#GESTURES WILDLY. SCREAMS. COMBUSTS

[nino-rox]

Stiles Stilinski x Male Reader | S

Warnings: NSFW Gay Sex, Explicit content, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Male reader, Top Stiles Stilinski x Bottom Male Reader, degradation, raw (please use protection !)

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

NOT PROOF READ !

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{A/N: Not proof-read! Have fun Pookies <3}

The thundering bass of the rave wrapped around Stiles like a living thing, vibrating through his chest, shaking the ground beneath his feet. Strobe lights flashed like lightning across the crowd—a blur of sweaty bodies, neon accents, and wild energy that surged with every beat. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and smoke, and it felt like chaos incarnate.

But none of that mattered to Stiles.

Because Y/N was here.

And holy crap, he looked good.

“Scott!” Stiles hissed, his voice barely cutting through the music. He grabbed his friend’s arm, nearly dislocating it in his urgency. “Scott! Look.”

Scott stumbled slightly, squinting in the direction Stiles was pointing. “Is that… Y/N?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s Y/N,” Stiles confirmed, his voice cracking slightly. “I knew he was lying. He said he was too busy, right? Those were his exact words. Too busy. But now he’s here, and—oh my God.”

Scott glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “Maybe he just didn’t want to come with us, man.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second, do you see him?” Stiles stammered, gesturing wildly toward the figure leaning casually against the bar. “Look at him! He’s a whole—he’s like—Scott, he’s a walking thirst trap.”

“Dude,” Scott sighed, already tired of this, but Stiles wasn’t listening anymore.

Y/N was there, drink in hand, the pulsing neon lights painting his skin in shades of purple and red. His dark button-down was halfway unbuttoned, hanging loose around his torso, and Stiles’ eyes zeroed in on the exposed lines of his collarbone, sharp enough to draw blood. His sleeves were rolled up, the veins on his forearms faintly visible in the light. But it was the shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his abs—a sheen of sweat glistening faintly—that made Stiles’ throat go completely dry.

And then, the jeans.

They were impossibly, unfairly tight, hugging Y/N’s thighs in a way that made Stiles’ brain glitch like an old computer. When Y/N shifted his weight, Stiles’ eyes darted, unbidden, to the curve of his bubble butt, and a very inappropriate thought hit him like a truck: That’s not fair. No one’s butt should look that good in jeans. I could probably grab—

“Stop staring at his ass, Stiles,” Scott muttered, elbowing him hard.

“I’m not—okay, fine, maybe I was,” Stiles said defensively, snapping his head up to find Y/N’s face instead.

Only to find that Y/N was looking right at him, a sly, knowing smile curving his lips. Stiles’ heart stuttered violently, and Y/N gave the faintest tilt of his head before turning back to his drink.

“I’m dead,” Stiles whispered, running a hand down his face.

“You’re embarrassing,” Scott corrected with a smirk. “Let’s just say hi before you combust.”

As they pushed closer, the details of Y/N became sharper. Stiles could see the faint flush to his cheeks, the way his hair looked messily perfect, as though he hadn’t even tried. His posture was lazy, his body loose and relaxed in a way that screamed confidence. Stiles wanted to touch him—trace a finger down the bare column of his throat, drag his teeth against that stupidly perfect collarbone. Mark him, his brain supplied unhelpfully.

Stiles was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Y/N had turned toward them until it was too late.

“Hey, guys!” Y/N called, his grin wide and inviting. The music muffled his words, but they still hit Stiles like a punch to the chest. He had that lazy slur to his voice, the kind that said he’d already been drinking, and his smile was slightly crooked, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Hey!” Stiles blurted, far too enthusiastically. “You—uh—you’re here! You said you weren’t coming!”

Y/N shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink before leaning forward slightly, voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Plans change.”

And then—he winked.

Stiles froze, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. Scott, mercifully, stepped in to save him. “We were just gonna look for Allison,” Scott said, his tone amused but casual. “You and Stiles have fun.”

Scott gave Stiles a quick thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd. Stiles didn’t even have time to glare at him because Y/N stepped closer, his body brushing against Stiles’ arm.

“Come drink with me,” Y/N said, reaching out to grab Stiles’ wrist.

The contact burned in the best way possible—Y/N’s palm was warm, his fingers rough and strong. Stiles’ heart nearly leapt out of his chest as Y/N tugged him toward the bar, weaving through the crowd with a casual ease that made Stiles’ brain sputter.

They ended up with shots in their hands, Y/N grinning like he’d won something. “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass, his fingers brushing Stiles’ again in a lingering, deliberate way.

Stiles swallowed, his eyes locking onto Y/N’s. “Cheers.”

They downed their drinks, and Stiles coughed, the burn of alcohol scorching his throat. Y/N laughed, leaning into him as they both stumbled slightly. The motion brought their faces close, their foreheads nearly touching.

“Careful there, lightweight,” Y/N teased, voice low and warm.

“Careful yourself,” Stiles shot back, trying to sound confident even though his brain was short-circuiting.

The music shifted, deepening into something heavier, darker. Y/N turned toward him, his grin softening as he tilted his head. “Dance with me.”

Stiles barely had time to process before Y/N’s hands were sliding around his neck, their bodies aligning as though they were made to fit. Stiles’ own hands found Y/N’s bare waist, his fingers brushing over the smooth skin. He swore he could feel the heat radiating off Y/N.

They moved slowly at first, the beat thudding like a heartbeat beneath their feet. Stiles’ gaze dropped again—Y/N’s shirt was long gone, tossed somewhere near the bar, and all that was left was miles of skin and muscle, flushed pink from the heat and alcohol.

Teeth marks, Stiles thought helplessly. I want to leave teeth marks right there.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the nape of his neck, drawing him closer until their foreheads nearly touched. Stiles could feel Y/N’s breath on his lips, warm and faintly sweet.

“You’re staring,” Y/N murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Stiles didn’t even pretend to deny it. “Can you blame me?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound barely audible over the music. “No,” he whispered. “Not really.”

Their movements slowed, more swaying than dancing now, the space between them nonexistent. Stiles tightened his grip on Y/N’s waist, his thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles against the bare skin. Y/N shivered slightly under his touch, and Stiles grinned, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed the corner of Y/N’s jaw.

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on Stiles’ neck tightening.

“I should’ve dragged you here sooner,” Y/N murmured, his voice soft but charged.

Stiles smirked, letting his hands slide a little lower, teasing the edge of Y/N’s waistband. “Better late than never.”

Y/N didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he leaned in, their lips hovering dangerously close, the tension between them so thick it felt like it might snap.

And Stiles was perfectly fine with that.

He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips firmly against Y/N, his grip on the other boy’s waist tightening and pulling him closer - till they could completely feel each other. It was electric, the way they fit together, their bodies moving instinctively.

As Y/N’s hands held Stiles face, their tongues intertwining in a dance of its own, a feeling of euphoria rushed through him, like nothing else existed. Just the two of them, their breaths mingling and hearts pounding together in sync.

It was perfect.

When they finally pulled away, both boys were flushed, breathing heavily and staring into each other's eyes. The intensity between them was palpable, and as they slowly began to regain their composure, they couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"That was... unexpected," Stiles remarked, chuckling slightly.

"You're telling me," Y/N replied, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.

Stiles bit his lip, glancing up at him. "So, are we doing this?"

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles smiled, leaning in and gently pressing his lips against the other boy's, before whispering, "Let's get out of here."

They left the club, their fingers intertwined and their hearts beating rapidly in anticipation. The air was cool and crisp, and as they basically ran down the street to Stiles’ jeep. The tension between them was growing with every passing moment, and it wasn't long before they wouldn’t be making it do bed.

Pushed against the jeep, Stiles Stilinski and Y/N, kissing hungrily. Y/N was pinned against the car door, their tongues fighting for dominance. They were both moaning loudly, and it was obvious that the sexual tension between them had grown too much.

"We're not going to make it to the bed, are we?" Y/N murmured against Stiles's lips, his voice breathy and heavy with lust.

"Hell no," Stiles growled, pulling y/n off the car, hurriedly slamming the jeep’s back door open. They fell into the backseat, their limbs tangling, and the next thing they knew, they were kissing again.

It was passionate and messy, the air between them filled with nothing but heat and desire. They were both panting and moaning, their hands roaming each other's bodies, exploring every inch. Stiles took a moment to pause and just admire Y/N … in his car … he was so ready to ravage that body.

“You’re drooling sexy,” Y/N said as he winked, sending Stiles a smirk.

Stiles wasted no time in dragging his lips down the other boy's neck, pushing the other on his back. His skin was warm and soft, and as he reached the collarbone, he bit down, drawing a loud moan from y/n, whose hands snaked their way grabbing & tugging at Stiles’ hair.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed into y/n’s neck, running his hands over y/n's bare chest and torso.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his chest, and Y/N squirmed beneath him as the other’s tongue flicked across his nipple. He then moved to the other, sucking and nibbling. Y/N arched his back, letting out a string of whimpers.

"God, Stiles..."

Y/N bucked his hips up, desperate for some friction, but Stiles held him down, pressing him further into the car seat. His mouth continued its trail downwards, stopping to nibble at y/n's hip bones, biting, bruising and - marking.

Y/N’s already had a fucked out expression, one that Stiles was coming to love.

Y/N’s hands sneaked under Stiles’ t-shirt, roughly yanking it off.

“You’re sure getting needy,” Stiles said smirking as he dragged his tongue across Y/N’s v-line again, placing gentle kisses on the burning bruises, licking occasionally - making y/n arch his back his pleasure and pain.

"You're so good with your mouth," Y/N moaned, his eyes shut tight as his fingers tangled in Stiles' hair.

"Oh, trust me. You haven't seen anything yet," Stiles muttered, his voice low and husky.

Y/N let out another moan as he felt Stiles' fingers hook on the hem of his boxers, sliding them down painfully slow. Once they were discarded on the floor, he immediately turned the other around, gently smacking his ass.

Y/N gasped, a moan escaping his lips as the pain slowly turned into pleasure, making him rock his hips back, his cock rubbing against the leather seat.

"Fuck your ass is so juicy,” Stiles growled as his hands squeezed Y/N’s ass, spreading them apart. He leaned down, blowing gently against his hole.

"Please," Y/N breathed, his body shivering. "Stiles, please."

Stiles smirked and licked a wet stripe along the crack, tasting Y/N, hearing him moan loudly.

"Oh my God," Y/N panted, his fingers gripping the car seat. "Please, Stiles."

"Begging already, huh?" Stiles whispered, his voice dripping with lust. "You're so fucking sexy."

Stiles leaned forward again, this time letting his tongue slip inside. Y/N's legs shook, and he let out a long moan, his cock leaking onto the seat.

He continued to fuck the other with his tongue, his finger slowly creeping up the crack, teasing his hole, as his other hand grabbed y/n’s dripping cock.

"You taste amazing," he groaned, stroking the other.

"Fuck, Stiles, I'm gonna cum," Y/N whimpered, his legs shaking.

Stiles pulled away, his lips red and swollen.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," he said, his eyes glinting.

He flipped y/n around, pressing his lips against the other cock deep-throating it hungrily. Y/N's body arched, his eyes rolling back.

“Fuck STILES Oh MY GOD!” Y/N squealed arching his back as Stiles continued furiously bobbing his head, his finger gently massaging Y/N’s hole.

"Shit, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" Y/N screamed, but Stiles had other ideas.

He quickly pulled his mouth away from the other, leaving him a whimpering, horny mess, as he pushed a finger into his hole.

"Please, please, I need to cum," he begged, his eyes pleading.

"You'll get to," Stiles promised, leaning down and sucking on his nipple.

Y/N was practically sobbing, his body convulsing. "Please, fuck me, please," he begged, tears streaming down his face.

"You're so fucking hot," Stiles muttered, pushing another finger inside.

Y/N cried out, his whole body shuddering as he came hard, his cum spraying all over his stomach.

"Fuck, that was hot, and I haven’t even gotten started yet," Stiles breathed, his cock twitching.

"Stiles," Y/N gasped, his chest heaving. "I need you to fuck me."

Stiles smirked, his hand running along the other's length.

"You're such a dirty slut, aren't you?" he teased, pressing his fingers into the other's entrance.

"Please," Y/N begged, his face flushed, with the most fucked out expression every, the kind that made Stiles’ hard on HURT even more.

Stiles pulled his fingers out, and pushed them in repeatedly, thrusting, and curving his fingers. Y/N was writhing and panting, his cock already hard again, his prostate sending waves of arousal through him.

"Fuck, I can't wait any longer," Stiles growled, unbuckling his pants as he licked his lips.

Y/N got up, grabbing stiles arm pushing him down. Straddling him and rubbing his ass on his raging hard on.

"Fuck me, How are you so huge,” y/n said panting as the other positioned himself.

"You're the one who's going to take all of this," he growled, grabbing y/n by the hips.

Stiles bucked his hips, his tip prodding but not entering the other's hole.

"Fuck, stop teasing," Y/N said, his voice trembling.

"Beg for it," he whispered, his fingers digging into the other's flesh.

"Please, please, I need it, I want it, fuck, please, Please let me ride you! I want you I want you so bad," Y/N whimpered, his legs shaking.

Stiles gave him a wicked smile and slowly bucking his hips, entering the other with his tip, and slowly letting himself fill the other.

"Ah, fuck, you're so tight," Stiles moaned, his hands gripping the other's waist.

"Ah, ah, ah," Y/N whimpered as he felt the other fill him up, stretching his walls, his body tensing.

"Oh my god, fuck, you're so big," Y/N groaned, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

"God, you feel so fucking good," Stiles grunted, his fingers digging into the other's hips, spanking his ass as hard as he could.

Y/N moaned, his eyes rolling back, his body shivering.

"Please, please, harder, fuck me harder, oh my god," he whimpered, his voice a low whine.

"I'll give you harder," Stiles grunted, spanking the other, as he began thrusting into the other with full force.

"Fuck, you're such a slut, aren't you?" he groaned, his nails raking across the other's back, unconsciously drawing blood.

"Oh, fuck, please, yes, fuck me harder, harder," Y/N begged, his body tensing, his cock throbbing.

"That's right, beg for it," he growled, spanking the other again.

Stiles’ hands moved all over y/n’s body, as if he was making a mental map of every inch of him - and now it all belonged to him. His fingers gently played with Y/N’s nipple, causing him to squirm.

"Fuck, you're so hot, so beautiful," Stiles murmured, his thrusts growing more erratic, y/n struggling to keep riding at such a pace.

"I'm gonna cum," Y/N panted, his body trembling, his toes curling.

"Not yet, not yet, I'm not finished with you yet," Stiles grunted, his grip tightening. As he pushed y/n onto his back.

"Wait, what, are you gonna-"

Before he could finish, Stiles was pushing the other's legs apart, his tip brushing against his hole.

"Oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes," Y/N moaned, his body arching.

"Such a good little slut," Stiles said, grinning down at the other, his cock throbbing, as he entered the other's hole.

"Yes, yes, oh my god," y/n panted, his hands gripping the leather seat.

Stiles thrust deep and hard, his tip brushing against the other's prostate, causing him to scream, his whole body spasming.

"You like that, don't you?" he grunted, thrusting deeper, harder.

"Yes, oh god, yes, please, please, fuck, don't stop, don't stop," y/n begged, his body shuddering, his legs trembling.

"So tight, you're so tight, fuck," Stiles moaned, his hips slamming against the other, his balls slapping the other's ass, his grip on the other's hips almost painful.

"Harder, harder, fuck, fuck, please, fuck, oh my god," Y/N cried, his face twisted in pleasure, his cock dripping, as Stiles slammed his prostate with his thick 10 inches.

"Such a slut," Stiles grunted, his nails digging into the other's thighs.

"Yes, fuck, I'm your slut, fuck, I'm your dirty whore, please, I'm your fucking slut, fuck me, use me, oh my god, please, fuck, oh god," Y/N whimpered, his words incoherent, his mind spinning, his whole body shaking.

"I'm gonna cum," Stiles growled, gripping the other's hair, as he bit down hard sinking his teeth into y/n’s neck again -

| his thrusts growing erratic.

"Cum in me, cum in me, please, fuck, I want it, I want it," y/n begged, his legs wrapping around the other, pulling him closer, his hands clutching the leather seat.

"Take it," Stiles growled, thrusting his full length deep into the other's tight, hot hole, as he shot his load inside.

"Fuck, fuck, yes, yes, oh god, fuck," Y/N panted, his eyes rolling back, his legs quivering, as the other filled him, his whole body shuddering with orgasm.

They stayed like that for a few moments, both of them panting, sweaty, and breathless, their bodies glistening in the dim light and sweat.

"Holy shit," Stiles finally managed to say, still not pulling out of the other, his cock still twitching, his breathing ragged.

"Yeah," Y/N panted, his eyes still unfocused, his face flushed.

"That was..."

"Fucking amazing," Y/N finished for him, grinning, his hair matted, his body drenched.

"Yeah," Stiles said, his chest still heaving.

"Yeah," Y/N agreed, his breathing beginning to steady.

"So, what do we do now?"

"Well, we could always go again," Stiles said, smirking.

"I like the way you think," Y/N said, laughing softly.

(Author’s Note: RINSE AND REPEAT BITCHES ! Thank you for reading ! This was originally written for my Stiles x male oc reader Story: ANOMALY. So please don't be shocked if I reformat and edit to put this smut into ANOMALY! THANK YOU FOR READING )

CHECK OUT ANOMALY ! From my master list in bio!

[jstrestwrites]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

I was tagged by the lovely @defira85, so here's another bit of Moonlit Weave that we're nowhere close to yet. Have some angst! As a treat!

Elminster had come and gone in a blur. Love had been polite enough to invite him to ease his burden in their camp while they handled some outstanding business with the githyanki creche, and now her ears were ringing and there was bile in her throat. "The orb." Gale had said simply. It echoed in her mind as she felt her fear and anger rise. Her face grew hot and her eyes stung with frustrated tears as she balled her hands into fists. "—unleash its lethal combustion at will." She heard Elminster finish his sentence, dimly heard the Dream Visitor comment, heard Elminster begin speaking again. But none of it registered. "You're tasking him to kill himself? What kind of monstrous notion is that?!" Love shouted, tears beginning to cloud her vision as they clung to her lashes. Gale tried to calm her but there was no quelling her rage. "She saves his life only to cast him aside? What kind of lover does that?!" She practically spat the word lover like it was a curse, hands gesturing wildly in front of her. "Redemption for what, exactly? Trying and failing to please her? He'll never be good enough, will he? All he's worth to her is that stupid orb in his chest!" She was screaming now, her tail whipping angrily behind her. Gale and Elminster both looked at her in shock for a moment before Elminster seemed like he was about to seethe back at her. She looked between them both, eyes landing on Gale's pained expression. It broke her, and the tears began falling in earnest. "She wants you to kill yourself and you're going to do it, aren't you?" Her voice sounded suddenly so small, and Gale sucked in a breath like he'd just been burned. Without thinking, she turned on her heel and fled towards the forest.

I'm gonna tag @flamemittens again bc I'm greedy uvu

[tenkasato]

Yo! Aomine hurt/comfort. Slight angst. Fluffy ending. fem!reader. *gives you a one-armed clearly tsundere hug*

OKAY. Nonnie, I apologize for the very late entry. Work hasn't been very kind to me, but it's fine now I guess. Anyways, I hope the wait is going to be worth it. I wanted to make sure it was a balanced mix of hurt, comfort, angst and fluff, so here you go! Thank you for requesting ^^

Pairing: Aomine Daiki x reader

Warning: Mentions of insecurity and body image, swearing

You were excited to finally spend some quality time with Aomine this weekend. It's been a busy week, and neither of you had seen each other since work became more hectic than it usually offers.

In high-spirits, you met up with him, wide smile, puffy cheeks and all.

Needless to say, you weren't expecting your heart to plummet down into the cracks of the earth a moment later.

It went like this.

You were walking down the hall of Aomine’s condo, sneakers squeaking rather loudly against the marble floors. Subconsciously, you felt your hand travelling towards your heart. The padded foams of your bra felt foreign against your chest, the wires underneath them tad uncomfortable. Pausing midstep, you contemplated turning back and changing, but the tiny voice inside your head urged you to keep walking.

You’ve spent quite some time picking out the bra that fits you best. Spending literally hours looking for the perfect one that would make your breasts look fuller and sexier took a lot of energy—effort you weren't willing to throw down the drain.

Steeling yourself, you went and on.

You inserted the key Aomine gave you. Your hand met the doorknob. With a twist, you pushed inside.

Aomine's indigo eyes met yours before you could say hello. His lips curled upwards to a lazy yet fond smirk as he pushed himself off the sofa to approach you.

“Well, you’re here earlier than usual,” he chuckled. “Let's go. I’ll bring you to this new place Satsuki told me ab—”

The rest of Aomine's sentence was cut short as his gaze indiscreetly fell on your swelling chest. You smiled shyly as he ogled, mouth agape. Resisting the urge to squirm and move away from his stare, you took delicate steps towards him, slowly so as not to break him out of the sweet trance he’s trapped into.

“Stop staring, you oaf,” you stuttered, hoping your voice was coated with enough counterfeit venom despite the nervous timbre.

“What the fuck is that?” he snapped.

