Despite internally screaming to go home, Whumpee tried their best to laugh along with everyone else. Their friends were having a good time and wanted them to stay just a bit longer.
They only agreed because they knew it was going to be a while before they showed their face at another party again. This was slowly starting to drain their social batteries more than it already had. It didn’t help that everyone was drinking and being obnoxiously louder than they usually are.
Whumper in particular was starting to concern Whumpee. It almost seemed as if he was starting to become a completely different person. This was the first time that Whumpee ever witnessed him under the influence. They usually avoided gatherings or left early for this reason. They’d heard a few people say that Whumper has a different personality entirely while drunk. The rest of their friends were already reckless when they had something to drink. They definitely didn’t want to stick around to see what Whumper was like.
But it would seem that they were too late this time.
Whumper suddenly placed his hand on their shoulder and easily slid them closer until their shoulder pressed against his chest.
“You know, it’d be a shame if you suddenly disappeared.”
Whumpee went pale at that.
It was just a joke right? He was just joking.
They forced out a laugh and attempted to scoot away. “Uh, yeah, I would think so–!”
He kept his arm in place around their shoulders, preventing them from going far. Whumper grabbed their chin, making them look up at him. A smug expression on his features. “You’re pretty, you know.”
“Thank… thank you.” Whumpee fought the urge to flinch. They were so close, they could practically taste the alcohol on Whumper’s breath.
This wasn’t technically anything out of the ordinary. Whumper was just… a little too affectionate sometimes.
Pushing their glasses up, they tried to wiggle their way off the sofa while glancing towards the back door of the house which was blocked by all of their other drunken friends. They were once again forced to look at Whumper.
“And that little thing you do with your glasses. Plus that cute little nose of yours.” The grin widened as he tilted his head to gaze upon them.
They coughed, brows raised as they continued searching for a way out. “You mean pushing them up…?”
“Hey, don’t you want to just get away?”
Whumpee paused, this time making eye contact with Whumper on their own. “What?” They breathed.
“Think about it. You’re always so tired. You tire very easily. It would be nice to just get away and be on your own. Right?”
“Well I–”
“But a pretty thing like you shouldn’t be alone too long. Someone might try to come and get you.” He tapped their nose a little too hard.
The shift in his tone made it more clear than ever that this was not “the alcohol talking.”
“But don’t worry.” He continued with a wink. “I know a place where you’ll be safe.”
Whumpee knew now more than ever that they were nowhere near safe.
dear diary for Berkeley for right before he snatched Wren
Dear Diary,
this whole insane thing has been planned for months, but there has never been a good opportunity to grab Rackham. Too much of a risk, so much that normally I would've called this off; hell, I never would've agreed in the first place. But now finally there's a chance, almost too perfect.
Myers and Powell know what to do. Now to just get Rackham separated and make sure the story holds water.
“Eh.” Berkeley shrugs, opening the gallery on his phone. “Doesn’t look too bad. But I can take another one if you want.”
Edwards rolls her eyes and smiles, doing a peace sign, then a thumbs up. Berkeley laughs, snapping photo after photo after photo.
“You’re gorgeous, darling, gorgeous!” he says in an over-the-top manner, and there’s more laughter. “Okay, time for a new victim.”
He turns around and points the phone at Wren, who up until now has been watching their antics with a patient smile, tapping one fingernail against the empty shot glass.
“Smile!”
He shakes his head with an awkward chuckle, putting his hand forward to shield his face from the camera.
“Aw, lieutenant, don’t be like that!” Edwards says, pouting, and Berkeley nods in agreement.
“The best squad in the League deserves to be immortalized,” he grins, and Wren can’t help smiling as well. “And what’s a squad without its leader?”
“The best leader!” someone shouts drunkenly and others join in, cheering. Wren puts his hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture.
“Gah, you’re embarrassing me!” he says, and Berkeley uses this moment to take a quick photo.
“Guys, I did it!” he whoops, putting his fist up in the air, and Wren rolls his eyes at him, genuine smile never leaving his face. Berkeley moves closer and unceremoniously wraps his arm around him, turning on the front-facing camera and holding the phone up. “Now a selfie!”
Wren lowers his head, shaking with laughter, and Berkeley squeezes him tight.
“Come on, don’t be a buzzkill,” he says, blue eyes glimmering with excitement and intoxication; he jokingly pokes Wren in the cheek, making him laugh even harder, though the way he flinches doesn’t go unnoticed. “One pic.”
