolls, old photos of people who are probably long gone in poorly-fitting frames, small art or craft pieces from local independent makers scattered throughout the junk like pearls to be sold on consignment. The side-room behind its gauzy blue curtain is stuffed to bursting with meditation books and floor cushions, more crystals with little price tag stickers scattered on every flat surface.

He’s distracted from his lazy study of the shop by a flash of purple and red on the other side of the windows and he and Lan Wangji watch together in reverence as the Jiang brothers walk past, Wei Wuxian gesturing expansively and Jiang Cheng’s brows down like he wants to be pissed even though he’s smiling just a little at whatever it is his brother is saying.

They sigh in tandem - Lan Wangji nearly inaudible and Nie Huaisang dramatic enough for both of them - and turn their heads to watch the pair of them walk across the length of the storefront.

“Well. I should probably get back to da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says once they’re gone again, probably headed for the convenience store on the other side of the strip mall for some ice cream like usual this time of day.

“They will come back,” Lan Wangji retorts, and to anyone else he’d probably sound like he doesn’t care. Nie Huaisang, who’s known him (somewhat unwillingly) since they were toddlers can hear how anxiously he’s looking forward to it.

“You make an incredible point, Wangji-xiong, and we have to make sure we see them from both directions. The left side might be Wei-xiong’s best, but A-Cheng’s is his right.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw is set mulishly as he glares daggers out at the parking lot. “Wei Ying is beautiful from both sides.”

Nie Huaisang just smirks behind his fan and settles in more comfortably on the stool again - with both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji encouraging him to stay in the shop (and away from the gym) in their own ways, Nie Mingjue can’t possibly get mad at his extended break, can he?

They lapse back into silence, nothing to break it but the straining AC and the quiet clicking of the bead curtain that hides it. They both perk up - Lan Wangji’s posture straightening even further and Nie Huaisang sitting straight up out of his heat-melted slump - when the Jiang boys jostle back into view a couple minutes later, laughing about something together this time. Jiang Cheng is always more cheerful when he’s had some sugar, Nie Huaisang has noticed over the years.

The gentle electronic chime over the door rings when Wei Wuxian pushes it open and Lan Wangji feels like he was practically carved out of marble beside him.

“Hey Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian chirps, totally at odds with the quietly peaceful aura of Cloud Recesses. “I brought you a present!”

“It’s just ice cream, dumbass, not a new tape of that weird music you both like or something,” Jiang Cheng snorts as he shoulders in behind his brother and Nie Huaisang smiles over his fan as they lock eyes.

“Hi A-Cheng.”

“Huaisang,” he says gruffly, cheeks bright red from the heat and the sun as he ducks his head and runs a hand through his hair, a little sweat-damp from the day.

“Shut up, it’s still a present, I bought it for him with my tips and everything!” Wei Wuxian retorts, undeterred as he bounds up to the counter and holds out a plastic-wrapped popsicle to Lan Wangji, the package covered in condensation just from the short walk back from the gas station. “Go on Lan Zhan, it’s an orange creamsicle! Your favorite.”

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says with all the gravity of a man whose life has just been saved as he reaches out and takes the popsicle with a quiet crinkling of the wrapper. Nie Huaisang very bravely, very valiantly, does not laugh at his childhood friend as he delicately peels the plastic apart and withdraws the popsicle like it’s fucking Excalibur, reverent and awed.

“No problem! Eat it quick, I think it probably already started melting just on the way here. We’ve got to get back to the restaurant but I’ll at least swing by again when you lock up okay? And don’t forget I can walk you home if you want, too!”

Nie Huaisang raises his eyebrows at that. Cloud Recesses closes right in the middle of the dinner rush and the Jiang brothers can usually only come hang out in the store for a few stolen minutes with the rest of them in the evenings, but he supposes Wei Wuxian could probably slip away during a delivery for the amount of time it would take to walk Lan Wangji home. He’d very much like to see what that entails, honestly. These two are the best source of gossip in their social circle, as per usual, and Nie Huaisang loves using his position as Lan Wangji’s only close friend to get all the juiciest bits before everyone else.

“Mn.”

“NIE HUAISANG!” Nie Huaisang jumps right off the stool at the sound of Nie Mingjue’s thundering shout from across the parking lot, perfectly audible through the door Jiang Cheng is still holding open with his shoulder.

“Busted,” Lan Wangji mutters out of the corner of his mouth because he’s secretly a bitch, which is good because Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be able to tolerate his taciturn company otherwise. He swats his friend’s back with his fan as he crosses behind him and then purposely brushes up against Jiang Cheng on his way out the door to slink back across the parking lot to the gym where Nie Mingjue is standing, arms crossed over his chest so he blocks the entire doorway with his bulk. Nie Huaisang laughs uncomfortably and darts a frantic glance at Lan Xichen over his brother’s shoulder but all he finds there is a sympathetic smile - not nearly as helpful as Lan Xichen seems to think.