Your glee shattered as it dawned to you that Aomine was no longer wearing a mask of shock. His face was scrunched up to a fierce glare, eyes narrowed with delirious rage that made you stumble a step back.

“What?” you intoned.

“I said what the fuck is that?” he yells. He dragged his gaze from your head to toe before sneering at you with contempt.

Uncertain, you slither a finger into the strap of your bra. “It's—It’s a new bra I bought yesterday.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why did you buy something like that when you told me a number of times before how much you hated those things? You always went for the foamless type! Why the fuck are you showing up in my house wearing something you're clearly uncomfortable with?”

Pain stabbed through your heart as the words clattered like marbles inside your now hollowed head. You took in his glower. You took in the way you regarded you with disgust—something you have never expected to see from him.

Fire combusted your insides, the humiliation setting in as you jabbed a finger to his chest screaming back, “Are you hearing yourself? Are you?! It's my choice to wear what I want to wear!”

“You don't have to wear shit like that just to impress me, idiot!”

You gasped. “Don't you for a second think I did this so I could impress your sorry ass.”

“Yeah? Then explain why you're even in that shit.”

“Because!” you gestured wildly. “Because I wanted to feel good about myself! I see you gluing your eyes over some lewd pictures of women for hours without batting an eye at me! Do you know how it feels to see your boyfriend spend time fantasizing with 2D women when I’m here standing like an idiot waiting for him to notice I’m an actual, real person!”

“Hear that? You admitted it yourself,” Aomine stomped towards you, grabbing you by the shoulders and giving you a measured shake.

You roughly slapped his hand off you. “I’m doing this to make myself feel better. Stop being so self-centered.”

You pivot around your heels, not wanting to see any more of the bitter contempt oozing out of Aomine's glare.

“What's the fucking difference?” he called back.

Tears burned your eyes but they refused to fall in the middle of the pride bursting forth your chest. You raked your hand through your hair as a shaky, frustrated sigh flew out your lips.

“You don't understand,” you spat. "You're—"

“Is that how you really see me?”

Blinking, you turned, the misplaced fragility in his voice catching you off guard.

“What?”

“You think you need to wear something like that just to make me look at 'ya?”

You huffed, “For the last time, this isn't about you.”

“Then, why?” he asked.

“I already said everything, Aomine,” you answered slowly. The heated exchange you had left you reeling. Your chest tightened at the tiniest twitch his face made as you walked past him, completely frozen and looking almost defeated in contrast to his enraged demeanour earlier.

You got out of his apartment, leaving the both of you alone in your own thoughts.

A week after the incident, Aomine finds himself staring at the menu, eyebrows knitted, lips downturned to deepen his frown.

Nothing about the baby pink and powder blue theme of the cake shop makes the heaviness in his gut lighter. If anything, the overly cute ambiance makes him want to puke.

Giving up, he tosses the menu on the table and slouches back on the cushion chair. He glances over the minimalist paintings hanging behind the counter, glumly musing about how they didn't fit well with the rest of the jolliness the store imbibes. They stick out like a sore thumb—probably like him now, sitting by the corner, all grouchy and moody amidst the group of friends and families merrily chatting in the area.

He was supposed to bring you here. Satsuki said you’d love it and wouldn't shut up about it.

But then he just had to blow it all up.

“Aomine?”

The sudden squeak makes him jerk, knocking his knee against the table. He whips his head to the source of the voice and swears his heart almost leaps out of his ribs the moment you come to view.

His mind goes blank for a second. When you wave a hand before his face, he snaps out of reverie, “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see the place you said you'd show me,” you shrug before looking around.

Aomine stares at the soft pink glow on your skin from the overhead lights and grumbles, “We were supposed to go together.”

“Well, since I’m already here, do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Do you have to ask that?” he clicks his tongue.

“Do you have a quip about everything I say?” you say with a sigh as you slide across him.

Silence immediately descends. Aomine leans back again, desperately hoping his rigid shoulders don't give clue to how tense he actually feels with you around. You fold your hand together, looking like you want to say anything. Much to his dismay, you keep your lips sealed.

The hand of the clock ticks. Aomine can no longer bear the awkward atmosphere.

“I was an ass. I didn't mean to yell at you like that,” he blurts out.

You blink at him, a little surprised he took the first initiative. “I know.”

“Okay, which one?” he asks. “That I was an ass or that I didn't mean to hurt you?”

You grin. “Maybe both.”

“Oi,” he hisses with a scowl.

You ignore him and say, “I wanted to say that, no, I don't see you that way, at least not in the way you thought."

"What do you mean?"

"You asked me if it's how I saw you," you recall out loud. "Let me be honest, Aomine, I hate it when you look at those gravure magazines. They do make me feel less pleased about how I look, but at the end of the day, I know there isn't anything wrong with how I look or dress. I love myself.

“So let me make it clear to you again. I didn't do it to impress you. I did it to make both of us happy.”

The gears in Aomine's brain start to groan as they struggle against rust to comprehend the words you’ve just said.

Shallow. That's what he thought you were implying when you came by clad in undergarments that was clearly not you. Aomine adores you, and every inch of you is an oasis of perfection in his eyes. That is why the thought of you ever forcing yourself to change for a muddled albeit mistaken perception stings like salt over wound.

“What makes you think I’m unhappy with your appearance?” he asks, barely suppressing the impatience boiling in his stomach. "The magazines, they mean nothing to me. Can't you see? I am happy. Everytime I see you, I feel like I'm going to explode or something."

You snort, "That doesn't seem like a very nice picture."

Aomine rolls his eyes. "You get what I'm saying."

“Let me finish,” you tell him. “When I see you, looking confident while you play, it makes me happy. That's why I want you to let me try things on my own accord. Let me wear makeup. Let me wear baggy clothes. Let me do shadow boxing. Let me audition for pole-dancing. I want to love myself more, and in that regard, you'd find it in you to discover more about me, too."

Aomine doesn't get it. Deep stuff like this isn't usually within the capabilities of his comprehension when it comes to human emotions. But as he stares at you, the faint glimmer of adoration in your eyes reflecting his confused ones, he understands that a complexity such as you takes time to grasp. And wasn't it that part of you that made him fall for you in the first place?

He grunts and rises from the couch. Gesturing at you, he starts to head towards the counter to order something.

"Aomine?" you call softly, following behind.

Shoving his hand in the pocket, he says, "As long as you get that I like you just the way you are, then all's chill."

"Wow, you said something really cheesy."

Aomine clicks his tongue at you before stiffly stretching out his free arm to catch you in a sudden embrace. You nose bumps against his well-toned chest as you try to steady yourself in him. A steady thump-thump kisses your cheek, the rhythm of his heartbeat synchronizing with yours. What a wonderful music.

"This is awkward," you laugh despite the gladness and relief taking a hold of you.

"Shut up," he throws back, squeezing you tightly before releasing you.

You flash him a smile as he grabs your hand. Intertwining your fingers, you pull at him. "Come on. I want to try that parfait."

I feel like Aomine's gravure magazine issue will be a problem in a relationship. I acknowledge that it's never easy to give up a habit immediately, so I wanted to mention that here. Anyways, thank you for reading! Keep safe everyone.

[ceilingfan5]

I FOUND MY MALL AU

“God, I fucking hate that smug jackass,” Taako gripes, glaring across the mall corridor at his mortal enemy, the Hot Jewelry Guy. “Look at him, over there, selling rings and shit. I’ll be he gets commission on those diamonds. I’ll bet he drives a fancy car. Ugh.”

Merle snorts, wiping the pretzel counter around where Taako is leaning. They haven’t had a customer in over an hour, but the Hot Jewelry Guy has sold three pairs of earrings and something else Taako couldn’t see. Taako, of course, has been narrating his every movement just like he has all week, since the Guy started at the Jared’s across the way on Tuesday. It was funny three days ago. Now, it’s getting staler than the pizza pretzels. 

“If you hate him so much, why don’t you ignore him?” Magnus pours himself and Taako another energy drink. Merle declines to partake, so he makes himself a smoothie instead. Taako figures he probably ought to not be consuming product like that, but he’s the supervisor, and what does Taako care? Stick it to the man. Whatever. Merle gets to clean the blender anyway. 

Magnus walks over and kicks the megamixer to get it started again. The flour from the pretzel dough spits out and gets all over Taako’s black pants, and he lets loose a mournful wail. 

“Jesus, you dillweed! I already look like a dork in this stupid polo shirt-baseball cap combo, and now I look like a snowman exploded on me!” 

“What, afraid your new boyfriend will think you’re not fashionable enough?” Magnus grins. 

Taako sticks his tongue out at him. 

“No! I just don’t want to look like an idiot in front of the entire fucking public, my dude!” He gestures wildly at the rest of the Mall, where only a few people are passing, completely unaware of Taako’s existence. He sighs dramatically. 

“Oh, it’s definitely got to be about the boy,” Merle stage-whispers.

“It is NOT-” Taako hollers, and then they all turn around as a man clears his throat at the counter. Taako pastes on his best retail smile until it’s smacked off of him with a shovel. A very handsome shovel wearing a suit and a nametag that Taako can finally read. Kravitz.  Taako swallows thickly, his chest suddenly pounding with a tall can of caffeine. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” he asks, sickly sweet. The man looks a little nervous even being over on this side of the walkway. 

“Hello. Uh, I’ve been smelling your pretzels all week, and I think it’s time I try one? Um. What do you, uh, what do you recommend?”

Up close, it’s even easier to see his gorgeous hair and his adorable dimples and his manicured nails and his pressed suit and UGH, Taako hates him. How dare he come to Taako’s place of business! The audacity!!! 

“Pretzels are good,” he says, extremely helpfully. 

“I’ll have a pretzel, then, thank you.” Hot-Jewelry-Kravitz says, completely ignoring Taako’s charming dagger glare. He hands over exact change, which makes Taako hate him even more. “You want hot cheese with that?”

“Um. I suppose I do,” Kravitz says, like he’s never had a mall pretzel in his entire fucking life, and Taako wants to flee the country. He hands over the pretzel and the cheese and their hands brush, briefly, and Taako combusts and turns into a pile of ash that Magnus will have to sweep up at the end of their shift. HJG thanks him too-politely and walks away to futiley attempt to enjoy the mall treat and Taako stumbles into the back, all the way in the walk-in, and he lets the door close behind him so he can scream. 

“Bet you they’re together by next Tuesday.”

“Five bucks?”

“Make it fifteen and you’re on, old man.”

[mrsbhandari]

Admiral’s Office

A/N: literally me writing oliver fics is just *writes a phrase* *second guesses its origin* *looks up when it was first said* *thanks the lord that ‘come’ was first used in the 1650s* *continues writing*

like deadass that’s it jflsdjkf 

ALSO this is for that one anon that talked about getting frisky in the admirals office/on his desk so enjoy!

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: when do I not write Oliver smut lmaoo NSFW, degradation, sir kink, slapping, you know ;)

Summary: *sees the Admiral’s office is open* Eden: its free real estate

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

“It’s not all that impressive.” Eden gestured to the ship around her. “I’ve seen better.”

“Don’t let my father hear you,” Oliver warned, jokingly looking around as if scared the Admiral would show up to scold them. She laughed, and he could feel his skin heat up. His hand brushed against hers and he thought he would combust. 

“Ooh, what’s through here?” she asked, pushing open a door and ignoring the way Oliver rushed in after her, trying to get her to come back to the main deck. 

“Stop! This is my father’s office, he’s very strict about people in here.” She hopped up onto the large wooden desk, sitting on the Admiral’s important documents and kicking her legs. “You obviously don’t care.” He shut the door behind them, trying to will his hands to stop shaking. 

“I don’t,” she confirmed and beckoned him closer from the door. Begrudgingly, he followed, still glancing at the doorway to ensure that his father wasn’t about to walk through. “Hey.” She reached a hand up and pushed his face so that he was looking at her. “We’re fine.” 

“Mm, if you say so…” Quieting his worries with a kiss, she pulled him down to her, relishing the way his lips moved against hers and how his hands ran up her thighs. She was still seated on the desk, but she opened her legs wider to allow him occupancy of the space between, wrapping her feet around the back of his knees. They buckled, but the Admiral’s chair was behind Oliver to break his fall. “Oof!” He sat heavily in the chair, scrambling to sit up and get comfortable. 

“Oops,” Eden said, shrugging to tell him that she knew exactly what she was doing. She hopped off the desk, crumpling up some papers under her palm as she did. Her next seat was in his lap, grinding against the growing bulge in his pants and catching his groans on her tongue. 

“Eden, I--” 

“Shh...may I?” She ran a hand to the front of his pants and he nodded wildly, overcome with pleasure as she unbuttoned his pants and fished his cock out, fully hard and already leaking precum. Stepping off him, she quickly undressed, flushing under the watchful gaze of Oliver as he ran his hand over himself faster and faster with every inch of skin revealed. Her hand replaced his own and his head was thrown back over the back of the chair with his hair falling in waves. “So good for me, Oliver…” She climbed back into his lap, sinking down on him and letting out a loud moan. 

“They’ll hear!” he exclaimed, half whispering and half groaning as she ground her hips into his. 

“I don’t care, Lieutenant.” She punctuated it by raising her hips and slamming her body weight back down onto him. Her face was buried in his neck, and he pulled her back out by her hair. 

“Fine, then. I’m going to show everyone on this ship who you belong to.” Something in him switched as he lifted her up and borderline dropped her back onto the desk, the papers beneath her ass cold. Her juices dripped onto the important documents, mixing with the ink on every page. She didn’t have much time to appreciate how funny it was before she was being positioned at the edge of the desk and getting Oliver’s cock slammed inside her, filling her up in the best way. 

“Fuck me!” she yelled, fingers warping the wood of the desk edge. He gave her a wicked smile and pulled all the way out. Repositioning his hands on her hips, he thrusted back in and let out a low moan at how she clenched around him. 

“I intend to.” He began a breakneck pace, brushing against the spot inside her that left her seeing stars. With each thrust, he made her scream louder to the point that every soldier on the ship knew exactly what Oliver and Eden were doing. He didn’t give a damn. “That’s right, love, scream for it. Who’s making you feel this good?” 

Her hands found a piece of paper and crushed it in a death grip. “You, sir. Oh, Oliver…!” she yelled, running a finger down to toy with her clit and send her over the edge. She tightened around him and let her mouth fall open in ecstasy, an expression he would have burned into his mind for the rest of time. He growled, unwilling to let her catch her breath. 

“You’re not done yet, whore.” He picked her up and placed her on the ground, holding her up as he turned her around to press her front to the desk. She bent over the wood with her ass on display, an enticing place to lay a heavy hand. It was clear that any worry of his father walking in was gone as he groaned at the loud slap and the quickly reddening skin. She involuntarily pushed her hips back to his, drawing out a sinister laugh from the Lieutenant. He bent down, ignoring the pleasurable friction of her ass on his cock, and got down close to her ear. “So needy, hm?”

“Just for you, sir--” He cut her off with a tug of her hips until her heat was completely enveloping his cock. 

“That’s right, you take me so well, Eden…” Oliver soothed, running a hand down her spine and stopping it on the small of her back. He was toying the line of overstimulation but she craved the swift pleasure of his cock inside her and the stinging pain of his hand smacking her ass again. Her head was cloudy and her thighs were twitching with the lazy strokes, following a smooth rhythm that left her gasping as she inhaled the wood scent of the desk. “What do you want, Eden?”

“I want to come, sir,” she moaned, grinding her hips back against his. He allowed it and quickened his speed, quickly pushing her to her peak once again. This time, he followed her with a loud groan, kneading the flesh of her ass with a tight grip. His cum leaked out of her and down her thighs, and he used his headband to wipe her down before throwing it in the small trash can beside his father’s desk. 

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

“Who destroyed my office?” the Admiral shouted, pounding his fists on the desk in a manner that threw Oliver back into the events of just an hour before. “Lieutenant?!”

“I apologize, sir. I didn’t realize you were gone and therefore neglected to assign anyone to guard the room. Is anything missing?” he asked, trying to throw his father off the sex-filled scent. 

“Hm, I don’t believe so. Whoever did come in here destroyed some of my papers, though! And left odd scratch marks in the wood…” The Admiral peered down at the ‘strange’ markings. “Were they trying to open something?”

“Possibly, but if nothing was taken, I don’t think there should be any reason to investigate further. Do you?” He was getting fidgety now, shifting from one foot to another. 

“No, I suppose it’s fine if nothing was stolen. Although, I don’t remember these stains being on here…” 

Oliver nearly bolted out of the room, letting out a small sigh of relief upon breathing the open salty air. He looked around and spotted a soldier watching him, but he couldn’t meet his Lieutenant’s eyes. 

[alienor-woods]

i am what i am (i’m not ashamed)

for @vixleonard​. Fluffy Jon x Sansa in a Hogwarts AU, particularly inspired by her recent dips into Draco x Hermione.

pt 2/3. pt 1 is here. 

[age note: Jon & Robb are a year older than Sansa. They are still first cousins because, well. Comes with the Jon x Sansa territory.]

Sansa excels at Hogwarts.

Not like Robb and Jon do, rambunctious but accomplished Wizarding Club duelers who favor Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration over Divination and Arithmancy. No, Sansa favors the library and the lake, where she buries her nose in History of Hogwarts textbooks and her hands in greenhouse dirt for Herbology projects.

Her knack with the cauldron doesn’t go unnoticed by Professor Zabini, who takes her under his wing not only as his Potions protege, but also as Head of Slytherin House looking out for bright young stars in the Wizarding world.

That’s nothing, though, compared to her social influence. By her third year, she’s one of the most popular girls in school. Robb near loses his mind when boys start asking her on dates to Hogsmeade every weekend. It falls to Robb and Theon to keep him occupied at Weasleys or the Shrieking Shack, if just to let Sansa have her own fun for just a few hours a week.

“What d’you think’s gonna happen? Y’think Rosemerta’s gonna give a fifteen year old a key to an upstairs room?” Theon bursts out one day when Robb is listing all of Dickon Tarly’s faults, from priggishness to his bollocks quidditch skills. “It’s nothing more than you ‘nd I’ve done, mate. Buy a cute girl a butterbeer or two, compliment her hair, fiddle with her hands, hope she won’t mind a quick snog behind the Zonko’s displays.”

Robb stares at Theon, agape, without any rejoinder. Jon takes the opening to clap his cousin on the shoulder and chime in, “It’s Hogsmeade, not Knockturn Alley.”

But Sansa’s Slytherin loyalty can’t be understated, either. She wasn’t ever interested in Quidditch until Hogwarts, when the games turned into key social events. She takes to the stands every game, cheering on the Slytherin team in head-to-toe green and silver.

“It’s disgusting, is what it is,” Robb grumbles one day in fifth year, while Gryffindor House took to its brooms to face off against its sworn nemesis.

“Hm?” Jon glances away from game play--Edd and Tormund passing the quaffle swiftly between them, trying their best to shake the Tyrell siblings’ double threat at their heels--and is surprised to see Robb’s omnioculars aimed not skyward, but straight across the pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Sansa!” his cousin huffs, gesturing wildly at the opposite stands with his free hand. He pulls his omnioculars and passes them to Jon. “Just when I think she’s gone as far Slyth as one can go…”

Jon runs the glasses across the far bank of stands, catches a flash of auburn, traces it back to Sansa. She’s front and center, pink-cheeked in the cold and from screaming encouragement up at her playing housemates. Her hair is plaited with green and silver, she’s waving Slytherin banners, and she’s got a snake crown jammed down over her forehead.

He’s seen all this before, even thought that the color looked nice in her red hair (a thought he promptly shoved into an already-cluttered box of “NO” at the back of his mind). The paint is new, though. A stripe of something shiny on her cheekbones, right under her eyes. Something green shimmers over them. Jon adjusts the omnioculars and sees enchanted snakes twisting back and forth over each other.

Jon doesn’t see the goal, but he hears it. The stands around him groan and jeer. Across the pitch, Sansa’s serious, focused expression breaks into a victorious grin. The new paint sets off the blue of her eyes; he can see how they crinkle at the corners when the Tyrells perform twin barrel rolls and revel in their housemates’ applause.

“Yeah.” He passes the omnioculars back to Robb. “Totally barbaric.”

*****

By her fifth year, her prefectship is a given. Jon and Robb missed out on this particular honor for Gryffindor, something Ned and Cat had grimly accepted and never again mentioned. But when Zabini’s sleek black owl alights on Winterfell Cottage’s windowsill with the notice of her official position, their approval is lukewarm. The green seal next to Zabini’s signature seems to physically repel them.

Luckily, Sansa doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and darts upstairs with a gleeful shriek. “Mya is going to scream,” she shouts from the top of the stairs.

Jon’s pretty sure he’s the only one to follow up with her later on. He crosses his arms and leans against her doorjamb, watches her silently for a moment as she finishes out a short missive to a friend.

He waits until she drops her quill in its inkwell and starts to blow on the parchment before he clears his throat. “Congratulations,” he says, when she glances his way. “On making prefect.”

She smiles, openly, and the midday sunlight makes her auburn hair glow like a halo. Something squeezes in his chest.

“Thank you, Jon.” She waves the parchment through the air a few times, then folds it into a triangular note with a few quick strokes. The next glance she shoots him is conspiratorial. Another squeeze. “Make sure to tell Robb that I won’t be lenient if I catch you two skulking around poor Barnabas and his trolls.”