“Alright, alright!” Wren looks up at the camera, at their bright eyes and wide smiles.
“Drunken selfie!” Berkeley shouts, the sound almost deafening Wren.
“Drunken selfie!” he echoes, and the phone screen lights up one, two, three times.
“Woohoo!”
“Shut the fuck up!” someone screams from the other end of the bar, and both Wren and Berkeley flip them off, laughing away, until the other rangers call for them to come join for a toast and proceed to scream at them to hurry up as Wren goes to get a refill and Berkeley leaves for a moment to urgently text a friend.
-heres ur sunshine 😎
Daniel takes another sip of his beer and zooms in on the pictures, his smile as wide as Wren’s.
-hope ur not jealous 😏, another message follows, and he shakes his head with a laugh.
-Like I consider you competition, kid.
-damn
-nvm
-ull get the files soon
-cant believe were doing this
-freakin insane
-ur a crazy son of a bitch daniel
He snickers again, tapping his fingers on the table, a pleasant shiver of excitement running down his back.
-Just don’t chicken out on me.
-i wont
-but it might take a while u know
-I’m a patient man.
-👍
-ok ppl r waiting for me gtg
-Have fun, you two.
-=-
Wren Rackham
Age: 24
Gender: male
Occupation: League ranger, first lieutenant
Family: Father: Nathaniel Rackham, Mother: no data, Siblings: none
Marital/Relationship status: bachelor, single
Miscellaneous: TBA
—
Type: special order
Ordered by: Daniel Rooney
Daniel gets up to pace around the room for a moment, close to bursting from ecstasy and anticipation.
It’s all so official, so real. Right there, before his very eyes, confirmation of his victory. He still needs to wait, of course, but he has waited so long already - what’s a few more months when the prize is so worth the wait?
-=-
“I don’t have any-anyone,” Wren mumbles into the bar, which further muffles his slurred words. “Juss- no one. At all. I’m s-so fffucking lonely all the fucking time.”
“I’m sorry,” the bartender says, looking at him with helpless sympathy, wishing some patron would come up to order something and save her for just a moment. “Maybe it’s… not that bad?”
“It fucking isss…” he groans, lifting his head, the sudden movement almost making him fall from the stool. “My life sucks.”
She tries to come up with anything to say to that, but fails spectacularly.
I’m a goddamn intern, she thinks, her eyes darting around the bar. Not a therapist.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, and Wren tries to focus his glistening gaze on her before moving it lower, to his empty glass.
“Iss okay. Jusss pour me ‘nother one.”
She sighs and reaches for the glass.
“Sorry, but I think I’ll need to cut you off.” She keeps her voice soft and calm, but her body tenses as she waits for him to lash out on her like she’s seen so many drunks before do. To her relief he just sighs, resigned, and lets his head drop again.
The man at the end of the bar types something on his phone and holds it at an inconspicuous angle as he snaps a photo.
He hears Wren’s slurring voice and looks up to see him talking with someone equally intoxicated; the person reaches to brush their fingers over Wren’s cheek, and he leans into the touch with a serene smile.
The man follows them with his gaze as they disappear behind the back door; he raises his eyebrows with a smirk and types some more.
desperate for affection.
He too gets up from his stool and leaves the bar, camera at the ready.
-=-
“Well, now you won’t convince me you’re not jealous.”
“I don’t consider drunk assholes competition either,” Daniel says, perfectly calm as he scrolls past the picture of two silhouettes in a tight embrace.
“That’s fair,” Berkeley snorts. “So, your offer still stands? Cause if you’ve changed your mind tell me now, I don’t wanna be left in the lurch.”
“You won’t.” Daniel stops browsing for a moment, his gaze lingering on one of the photos, a fond smile forming on his lips, softening his features. “He looks nice with a smile.”
“Don’t get used to it, I doubt he’ll be smiling when he gets here.”
He shrugs.
“I don’t mind. He’s perfect anyway.”
“You’re a goner, buddy,” Berkeley scoffs and reaches for the tablet to open Wren’s files again; he starts to hum a joyous tune only to stop himself and shake his head.
Daniel doesn’t seem to mind, though, completely absorbed by the pictures.
“You know what?” Berkeley says, skimming through the files only to come back to the ‘Miscellaneous’ section. “I never thought this whole thing would be this easy.”
“This whole thing?” Daniel looks at him and raises his eyebrows. “We’ve only got a file so far.”