“What were you doing in the back room while I was running classes?” Nie Mingjue demands the second he’s in earshot.

“I was organizing..”

“Is that why there’s a stack of dirty magazines and a half-eaten bag of potato chips stashed under dad’s old office chair?”

Busted indeed. Nie Huaisang squeaks and turns to run away, but his brother isn’t the best personal trainer this side of town for nothing and he catches him easily, hauling him up under his arm to carry him dangling back into the sweltering heat of the gym, ignoring all his whining protests.

“Sorry A-Sang,” Lan Xichen says as he heads out the door. “Good luck!”

“Five laps around the gym to start with, get going,” Nie Mingjue barks when he drops him rather rudely down onto the mats and Nie Huaisang knows when his efforts will just go to waste. He groans and hauls himself up to get started on the laps, protesting the injustice the whole way even as he starts wondering just why in the hell Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen were tucked so far into the back room that they’d found not only his favorite hiding spot amongst all the old equipment and boxes of exercise tapes, but his entertainment stash too.

Questions for another day, when he’s not about to die of heat stroke and the effort of exercising under his brother’s watchful glare.

-/-

Jin Zixuan rests his elbow on top of a glass case full of diamond engagement rings and doesn’t bother caring about the smudge he’s going to leave on the flawlessly polished surface. There’s no one in the store this afternoon anyway, nothing to keep him company but the humming AC units running full blast and the tinkly canned piano music crackling through the speakers overhead to break up the monotony. For as quiet as the strip mall usually is, during most of the year there’s decent foot traffic through Golden Carp Fine Jewelry - people buying engagement rings, wedding bands, high-end watches for their fathers or their husbands, glittering trinkets for their wives. The cases around the store are stuffed to the gills with tennis bracelets, earrings of all kinds, gold-chained solitaire diamond necklaces, brooches in all sorts of interesting geometric shapes crusted with diamonds and gems of all colors, anything anyone could possibly want.

Jin Zixuan looks out at all of it and sighs again, bored out of his mind. Jin Guangshan is around somewhere and could conceivably come out and catch him slacking off at any moment. That being said, the likelihood of his father stirring himself from his office is hilariously low at the best of times, but especially when the store is empty and there’s no one around to impress. He’s pretty sure if he focused he’d be able to hear him through the closed door of his office, but it’s probably better not to know whatever his father’s getting up to in there.

He watches through the front windows as Lan Xichen makes his way across the parking lot to the Nie gym, and then almost ten minutes later he sees the obnoxious Jiang boys come out of the restaurant next door to go across the mall in the direction of the gas station at the corner like they do most days. He sits up straight for a minute or two just in case Jiang Yanli comes out after them, but when she doesn’t appear he slumps down again, chin in his hand and a bored pout on his lips. If his mother was here she’d scold him for the unbecoming posture, but she’s not so he’s free to look as lazy as he wants as the minutes tick by.

“NIE HUAISANG!”

Nie Mingjue’s roar is loud enough even through the windows and over the ambient noise of the shop to make Jin Zixuan jump and sit up straight again, and he watches with some amusement as the boy in question - the youngest of all of them - goes slinking across the parking lot to Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, who look like nothing so much as parents about to play good cop bad cop as they discipline their wayward son. The mental image of that amuses him so much that he’s too distracted to notice the Jiang boys coming back before they’re banging hard enough on the window to make him jump all over again. He glares at them as hard as he can manage, but of course Wei Wuxian just laughs and Jiang Cheng flips him off on their way back to the restaurant, popsicles in hand and dripping on the pavement in their wake.

Jin Zixuan settles in again with a huff to glare absently at the red splatters on the bone-white sidewalk from Wei Wuxian’s rocket pop, stark in the late-afternoon sunshine. The light creeps slowly across the cream-colored carpet, blinding and too hot even with both AC’s running full blast; it’s the kind of sunlight that he doesn’t have to even be standing in to feel, the weight of it pressing at the other side of the windows a red-hot collar around his neck, the heat shivers out in the parking lot both beckoning and oppressive at the same time.

He sits up straight again as a young couple wanders past the front of the store hand in hand. They stop in front of the left-hand window to look over the display he’d spent the whole morning adjusting out of lack of anything better to do, their fingertips leaving little smudges on the glass he’d polished as they point and gesture, their conversation inaudible. They move on without stepping inside and Jin Zixuan slumps down again, free hand tapping out a senseless rhythm on the glass with drumming fingertips as the summer slips by one bland, royalty-free song at a time.