“We’ll make sure to do our skulking when we know you’re in class,” Jon replies, keeping his face straight for as long as possible. He can’t hold back his full grin, though, when Sansa rolls her eyes and turns back to her desk, all cluttered with succulents and half-eaten pastries. “But seriously, Slytherin has to have prefects, and you’re a far better choice than...Merlin, Viserys Targaryen.”

Housemate or not, even Sansa has to pull a face at the mention of Hogwarts’ biggest bully. The look she gives her circle of newly propagated succulent leaves is so withering that he’s surprised they spontaneously combust. 

“I can’t believe I have to share a common room with that prick,” she mutters. She rakes her fingers through her hair, shaking a few waves loose to flutter around her face. She’s been spending lots of time in the garden and orchard this summer, and it’s brought out a pretty sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “But yes, I’m sure you’re happy to have a semi-sane person wandering the halls.”

Jon snickers. “I’d certainly rather be cornered by you in a corridor after midnight, that’s for sure.”

Whatever reply Sansa was near giving dies on her lips when a door downstairs slams. Ned calls out for Cat, and Cat calls back, and Sansa and Jon are left looking at each other across the space of her bedroom, small smiles tucked into the corners of their mouths.

Jon tears his eyes away to the far corner of the room, where her narrow bed sits primly made under the dormer window, then to the floor in front of him. He scuffs the toe of his shoe and pushes off of the doorjamb.

“Congratulations, again,” he says, and immediately wonders why his voice has gone so low.

“Thanks,” she repeats. Her own voice is warm, quiet. “Don’t make me corner you in a corridor.”

[stellar-alley]

Of Scales and Sea Glass

•Chapter 4•

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: Richie literally finds out what it's like to be a fish out of water.)

Also shout out to @ambitiousskychild on tumblr for being my beta!

~

Eddie jolted upright in bed at the sound of screaming, Richie screaming.

“EDDIE!” Richie shouted, “EDDIE”.

Eddie threw the covers off of him and jumped out of bed. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he ran to the bathroom.

Someone’s in the house, someone’s found Richie, he got out of the tub somehow, his wounds opened up again, his scales fell off, he broke his glasses-

Eddie’s entire being froze at the sight of what was in his bathtub.

He has legs. HOLLY SHIT HE HAS LEGS, AND HE’s- oh god he’s naked, so naked…

“What. The. Fuck.” Eddie’s jaw was on the floor, eyes wide with shock.

“You can say that again! I’VE BEEN DECAPITATED!” Richie shouted, obviously confused and angry.

He was still in the tub, and his upper half hadn't changed, no that was the same…. But it was his lower half. Instead of a long blue tail that flopped over the edge, Richie had long pale legs. They were as smooth as a baby’s butt, with feet and toes and everything. Eddie’s gaze flickered over to his hands that were running up and down his new legs. The human noticed the lack of claws and webbing that once connected his fingers. And there were no scales whatsoever.

“Holly shit,” Eddie gapped, unable to form any other sentence that wasn’t filled with pure and utter shock. He felt like he was gonna pass out.

Richie has legs. Like- actual legs, no tail or scales, just legs, human legs.

“Eddie fucking Kaspbrak what the hell did you do to me?” He demanded, his eyes still as blue as ever, but now there was a fire that burned behind them.

“ME? How is this my fault?” Eddie demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Something inside him warmed at the continuation of their iconic banter.

“Who else could it have been? The damn tooth fairy?” Richie ran his hands through his hair, suddenly the anger replaced by fear. “What happened to me?” His voice grew quiet.

Eddie grabbed the shirt he’d gotten from Bev and tossed it at Richie. “Cover that up,” he gestured to his privates.

“EDDIE THIS IS SERIOUS!” Richie tried to sound serious but now he was kinda over being shocked. “How did this even happen…?” He closed his eyes and pushed his glasses up his face so he could rub his eyes.

Eddie began investigating the tub for some magical crab or weird potion, instead he found the red button had been pushed. “Fucking hell…” He turned to the mer, “Did you push the button after I explicitly told you not to?”.

Richie’s face went blank, “Maybe…”.

“You dumbass! That button drains the water from the tub! The lack of water must’ve caused all this,” Eddie vagley gestured to Richie’s new legs.

“HEY! How the hell was I supposed to know what’d happen? God- fuck can you just get me out of the damn tub? I don’t wanna be in here longer than I have to be.” Richie held his arms up and did the little grabby motion with his hands.

“You’re sooooo needy,” he dragged out the O in an over dramatic tone. “First put the fucking shirt on so I don’t have to keep staring at your junk,” Eddie ordered as he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked the other way to give Richie some privacy.

Richie sighed, “And you say I’m the dumbass. I’ve never worn a fucking shirt before!” Richie threw the shirt at Eddie’s head.

Eddie began to laugh as he yanked the shirt off his face, “Oh god. We’re so sad.” He shook his head.

Richie couldn’t help but join in, Eddie’s laugh was contagious. “Whatever, I’m sorry Spaghetti, just please help me,” Richie said, his tone was not serious but the message was.

Eddie got Richie to lift his arms over his head and the human pulled the shirt onto the mer. He fixed the arms as Richie looked down at the design and scoffed. After Eddie wrapped an arm around Richie and helped him up and scooped him out of the tub. Once Richie’s feet were flat on the bathroom floor, he leaned on Eddie and straightened up, standing tall. Eddie’s stomach dropped as he noticed the height Richie now had over him.

It didn’t take too long for Richie to catch on, and when he did, a devious smirk played over his lips. Looking down at Eddie he cooed, “Hey short stuff.”

“Hey chicken legs,” Eddie retorted, staring down at Richie’s bony legs.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Richie smiled at his human.

Sure it was a struggle but Eddie got Richie into his room and helped him into a pair of his bigger shorts. Even though they were big on Eddie, they were a little tight on Richie, but even if he did mind, he didn’t mention it. They were red and rode half way up the mer’s thighs. Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t stare at the view for the first few seconds when Richie initially put them on. But he snapped himself out of his little horny trance as he knew they both needed to eat.

Let’s just say that going down the stairs while supporting someone who’s taller than you, who’s also never walked before, is hard to say the least. But once they finally made it into the kitchen, Eddie sat Richie down in a chair and went to go start making food.

After brunch, Eddie was determined to help Richie learn to walk, or at least stand on his own. Since Eddie was not going to be able to withstand much more of all this physical labour, he could already feel his bones aching from the amount of lifting he’s been doing lately. So they started with the basics: standing.

Eddie helped Richie off the chair and held onto his hands (while ignoring the heat in his cheeks) as he let Richie find his balance (which he didn’t have a lot of). The mer wiggled and wobbeled before he was able to straighten his knees and tilt his chin up. Eddie took a step backwards, in hopes of getting Richie to follow, but instead it ruined his center of gravity and Richie began to fall forward.

The two landed on the kitchen floor with a big thump. They both moaned and groaned.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Richie mused from where he laid, on top of Eddie.

“Heh… Yeah,” Eddie agreed, but in all honesty he kinda liked the closeness (aside from the sprouting pain in his back). Richie was all warm and clingy, a new side he’s been able to experience since he’s gotten legs.

By the time dinner rolled around, Richie was able to safely say he could stand on his own, and walk slowly. This made it a hell of a lot easier on Eddie when it was time for them to head upstairs for bed. Instead of Richie leaning all of his weight on the shorter male, he simply kept one arm on the banister and the other around Eddie’s waist.

“Okay, so I’ll grab a pillow and a blanket and sleep for you for the tub-” Eddie began before he was interrupted by Richie.

“What? No way in hell am I going back to the tub,” Richie complained from where he stood in Eddie’s room, watching Eddie rifle through his closet.

“Fine. You take my bed while I go sleep on the couch in the living room,” Eddie offered, finally finding a spare blanket, he flung it at Richie.

The blanket covered Richie’s head, he yanked it off, messing up his hair (Eddie found it adorable). “What? Eddie, no. This is your house, you take the bed,” Richie insisted as he balled up the blanket in his hands.

“Whatever you say Trashmouth, you want the couch you get the couch-”

“No- holy shit you’re clueless. Eddie, sleep with me.”

Eddie stopped, dropping the pillow in his hands. “W-What?” His voice shook.

“There’s clearly enough space for both of us in your bed, so I don’t see why we can’t just fucking sleep togeher,” Richie wildly guestured to Eddie’s queen-sized bed.

Of course that’s what he meant. It’s not like he’d want to actually sleep with you…

“Oh! Um- If that’s alright with you,” Eddie scrambled to grab the pillow he dropped.

Richie scoffed, finding flustered Eddie cute. “I’m the one that offered.”

Eddie mentally slapped himself. “Yep, right, sorry,” he stumbled on his words.

I sound like fucking Bill.

With that the two boys got ready for bed, Richie simply staying in the clothes he’d been wearing as they were comfy and still clean. While Eddie scurried off to the bathroom to change into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a vintage Voltron shirt. The two shuffled into bed, Eddie stayed on the very edge as he worried he’d internally combust if he continued to be so close to Richie. While Richie tossed and turned in an attempt to find a good position.

“Goodnight Eddie,” Richie said before a yawn escaped his lips.

Eddie looked over at the beautiful boy in his bed and smiled to himself. “Goodnight Richie.”

~

Eddie opened his eyes, and he couldn’t see. The water that engulfed him blurred his vision. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he last took a breath. Maybe that’s why his lungs burned like the fires of hell. Suddenly he couldn’t stop himself, and he opened his mouth, determined to breath, but instead was met by a mouthful of cold, salty water.

“Eddie!” A distant voice called out to him.

Something glowed off in the distance, it came into view as Eddie’s vision began to haze. It wasn’t just a fish, it was a mermaid, his merman.

Richie.

“EDDIE!” The voice was now louder, closer.

Suddenly Eddie was gasping for air as someone shook his shoulders.

His vision cleared and he saw Richie leaning over him, eyes filled with concern. “Eddie! Hey, are you okay?” His voice trembled as he hesitated to let go.

Eddie had trouble forming words, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. Then, he became aware of the thick layer of sweat covering his body, and how oddly wet his face had become. He’d been crying. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. So instead of answering he simply wrapped his arms around Richie and buried his face into his neck.

Richie immitaly hugged Eddie back, rubbing soft circles into his back with one hand while the other held Eddie’s head as he softly sobbed. “Hey… It’s okay. I’m here now, you’re safe,” Riche cooed, softly stroking Eddie’s hair. The two had been sitting up for a while, so Richie slowly lowered them down to lie on their sides. The mer held his human and whispered sweet nothings to him until they both drifted off to sleep.

Eddie woke up to find an arm draped over his torso as he huddled close to Richie’s chest. As much as his thoughts told him to move, to go make breakfast, to not get attached because of the inevitable, he stayed there. He stayed in Richie’s arms and let the world turn around them.

“‘Morning Eds,” Richie croaked.

Eddie melted at the sound of Richie’s morning voice, low and gravely. He tensed, about to slither out of Richie’s grasp before he could let go, but instead of letting go, he held Eddie tighter. Eddie melted even further, thankful for the warmth the mer brought him.

“How was your sleep? Better?” Richie asked, running his hand through Eddie’s messy morning hair.

“Better” Eddie confirmed.

Eddie was a bit distant for the next couple of days. His eyes couldn’t properly focus on anything and his mind was all hazy. Richie noticed and tried to ask him about it but Eddie just disregarded him, saying he was fine even though Richie could tell he clearly wasn't.

Eddie might act oblivious but he knew well enough. He knew that everyday he spent with Richie would only make his feelings stronger, making it so much harder to let him go when the time came.

One night after dinner, Richie had fallen asleep on the couch. When he woke up again, the house was dark, and Eddie wasn't beside him.

“E-Eds?” Richie groaned as he slid his glasses on. He sat upright and looked around the silent house. “Eddie!” he called out again.

Carefully, Richie stood up from his seat on the couch and took a couple steps towards the kitchen. He was halfway there when a cool breeze blew past. He looked in the direction of the wind and saw the screen door was open. Richie let out a sad sigh. “Eddie…”. He grabbed a blanket from the couch, wrapped it around his shoulders and proceeded to shuffle towards the door.

Another gust of wind blew past as Richi stepped out onto the back patio, he shivered under the warm fabric of the blanket.

Eddie sat on the first step of the patio, knees pulled closed to his chest, his arms folded overtop and his head down. Neither of them spoke as Richie sat down beside him. He felt Richie scoot a little closer, their knees bumping against each other and their shoulders brushing each other.

Richie didn’t ask if Eddie was okay, because the answer was obvious, so instead he asked, “Are you cold?”

Eddie simply responded, “No”.

Richie huffed. “That’s such bullshit”.

In response Eddie let out a breath of air from his nose as his lips smiled a sad smile. Without another word, Richie got as close as he could, and wrapped a blanketed arm over Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie unwillingly melted into Richie’s touch, leaning a head against him.

“What’s been going on with you lately?” Richie rubbed Eddie’s arm.

Eddie didn’t meet Richie’s gaze, nor did he answer the question. Instead he looked out into the ocean that sat before them and asked, “Do you miss it?” his voice weak and distant.

“Yeah, Eddie, I do. I spent my entire life there.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “But that doesn't mean that’s where I wanna spend the rest of my life. It means that I like spending time here, here, on land, with you,” Richie elbowed Eddie slightly.

Eddie stiffened and pushed away from Richie so he could turn to look at him for the first time during their conversation.

“What does that even mean?” His face scrunched up in confusion.

“I mean what I said, Eddie! I like it here, I like you, I thought all the hints were kinda fucking obivious,” Richie turns red as he gushes.

Eddie’s breath hitched with the sudden wave of emotions that hit him. “Y-You like me…?” Eddie asked quietly.

“Yes, Eddie, I-I do. Like, a lot” Richie stumbled over his words as he began to worry that he said the wrong thing. “Sorry- I, um, that was stupid, I should’ve just kept my mouth shut-” Eddie shut him up by leaning in and kissing his lips.

The kiss lasted a couple of seconds, a spark ignited in the two as they pulled apart. “I like you too Rich, like, a lot,” Eddie admitted, quoting Richie.

Richie giggled like a little school girl, “Cool…” he blushed. “Can we uh- kiss again?” Richie requested sheepishly.

“I’d be pissed if we didn’t kiss again,” Eddie raised his eyebrows as Richie put a hand behind Eddie’s head and closed the distance between them.

This kiss was different from their first kiss, when Richie needed it purley to gather what he needed to be able to speak, but now there was more emotion in it. Something pure and raw that filled both of them with a warm feeling in their chests. Their lips moved insync, as if they were made for eachother, two puzzle pieces finally getting together.

Eddie broke away from Richie, his breath shaky as he spoke. “Richie we can’t do this. Y-You’re gonna leave one day-”

“One day,” Richie confirmed, “But not today, so please, can we just live in the moment? We don’t know when that day will come, but we’ll deal with it then. For now let’s just makeout, okay?”

Eddie thought about the hundreds of times he wished Richie would say that, and everytime he blocked the thought out, knowing one day Richie would leave. Today was not one of those days. For once, Eddie allowed himself to be happy and feel the emotions as they came. So that’s what they did, they made out.

~

“Okay we’ve gotta go shopping,” Eddie declared as he plopped down on his bed beside Richie, who was lying on his back, reading a comic book.

Richie dropped the comic onto his chest and looked over at his new boyfriend. “I have no clue what that is,” he said with a smile, excited.

“It’s when you go buy new clothes,” Eddie informed Richie as he laid down beside him.

“Why do you need new clothes?” Richie asked, turning onto his side to admire Eddie.

“Well we need to go shopping to get you some clothes. You can’t keep wearing my small clothes-”

“But I like them, they smell like you,” Richie whined as Eddie turned over.

“Well that won’t be too hard to fix now will it?” Eddie smirked as he slid closer to Richie. “I was thinking, this could also be a good chance for you to meet my friends,” Eddie suggested, nervous of the answer he’ll receive. It’s been about 3 weeks since Richie first washed into Eddie’s pool and one week since Richie got his legs. Since then, the mer has actually gotten pretty good at walking. Maybe not the best at running and dodging obstacles, but baby steps. Sure he still leans on Eddie sometimes but that’s more because he’s clingy and adores his short human.

“Wait- serious?!” Riche perked up, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at Eddie, “That’d be so cool, I’ve been wanting to meet them for, like, ever,” Richie smiled.

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Yeah of course! Any friends of yours are friends of mine,” Richie smiled warmly, leaning down and giving Eddie a quick kiss.

~

The next day Eddie and Richie got ready and waited for Bill to come pick them up. Eddie wore a light blue tee he tucked into his jeans and he leant Richie another outfit of his, this time it was an old shirt his mom had bought from Freese’s that was too big on Eddie, yet it almost fit Richie like a crop top (and Eddie was loving it). Accompanied by a pair of old khaki shorts. The hardest part was when Eddie showed Richie what shoes were.

“Over my dead body,” Richie crossed his arms over his chest in protest.

“Well that can be arranged,” Eddie grumbled, jokingly.

Richie smirked and leaned down, wrapping an arm around Eddie and leaning his head on top of the short male’s. “What was that babe?”.

Eddie looked up at him. “You literally can’t go out without them.”

“I’ll wear them if I can be the small spoon tonight,” Richie stuck out his lower lip and widened his eyes, a face Eddie dubbed his sad puppy face.

“You’re so sad,” Eddie kissed him quickly before tossing the shoes at him.

It was a struggle but Eddie finally showed Richie how to tie his shoelaces. They both stood up at the sound of Bill honking his horn.

“Oh, it feels like my feet are in boxes,” Richie deadpanned as his knees wobbled again, just like they had when he first learned to walk. Immediately he stumbled, leaning on Eddie for support.

Eddie turned and looked at his boyfriend with concern. “You okay Rich?”

Richie nervously laughed and stood on his own, slowly finding his balance. “Yep! I’m all good.”

Eddie led Richie out and to Bill’s car, opened the back door, and slid in, beckoning for Richie to follow. Bev was already inside, she and Bill talking about something Georgie had done recently that resulted in him shooting milk from his nose.

“Eddie is this the dark and mysterious man you keep ditching us for?” Bev asked as she turned to face the two in the back seat.

Of course The Losers had picked up on Eddie’s constant disappearances, and Eddie couldn’t lie to save his life, so he admitted he met someone, an internet friend from out of state of course. He wanted to tell them the truth, he really did, but he didn’t feel right doing it without Richie beside him. So he did his best at lying, making up some elaborate story about how Richie was someone he’d met online and was moving to town and needed a place to stay. Also that he had social anxiety and needed time to settle in before he was ready to meet anyone. Eddie also sprinkled in the fact that said friend had some weird physical thing that meant he had trouble walking sometimes. Surprisingly, everyone bought it.

“Yep! Here he is, the elusive Richie,” Eddie laughed nervously.

Richie grinned and stuck his hand out. “Richie Tozier the honour is all mine.”

Bev reached out and shook his hand and Richie pulled her hand closer and kissed her knuckles, making her blush. Eddie couldn’t shake the twang of jealousy that shot through him.

“Beverly Marsh,” she introduced herself. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

“All terrible I assume?” Richie said in a british accent, he smirked and nudged Eddie.

Bev joined in, placing the back of her hand on her forehead. “Ah yes darling, terrible, absolutely wretched.” She swooned in a matching accent.

“I’m Bill,” the third male smiled warmly from the driver's seat.

Richie kept going, this time switching to a weatern accent. “Well howdy hey Big Bill. How’re you doing on this fine morn’?” The two shook hands.

“H-How’ve you been settling in?” Bill inquiries.

“Me? Oh I’m doin’ fine. Just livin’ my best life with my whittle Eddie.” He gave Eddie a peck on the cheek as Eddie stilled and Bev gasped.

“Eddie you didn’t tell me the site you met Richie on was a dating website?” Bev asks in shock at the sudden show of affection.

“N-No that’s not where we met-” Eddie started.

“What’s a dating webs-” Richie cut in.

“But YES! We’re dating” Eddie concluded, not wanting to dig himself into a hole or reveal too much about Richie.

“Wow E-Eddie didn’t think you were lo-looking for a relationship,” Bill winked at Eddie through the rearview mirror.

When the foursome arrived at the mall, Eddie jumped to get out of the car. He ran around to Richie’s side to help him out. Richie had never been in a car before, or in shoes. The last thing Eddie needed was for him to trip and fall flat on his face. As they walked towards the mall’s main entrance, Eddie kept a firm grasp on Richie’s hand. Yes he loved the physical affection but he was also determined to stay beside Richie so he didn’t get lost or kidnapped or something.

Let’s just say the mall blew Richie’s little fish brain. It was a little overwhelming. He almost fell over a couple of times, but he had Eddie to lean on.

As the four Losers walked into the main area of the mall, three of the four stiffened at the sound of a loud laughter that erupted from behind them. Richie almost kept walking until he felt Eddie’s hand tighten around his own. He stopped and looked around to see the other staring at something, someone.

“Well if it isn’t Derry’s resident Losers Club,” Henry Bowers called out as he and his goonies approached them.

“Fu-Fuck off Henry,” Bill hissed, steping infront of his friends in a defensive manner.

“Su-suck my d-dick Bu-Bu-Bill.” Henry’s friends laughed as he mocked Bill’s stutter.

Eddie looked up and shot Richie a worried glance.