“It’s a start! But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking…” Berkeley clicks his tongue, frowning. “I’m talking about freakin’ Nathaniel Rackham’s only son being such a hot mess. I thought he’d be surrounded by… people, I guess? Or that he’d be more careful, at least, instead of clinging to randos.”
“All the better for us.”
“Absolutely!” he laughs and smiles to himself as he reads the last addition to the section, the conclusion, underlined three times. “He really is perfect.”
Something has happened to the ask, but @garbagewhump requested ‘favorite meal’ with Berkeley from the comfort prompt list, source: dude trust me.
cw: food and the fact that this takes place when Wren had already been ordered, so.
~~~
“Gah, wait, I can’t- you’re terrible.”
“Keep trying, you’ll get it eventually.”
“Not after three drinks I won’t.”
Berkeley laughs and taps his chopsticks together before reaching to lift a napkin with them, his grip perfectly steady.
“Showoff.” Wren frowns, trying to find a good grip on the chopsticks, and groans when they end up crossed for the upteenth time. “Fuckin-”
“You could still go get a fork.”
Wren glares at him with a playful smirk on his lips and a tipsy spark in his eyes.
“Over my dead body.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Berkeley watches him for a while - his focused expression, profanities forming on his lips with each failure - and rests his chin on his hands. Wren looks up from his unruly chopsticks and the corners of his mouth twitch in an awkward smile at Berkeley’s open expression.
The chopsticks cross again.
“Ugh”, Wren mutters, and Berkeley snickers, shaking his head.
“Grab them a bit higher. And hold the upper one like it’s a stylus.”
“Remind me how to hold a fucking stylus”, he snorts, but his grip steadies a bit when he follows the instructions, even if it’s still clumsy and his hand is shaking.
“Yay, you did it!”, Berkeley cheers, clapping his hands - not too hard, not wanting to be obnoxious in the small, relatively quiet restaurant. “Now try to move them.”
Wren just sighs, defeated, and Berkeley snickers.
“The goods are getting cold, you know.”
“You can go ahead, no need to wait for me.” Wren looks down for a brief moment, at the bamboo steamer basket filled with cream, green and orange dumplings. The mouth-watering aroma fills his nostrils and makes his struggles with the chopsticks all the more frustrating.
“That would be rude.” Berkeley’s nose crinkles, slightly distorting his freckles, and he can’t help but smile at the way Wren blinks. “You’re almost there. And dim sum are good for beginners, you can do it. Just… don’t jab into them, okay?”
“I’m not that desperate”, Wren snorts. “Or uncultured.”
“Mhm.” Berkeley raises his eyebrows, and Wren frowns at him. “Nah, I’m just messing with you.”
He reaches over the table and snatches a dumpling from Wren’s basket in a blink of an eye.
“Hey!”, Wren protests, but Berkeley just smiles and holds his hand out with the chopsticks directed at his face.
“Open up.” Wren huffs and looks away. “Come on, I want you to try it when it’s still warm.”
“I’d rather go get a fork.”
“Come on”, Berkeley urges with an encouraging flick of the chopsticks. “Humor me.”
Wren rolls his eyes, but with a sigh ends up leaning in and letting Berkeley feed him. He chews and nods with a blissful smile.
“Fuck, that’s good.”
“I know, right? Best thing in the world.” Berkeley grins, taking one from his own basket this time. “Go on, I won’t feed you all of them, you can learn.”
“I sure hope so.”
It takes a while, but in the end Wren is confident enough to try and actually pick up one of the dumplings.
“See? You’re getting the hang of it!”, Berkeley says, but at the exact same moment they both flinch as the dumpling falls right into the dish with soy sauce, splashing it in a spectacular fashion. Wren curses and his head drops, but he’s laughing, and Berkeley joins in.
“Just-”, he chokes out, “just let me get you a fork, you can try again next time.”
Wren nods, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter, and Berkeley smiles when he sees the way he can’t stop himself from blushing at the mere mention of there being a next time.
That dork, he thinks, and for a split second he almost feels guilty.
Star-crossed whumpers. (Noctyrne, first encounters, sfw, 100 words).
Her skin had subtle imperfections, like it was gold-ridden – embedded with an earthen beauty.
Her hair sat at her waist, divided in two colours by her spine. The left was as dark as the northern abyss, and the right, the colour of the same star which had bleached it.
Looking into her eyes opened my own. Her returning gaze overawed me, but the shape of her smile told me she desired me no ill fate.
Her mouth thundered a storm, yet all she said was ‘hello’ in a language I had not met.