-/-

Fifteen minutes before Cloud Recesses closes for the day, Wen Qing slips out of her uncle’s crowded sports bar with no one the wiser to walk quickly through the short alleyway between their back doors. She knocks on it politely, wary as ever that Lan Qiren usually puts in an appearance at the end of the day to check over the sales figures - and sure enough the man himself opens the door with a frown that softens ever so slightly when he sees her (being one of his best students for the entirety of her high school career had gone a long way towards earning his forgiveness for her surname, but she’s not a miracle worker).

“Wen Qing,” he greets in his usual gruff way as he steps aside to let her in. “Don’t distract the boys, they’re doing closing checks.”

“Yes Teacher Lan,” she says and slips into the backroom. He steps around her to return to his desk in the little office, and she continues past him into the shop proper to hop up on the stool behind the counter. There’s a catalog for at-home exercise equipment - the kind of stuff she’d expect to see peddled in the middle of the night on the QVC or something - sitting next to their clunky old brass register so she pulls it closer to flick through it lazily as she waits. She’s usually the first to show up for their nightly meetings so her presence goes unremarked upon by Lan Wangji, who just nods at her on his way to straighten up his already obsessively neat crystal display in the window, everything burnished orange by the slowly westering sun.

“Ah - hello Wen Qing. Are you also here for the air conditioning?” Lan Xichen teases when he spots her through the aisles and Wen Qing smiles just a little - she can imagine everyone’s stopped in at some point today for just that purpose except maybe Jin Zixuan, considering his dad is more than wealthy enough to run their AC into an early grave.

“Just here to supervise the usual loser check-in.”

“Ah yes, of course. I believe the rest will arrive soon.”

As if on cue, the electronic bell over the door chimes its muted three-toned song and Nie Huaisang leans heavily on the handle, panting for breath and so red in the face Wen Qing is actually concerned this time rather than irritated by his over-the-top nature.

“Da-ge is a monster,” he huffs as he shlumps his way into the shop proper to lay himself across the counter. She twitches the catalog away from his sweaty forehead and continues flicking through it, now reasonably assured that he isn’t about to die considering he’s still capable of dramatics. “Qing-jie, please. Please. Tell him I’ll die if he makes me exercise anymore.”

“Not a doctor yet, Huaisang. I can’t offer anyone any kind of medical advice or recommendation,” she says without looking up from her perusal of assorted pilates machines and the rainbow of neon lycra-clad models gesturing to them in all their airbrushed, hairsprayed glory. She flicks to the next page and Nie Huaisang turns his face towards the small breeze of it pathetically.

“Is the old dragon here?”

“Watch your words, Nie Huaisang,” Lan Qiren calls icily, “Or I will show you a dragon.”

“Sorry, Teacher Lan!”

“Before you ask, no I won’t hide you from him-” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder towards Lan Qiren’s draconian presence in the back - “Though I will happily help Teacher Lan hide your body.”

“I do not require assistance murdering Nie Huaisang, Wen Qing, and your willingness to commit a major crime has been noted.”

“Sorry, Teacher Lan,” she turns her head to call, though judging by his unimpressed grunt she knows he can tell she’s not sorry at all.

Wen Qing smirks again as Nie Huaisang whines pitifully into the countertop. Things lapse back into quiet then, likely because Nie Huaisang is too tired to continue his complaining and Wen Qing is uninterested in coaxing him into sharing more of his woes. She’s really only here tonight with news that feels pertinent for everyone to hear, so there’s no use saying anything until they’re all present.

“Hiiii,” Wei Wuxian sings as he sails into the shop a few minutes later, Jiang Cheng hot on his heels. The pair of them are thrumming with their usual keyed up energy, so Wen Qing can only assume it’s a hectic night at the restaurant - either because of a crowd or because of another argument between Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang, the reason hardly matters when the result is the same. “We can’t stay long, jie’s working on orders for both of us to take in the next ten minutes or so and Madam Yu’s on a tear. We still waiting on the peacock?”

“Fuck you Wei Wuxian, I’m right here,” Jin Zixuan says from behind them on the sidewalk just outside the open door, expression sour, and Wen Qing rolls her eyes as they all pile into the shop. The antique cuckoo clock on the wall beside the register sings 7 o’clock, and Lan Xichen smiles indulgently as he turns the lock and flips the sign on the door to ‘Closed’.

“I’ll just head to the back with Uncle,” Lan Xichen tells Lan Wangji - both a statement and a warning to the newcomers that they’re not alone and therefore not free to swear as much as they might otherwise.