Henry caught wind of their silent conversation and addressed it. “Well look at this, does little wheezy finally have a faggot boyfriend?”

Richie’s blood boiled at how much pleasure this brought the Bowers Gang. He drowned out their comments and focused on the drinks they held in their hands. Richie took a step back, pulling Eddie with him only moments before the drinks exploded, soaking the bullies in their sugary beverages.

The Losers didn’t wait to see Henry’s reaction as they used the explosion as a distraction to bolt from the bullies. Bill led the way with Bev in tow, Eddie pulled Richie along as they darted past stands and zig zagged between customers.

“That was amazing!” Eddie hollered, shooting Richie a proud grin as they finally slowed down.

They met up with the rest of The Losers Club at the food court.

Mike waved them down when he saw them enter. “Hey guys!” he greeted.

“Hey Mike,” Bill smiled and took the seat beside him.

Ben got up from his seat and offered it to Bev, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and took it, Ben stole a chair from the other table.

“Wait, where’s Stan?” Eddie questioned as he took a seat with Richie, across from Bill and Mike.

“He went to grab a smoothie,” Ben informed him.

“Okay I wanted to wait but guys, this is Richie, my uh-” Eddie hiestated, “boyfriend.”

“Hello,” Richie grinned and waved.

“Your what” Stan suddenly appeared behind Mike.

“Hey! Stanley’s here,” Eddie piped up.

“Yes, and he’s very curious. When did you two become an item? I thought you were online friends,” Stan handed Mike a smoothie and took the other seat beside him.

Richie opened his mouth to respond but Eddie spoke. “Yeah we’ve been online friends for a while, and when he came to stay with me, we realized we had feelings for eachother.” Eddie became tense, lying always made him nervous. Richie noticed and put a hand on his knee, relieving some of the stress. Eddie let out a breath.

The group went to various stores, Bev dragged them to makeup stores, Bill dragged them to bookstores, Mike (politely) dragged them to a kitchen appliance store (he likes cooking and needed a new whisk). Then they stopped in one of the big clothing stores and made a mutual agreement to go and look in their own sections as everyone had different styles.

For a change, Eddie let Richie pull him around as he wanted to let the mer choose his own clothes. After jokingly picking out a jockstrap and a D cup bra, he finally decided on a variety of Hawaiian shirts with loud prints, some shorts, a pair of jeans and an array of T shirts (Some plain, some graphic tees). Eddie showed him to the changing rooms and waited outside for Richie to change.

Richie carefully stripped and replayed the memories of Eddie getting dressed in hopes that he’d be able put everything on correctly. His first outfit was a Hawaiin shirt that was covered in pastel pink and blue flowers and a black muscle top, paired with a pair of black shorts. He stepped out of the changing room and shyly turned to Eddie who was now blushing at the sight of seeing Richie in something other than his own clothes.

“How do I look?” Richie asked, worried about the amount of colour.

“Richie you look really good,” Eddie smiled in approval.

Richie blushed but covered it up as he struck a pose, stroked his thigh and asked, “You like what you see?” He wiggle his eyebrows seductively.

Eddie covered his face with his hand, now red as a tomato and sighed. “You’re so weird.”

After a long Richie Tozier exclusive fashion show, he decided on the items he wanted to buy. He went back into the changerooms and put his normal clothes back on. When it came time to put his shoes on, he took a seat on the bench in the corner of the room and mindlessly itched his ankle. Something felt off.

Glancing down, Richie’s entire being froze at what he saw. A small patch of skin around his ankle had become tough, hard, and almost blue. Richie snapped his eyes shut. This cannot be happening. His breath hitched as he carefully traced the rough area with his fingers. If he focused hard enough he could feel the vague outline of scales.

He moved the hand from his ankle and raked it through his hair. He could feel tears biting at his eyes as he grimaced. “Fuck,” he weekly whispered.

“E-Eddie?” Richie quietly called out from the changeroom.

“Yeah, Rich, everything alright?” Eddie asked from outside the door.

Richie exhaled and asked Eddie to assist him with his shoes. Eddie wasted no time and slipped inside and did Richie’s shoes. Once they were both up and on their feet, Richie wrapped Eddie in a hug.

“What’s this for?” Eddie asked.

“I… I just really like you,” Richie breathed. One hand on Eddie’s neck while the other was in his hair, he held him tightly, as if he were about to pop a tail and get swept off by the tide.

“I really like you too Chee,” Eddie knew what he’d done the moment the word left his mouth.

Richie stopped and slowly, dramatically pulled away from Eddie, holding his shoulders tight. “D-Did my Eddie Spaghetti just create a nickname for me?” he gasped joyfully. He released Eddie’s shoulders and looked to the ceiling, fanning his eyes as if he was about to cry. “looks like miracles are real.”

“Oh god,” Eddie groaned as he hid his face in between Richie’s neck and his shoulder.

“Say it again! Say it again!” Richie begged as he pulled Eddie away so he could look at his face.

Eddie let the moment last, anticipation rising before letting out a soft. “Chee.” He watched his boyfriend literally melt at the words.

Richie leaned down and kissed Eddie, and in that moment there was nowhere else they would have rather been.

Word Count: 4995

Aw there's so much tooth-rotting fluff in this chapter I think I need to go to the dentist. LOL I'm a comedic god, I know. I hope that y'all enjoyed this chapter and are excited to see what happens next with Richie and that little patch of scales... Anyways until next time, So Long and Goodnight.  

~

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[racebox-of-higgars]

Christmas Kisses - sprace oneshot

It may not be Christmas anymore but I’m still gonna write it 

Crossposted on Ao3 at Racebox_of_Higgars 

Enjoy! 

“I think I’m having a feeling,” Spot groaned, flopping down onto Jack’s couch. “Make it stop.” Jack looked up from his painting, frowning at Spot.  

“How did you get in my house?”  

“I picked the lock,” Spot said simply, as if it happened every day.  

“As you do.”  

“Yes.” Jack narrowed his eyes slightly, then shook his head. Today was not the day for questioning things.  

“What feeling?”  

“Fuck if I know.” Spot gestured at the air in front of him. “ Racetrack! ” That only made Jack even more confused.  

Spot, he didn’t really do feelings. He would always bottle them up and ignore them until they became anger, which was far easier to deal with than whatever it was before. That earned him his reputation as the kid with the anger issues, which suited him just fine. It meant no one messed with him, or people around him, and as long as they were okay, he was happy.  

“You got a problem with Race?” Jack asked, turning completely away from his painting. He was invested now.  

“Yes! No! I don’t know.” Jack grinned, finally catching on to what Spot was getting at.  

“You like him, don’t you?” Spot screamed into the pillow and Jack snickered.  

Jack loved Race. Not in a romantic way, but Race was pretty much his little brother, and he would do anything to make Race happy. He had seen Race fall in love too fast then each time they would leave and he’d watch Race fall apart, each time losing another part of himself. Slowly, it had worn Race down, and though he didn’t let it show, he was always hurting. Every time he got into a new relationship, he would keep his distance, trying not to get too close Every time he would get his heart broken. Jack never liked any of Race’s boyfriends, but he liked Spot.

“So what do I do about it?” Spot asked. “Do I ask him out, or do I like stab him?”  

“You ask him out, dipshit!” Spot screamed again.  

“What do I do?” Spot sat up slightly, looking a Jack, and he actually looked worried. God, he was whipped.  

“Ask him on a date.”  

“What kind of date does one ask Racetrack fucking Higgins on?” That was a good question. Thankfully, Jack had known the fucker since they were basically fetuses, and therefore knew exactly what he would want.  

“Take him to the ice-skating rink, then get hot chocolate together and watch a Christmas movie.” Race was a sucker for Christmas, and it being just weeks away now, it was perfect timing. “If you’re feeling bold put up some mistletoe. He loves that shit.”  

“Race loves Christmas, right?”  

“Yup. If your house isn’t decorated he’ll fly through there like a glittery rainbow tornado.” Spot smiled at that. He could practically picture it, and he felt the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Dude, you’re fucking whipped.”  

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll still kill you in your sleep.” Jack just smiled and turned back to his painting.  

“Enjoy your date.”  

Spot knew what he wanted to say, but actually asking Race out was a whole other story. They were in the library together, a usual hangout spot (hehe get it), when it was cold, and Race was rambling on about some new thing he had grown obsessed with and Spot had listened diligently, completely enraptured by Race’s excitement. His sparkling eyes lit up with a childlike glee and a grin spread across his face as he looked out the window.  

“Spotty, look!” He cried. “They’re turning on the Christmas lights!” Race was entranced by the lights, almost like a child, but Spot wasn’t watching them. Spot was gazing at Race. He watched as the colours flickered over Race’s pale skin and the rainbow of lights reflected off his eyes. God, he was so in love with this boy it hurt, and if he didn’t get at least a date with him soon he was pretty sure he’d combust.  

Plans went out the window.  

“Go on a date with me?” He blurted, screaming internally the second it left his mouth. Race turned to him, shock written all over his face.  

“What?”  

“I-uh-I wanted to know if you, maybe, wanted to go on a date with me?” Spot stammered out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Race smiled, somehow wider than he had when he was watching the lights.  

“Really?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Yes!” Race rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, like he always did when he was excited and Spot couldn’t help his smile.  

“Alright, uh, I’ll pick you up at 7, is that okay?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Oh, and wrap up warm,” Spot added, thinking about how cold it was likely to be on the ice later. Race nodded.  

“Okay, I’ll – uh – I’ll see you later?”  

“Yeah, see you.” Fuck yes!  

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS!!!!

Mom:  Do you really need that many exclaimation marks?  

SantaGay: GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS????

Mom: Don’t encourage him  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAAAAAAAAAAAYS!  

Mom:  What do you want?  

Racebox of Higgars:  SPOT ASKED ME ON A FUCKIN DATE!!!!

SantaGay:  HELL YEAH!  

Mom:  Finally

Mom:  It’s only taken him nine years.  

SantaGay:  what are you doing?  

Racebox of Higgars:  i don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me

SantaGay:  oooh, a man of mystery  

Mom:  Be safe.  

Racebox of Higgars:  i always am

Racebox of Higgars:  OH FUCK WHAT AM I GONNA WEAR

Mom:  Did he give you a dress code?  

Racebox of Higgars:  no, he just said dress warm

SantaGay:  black skinny jeans, that cream turtleneck you literally never wear, your fancy black coat, doc martens, a lil bit of eyeliner  

Mom:  Jack, you have fashion sense?  

Mom:  Why do you never dress up nice for our dates?  

Racebox of Higgars:  o shit

Racebox of Higgars:  thanks gays  

For the fifth time, Race examined himself in the mirror, scrunching up his face. Something was missing from his outfit. He had to admit, Jack’s taste was good (the eyeliner was amazing), but something was still missing. He rifled through his drawers, eventually pulling out the silver chain Spot had bought him when they were 14. It was simple, plain, but spoke volumes.  

Race had only just come out as trans. He was slowly swapping out his wardrobe for more masculine clothes, and they were going through his old jewellery.  

He held up  a necklace with a small owl charm at the end, grimacing. He hated that necklace. It wasn’t anything against it particularly, but more to do with how feminine it made him feel. He hated it.  

“Y’know,” he began absent-mindedly, “I used to love this necklace, but now I can’t stand it. It makes me really dysphoric for some reason, which sucks since I love wearing jewellery and stuff, but I can’t wear most of this.”  

“You can get more masculine necklaces,” Spot answered from where he was sitting at the foot of Race’s bed.  

“Well, yeah, but I can’t really afford it.” Spot frowned. “I don’t get any money at the moment, and I can’t work.”  An idea slowly formulated in Spot’s mind.  

“Race, I got you something,” Spot said sheepishly. Race turned, brow furrowing.  

“It’s not my birthday, or Christmas. Why?”  

“It ain’t much, but you were saying about it the other day and then I saw it and thought of you.” He held the box out to Race, who took it tentatively.  

“This isn’t gonna explode or anything, right?” Spot laughed, but shook his head. It reminded him of their prank war a month or so before, which only ended when Spot had broken his nose.  

“It shouldn’t do.”  

“Alright, good.” Race tore into the packaging with a newfound fervour,  dropping it to the floor because he was a firm believer that gift-giving should always be carnage, no matter what the occasion, then opened the lid of the box. Spot watched nervously, suddenly thinking that this was probably a bad idea, but Race’s face cracked into a grin.  

“You bought me a necklace?” He said incredulously as he carefully lifted it out of the box.  

“Well, yeah. I was out with Hotshot yesterday and I saw it in a window and it reminded me of the other day. If you don’t like it I can take it back I jus-“ Spot was cut off by a weight crashing into him, and arms wrapping tightly around him.  

“I love it, thank you.”  

Since then Race had kept it in pristine condition, carefully making sure it didn’t rust or otherwise get dirty or break. He carefully lifted the chain out of the box, much like he did all those years ago, and fastened it around his neck. Looking in the mirror, he smiled. It offset the outfit perfectly, matching with the silver buttons on his coat and just providing that extra little touch to the outfit. He took a quick photo and sent it to the group chat.  

In Which Race is a Third Wheel

Racebox of Higgars sent a photo  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAYS DO I LOOK OKAY  

SantaGay:  damn bitch  

SantaGay: if i wasn’t dating davey and you weren’t like a brother to me id tap that  

Mom:  He means you look good.  

Mom: He’s right, you do.  

Racebox of Higgars:  thanks gays  

Racebox of Higgars:  OH FUCK HES HERE  

Spot shuffled slightly outside Race’s door, flowers in hand. Were flowers too much? Fuck it, it was too late now. Race opened the door and Spot’s breath caught in his throat. Oh god, Race was gorgeous. Spot’s eyes slowly glanced over Race, taking all of him in, from stylishly messy curls, to his bright eyes rimmed by just a little bit of eyeliner to make them stand out, to his breathless smile, to the necklace at his throat, to those criminally tightly jeans, and Spot needed to stop staring.  

“Christ, you look gorgeous,” Spot breathed, still hardly able to take it all in. A blush crept up Race’s cheeks as his eyes skirted over Spot.  

“You can’t talk, you’re-“ he gestured wildly at Spot, “beautiful.” Spot had been called a lot of things, hot, sexy, handsome, but never beautiful. It surprised him, he loved the sound of it on Race’s lips.  

“I bought flowers,” Spot said, holding them out. “I hope it’s not too much.” Race smiled taking them from him.  

“Cyclamen,” Race pointed out with a smile, taking them from him. “You remembered?”  

“I’ve been doing some research into flower symbolism,” Race said, half hanging off the end of his bed. Spot looked up from his homework.  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah. It’s actually pretty interesting. It’s weird to think that plants have so much  meaning . Like, take hyacinth flowers. Apparently they were created when two Greek God’s were fighting over one guys love  and one of them got hella jealous so fuckin killed the guy cus if he couldn’t have him no one could. The other one created the flower from his blood.”  

“That’s fucked up.”  

“I know. It symbolises rebirth now.”  

“Huh, but the guy wasn’t reborn?” Race shook his head. “Fair enough. Do you have a favourite flower?” Spot asked, partly out of genuine curiosity, partly out of hope that someday he’d be the one buying Race flowers.  

“Cyclamen,” Race answered easily. “They symbolise love and tenderness.” Spot smiled. Of course Race would like something like that. He was a hopeless romantic at heart. “Do you have one?”  

“Not at the moment. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you.”  

Spot liked lavender roses – blossoming romance.  

“Of course I remembered. I, uh, I had some lavender roses put in too.”  

“Your favourite,” Race recalled. “Blossoming romance, right?” Spot nodded, embarrassed. Race smiled. “I’m gonna go put these in some water real quick, wanna come in?”  

Race couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he carefully organised the flowers in the vase. Spot had remembered the offhand conversation three years ago. Not only had he remembered, but he had gone out of his way to get the specific flowers Race loved. The blush on Race’s cheeks darkened slightly, doing a little dance as he placed the vase on the coffee table.  

“You’re wearing the necklace,” Spot pointed out. Race rubbed the back of his neck.  

“Yeah.”  

“You still have it?” Spot was genuinely surprised. That had been eight years ago now, and yet the necklace still looked like it did the day he bought it.  

“Of course I do. I’ve kept everything you’ve bought me over the years.” Spot laughed.  

“Even the stuffed dinosaur?”  

“Especially the stuffed dinosaur.”  

“You’re gonna think it’s stupid!” Spot cried, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Race laughed, holding Spot back with one hand as he clutched the wrapped gift in the other.  

“Nope!” He answered, popping the p. “I’ve never found anything you’ve bought me stupid, why would I start now?” Spot groaned and backed off slightly, rubbing a hand over his face. Race eagerly tore into the paper , throwing it onto the pile left by Spot. He grinned, laughing. “I love him!” He said, pulling the blue stuffed dinosaur against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around it. “I shall name him Steeb.” Spot shook his head, laughing. He had genuinely thought Race would hate it or think it was stupid. Race had been going through an obsession with dinosaurs, and of course he was always a sucker for stuffed animals, and thus Steeb had been bought.  

“Steeb?”  

“Yup!”  

Race pulled him into a tight hug, still laughing. “Thank you.”  

“Where are we actually going?” Race asked as they walked outside onto the freezing street. Frost coated the grass, and their breath hung before them, pockets of heat suspended in the cold air.

“It’s a surprise,” Spot said simply. Race forced his hands into the pocket of his coat to shelter them from the cold.  

“You know I don’t like surprises,” he mumbled.  

“Yes you do, you just say you don’t to try to get me to tell you shit.” Damn Spot and damn the fact that he knew Race better than anyone.  

“You brought me ice skating?” Race asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.  

“Yeah, Jack said you used to go a lot as kids.” Race grinned, kicking off his shoes and replacing them with skates, lacing them up tightly. Spot copied him, putting their shoes and bags into lockers.  

Race quickly made his way onto the ice, gliding like a pro and kicking off with a small spin, just to test it out. Spot got onto the ice and promptly fell on his face. Race, however, was lost in the moment, gliding and spinning and twisting, then leaping into the air. Spot watched in wonder as Race closed his eyes, lost in his movements.  

Race closed his eyes when he danced. Losing himself in the music, he would just close his eyes and let it take over. It would decide his movements for him, and he would follow along. Spot stood in the corner, mesmerised by the boy in front of him. A small smile crept onto his face as he watched Race. It was rare for Race to let Spot see him dance, so he took any moment he could. Watching Race, it was like he was made for this, with the way his body moved so gracefully, so purposefully. Spot loved every moment. No matter how hard he tried (not that he was trying), he couldn’t tear his eyes away.  

“Spot!” Race said excitedly, opening his eyes and pausing the music. “You came?” Spot smiled.  

“Of course I came, dumbass. I wasn’t gonna miss this.” Race bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly.  

“I’m on in half an hour. Just going through some basic stuff now to get ready.” Spot scoffed.  

“You call that basic?” Race ran a hand through his curls, damp with sweat.  

“I mean yeah, compared to what I’m doing in the show.”  

“What are you doing in the show?”  

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Race said with a wink.  

“Ever the cryptid.” They stood in silence for a moment, then Spot had to break it. “You’re not binding, right?” Race’s face fell and he subconsciously crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you know it’s not good for you. Can we take it off before you go on?”  Race shook his head.  

“I don’t have anything else to put on.”  

“I brought a sports bra, could you change into that?” Race hesitated for a moment, before nodding. Race always struggled being safe when binding, so when he had events like this, Spot would always bring a spare sports bra and one of his hoodies for Race to change into. Just in case.  

He handed Race the sports bra.  

“I have a hoodie for you to wear after,” he said, handing him the hoodie too. Race smiled as he went into the bathroom to change.  

“Thank you.”  

“Spot!” Race cried, skating over to his side and offering out a hand. “Are you alright?” Spot shook himself out of the memory and took the hand, shakily getting to his feet. He immediately slipped again, but Race caught him, laughing. “You can’t skate, can you?” Spot shook his head. “Why did you bring me ice skating if you can’t skate?”  

“Because I knew you’d like it.” Race took both of Spots hands in his, so they were facing each other, then he slowly began skating backwards, locking eyes with Spot.  

“Thank you.” Spot tried his best to mimic Race, and soon they had a steady speed and rhythm going. “By the end of tonight I’ll have you skating on your own.”  

“I doubt that.”  

“Bet.”  

Race won the bet.  

“Wanna go get hot chocolate?” Spot asked. “Not the shitty watery stuff they serve here, we’ll go and get the good hot chocolate from the library.” Race rubbed his hands together to try to regain some feeling in them and he nodded.  

“Hell yeah.”  

The library’s café was a big reason why they always hung out there. They’d found it while studying one night, and it had slowly become ‘Their Spot’ over the years. All the staff knew them and their orders, and always greeted them with a smile. They knew all the staff by name too.  

“Thanks for this, Race.” Spot said, setting his books down on the table. Race smiled, setting his bag down on an empty seat.  

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He glanced around. It was a cozy, quaint place. Squashy armchairs surrounded tables and the whole place was filled to bursting with old wooden bookshelves. Towards the back was the café, a large chalkboard with all the prices hanging above it. “Wanna grab food and stuff before we start working?” He asked, gesturing towards the café. Spot looked up, and nodded.  

“Yeah sure.”  

“I’ll pay,” Race said as Spot reached for his wallet.  

“But-“  

“No buts, I’ve got it.” Race tapped his card on the reader and took his mug of hot chocolate, laden with sprinkles, whipped cream and marshmallows back to the table. Spot sat down shortly after him, lifting the mug to his lips. Race took that moment to admire Spot, backed by the sunlight streaming through the large windows. His brow was furrowed slightly as he concentrated on his mountain of a drink, and the contended smile on his face brought out his laugh lines.  

There was whipped cream on his nose.  

Race burst into laughter at the sight of Tough Guy Spot Conlon with whipped cream on his nose. Said Tough Guy Spot Conlon looked up, brow furrowing more in confusion.  

“Is something on my face?” He asked.  

“There’s – there’s whipped cream on your nose,” Race said through laughter. Just to make Race laugh more,  Spot attempted to lick it off. He loved watching Race laugh. It was the most magical sound in the world to him.  

“Boys, can you quiet down a bit,” a waitress asked, “this is a library.” Race pressed his mouth shut to muffle his laughter and Spot wiped the cream off with his finger. That was the beginning of their library ‘study sessions’.    

They settled into what had become their corner of the library, curling up in two opposite armchairs, setting their drinks on the table. They had chosen a spot right next to a large window so they could watch people go about their days on the streets beneath them. Sometimes they would make up ridiculous stories about the people walking by, just to make the other laugh. Often, it would turn into a competition about who could come up with the funniest story. It would reach the point where they were howling with laughter, tears streaming down their faces, and the library staff would shake their heads fondly as they told them to quiet down.  

“Thanks for tonight, Spot,” Race said, a small smile on his face.  

“It’s not over yet.”  Race tilted his head. It had already been one of the best nights of his life, how on Earth was this not the end? “We’re gonna go back to my place one we’ve finished these, get takeout, watch a movie.” Race grinned.  

“A Christmas movie?” He asked excitedly.  

“Even better – a crap Christmas movie.” Race’s eyes lit up and he wiggled a little in his chair with excitement.  

“Oh my god, you are the best.” Race was obsessed with Christmas movies, but the shitty, cheesy ones that you laugh at because of how unbelievably  bad  they are, and Spot was his long-suffering companion who had put up with this bullshit for nine Christmases in a row now.  

“Can we watch a Christmas movie?” Race asked, draped over Spot’s lap. This was their first Christmas as friends, and Race was going to make it a good one.  

“Which one?” Spot smiled down at Race, automatically starting to run his fingers through his hair.  

“I dunno, something super cheesy. The kind so bad you have to laugh at it.” That was Race’s favourite kind of me. Probably why he enjoyed the Twilight Saga. Not because he actually liked the films (Edward was an abusive douche, he had physically fought someone on that before, and he would do it again), but because it was so easy to laugh at how unbelievably shitty they were.  

Spot nodded, opening Netflix and putting on some shitty movie.  

Neither of them actually watched the movie though. Spot was distracted by Race’s soft smile and how peaceful he looked. Race was distracted by the feeling of Spot’s hand in his hair and Spot’s arms around him.  

It had been a while since Race had been in Spot’s apartment, (they usually preferred to hang out at Race’s, he had a bigger TV for movie and game nights) and he looked around slowly. It wasn’t a big place, but it was still nice. He had a large, squashy sofa, plus an armchair, a coffee table that clearly had been cleaned recently. In fact, the whole apartment had that smell like it had been cleaned just a few hours before. Had Spot cleaned for him?  

“Do you want tea or coffee or anything?” Spot asked from the kitchen.  

“Coffee would be good,” Race answered, getting comfy on Spot’s couch. Spot set to work making it as Race glanced over the takeout menu. Then, he had an idea. “We should build a pillow fort!” Spot turned to face him, one eyebrow raised, a bemused smile playing on his lips.  

“A pillow fort?”  

“Yeah!” Race’s smile dropped slightly. “Unless you don’t want to. We don’t have to-”  

“Of course I want to.” Spot set the coffee mugs down on the table, plopping down next to Race. Race’s eyes lit up when he saw the mugs.  

“You still have those?” He asked excitedly.  

“Of course I do.”  

“Spot look!” Race exclaimed, pointing at a shelf. Spot put down the mannequin hand he was turning into a middle finger and turned to look at Race, who was holding up a matching mug set. They were plain white, except for black lettering. One said ‘his bitch’ on it, while the other said ‘his slut’. “They’re for gays!” Spot laughed, looking at the price tag.  

“And they’re only like, $3.” Race’s eyes lit up with mischief, the way they always did when he had a stupid idea.  

“We’re absolutely gonna buy them, aren’t we?” Race said.  

“Obviously.” Spot took them from Race and paid for them.  

Later, Spot handed Race the mug reading ‘his slut.’  

“Why am I the slut?” Race said indignantly.  

“Come on, we all know you’ve slept with like, half the guys in the school.” Race’s face fell a little.  

“You don’t mind, do you?”  

“You sleeping around?”  

“Yeah.” In truth, Spot did mind, but he wouldn’t say that. The only reason Spot had an issue with it was because of his  huge  crush on Race. But he supposed he had no reason to be jealous, it wasn’t like Race was his.  

“No, I don’t mind. It’s your body, you do what you want with it.”  

“Sometimes I worry if I’m doing something wrong. If, I dunno, whoever I end up dating doesn’t like it.”  

“Have you ever dated anyone long-term?” Spot asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. Race shook his head.  

“Nah. There’s people I’ve seen for a couple months or so, but never longer than that. They realise I’m fucked up and leave.” Race laughed bitterly, trying to add humour to the situation.  

“You’re not fucked up.”  

“Mhm, that’s not what they think.” Spot took Race’s hand in his.  

“Look at me.” Race hesitantly met Spot’s eyes. “You  aren’t  too fucked up. There’s no such thing as too fucked up to be loved.” Race blinked back tears.  

“Thank you.”  

“It’s alright, now shut up and take your slut mug.” Race laughed.  

“You do realise it’s gonna have to stay at your place, right? No home will let me keep this.”  

“We can keep it for special occasions.”  

They curled up together on the couch. Spot reached for the remote and started flicking through Netflix, putting on a shitty movie. Both pretended to watch the film, but they were both too focused on the close proximity. Both wanted to make a move, but neither knew the right moment. The distance between them was painful.  

Slowly, achingly slowly, Spot reached an arm around Race’s shoulders. Race wiggled slightly, getting comfy, before relaxing into Spot’s side, resting his head on Spot’s shoulder. Warmth spread from every point of contact, and he couldn’t believe he’d spent nine years missing this. He had spent so long pining for Spot, but never worked up the courage to make a move, instead throwing himself at any other guy who would take him to try to distract himself from his helpless crush, but nobody gave him the same feelings as Spot did. Spot was it for him, he had known for the last nine years, and he knew it now.  

Spot was screaming inside. Race was right here, in his arms, and he wasn’t pulling away. They were on a date, and it wasn’t painfully awkward. Since meeting Race, Spot had hardly dated anyone. He had a couple flings here and there, but none lasted long. None could hold a candle to the brightness of Race. Nothing could compare to the warmth in Spot’s chest he felt around Race, or the safety and comfort he hadn’t felt before, but with Race it seemed so easy. Everything was easy with Race.  

Race took the moment to look around the room. In the corner, there was a photo frame, with 9 photos in it. He looked closer at it, and realised it was one of the two of them together, each one taken a year after the one before. The first one was taken when they first met, before Race had come out, before he had cut his hair. The second one was just after he had cut his hair. He still remembered each one being taken.  

“Spot, can we take a photo together?” Race asked, fiddling with the ends of his hair.  

“Why?”  

“I like having photos with all my friends, I like keeping the memories.”  

“Sure. You want a selfie or are we gonna make someone take it for us?”  

“Should we get someone else to take it?” Spot nodded. “Can you ask them?”  

“Alright.” Spot took Race’s phone and walked up to a middle aged woman walking by. They spoke briefly, then Spot came running back, throwing an arm around Race’s shoulder. Race grinned, looking at the camera, wrapping his arm around Spot’s waist. A few seconds later, the woman gave them a thumbs up, and Spot ran back to take the phone back. Spot handed the phone back, leaning over Race’s shoulder to look at them.  

“Are they good?” Race nodded, smiling.  

“Yeah, really good.” Spot backed off slightly, wrinkling his nose.  

“Your hair got in my nose.” Race frowned.  

“Sorry. I’m gonna cut it shorter at some point.” Spot tilted his head.  

“Really? How short?” Now Race was gonna do a special trick called lying to avoid outing himself.  

“A bob, so around my chin length.” Spot smiled, picturing it.  

“Yeah, that’s gonna look good.”  

“You think?”  

“Yeah, it’s gonna be good.”  

Race pounded on Spot’s door, wiping the tears from his eyes.  

“Wha- oh.” Spot opened the door, face scrunched up in annoyance, but softening when he saw Race. “Oh, Racer, come in.” Race came in, sinking down onto the couch, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie.  

“Can I crash here for the night?” He asked, voice breaking. Spot’s brow furrowed with concern as he crouched down in front of Race.  

“Yeah. What happened?” Race hesitated, before pulling his hood down, revealing his messily chopped hair.  

“I cut my hair. I just- I couldn’t look at myself with long hair anymore. I got kicked out.” Spot frowned.  

“What do you mean you couldn’t look at yourself with long hair?” Race’s breath hitched and his heart hammered in his chest.  

“I-uh-I'm trans. I couldn’t deal with the dysphoria anymore. It hurts too much.” Spot’s eyes softened and he wrapped Race up in a tight hug.  

“It’s alright. I don’t care. Do you have a new name and pronouns you want me to use?” Race rested his forehead on Spot’s shoulder, trying to keep from crying.  

“Could you call me Antonio? I mean, I’ll still go by Racetrack and everything, but Antonio for my real name. And he/him pronouns.”  

“Sure, Antonio,” Spot said, trying the name out on his lips. Race’s face split into a grin at the use of the name.  

“Thank you.”  

“It’s alright.” Spot reached up to touch the choppy hair. “Now how about I sort your hair out?”  

“Please.”  

Race ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, examining it from all angles in the mirror, and he smiled brightly.  

“Thank you,” he said, turning and wrapping Spot in a hug. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”  

“Why don’t we update that photo we took last year?” Spot suggested, and Race’s eyes lit up.  

“Could we?”  

“I don’t see why not.”  

Spot threw his arm around Race’s shoulders, just as he had a year ago, and Race wrapped his arm around Spot’s waist, and they both wore matching grins as they looked into the camera. The woman taking the photo gave a thumbs up and Spot ran to take the phone. They looked at the photo, then back at the one from the previous year.  

“You look happier,” Spot commented. Race smiled.  

“I am happier.”  

“You kept those photos?” Race asked, nodding slightly to the frame. Spot tore his glance away from Race momentarily to look.  

“Of course I did. They’re my favourite pictures.” Race smiled, settling back on Spot’s shoulder. A blush rose in his cheeks as he felt Spot press a kiss to his hair, then his hand replaced his lips, fingers slowly carding through his curls. Race hummed contentedly, wrapping an arm across Spot’s stomach and leaning into his every touch. Now this, this was something he could get used to.  

The credits rolled, and by that point it was well past midnight. Race slowly sat up, regretting the loss of contact with Spot.  

“I-uh-I should go,” he said, moving to stand.  

“I’ll walk you home?” Spot offered.  

“Are you sure? It’s cold out.”  

“I’m sure, c’mon.”  

Somehow, the street was even colder than when they had gone out before, but neither of them seemed to mind. A snowbank piled up on one side, and Race struggled to contain his grin as the idea formulated in his mind.  

He knocked once, twice against Spot, playing it off as an accident, before shoving Spot into the bank. He erupted into laughter, but maybe it was too soon, as Spot grabbed his coat on the way down. Both of them shrieked as they landed in the snow, Race landing on top of Spot. They breathed heavily, making eye contact for a moment, faces flushed, but whether that was the cold or something else was anyone’s guess. Just as they had been staring long enough for it to become awkward, Spot finally made his move. He leaned in, like he had been longing to for years, holding the back of race’s neck and gently pressing their lips together. Electricity sparked through his body and he couldn’t quite believe he had spent years missing out on this. One of his hands subconsciously moved to tangle in Race’s hair, who tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The world around them seemed to melt away, and all that mattered was them, and this.  

“Fucking fags!” A voice yelled next to them. Spot was about to shake his head at Race, tell him to leave it, but Race was already on his feet.  

“Hey! What fucking century are you living in? So what I happen to be dating a man, please inform me of how I’m hurting you by loving him.  

“It’s against God’s will. You’re digusting,” the man said, rounding on Race.  

“No, I’ll tell you what’s disgusting – discriminating against people who have done  nothing  to hurt you, just because of a fucking book that was mistranslated. Wake the fuck up. People fall in love, they don’t hurt you by doing that, they just do it.”  

“Fuck you!” The man spat, turning to walk away.  

“I bet it’s fucking tiny!” Race yelled after him, turning back to Spot, who looked at him in amazement. “Sorry about that.” Spot shook his head, taking the hand Race offered to him and pulled himself to his feet.  

“That was amazing,” he said honestly, smiling.  

“I just- I couldn’t let him just  say  that y’know? I mean, I’ve heard shit like that for years, but I wasn’t gonna let him say it to you.”  

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”  

“That’s not the point.” Spot leaned up to kiss him quickly.  

“Either way, that was wonderful.” Spot had never seen Race angry like that before. Not when the Delanceys had constantly torn him down, not when he moved from foster home to foster home, not when he had gotten detention just for trying to use the right bathroom. But one homophobic comment and he had gotten furious like Spot had never seen before, and god Spot didn’t think he could possibly love Race more.  

Race smiled, hesitantly lacing his fingers with Spot’s as they walked the last few blocks to Race’s apartment.  

“Your house wasn’t decorated,” Race commented.  

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”  

“I’ll come over tomorrow and help you decorate.” Spot didn’t get a say in it. Race was gonna deck that apartment out in so much glitter and coloured lights it would be like a very gay tornado had gone through and left parts of itself all over. Not that Spot minded. He would take any opportunity possible to spend time with Race. “I expect you up early.” Spot’s face dropped. “I’ll bring coffee,” Race added, solely because he knew coffee was the only way to bribe Spot into getting out of bed before 10am.  

“Alright, I’ll be expecting greatness. It better live up to the expectations Jack’s given me.”  

“It’ll be worse, I promise,” Race said with a grin.  

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”  

They slowed when they reached the door to Race’s apartment, lingering a moment before Race unlocked the door.  

“Uh, thanks for tonight, Spotty. I had fun,” Race said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t really want the night to end, but at least he would see Spot tomorrow.  

“Yeah, so did I.” They shuffled slightly, neither wanting to end the night. “Are we- are we gonna do this again sometime?” Spot finally asked.  

“Are you kidding me? If we’re not doing this like, weekly, we’re doing something wrong.” Spot chuckled a little, before looking up. He laughed, seeing mistletoe hung in the doorframe. Race’s eyes widened, before he looked at Spot, blush rising in his cheeks.  

“Do you wanna-” Race’s question turned into a squeak as Spot crashed their lips together, pulling Race close. He was gonna take every damn opportunity to kiss Race that he could. He had already missed out on nine years, he wasn’t gonna lose any more.  

Slowly, they broke away, neither wanting to, but both knowing they had to. Their faces were flushed, eyes wide.  

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, or would it be today now?” Race asked.  

“Technically today.”  

“I’ll see you later today then,” Race said with a smile.  

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.”  

They kissed quickly once more, then Spot disappeared down the street.  

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel  

SantaGay :  did you guys enjoy my surprise???  

Mom:  I told you not to.  

Racebox of  Higgars :  YES!

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Clockwork Princess

Genre: fairy tale, wlw original story

Words: 8k

Summary: A young woman is trapped in an hourglass that is hoarded by a dragon, a thief regularly breaks into the cave to take a few treasures.

The princess tries to convince the thief to break her out.

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The Thief

It’s half-past sunset when anything vaguely interesting happens. 6:32 to be exact, Caroline always knew the time, no matter how much she tried to forget it. It was tucked away in her head like a never-ending hum drumming rhythmically against her temples.

It would be impossible to forget the time in place like this anyway.

She isn’t expecting the change, she’s halfway between dreaming and drawing circles in the fog of her chamber. And then something moves in the corner of her eye.

Caroline shifts, the sand tumbles off her lap toward the cool golden bottom of her cage, freeing her to roll toward the edge of the glass. She squints out into the world.

It looks as it always does: rolling hills of gold, small jewels, coins, shining rings and priceless ivory teeth fillings. The whole cave filled to bursting with treasures and anything that sparkled, illuminated by a large skylight up above that allowed for small streams of faded sun or moonlight.

And of course, the clocks.

Caroline doesn’t know exactly what affinity Heratis had for time, perhaps nothing at all, perhaps he too was trapped by the constant ticking of forward motion, as immortals do. The clocks are endless, buried in the coins: grandfather clocks the size of two men, tiny coo-coo clocks that sang every hour. Brown leather wrist watches, sundials the size of dinner plates, fat white candles laying unlit, little mechanisms and gilded machines she had no name for.

Clocks, clocks, clocks, time keepers. Most of them had ceased working years ago, some ticked on despite themselves, all saying different unknown times from around the globe. But there are the few that Heratis kept neatly and routinely wound and polished.

A stately grandfather clock made of an entire oaktree, a tiny ornate pearl clock on a pedestal in the center of the room, a skeletal wristwatch that held a piece of the night sky, and, largest of all, a giant green jade clock stationed on the cave wall, inlaid finely in the grimy stone itself and the size of a carriage.

The oak, the pearl, the sky, the jade clock and then finally an enormous glass hourglass half-submerged in coins. She knows all about the last one.

All of them meticulously announced the time down to the second as the sun moved across the sky and forgot them, Caroline wished for the life of her she could forget as well. It is 6:38.

Nothing seems any different and Caroline is all but willing to sink low into her capsule again, but then comes another flit of movement, a single flurry of motion off to the side. Her eyes go wide, a shadow is dashing across the hills of gold, light as a feather and footsteps quiet as a ghost.

For a moment she’s not sure if she’s hallucinating it, if some dark reaper had finally come for her after all this time or if she had simply lost her mind. And then she sees a single coin rustle under the figures hasty steps, the thing was touching down, real.

“Hey,” her voice is raspy and aches from disuse, she presses her palms against the glass, “Hey! You!”

The shadow doesn’t stop, in fact it treads more quickly across the shimmering sea, Caroline scowls, she takes a deep breath and musters all her strength. “STOP!”

She isn’t sure if that would work.

The ghost, the shadow, the nothing, turns toward her, Caroline’s face goes slack, a jet-black cloak floats around what appears to be another person. The cloak dances in place, dark and moving as if plucked from the darkest storm clouds, wispy and strange. But there’s definitely a person within.

Caroline starts waving her arms wildly in the air, she is seconds away from weeping or self-combusting.

The face of a young woman appears curiously out the dimness of the cloak’s great hood. She has lank black hair ruffled around her face, like a frame of thick disheveled raven feathers. Her skin is a chalky grey, the color of a muted winter day or flat concrete road.

Her eyes are strikingly dark, inky black pools the color of her cloak and sharp as daggers. Her face is rather plane, unremarkable, thin-lipped and expressionless. Blank. As if you are meant to forget it right after looking at it. Caroline doesn’t care, she starts flailing more wildly.

“I’m over here!” She cries, “I’m here!”

The figure hesitates, she is several paces away, body poised for flight and a tangible confusion written across her face. She looks like she doesn’t know what to do with the vision of a bedraggled blonde princess stuck inside an enormous glass hourglass.

The figure doesn’t move as Caroline beckons for her.

Her face starts to cave in, “do you hear me?” She scowls, “I know you can see me.” Or at least, she hopes she can.

The figure takes a few measured steps forward, she looks the hourglass up and down, “Do you work for the dragon?” Her voice is flat and cool, like stagnant spring water.

Caroline cocks her head to the side, showering sand down her body as she does. “No, no,” she says quickly, “I’m hostage. The dragon Heratis took me long ago and used my life force to-”

“Okay.” She says bluntly, “Well don’t make too much noise.”

Caroline’s eyes go wide, “What?” She bares her teeth as her thoughts burn hot, “Let. Me. Out.” She gets to the point.

The woman frowns, looking her over again, and then she turns. Caroline waits for a moment, waiting for something, but the figure just bends over to look fastidiously over a few golden coins and a particularly large ruby.

“Did you hear me?” Caroline repeats, “I’ll start screaming.”

She looks up, “You can if you want, the dragon is out.”

Caroline opens and closes her mouth, blood slowly raising to boil in her veins, the stranger isn’t wrong. Heratis was out hunting and nowhere nearby.

Caroline’s scowl calcifies into a snarl, “Yes. He’s out.” She put her hands on her hips, “And do you not see this giant hourglass?” She gestured around her, the thick beautiful glass and heaps of sand she slept in surrounding her. “My family will reward you handsomely for returning me.”

The stranger blinks, “What’s your name? Kingdom?”

“Princess Caroline,” she says quickly, pressing herself up against the glass. “Of Timus. To the east!”

The stranger shrugs, “Never heard of it.”

Caroline’s face breaks out into an angry red, “What do you mean?” She bawls her fists up.

“Sounds fake,” the woman turns away.