“Any news worth sharing?” Wei Wuxian asks as he props an elbow up on the counter on Nie Huaisang’s other side so he can lean in and pat at his sweat-drenched back in rough sympathy.

“New record shop opening Friday,” Lan Wangji says first and Wei Wuxian’s eyes light up - clearly Lan Wangji’s goal judging by his self-satisfied little smirk. Wen Qing barely refrains from rolling her eyes at their blatant flirting that’s only getting worse and worse by the day.

“Yeah?? Lan Zhan we have to go this weekend, okay? Promise!”

“Mn. We can go.”

“Does anyone have anything relevant to everyone?” Jin Zixuan asks a bit sourly, and though usually Wen Qing would find some way to subtly needle him for his attitude, tonight it’s actually helpful.

“I’ve got something,” she says to the room at large and all eyes turn to her, even Nie Huaisang still slumped over the counter. “I overheard Uncle talking to the landlord earlier today. Something about the Changs’ old nail studio next to us, and ah…you guys. Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Wangji blinks at her a few times and then his brows pucker into a frown.

“What about here?” Jiang Cheng asks for him, frowning far more thunderously than Lan Wangji’s perpetually minimal expressions. “What’s Cloud Recesses got to do with the nail salon? Or Uncle Wen for that matter?”

Wen Qing clears her throat delicately, aware of the audience likely (hopefully) listening in from the back, and straightens her shoulders. “I think Uncle wants to buy it out and expand the bar. He definitely wants to knock down the wall to the nail salon to extend the smoker’s lounge, and I think he’d like to buy out Cloud Recesses too.”

Wen Qing shrugs in response to the general cries of outrage around the room at that, plenty loud enough on Lan Wangji’s behalf that he doesn’t even bother opening his mouth.

“Why the f- heck would he want to buy Cloud Recesses? It’s been here forever,” Nie Huaisang asks, finally straightening up from hogging the entire counter to look at her directly. “People love it!”

Wen Qing shrugs again and presses her hands between her thighs to hide how they’re shaking.

“I think he thinks that it’s not a profitable enough business and would be better handled by him.”

She doesn’t have to turn around to know that Lan Qiren has appeared - all of her friends suddenly standing at near-military attention is enough of a hint.

“Wen Qing.”

“Yes, Teacher Lan?” She turns her head to look at him over her shoulder and she’s…relieved to see that he’s frowning, as per usual, but thankfully not like he’s angry at her personally for spreading what technically counts as gossip.

“You heard Wen Ruohan discussing this yourself?” She nods. “Did anyone else hear?”

“A-Ning did. He couldn’t come out with me tonight, but he definitely heard it too. We were doing chores outside Uncle’s office while he was on the phone.”

“Hm.” The room falls silent again as they all watch Lan Qiren think this revelation over, stroking his goatee in a gesture they’re all familiar with as his current (and former, in her case) students. “Bah! Meddlesome fool. I’ll take care of it,” he finally says with an impatient wave. “Go back to lighter topics, children shouldn’t worry about such things. Wangji.”

“Yes, Uncle?”

“Man the store on Saturday until lunch, you may take Wei Wuxian to the record store after you’ve done your duty. Your brother needs the morning off.”

Lan Wangji nods before Lan Qiren turns to retreat back into the dim recesses of the back half of the shop, every inch the wizened dragon returning to his lair, and there’s a beat before Nie Huaisang taps his chin with his closed fan, looking pensively up at the ceiling.

“Huh. Da-ge said just a bit ago that he’s taking Saturday morning off from the gym, too,” he muses. “Weird.”

Wen Qing - who is well aware of which way the wind blows there considering Lan Xichen had been in her class in high school and had been painfully infatuated with Nie Mingjue (two grades their senior) even back then - just keeps her mouth shut and watches her friends try to piece it together over the next couple of minutes until Lan Xichen himself comes out of the back room, red as a tomato, and shoos them all out to head home - or back to work, for her and the Jiang boys.

She can’t quite resist shooting Lan Xichen a knowing Look on her way out onto the sidewalk, and she has to hide a laugh in her hand as she turns away from the sight of him winking and holding a finger to his lips to tell her to keep quiet and not spoil the joke. One thing she can always rely on around these idiots is gossip that’s ridiculous enough to keep her entertained, at least, and she’s already looking forward to the day they all realize what’s going on right under their noses.

And when Lan Qiren quietly takes her aside a few weeks later to reassure her that she doesn’t have to worry about getting into trouble for having told him Wen Ruohan’s plans - nor worry that said plans will come to pass at all - she’s relieved to realize that she can also count on her weird little extended family looking out for her just as much as she tries to look out for them.

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