“Why would I lie about this?” Caroline stomps her foot indignantly. “You will have more riches than this entire cave if you release me.”

The woman slipped several more coins into a satchel at her side, “I have heard of this.” She took a few soundless steps forward. Her hand was just as grey as her face, with blunt black nails and ringless long fingers. She tapped on the glass, “This is the hourglass of the Whistling Sea,” she nods, “It’s one of the dragon’s top prizes.”

“Yes, it’s priceless,” Caroline’s encourages, face lighting up again. “We could steal it and be rich beyond measure.” She tries to appeal to her.

The thief turns, “And be chased and eaten by Heratis?” She waves, “Sucks to be you.” She says simply and put the ruby in her pack.

Caroline screws her entire face up into an angry mess, “You can’t leave me here!”

“I am going now,” the woman starts to flit away, dark as shadow and fast as the breeze, just as she arrived.

“Thief!” Caroline bangs on the glass with her fists, “Devil!” She cries, “I’ll eat your bones and drink your blood if I ever get out of here!”

The last part might have been a little dramatic, but in her defense she had no other company except a dragon for the last century.

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

The Hourglass

Caroline hugs her knees to her chest, sitting bonelessly against the glass and half-submerged in fine white sands. She looks out unseeingly into her home. A cave of wealth, and death. It is 11:55 am, the 133th day of the year. A Monday.

Somehow she still hates Mondays.

The mounds of sand stir around her, tilting as the sea of coins dips and oscillates, she looks up. An enormous head struck a shadow above her, a face like stone and unmoving cliff faces stares back at her.

He has a long dirty-white beard and a long jagged face, colored pale brown and rimmed by aging whiskers. His features all plucked from a time no living creature could remember, a time of storms and boiling seas and bursting earth, the dragon breathed something ancient and bloody.

He has green eyes, acidic and deep set in his long face, she can’t see the rest of his enormous lizard body, but she knows it’s there: a weather-beaten pale hide and city-spanning wings, worn and pock-marked with small holes.

Caroline just sighs, her stomach had stopped turning at the sight of him a long time ago. She nods over to him in acknowledgement.

The hoard churns as he touches down, a perturbed ocean under his weight, Caroline flounders as everything tilts, but a clawed hand descends. She falls to her backside as her cell is plucked up by the golden top. Caroline scrambles to right herself just as the hourglass is turned over.

Marking another day.

She takes a deep breath, kicking back to the top of the heap and gathering at the edge of her glass prison as the sand starts draining toward the chamber below. She had learned long ago to simply huddle at the edge and ignore it, or she surely would have gone crazy decades ago from the constant dripping.

“Little bird,” a deep rumble of crashing ocean waves and earthquakes gashing across landscapes addresses her. “Why don’t you tell me a story? A new one.”

Caroline blows pieces of stray golden hair out of her eyes, “Can’t this be the day you eat me, father moon?” A name from a time when the people cowered from the lord of time and greed. He just grins down, letting out a wet and rolling laugh.

“Who else would give their life to my hourglass then?” He purrs and places his mighty head next to her chamber. “So much life to give, little princess.”

She rolls her eyes, “I have a story of a knight taking down a greedy lizard.”

He laughs, “No, a new one.” He licks his lips, “Or I will bury you again.”

She sighs unhappily, “Fine. Let’s have one of the maiden and the nightingale. With a song so lovely it boiled the oceans away and enchanted the night to never cease.”

She had been thinking of this one for a long time.

The dragon closes his eyes and begins to listen. Caroline’s heart sinks, she consoles herself that least she isn’t submerged under the ocean of riches this time.

-----------

The Bargain

Caroline is lulling in a restless sleep, strange shapes and colors run through her mind and her body is floating somewhere distant and cold. It’s 3:43 in the afternoon, it doesn’t matter when she sleeps, so it doesn’t matter when she wakes either, it’s just by chance that she rolls into consciousness in time. She blinks groggily and rubs at her face, eyes nearly missing the stranger above her.

A dark figure stands on the top of a golden hill, Caroline’s eyes go wide, she was once more overcome with a sense of an illusion haunting her. She gulps, “hey…” She speaks softly. It had been almost three weeks.

The figure doesn’t turn, but Caroline is sure the person is grey and looking over jewels in her hand. The same as before.

Caroline clenches her teeth, hard, this really wasn’t a knight. She takes a deep breath, drawing herself up and crawling to the side of the hourglass. “Hey!” No response, just a cold back turned to her.

Caroline widens her stance, a hot prickle flickering deep within her chest. She tosses her head back violently and takes a deep heaving breath.

“Aaaaah,” she let out a piercing, grating scream from deep in her chest. The sound quickly deflates like a pierced balloon from the effort, but she draws another breath to start again.

“You have to be kidding me,” coins cascade down in tiny trickles as the thief approaches her.

Caroline glances at her through slitted eyes, “Aaaah-”

“Come on,” the thief waves her hands, “There has to be knights around here for this sort of thing.”

Caroline put her hands on her hips and leers out, “Perhaps you could fetch one for me.” She juts her jaw out, “Or simply hand me a hammer?”

The thief looks her cage over, “How?” She seems momentarily confused.

Caroline grows a small smile, “Simple,” she leans forward, “Break the glass and hand it to me.”

The woman rolls her eyes, “Look, I get it, you’re stuck and that sucks.”

“Oh my God,” Caroline huffs, “Being consoled by a spineless thief. This is rock bottom.”

The woman growls, “You’re not making a good case for yourself.”

Caroline’s gestures for her, “Angry? Go ahead, try and hit me.”

The thief opens her mouth, and then closes it. A wry smile crosses her impassive face, “Very funny.” She shakes her head, “But I am spineless.” She says slowly, “And I’m sure someone mightier than me will come along for you.” She looks around, “Someday.”

Caroline groans and sits back in her mound of sand, it was halfway full by then. “Please?” She finally says, “Pretty please? Do me a favor. You’ll get a thousand favors back.”

The thief hums, “how do you even get trapped in an hourglass?” She squints, “how are you still…?”

“Alive?” She finishes her thought, “Magic.” Caroline explains simply. “Stupid, terrible magic.” She taps a blue vein on her arm, “Don’t be born with enchanted blood. First rule.”

She presents a smile again, “Noted.”

Caroline’s face softens and she tries to melt into something pleading and pitiful. “I haven’t seen another person in decades. The knights have… become scarce. And the dragon is fierce.”

“The dragon is very fierce,” the thief responds clippedly, “and not all of us have thick glass around us.”

Caroline put her head in her hands and let out another cry, “The first person to successfully break into the cave… and they’re an asshole!”

The thief gives a miffed noise, “bad luck then, princess.” She turns, “You wouldn’t happen to know the most expensive small item in here?”

Caroline just makes a rude gesture toward her and the thief chuckles and picks up a chipped emerald and golden necklace before hopping down the heaps of treasure once more.

Caroline refuses to watch her go, “First person in decades,” she continues to grumble, “And they’re just here to steal things. Typical.” And they weren’t there for her.

---------

The Wait

Caroline blows warm breath onto her glass case, painting designs with her fingertips in the mist that fogged up the inside. She draws an intricate bird with wings of fire, in her mind’s eye it burns up the whole world: one branch and building at a time, smoldering the whole land into nothing.

Lucy had once said she was afraid of fire, all witches were. Caroline wasn’t afraid of anything now, there was nothing left to touch her.

She closes her eyes and imagines sleeping again, floating into somewhere dark and soundless. But sleep doesn’t come. She opens her eyes again and writes a small word: S.O.S. She designs the letters, attaching swirls and delicate flowers sprouting from their backs as she had many times before.

She closes her eyes when she’s done, leaning against the cool walls and sighing.

Forgotten.

She bites down on the word like it’s a piece of moldy fruit in her mouth. They aren’t looking for you anymore.

They aren’t sending anyone.

Despair lodges so cleanly in Caroline’s chest she thinks she might choke on it or stab her straight through. She flops over and puts her head beneath the yellow sand that trickles from the tube above, closes her eyes and lets it wash over her.

She could go to sleep again. Let the dragon bury her and the sands to drag her deep down into the endless restless dreams, like the maiden before her had done.

Dream until her entire life force is spent and empty, ready to replaced by the next girl.

Forgotten.

Caroline takes her head out of the sand and crawls over to the side of the glass, she isn’t ready yet. It isn’t over yet.

Though she can’t explain why.

She continues to expand her small drawings, erasing, and breathing again, art that would never be seen or remembered. Her eyes glaze over.

It’s 8:40 at night, two weeks since she had last seen Heratis.

Caroline perks up as a slight movement dashes off to her right side. The coins shift.

She sits up in place, “Back so soon?” It had only been two days. Two days four hours, five minutes, 22 seconds.

The shadow pauses in place, her eyes flicking up and face briefly illuminated by the streaming moonlight. She has a bloody gash across her lip and molting purple bruises just below her right eye, turning yellow as sour candy.

Caroline peels her lips back, “Bandits?” She guesses, the thief just grunts, a wordless affirmation. “Let you do all the work and then take the treasure themselves.” Caroline tutts, “No honor these days.”

The thief draws her hood up to cover her bloody face, “No need to mock.”

Caroline dances in place, “Trust me when I say I have nothing left to lose,” she starts to make faces, “I have no pride left. Watch this.”

She squishes her face up to the glass, mashing her nose up and slobbering across the smooth surface, the thief makes a quick sound- it might’ve been a laugh.

“Please don’t distract me,” the thief bends down and starts inspecting priceless items again. “Some of us have jobs.”

“Do you want to switch?” Caroline offers hopefully, “I have no job. No worries,” she drags her hands through the loose sand, “Just sand, really quiet a lifestyle.”

The figure shakes her head, “I’ll pass,” she looks up with a quick grin, “And unfortunately I was not blessed with enchanted blood.”

Caroline could have started to cry, wild emotions surge through her, maybe it was just from communicating with someone for so long.

She opens her mouth to keep her talking, but both of their heads jerk up at a new sound. An approaching whooshing boom, caucus fills the space as winds as strong gail storms bluster through the vast cave, the thief’s hood flies back to reveal her horrified expression.

The whomping grows louder.

Caroline wrenches her head around, voice urgent as a lightning strike, “Hide.”

She isn’t sure if she’s loud enough, but the address seems to jolt the thief from her shock, she stumbles to the side. “Quickly,” Caroline gestures, “Behind me. Bury yourself.”

The woman moves like a corpse in the breeze: disjointedly and carried by something beyond herself. She falls toward Caroline, staggering for the hourglass and managing to dive behind it, “Dig!” Caroline commands as the woman crouches behind her. The thief starts desperately clawing her way into the treasures and covering herself.

She is just barely submerged when mighty claws touch down, shifting the ocean of treasure but luckily not sending Caroline capsizing.

She sits up in place, the dragon’s maw is bloody with a successful hunt. He must have gorged himself for those two weeks, he would be close to sleeping soon.

Heratis settles heavily, letting his limbs fold up under him and head bending down with a drooping grace. Caroline opens her mouth to distract him, but addressing him first would be suspicious after all this time and she stops.

Heratis gives her a long look, blinking slowly and consideringly, Caroline holds her breath. “Think of another tale Little Bird,” he finally says, “I will expect one when I wake.”

Caroline exhales in relief as he swings around and places his jagged pale head down far away from her. “Of course,” she replies softly, but his eyes are already closed.

Just as quickly as his eyes close she hears the shifting of coins behind her. “Wait.” She hisses between her teeth, “He’s not asleep yet.”

Wide black eyes stare back at her, the woman’s face and neck just visible underneath her shallow grave of treasures. The woman’s hood is torn down and Caroline notes the small twisting horns on her head and pointed ears, she must have been some sort of elf or even a tiefling.

Caroline tilts her head, perhaps a hybrid.

The thief looks away, ‘when?’ She mouths.

Caroline shrugs, “time is slow for him. Hours. Days. He’ll be completely asleep eventually though, that will bring luck on your side.” The thief’s eyes become dinner plates, her thoughts written all over her features: days?

“Don’t worry,” Caroline grins, “his hearing is bad,” she explains slowly, “it’s just movement he’ll notice. Wait.”

The dragon breaths out, they both jump but nothing else follows.

Caroline settles down, lying in the grains of sand and observing the situation. The thief shoots her an annoyed look and she just shrugs back.

“Wait,” she repeats, “What’s a prison after all?” She adds the last part bitterly and with at least a little sense of pointed irony.

----------

Questions

The thief’s eyes are screwed up into angry little blights on her face, ‘what are we waiting for?’ She mouths, making barely any noise at all from down below.

Caroline is lounging next to her, “Sounds of snoring.” She says simply, “Also, you can speak a little louder.”

“Ugh,” The thief groans, “Princess,” she growls, “I really don’t have time for this.”

“Why don’t you do that magic trick with your light steps then?” Caroline asks back, looking down at the black cloak tied neatly around the thief’s throat.

The woman opens her mouth, she glances over to the dragon, and then back. Small sweat droplets trail down her temple.

She was afraid. She wouldn’t risk running right now, Caroline smiles loosely.

She relaxes into the bottom of her chamber, “What’s your name then, great thief?”

The woman scowls back, “It’s ‘Great Thief.’ Capital G. You got it.”

Caroline snorts, “Well, I’m Caroline of Timus.” She repeats, “Princess, capital P.”

“I remember,” The thief huffs and turns slightly away. A full minute passes before the woman carefully clears her throat and catches her eye again. “I’m Vera.” She finally says, “not that it matters.”

“It’ll matter,” Caroline winks, “In the great epics written about this later. The Great Thief: in the dragon’s belly, but not forgotten. When she wouldn’t get help for the captured princess.”

Vera makes a small noise in the back of her throat, “Do you plan on getting me eaten?”

Caroline gives a heavy sigh, “Not yet.” She says assuredly, “I’m not actually an asshole. Like some people.” She lifts her eyebrows pointedly.

“Well you’re not making yourself a lot of friends right now.” Vera grumbles.

“Where are you from Vera?” She changes subjects.

Vera eyes her warily, “Nowhere,” she says bluntly, “The Northern country.”

Caroline nods, “I could have guessed that.” Very few people south of the equator had chalky grey skin, like the face of the moon.

Vera shakes her head, “And you, from the Kingdom I’ve never heard of.”

Caroline smiles, “Maybe you don’t have very good hearing.”

The other woman gives a small chuckle, “You sound rather clever, how do clever girls get captured by dragons?”

Caroline droops, unsuccessfully smothering her own pout. “It’s,” her mouth goes slightly dry, she sighs, “It’s as stupid as it sounds.”

Vera raises her eyebrows, “Oh?” She follows Caroline’s gaze, “You tripped and fell into a glass case?”

Caroline just groans, “I believed… someone I shouldn’t have.” She explains cryptically, “And they bargained with the dragon.” She peels her lips back in disgust, lamenting herself. “Never trust beautiful witches. It’s all warts from there.”

Vera studies her, “I’ll have that printed on my next saddle bag.” She smiles, “Consorting with witches though,” she almost leers, “Someone must have not been a very good human royal.”

“The worst,” Caroline says darkly, smiling back sourly, “But how else would I get in here?”

Vera just nods, “Understood,” her eyes trail down Caroline’s pink summer dress and the curve of her waist. “Second question,” she hums, “Does this thing make you immortal?” Her voice is even, deceivingly flat.

“Depends on your definition,” Caroline touches the sand, “It feeds off me. Keeps itself turning and stops me from aging, but not from dying.” She looks up at her ceiling. “It’s not the best deal quite honestly.”

Vera was quiet for a long moment, she frowns delicately. “What did you bargain for?”

Caroline didn’t reply for a long moment, thinking it all over blankly. What do I have to lose? She reflects briefly.

“No, not me,” She finally replies, glancing up crisply. “Do you want to steal my secrets as well thief?”

Their eyes meet and Vera raises her eyebrows, “If you wish.” She snorts, “It doesn’t appear that I’m going anywhere.”

Caroline rolls her eyes, “It’s just as I said: don’t trust beautiful witches… And don’t fall for them.” She looks down at her lap emptily, “Lucy wanted more time. More life. Keep the cruelty of ages off her.” She looks off into nowhere, murmuring. “And I wanted to make her happy.”

Vera looks away, averting her gaze off to the side. “Princess’s with problems. Ah.”

Caroline sniffs, “And thief’s with problems.” She retorts, “Such as getting beat up by bandits.”

Vera makes a face at her, “A job hazard. But one of us isn’t stuck in a glass coffin.”

“Not yet!” She shakes her fist.

They exchange a long look, and then, despite themselves, they start laughing, a sharp childish giggling that Caroline tries to cover with her hands. Prompted from the absurdity of the darkness, and the gold, and the slumbering dragon that had yet to snore.

Vera stays perfectly still but seems to really look at Caroline now, “tell me,” she asks slowly, “What have you been doing with the dragon all this time?”

So, Caroline tells her a story: of a foolish human princess who ran away with a witch. Of a witch who feared death and an hourglass. A bargain with a time dragon and everything else.

Vera slowly, carefully tells her snippets of information as well: she was hired by a great lord who planned to accumulate wealth for an army. Vera guessed that the army was for taking over the grand principality, but that really wasn’t her business, nothing seemed to be her business.

The moon crosses the sky like a perfectly round hole in the darkness, a falling silver coin, Caroline drinks in the sight of another person. Of a real conversation.

Finally, she touches the glass again, “So,” She asks softly, “How does one get into the business of thieving for lords?”

Vera purses her lips, “They run out of options. Among other things.”

Caroline raises her eyebrows, “Family?”

Vera shook her head with forlorn, “No.” She looks up at her own little horns on her head, “Unacknowledged,” she gives a thin smile, “You can call me a bastard if you like, that’ll at least be correct.”

Caroline’s studies her exposed moon-grey face, “Well, my family abandoned me too,” she sighs, “so maybe that’s how people like us end up together.”

Vera gives her a funny look, “I suppose.” She looks away, “You know I’m a,” she pauses, watching Caroline, “So you’ve guessed, I’m a hybrid.”

Caroline shrugs, “Sure,” she says and itches her nose, “How else would an elf walk like a shadow?” She smiles, “No one has done anything like this, you’re stronger than any of the other silly heroes who’ve came so far. It’s impressive, really.”

Caroline can’t help but catch the briefest surprised smile crossing Vera’s face at that, she tugs it back into something guarded. “Well I’m not a hero.” She replies quickly, “And you ran away from your whole life for someone, so that’s impressive too, really.”

Caroline laughs a bitter and light sound, “Now I’m being teased. It’s not all that, just stupid youth.” Their eyes meet and Caroline can’t explain it as her heart squeezes for a moment. “I get what I deserve.”

Another moment passes, the moonlight cascading over the cave from up above and their breaths catching in time with one another.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Vera’s voice was quiet, “It’s a terrible thing done, no one would deserves it.”

Caroline shivers from head to toe, their eyes meet again, and she doesn’t know how to place it. She wets her lips, waiting, a bubbling force rising in her chest.

Vera lifts up, shifting some of the coins and exposing her shoulders, then she stops, as if biting down on something too, holding it beneath her tongue and rolling it around. They stay breathlessly watching each other, perhaps something more might have come of it.

Instead, they both jump as booming guttural sound echoes around the cave. A deep snore.

Caroline and Vera exchange a look. Caroline tries not show her face fall, “Go,” she points, “Take as much gold as you can carry. He stopped counting this junk ages ago.”

Vera was still looking at her, mulling her over. She takes her time unburrying herself and then grabbing everything in arms reach.

“Caroline,” her face is flushed and Vera hunches over slightly, searching for something, and then she just nods. Caroline nods back.

“Go,” it’s a whisper this time. What else is there to do? She asks herself, Caroline waves her arms, “Quickly!”

Vera rises on her ghost feet, gathering the cloak around her and barely disturbing a thing as she darts away, into the night, into the nothingness.

I hope you got what you were looking for.

And she was alone again.

-----------

The Dream

Vera is gone. But what did Caroline expect?

She told herself to stop expecting things. Perhaps it was just the sign she should let herself sleep again, let it all go.

She hovers at the top of her chamber as the hourglass finishes filling, swimming in the sea of sand with just her upper body barely above the surface. She braces herself as the mechanism turns over again, forcing her to slip toward the bottom and then dig her way back to the air again.

Not that it mattered. She didn’t need air.

It takes another month for Heratis to wake again, Caroline already had her next story meticulously planned for him.

He blinks open his crusted, glossy eyes and she calls to him. “I’m ready.” He settles in expectantly, waiting before he needed to go out feeding again.

“How preparatory of you,” he puts his enormous head by her, blinking his acid green eyes and resting his soft leathery beige cheek by her cell. “Go on.”

She lifts her eyes up, “This one is about a tiefling and an elf who fell in love. And their daughter who rose above it all to become a star on the horizon.”

She begins again.

-----

Caroline is wavering between waking and sleeping, as she had been for days now, letting the drowsy sand wash over her, quietly, consumingly. She could be lost like this, she could dream again.

Her eyes are closed and head lulling down on her chest, thoughts floating in and out as she dreams of fresh buttery bread she keeps bringing to her lips only for it to disappear on contact. She turns in place, deep within the sand.

A sharp tap erupts besides her, insistent and sharp.

It’s 2:22 in the afternoon, a Thursday. Heratis was out- having left after she finished her last story.

Caroline blinks awake and turns, kicking her way out of the sand and pushing her way to the edge of the cage. She has to rub her gritty eyes when she sees someone next to her in the streaming daylight. A figure draped in a billowy black cloak.

Inky eyes capture hers, “Vera?” Caroline rasps, her throat tightening almost painfully.

Vera nods slowly, tugging at her fingers. “That ransom for you,” She begins awkwardly, swaying in place and looking somewhat lost. “Would it still be a lot?”

Caroline just shakes her head, “I lied.” She says carefully, “My parents did try to bargain for me at first, for posterity's sake, but,” she hesitates, “But what is a daughter who ran away?” She sinks down, “there is no longer a reward I’m afraid.”

The truth weighs heavily on her chest, forgotten. She slid quietly to the bottom of her cage, “I lied.”

“I know,” Vera says with a hard tone, hesitance written over her pinched expression. “Sorry, I already knew that. Caroline,” She looks up darkly, “There is no longer a kingdom of Timus.”

Caroline’s mouth falls open, thoughts thumping in her temples and heart racing. In the back of her mind she already knew that, deep down she had known that for a long time.

“Vera,” She swallows thickly, sorrow welling up from somewhere she didn’t know existed. She tries to focus, “Why are you here?”

Vera had never tapped on her glass before and her hands are empty of any treasures, in fact, instead of a satchel at her side there was the hilt of what looked like a heavy weapon. Something is different.

Vera looks down at her feet, as if she’s a small child suddenly caught taking cookies from a jar. She scuffs her foot on the coins and her mouth becomes a squiggle line across her face, strangely bashful.

“I just thought,” Vera put her palms up helplessly, “you know. It does, actually, really... suck. To be stuck somewhere.”

Caroline’s draws herself up, “Yes. We’ve been over this. It sucks.” She says dryly and fixes her with a steady look, “Is… that it?”

“I mean,” Vera rubs the back of her neck, “I’m not actually a hero or anything.” She mumbles, “Most people don’t want to think of me as anything at all, but,” her eyes dart up, bursting with something. “I dunno, I just kept thinking about your silly face stuck in all this sand…”

“Yes?” Caroline’s heart speeds up, eyes going wide.

“And I thought, well, I mean, maybe I had been wrong,” she fidgets in place, “and maybe I could steal something good for once.”

Caroline’s mouth falls open like a screw came loose in her jaw, “You won’t get a reward,” she says quickly, manically. “Obviously. I don’t even have a kingdom anymore.”

Vera speaks gently. “Yeah, I know.”

Caroline’s mouth is still hanging open, “I have nothing for you.”

“I know.”

Caroline crams herself up against the glass, “You don’t know what this means. I can’t, I mean, I can’t thank y-“

Vera’s tone is quick and halting, “Don’t think about it. Come on, before I change my mind.” Her eyes flit over to the mouth of the cave.

“We’d have to run.” Caroline speaks as if in a dream, Vera nods grimly back, “We’d have to be fast.”

Vera breaks into a broad grin, a real one. “I’m fast.”

Caroline steps away from the glass, hands shaking. “Can you break this damn thing?”

Vera’s grin turns wild and barbed, “You happen to be in luck,” she says gleefully, “For you have a thief at your service and she happened to be sent to the dwarf kingdom’s artillery last month.”

“No,” jitters course through Caroline’s system, “No way.”

Vera pulls out what appeared to be a golden hammer, the head is as big as the girl’s head and looks as heavy as a small cow. It’s covered in small brilliant symbols and built with the fineness of smart hands and a little magic.

A flutter surges through Caroline’s heart, it couldn’t be real. “Amazing,” she claps her hands, “Amazing Vera!” She wonders if this is what being high was like, or in love.

Vera lifts her chin up, “Step back.”

Caroline can’t move fast enough, retreating until her back hits the opposite wall of glass and her muscles tense all over. Vera lifts the hammer above her head, heavy and shining in her hands. Their eyes meet for a brief second, something stretches between them like a sunbeam across ice: blinding and fierce.

Caroline holds her breath, “I’m ready.”

The hammer swings down before Caroline finishes the sentence, Vera’s face is screwed up in red determination and she lets out a feral grunt as the weapon falls. It strikes with a terrifying crunch that must have shot tremors up Vera’s arms.

Heavy and solid it thunks against the glass and, to Caroline’s amazement, a jagged raw lightning strike crack bursts across the surface. Tears well up in her eyes despite herself, hot and stinging with feral trembling hope.

A second thought strikes her: the hourglass was one of Heratis’s most prized possessions, the dragon had meant to be away awhile and yet…

She tenses all over, “Quickly.”

Vera’s face screws up again, “Huh!” She grunts and brings the hammer down once more with deadly blunt force. This time Caroline’s entire chamber shakes, she steadies herself on either wall and gasps as more spiderweb-thin cracks spread.

“That’s it!” She whoops, “You are my hero you damn fool, keep going!”

Vera’s cheeks flush ashy-grey at that, but she heaves the hammer down again with a teeth-shattering crash. Another crack.

Then comes the roar. A roar like flood waters slamming down across canyon creeks, the sound of terrors in the night children dream up and bones crunching against cold stone. A roar erupting from somewhere so deep it might as well be from the earth itself.

Caroline jerks up, “Hurry, hurry!” She nearly breaks into tears again, “He’s sensed it. He’s coming."

Vera looks pale and almost sick to her stomach, ready to bolt at any second. For a moment Caroline expects her to turn and sail away on light feet into somewhere soundless and dark. Safe.

For a moment Caroline wants to tell her to do just that.

Vera clenches her teeth, “watch out.” She lifts the hammer with her entire body, solid and lurching from the effort, she struck a silhouette all young girls knew: a champion of old. Vera brings the hammer down with a terrifying crash, the glass dents inward, caving in.

“There,” Caroline staggers as the cage jostles, “Almost!” She can see the unfiltered light, she can taste the clear air.

Vera backs up, sweat streaming down her forehead, the effort obviously taking a toll on her trembling limbs. The roar comes again, but this time accompanied by the whump of massive wings.

Caroline burns with a heat that feels like it might incinerate her, she’s so close. “Ah!” She screams and rushes for the cracks in the glass, pushing on them with all her strength.

“Wait-” Vera barely gets a word out before a shadow with deviled horns and blooming fury descends. They both scream.

“Who is tampering with my hoard?” The beast roars with a raw vitriol, “I will crunch your bones and burn your whole family to dust.”

Vera snarls back, “My family already told me to shove off, so,” she grins daringly, stupidly. “Try again.”

A clawed hand shoots forward, grasping Vera’s small body and lifting her.

“No!” Caroline moves in that moment, she has to, she digs her heels into the shifting sands, braces herself, and then flings herself at the cracks in the glass. Everything shatters.

She gasps, her skin stinging with a thousand pinpricks and a shuddering burn. Her insides wash with what felt like frigid ice water, like sucking in artic wind in every sinew. The tumbling mix of hot and cold surges with a dizzying weight through her, time reclaims her with a vengeance.

Her eyes spot white, ears ringing and the taste of grit and soil bleeding through her taste buds. The world smells raw and vivid as a sucker punch.

Mortality singes every nerve in her, a stranglehold of life and promise of death all once. Caroline takes a second to look at her hands, pale and empty, she clenches and then unclenches them. She can feel the sticky pain in her shoulder from where she bashed it across the glass, she can feel the thrash of wind against her skin and an aching hunger throughout her body, aches and aches and aches.

She tingles, her thoughts heave, slipping through her fingers like burning ashes. She no longer knows what time it is.

“Aaahh!” Caroline looks up as a sharp cry fells the air, breaking her out of her brief reverence.

Heratis is holding Vera around her middle, lifting her through the air and bringing her up to his green cold gaze.

“And who are you?” He growls, “Who are you to touch my things?”

Vera shakes like a leaf, she looks ready to puke on the spot. She must have gathered something from deep within though, something Caroline can only guess at. “Who- who are you to make anyone a thing?” She says, just loud enough and then growls forcefully: “go eat your own tail.”

The dragon laughs, its voice filling the whole space. “Oh, I’m going to make this slow.”

“Hey!” Caroline screams, feeling the burn of her fledgling lungs. “Heratis!” She musters a battle cry, bursting with new and terrible life. Something that had been building in her for a very long time. “I have your things here.”

Heratis turns toward her with the sluggish movements of a beast older than the sky itself. “My little bird,” he sneers, “How ugly your wings are.”

Caroline draws herself up, she reaches for the sands cascading out of the hourglass like carnage out of a gut wound. “Stop me.” She scatters the sands, tossing it away to fall between the cracks of the treasures and disappear.

“Ugly, ungrateful,” he seems to forget Vera for a moment and comes rushing forward with the force of a small hurricane. “Small, petulant, creature.”

Caroline latches her hands around a giant piece of glass from her cage, gripping it between her tingling hands and yanking it loose, the sharp edges bite into her skin as she hefts it up. She grimaces as her palms split up, blood seeping down her wrists and across the smooth surface of the object.

She gives the hourglass beside her a savage kick, sending what’s left of it toppling down the golden hills and away. She lifts the shard of glass over her head just as the dragon’s dives to catch the hourglass, Caroline is faster. She leaps, soundlessly, ruthlessly, and thrusts the glass fragment deep into the side of the dragon’s face.

The shard pierces the dragons soft aged cheek, enchanted by her spilling blood and filled with the fury of a girl who had lost everything. His skin bursts with a sluggish red gash and Caroline tears downward.

She wedges it deep within his face before letting go, his eyes go wide for a moment, processing this new foreign horror. He reels back, head thrashing and body whipping about, shaking the entire cavern itself. Caroline falls to her knees and staggers in place.

A momentary glee balloons in her chest, but then the dragon releases Vera as he clutches at his ruined cheek- tossing the girl aside like a scrap. Vera’s body sails limply across the open space.

“No,” Caroline leaps toward her, feet flying and heart pounding so hard it might burst. A roar drums in her ears and her mouth tastes of copper and bile.

“No, no, no,” she put her hands out to catch the other girl, mind screeching, but she is still several paces away, not close enough. “No!”

Vera is falling, face stricken and body tossed like a boneless ragdoll, and then the next moment she is turning in midair, situating her feet toward the ground and decelerating. Her cloak flutters as she rights herself like a falling cat and softly lands.

Caroline tries to dig her heels in as Vera’s comes down feather-light.

She barely manages to slow before crashing into the other girl, running headlong into her body and almost sending them both sprawling. Vera grabs her around the waist instead and swings them both around. “Stupid girl!”

Caroline laughs in her arms, “Brilliant shadow!”

They hug for just a moment, though neither would ever admit that’s what it is. Then the thrashing of Heratis comes back to them. Coins spray around them and a growling screech resounds.

“It’s ruined!” He cries and lets out a growl of a thousand baited hound dogs.

Caroline turns toward the wall, thinking quick. “Can you get up there?” She points to the massive jade clock perched high above.

“What?” Vera grabs her arm, “We need to get out of here.”

“We should stall him first,” Caroline counters quickly, keeping her eyes on the dragon as he tries to turn, “he won’t rest until that clock is wound again. That will buy us time.”

Vera seems to open her mouth to argue, but then glances back at the dragon and only nods. They both start racing; Caroline’s veins are ice and she barely registers the endless light just outside the cave. She waves at Vera as the other woman crawls up the wall with the speed of a specter and grabs at the big hand of the giant clock.

“Turn it!” Caroline screeches and watches as the dragon’s prize is wrenched out of time.

Heratis roars, blood streaming down his chin and neck. “Don’t touch that!”

Vera lets go, the dragon grabs for his treasure, trying to restore the item back to the exact second. Vera darts away, landing on the ground lightly once more, Caroline takes her hand. “Come on.”

They grin with the bloody exhilaration of almost-victory, they turn, they run.

The sunlight is as bright and fierce as a first kiss, a first breath, a first forever. Caroline is skipping as they tumble down the mountain side, skidding and flinging themselves down and away, every scraped knee is a new promise.

She only stops once, “Thank you Vera!”

They approach the edge of a forest, just far enough away from the cave for the dragon cries to be muted. Caroline didn’t even know there was a forest outside, it was a young and bright thing, more oaks than it was pines and brimming with bird calls and rustling life.

Vera is panting and holding her sides where the dragon had squeezed her. “Me?” She wheezes, “You’re the one that stabbed him back there.”

Caroline turns to her, hair loose and wild, “You didn’t have to come for me. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

Vera looks away and huffs, “We have to keep running, he can fly you know.”

Caroline hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d come out, “Just one second,” she reaches for Vera’s hand once more, “One thing and then we can flee to the ends of the earth, or ends of the kingdom at least. He’s a lazy thing.”

Caroline glances back up toward the cave, roaring was still emitting from it, “Make it quick.”

Caroline gets on her tiptoes, Vera was too tall. “Ahem,” she clears her throat, “I am in your debt. And as a freed princess, you have my eternal gratitude.”

Vera turns to her, making faces, “What are you on about?”

Caroline takes Vera’s cheeks between her hands, “A legendary hero.” She reaches up, “Wresting me from the dragon’s clutches. I show my thanks.” It was a silly thing, but all story books are silly.

She lifts herself up, closes her eyes and softly presses her lips against the other girls. It tastes like blood and burning lungs, but Caroline is full to bursting with the whole entire world. She kisses delicately, tender against her raw skin and thumping heartbeat.

Her head swims with exuberance and she thinks she might never sleep again.

The kiss is chaste and careful, Caroline falls back again quickly, still smiling. “There.”

Vera looks blankly back at her, cheeks burning a vivid dark ash and eyes huge. “Oh,” she blinks, stammering, “I mean,” She holds her black feathery hair back, “That’s… Oh.”

Caroline laughs and leans into her, “that’s how it’s supposed to go.”

“Not my stories,” Vera appears thunderstruck.

“Then how do yours go?” Carolina’s face hovers inches from Vera’s, ready to press another shy kiss to her cheek.

Vera grabs her hand and pulls them forward as a howl bursts from far behind them. “I’ll tell you later.” She hurries them onward, “It’s a story of a silly trapped girl and a selfish thief.”

“Will I like this story?” They keep running as Vera begins a new tale.

“I hope so,” Vera’s face is aglow with a wide smile, her pointed white teeth stretching across her lips, a lovely shameless thing. “Hopefully if it’s not over yet.”

Caroline chases her steps, “Not yet!” She cackles, “If you’d like to see the rest that is.”

Vera squeezes her hand, “Lead the way.”

They laugh wildly and descend into the dappled thick woods.

The world settles and Caroline’s face is turned up, thick with sunshine and fury and a whole new world beyond her glass and sand. Her hands run bloody, and her body aches with bruises and a new licking hunger, and there is no time at all.

The End

[classyklancey]

Blue Roses |Bad Boy! Keith x Flower Shop Worker! Lance|

Pairing: Lance McClain x Keith Kogane Genre: Fluff, slight smut  Warnings: just some making out and slight dirty talk  Summary: Lance works at a flower shop in which his grandma is the owner of. He’s there every day without a single complaint, loving to be around the flowers and helping people show the ones they love them with a simple gesture such as flowers. He wished someone would show their affection towards him with flowers but it seemed that day would never come. One day though, a mysterious stranger shows up in his shop looking beyond handsome. Turns out the stranger liked him and they had a bonding moment. Now, the story of their love growing and flourishing must be told. Part: 5/?

okay, so let me let you in on a little secret 

Keith and Lance?

TOTAL WRECKS 

they’re so very, very nervous and excited 

they couldn’t eat breakfast or lunch from how excited they were 

Lance wouldn’t shut up in the gc with Pidge and Hunk to Pidge’s dismay

Keith kept texting Shiro and Adam questions about dating and going on dates; luckily for him, both of them thought it was so cute how nervous he is 

eventually, the time came 

Keith had to go pick lance up 

he texted Lance for his address and took a deep breath when Lance sent it 

Keith looked over the route there and realized he didn’t live that far away, ten mins away at most 

he walked out of his apartment and got his motorcycle from the parking garage

he then zoomed off to Lance's place

it was probably the fastest he’d ever driven 

when he got there, he quickly pulled his phone out to let Lance know he was there

when Lance came out, the air left both of their lungs 

Keith had done it

he was wearing his leather jacket, no band-aids covering his wounds, AND his hair was pulled back into a small bun

if Lance could, he would’ve combusted right there just like he said he would 

Lance's face was covered in a blush 

okay, but Keith was having the same issue 

Lance was looking pretty gosh darn good himself 

he wore a blue button-up that made his eyes pop from where Keith was parked several feet away

the blush made his tan skin look so smooth, only making him even more handsome

by the time Lance reached Keith, the boys finally remembered how to breathe

Keith could now see that Lance wasn’t wearing any makeup to hide the freckles dusting his cheeks

Keith wanted to kiss every. single. one.

“Hi,” Lance squeaked nervously 

“Hey,” Keith breathed out 

it was then that Lance noticed that Keith had his piercings in 

Jesus Christ

Keith really was trying to kill him 

he had many piercings on the ear that was facing Lance, a lip piercing, an eyebrow piercing and holy christ what if he had a tongue piercing???

Lance inhaled shakily as he shook his head

“Christ, Kogane. You really pulled through,” Lance would say to break the silence that followed after their in awe shy greeting 

Keith chuckles in that deep way of his as he shrugs, offering Lance his helmet 

“I’m here to please, babe,” Keith replies in a flirty tone, remembering their texts from this morning

Lance’s blush gets worse, much to Keith’s pleasure, as he lightly hits Keith’s buff arm 

Keith only chuckles and motions for Lance to get on 

“Hop on, lover boy” 

Lance whines in his head at how cute Keith is, climbing on behind him 

Lance starts to question where his helmet is and when Keith tells him that he only has one helmet, Lance immediately goes to give it back to him but of course, Keith tells him that Lance’s safety comes first

before Lance can argue with him, Keith is telling him to hold on tight and taking off 

Lance wraps his arms tight around Keith’s waist, letting out a girly scream

Keith laughs and slows down a bit to not give Lance a heart attack

Lance’s grip loosens but was still tighter than it needed to be

His face was buried in Keith’s back by his shoulder, giving him a freebie to take in Keith’s scent

besides the obvious answer of leather, he smelt like a car garage. you know, motor oil, grease, gasoline. it must be his jacket that he wears to work 

that smell was faint though 

what Lance really smelt was his cologne 

it smelt like Axe body spray but not like an annoying amount that makes you gag

Lance was so focused on Keith that he hadn’t realized that they stopped

“As much as I’d love to have your arms stay wrapped around me, we have a reservation and I’d rather not lose it”

Lance snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of Keith’s voice, quickly getting off

he almost falls off but he manages to save himself 

and that blush was back again

“Sorry,” he says quickly while looking at the ground

Keith finishes parking his bike before getting off and smiling at Lance

“Don’t be”

Keith starts walking towards the door and Lance quickly follows after him

Keith laughs a bit as he stops, turning to look at Lance

Lance blush goes scarlet as he looks at Keith with panicked eyes

“What? What’s wrong?” Lance spews out 

Keith chuckles and steps closer to Lance, making his heart beat wildly 

“You might not want to wear this inside,” Keith says softly before knocking his fist against Lance’s head where the helmet was 

Lance’s ears go red out of embarrassment, glad the helmet was hiding them 

Why was Lance acting so flustered? He was supposed to be doing that to Keith!

Keith chuckles and takes the helmet off for him, kissing his forehead once it was off

Lance’s eyes widen, knowing he was as red as a tomato 

Keith comes back over to him when he’s done, holding in his coos at how cute Lance looks

Lance’s hair was an absolute mess now and Keith knew if he figured it out, he’d complain about it 

Keith hums when he reaches him, reaching up to fix his helmet hair 

Lance just stares at his face, eyes studying how handsome he is

Keith finally looks into Lance’s eyes when he finishes with his hair, freezing at Lance’s gaze

they were so close

like 

close 

before either of them could decide what to do about their closeness, a car’s horn goes off and scares them

they move away from each other before shuffling inside

they take their seats and start to chat about random things

they were both relieved that it wasn’t awkward 

when they order their food, Lance orders a lot

when the waiter leaves and Keith jokingly comments on it, Lance’s reply was that he warned Keith that he’s a pig

Keith then tells him that he’s the best looking pig he’s ever seen then 

they both laugh and then start to talk again 

after eating their food, they decide that they would go to the park 

they go outside and they feel that the air was a bit chillier now that the sun has gone down 

Lance shivers but doesn’t say anything 

Keith hums as he takes his jacket off and throws it over onto Lance’s head

“Here,” he says simply 

Lance wouldn’t show it but he was ecstatic 

He quickly slips it on and lets out a happy hum, it being warm and smelling like Keith 

“How cliché,” Lance jokes

“Want to walk to the park?” Keith asks in response, not embarrassed one bit about being ‘cliché’

Lance nods his head and flashes his signature smile, starting to walk to the park 

Keith walks alongside him for a bit, having an internal debate 

does he hold his hand? wrap his arm around him? is it too soon for this stuff?

but they like sucked faces just like yesterday so ??????

unbeknownst to Keith, Lance was having the same internal war

he gave him his jacket so it wouldn’t be weird to hold his hand, right?

they both decided to grow a pair at the same time and move their hands to grab the other’s

they ended up wacking their hands together and jumping at the sudden, abrupt contact 

they chuckle and look at each other, smiling as they grab each other’s hand properly this time 

Keith gives Lance’s hand a squeeze and Lance swings their hands a bit 

both of their faces are red once more

when they reach the park, Lance instantly heads for the swings 

he sits down and instead of Keith sitting next to him like Lance thought he would, he goes behind Lance and starts to gently push him 

Lance smiles like a goon as he swings his legs

eventually, they decide to stop

Lance stops swinging and Keith sits beside him on the other swing 

they hold hands again and stare up into the sky to stargaze

they stay at the park for hours, moving from the swings, to the slide, to the monkey bars, and even to the grass

they talked about everything imaginable, everything from something simple like their favorite colors all the way to if aliens exist

that last one ended up being very lengthy

when Lance let out a yawn, Keith decided he should get him home

he leads him back to his motorcycle and when Lance offers to give him his jacket back, Keith declines 

“You’ll get cold,” Keith explains 

Lance pouts and responds with, “But you’re sitting in front of me. You’ll get cold”

it apparently wasn’t up for discussion, just like the helmet situation

Keith just got onto his motorcycle without another word but with a reassuring smile

Lance gets on eventually and Keith takes him home 

Lance gets off the motorcycle once they reach his house, turning to stare at Keith

he bites his lip and looks away when Keith just stares at him 

he wanted to kiss Keith but wasn’t sure if it was okay 

“So, uh...goodnight,” Keith says awkwardly, having the same question as Lance

Lance tries to hide his disappointment with a smile and nodding his head 

“Right. Goodnight. Thanks for tonight. Text me when you get home so I know you didn’t die in a fiery crash,” he says cheerfully as he takes off the helmet and slides it onto Keith’s head 

Keith thanks Lance and tells him he will be careful 

Lance starts to walk towards his place when Keith’s voice stops him 

“Lance, you forgot something”

Lance’s brows furrow as he turns back around, walking back over towards him 

“I did? What?” 

before he could contemplate further on what he could’ve forgotten, Keith’s lips were gently meeting his 

Lance was surprised by this kiss just like the first time 

he also noticed that this kiss was different than the first one 

the first one was hot, passionate 

this one was soft and slow 

Lance hums and wraps his arms around Keith while the other place’s his hands on Lance’s waist

Lance couldn’t help but smile a bit into the kiss 

they pull away after a couple seconds, their faces still very close together 

they stare into each other’s eyes, not wanting to let go of the other 

“You know, that kiss was very good, don’t get me wrong, but I think I like the first one we shared better,” Lance says somewhat playfully 

Keith smirks before slamming his lips back against Lance’s 

now this was what Lance liked

he liked feeling Keith’s tongue fighting against his, kissing so hard that their teeth clash occasionally, and-

wait a second 

Keith does have a tongue piercing  

before Lance could stop himself, he was moaning 

Lance instantly regretted it when Keith pulls away 

Lance blushes darker than he has all night, his heart absolutely dropping 

“I am so sorry! I-It just slipped out! I felt your piercing and I-”

Lance is cut off by Keith chuckling 

okay, so now Lance was absolutely mortified 

this is it 

he’s going to die right here

he wasn’t even able to think of another way he would’ve liked to go out before he felt Keith cradling his face 

“Lance, baby, calm down,” Keith says and oh god, his voice was deeper now 

JeSUs CHrIsT

God really must have it out for Lance

“Hey, I said calm down. Why do you look like your panicking more?” Keith says playfully with a deep chuckle 

God, even his chuckle was sexy 

Lance clears his throat and looks away, still scared out of his wits that he just ruined everything 

Keith hums as he turns Lance to look at him again 

“Ah, I see. You think I didn’t like your moan?” Keith asks as if he’s just now piecing it together 

Lance bites his lip hard and nods his head despite the fact he wanted to deny it 

Keith shakes his head and uses his thumb to take Lance’s lip from his teeth 

“Don’t bite your lip. That’s my job. Now, use your words, baby”

Lance was sure he just jizzed his pants 

is this real? this was too good to be true. is he being pranked? Lance forced himself to not look around for cameras 

“Y-Yes...” Lance stutters out quietly 

Keiths hums and looks at him like he’s proud of him 

is he proud of him?

“You got it all wrong, baby. I pulled away for a completely different reason”

Lance thought he was going to stop there and not tell him more when Keith’s head is suddenly beside his 

“I stopped because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from going further. I mean, c’mon, baby. How can you moan like that and not expect me to-” 

Keith cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, letting it go against Lance’s ear and making Lance shiver

“Within do time,” he whispers into Lance’s ear 

he pecks right below his ear and pulls away to look at Lance

so uh 

Lance.exe has stopped working 

Lance stands there as still as a statue 

well, other than his shaking from how turned on hard his heart was beating and rushing adrenaline through his veins 

Lance stares at Keith like a fish out of water, silently gaping at him 

Keith smirks at him and chuckles lowly, using his fingers to close Lance’s mouth he then gives him a short, sweet kiss 

“I’ll text you when I get home, yeah?” Keith says to try and get some sort of response from Lance

Keith only chuckles when Lance blushes even more, if possible, his brain finally starting to function again 

he apparently still couldn’t talk though 

Keith only chuckles before kissing Lance one more time and leaving 

Lance stands there for a long time before finally going inside 

as he was walking to his room, he realizes he still has Keith’s jacket

Lance squeals quietly like a happy girl, spinning around 

he runs to his room and launches himself onto his bed, squeezing his pillow and grinning like a fool 

Keith was just as happy as Lance

he smiled the whole way home 

even when he got home, he was still smiling like a fool

jeez, these boys were already smitten

MASTERLIST prev | next 

[mytholora]

do you hear my heart beating

Fandom: Mamamoo

Rated: T

Pairings: Moonsun

Characters: Solar, Moonbyul, Wheein, Hwasa

Summary: Yongsun knows she’s an idiot but she’d thought herself to be an idiot with good ideas.

Yongsun knows she’s an idiot but she’d thought herself to be an idiot with good ideas.

They’re in a seedy club at some inhumane hour of the morning. Byulyi has somehow managed to convince her to go even though she’s got a paper due tomorrow and hasn’t washed her hair in 3 days.

“ISN’T THIS AMAZING?” Byulyi yells over the crowd of people wildly bumping their bodies into each other and the blaring music. It’s humid. Yongsun’s sure she’s stepped on something gross. At least 2 people have tried grinding on her, she doesn’t know. What she does know is that Byulyi’s holding her hand tight and she’s about to spontaneously combust.

“It’s really loud in here!”

“WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Byul makes a pained face at her, stretching back to hear her better.

“WHAT Oh—never mind.” Yongsun sighs, realising that no matter how loud she shouts, Byulyi can’t hear her over the loud music. How is she supposed to flirt with Byulyi if they can’t even hear each other? Another body falls on her and Yongsun is this close to biting someone’s ear off. She grunts under the weight of a clearly inebriated body and struggles to push him back on his feet. Of course this fucking caveman has to fall on me, of all the people in this hellcave.

Suddenly, Byulyi appears in front of her and pushes the man off her.

“Hey, watch where you’re falling, asshole!” Byulyi snarls, anger flaring in her eyes, arms holding Yongsun closely, tightly, and Yongsun feels her face heat up as she presses herself closer to Byulyi’s frame.

“Thanks, bodyguard,” Yongsun breathes out.

“WHAT?”

“I said thanks!”

“WHAT?”

“Forget it!”

“...WHAT?”

“LET’S JUST GO!”

“I can’t hear you, let’s just go!” Byulyi pulls her arm to signal her to start moving and they start wading through the swamp of people once more. A light bulb flickers to life above Yongsun’s head instantly. They can barely hear themselves in the noise, much less each other. It’s an opportunity falling on her lap and Yongsun’s damned if she won’t take it.

She clears her throat. “Your hands really turn me on.”

Byulyi doesn’t even turn around to look at her, just keeps pushing forward through the crowd. Yongsun bites back laughter and squeezes Byulyi’s hand. She turns around at that, tilting her head in slight confusion, face sporting a grin. Yongsun shakes her head and they continue moving as glee at the prospect of what she can do in her current situation fills her up.

Walking deeper in still, the club gets louder and darker even though Yongsun didn’t think it was possible mere minutes ago.

“Hey, hot ass lady holding my hand,” Yongsun tries. “Could we go get some drinks before hitting the dance floor?” No reaction.

“You sexy beast. Hold me tight. Grab my tiddies and drag me into a kiss.”

Nothing. If Byulyi can hear her, she doesn’t show any indication that she does.

It’s even better than I thought, Yongsun thinks incredulously. She gives a tug to the hand that’s holding hers.

“Can we get a drink first?” She asks in her normal voice, not even trying to compete against the noise. Byulyi frowns and leans closer, lips forming a ‘what’. Yongsun smiles and gestures towards what distinctly looks like a bar and tilts her head back to mimic the act of drinking. Byulyi perks up, nods, and they head off to a new destination.

It’s a little quieter at the bar, the air still shaking with heavy bass, but Yongsun can actually hear her own thoughts now. A familiar beautiful woman with a smouldering gaze is already waiting for them at the bar, an eyebrow raised, and Yongsun fights back a blush when the woman glances between Byulyi and herself as they walk towards her.

“Surprise!” Byulyi yells and almost leaps across the counter to wrap the woman in a hug.

“How did you manage to find me? I barely started working, like, two days ago!” Hyejin laughs, arms going around to return the hug before pulling Yongsun into another smothering one.

“I have my sources!” Byulyi says and Hyejin rolls her eyes.

“Wheein! Of course.”

“Where is she anyway? She owes me 15 bucks!” Hyejin motions to somewhere behind her and not even a moment later, a young dimpled girl appears beside Hyejin and squeals, dragging all four of them into a group huddle.

“HELL YEAH! The gang’s back together for a night of booze and bad decisions!” She jumps around excitedly and Yongsun feels her heart melt at the sight. She glances at Hyejin and Byulyi and she’s sure she’s not the only one. They are all soft for Wheein and her bubbly energy.

“Making bad decisions won’t be a problem with how fucking LOUD this place is! Are the speakers busted or something?” Yongsun winces as the music somehow gets louder than before, a remix of some top 10 EDM song reverberating in her skull.

“We don’t really know why but the other bartenders tell us it’s the DJ! He always plays the music this loud just cuz it ‘sets him in the mood’!” Wheein explains and Byulyi rolls her eyes.

“What an asshole.”

“Right?! Most of the DJs we’ve met here are really nice but he’s the only one that’s a big meanie! Just earlier tonight he…” Wheein launches into a story and Byulyi listens attentively, straining her neck forward to pick up on Wheein’s excited chatter. Hyejin quickly fills up two mugs with some cheap beer for them and is off to respond to a customer calling for her. Byulyi sends a wink her way as thanks before focusing her attention back onto Wheein and her flailing arms.

Yongsun adores that part of Byulyi that is so attentive and pays attention to details. The one that tries her best to be inclusive. The one with so much kindness and care in her heart. It was a quality that attracted so many of her friends to her and helped her to easily make more.

“I love you so much,” Yongsun stares at Byulyi and the words slip out before she can stop it. A spike of anxiety stabs her before realising that it is too loud for anyone to pick up what she’s saying. “That jacket looks great around you but you know what would look better? Me.”

Byulyi doesn't react. She’s still listening attentively to Wheein’s enthusiastic storytelling. It’s a chance she can’t miss.

“You funky lesbian, why the fuck are you so perfect, huh? Wanna fight? Wanna sit on my face? I dare you. I’m so in love with you. I’m not even joking. I would lay my life down for you like a knight for her queen, except like, I don’t wanna die, so maybe not. I’d fight a man for you, though. I’d choke all the men in the world for you. Fuck, you look so good. Marry me.”

Yongsun is on a roll, spitting out cheesy compliments and flirty pick-up lines. She says it to no-one in particular, keeping her eyes on the hyper duo next to her as she nurses her drink in one hand.

That is, until she realises her phone has been incessantly buzzing in her pocket. It’s enough to get her to take it out and look through her notifications.

Hyegi: oi

Hyegi: im on the other side

Hyegi: bitch dont ignore me look here

Hyegi: are u talking to yourself or smth wat the fuck

Hyegi: who you talking to

Hyegi: oh my god

Hyegi: SKJSHDSJFH

Hyegi: omg u hopeless gay

Hyegi: sit on your face???

Hyegi: yong pls

Hyegi: pls do not start fighting here i dont wanna be fired

Hyegi: im begging you pls stop

Hyegi: o fuk that’s so NSFW im gagging

Hyegi: bicth

Hyegi: thicc byulssy???? UVE GONE TOO FAR

Hyegi: HELLO!! LOOK HERE ASSHOLE!!!

Yongsun is absolutely mortified. Her eyes quickly dart to where Hyejin is leaning against the counter a few metres away, smoothly typing away on her phone, as if she didn’t just ruin Yongsun’s entire night in a few texts. Hyejin glances up to look at her and smirks. Yongsun's fight or flight response is fully activated and screaming at her to somehow knock Hyejin unconscious and make her lose all memory of tonight.

Yong: FUCK

Yong: dkjfhsljdfh

Yong: what the fuck

Hyegi: calm down

Yong: im gonna fukcking

Yong: what the FUCK

Hyegi: CHILL i wont tell

Yong: i will die on the spot if you do

Hyegi: please dont

Yong: DIE you hear me

Hyegi: I WONT I SWEAR

Yong: this whole time

Yong: how

Yong: did you bug me with a mic

Hyegi: what?? no i can lip read

Yong: how? since when??? what the fuck

Hyegi: took a course back in college

Yong: why

Hyegi: i wanted to be a spy

Yong: uh

Yong: ok

Yong: anyway pls dont spill

Hyegi: chillax i wont. I got u babe

Yong: thanks ily

Hyegi: ily too

Hyegi: also u are one giant horndog u know that?? fuckin intense!!

Yong: and what about it? she’s hot. im hot. we’re perfect for each other

Hyegi: LMAO right so why u seducing thin air

Yong: im just

Yong: building up my offense u know

Yong: training to fight fire with fire

Hyegi: by talking to the air

Yong: im TRAINING u fool

Yong: im like zuko and she’s azula because im gonna take her down

Yong: except we’re not siblings and i wanna date her

Hyegi: fuck u dont ruin that show for me

Yong: im not supporting incense im just saying they were both hot

Hyegi: incense im its incest u illiterate

Hyegi: ok look if i give u another drink on the house will u PLEASE shut the fuck up

Yong: a nicer one please

Yong: thanks

Yong: also zutara should have been endgame

Hyegi: dont test me because i will throw this drink in ur face

Yongsun laughs and looks up only to see Wheein gone and Byulyi staring at her and smiling. She feels her heart jump out her chest and tries to not let it show. She raises an eyebrow and Byulyi shakes her head and takes another swig of her now finished beer. Hyejin walks up to them with Yongsun’s drink on the house.

“Hey, how come she gets another one?!” Byulyi pouts, shifting closer to Yongsun and her new drink.

“What can I say? I’m a natural charmer!” Yongsun shrugs, a teasing lilt in her voice, which makes Byulyi pout even more. Hyejin rolls her eyes and walks away. Yongsun realises that it’s just her and Byulyi now. She clears her throat uncomfortably, unprepared to face Byulyi one-on-one, despite all the ‘training’ she’s undergone.

“Holy shit, I love this song! For a shitty DJ, he’s got pretty good taste in music!” Byulyi perks up. She gets off her chair and sways to the song now playing through the speakers. Yongsun watches awkwardly as Byulyi dances without a care in front of her.

She thinks she’s disassociating. In another dimension.

Byulyi? Sexy dancing in front of her as she sits and watches? Not even trying to escape? Absolutely unheard of.

She’d already be running for the hills on a normal day.

I’m too fucking gay for this shit. Is this happening? Is this really happening? What the fuck.

Yongsun doesn’t budge an inch on her seat, doesn’t even grab her drink. Her eyes watch Byulyi intensely, expression unchanging as the younger girl dances without a care in the world, unaware of the quickly deteriorating mess that is Yongsun’s sanity. Byulyi’s eyes lock with hers and she feels something important escape her body.

Her phone buzzes again and again and Yongsun forces herself to tear her eyes away from the spectacle that is Byulyi and respond to it.

Hyegi: u lesbian

Hyegi: SHUT UP ur sex eyes are so obvious

Hyegi: U look like u are one blink away from pushing her down!! Fuck

Hyegi: i cant deal with this

Hyegi: remember to use protection xoxo hwasa

Yongsun rolls her eyes. Her phone buzzes again. What now?

---

Wheenie: byul-unnie

Wheeinie: i got him to play the song u wanted

Wheeinie: r u sure dis will work

Wheeinie: make sure u do wat we discussed

Wheeinie: unnie u luk v intense

Wheeinie: ya work those sexy moves

Wheein: sway ur hips more!! bat ur eyes!!

Wheeinie: she looks turned on as fUK keep doing it

Wheeinie: lmao she’s looking here?? move closer

Wheeinie: get more in her face!! blast ur hormones! show her ur willing and ready!!!

Wheeinie: wait

Wheeinie: OH FUCK

from this shitpost of mine

after more than a year here i am...... my measly attempt at comedy..

comments r appreciated and criticism even more so because i get turned on by both

[debitchery]

16

Hey there! I know this is super late, but literally every ask I ever answer is super late so I’d think y’all were used to it at this point. At least this time I’m not a whole month late (progress is important I hear). I proofread this around 3am so God knows how messy it might be, but I hope that you enjoy it!

“Sorry. I don’t speak skank.”

“I can’t believe this,” Mike’s voice was closer to a screech than anything as he rushed into the AV room, and Steve groaned as his boyfriend nearly bit through his lip in shock, “I literally cannot believe this.”

Honestly, leave it to be Nancy’s little brother that walks in on him. It really is just his luck.

Steve sighed and shook his head. He put his hands on the desk to push himself off the desk he was sitting on, but a firm grip on his hips kept him in place.

“Well, better believe it, pal,” Billy said, his voice sounding confident in a way that Steve never would have expected after getting the two of them caught. He elbowed him when Mike started to look disgusted, “‘sides, it’s not like we were doing anything, and I could do without the screaming-like-a-girl thing next time, alright?”

“Next time?” Mike squeaked out, and Steve tried to shush him, but he started complaining so fast that he couldn’t even catch what words he was saying.

Before Steve could even open his mouth to tell Mike to shut up, good and proper, Dustin and Max were bursting through the door. The two of them stared straight at Mike, talking over each other to ask what was wrong as Mike continued rambling incomprehensibly and waving his hands to gesture between Billy and Steve wildly. As Dustin and Max finally seemed to notice them, Steve pondered the idea that maybe, just maybe, he could think his own spontaneous combustion into existence.

That’d be a cool way to go, huh? Just bursting into flames for no apparent reason. Billy’s standing close enough that maybe he’d catch on fire and die too. They could be the lame, gay version of Romeo and Juliet or something.

Billy was laughing, winking at him before turning back to Steve and muttering, “Damn, kids these days really don’t know how to knock, huh?”

God, he hoped that Billy would catch on fire too. It would serve the dickhead right.

“Mike, dude, chill out,” Max said with a roll of her eyes, and Steve let out a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding out for just as Dustin said, “Yeah man, we said that we were cool with Steve being kinda, sorta gay so we gotta be cool with this too.”

Mike spluttered and blushed a bit, and Steve honestly felt a pang of pity somewhere in his chest for the kid. His household is one of those ones that’s chill most of the time but has a clear stand on what’s right and wrong, and Steve knows which side of that spectrum he falls on there. He knows the kid isn’t a homophobe or anything, knows that Mike is one hundred percent supportive when it comes to Will’s situation, but this could possibly be the first time he’s seen two men being passionate, or whatever.

Poor Mike’s probably feeling scandalized.

By the time Mike seemed to have gathered his thoughts into something worth saying, Lucas, Will, and El had found the way into the room as well. Lucas took one look at the position Steve was in and rolled his eyes, seeming to have put the pieces together himself. El was whispering something to Will, and Will was smiling real small their way and nodding after a moment.

Part of Steve wondered what El had said to him. The majority of him just hoped that none of the pre-teens could see that he was still half hard in his jeans.

Billy was being suspiciously quiet; looking off towards the kids with a weird look in his eye, and seemingly not paying any attention to Steve, but he also wouldn’t let him stand up so—

Steve decided just to deal with it for now.

“Besides, like we’ve discussed, if Steve and Billy make out and shit, maybe then Billy will be cool like he is,” Dustin said, making a quick hand gesture towards Steve and Billy as though they were subjects in an experiment.

Mike looked to Max and Lucas in what was probably a desire for some sort of back up, but all they did was nod along to what Dustin said, like it was something that made sense.

“Wait a minute,” Steve spoke up, and all heads, including Billy’s, turned towards him, “you’ve discussed me making out with Billy? As a group?”

Billy let out a snort, and Steve resisted the urge to drive his knee straight into his cock by slapping him on the arm. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, barely enough to sting really, but Billy laughed and made a noise to pretend like it did under his breath just for him.

Steve really likes him sometimes.

“It was a party matter, Steve!” Mike exclaimed, but Dustin elbowed him and cut him off, “We had to discuss all possible pros and cons to a potential grouping up of the two of you.”

“And why wasn’t I invited to speak during this discussion?” Steve said, and he did not sound whiny. Like, at all.

And even if he did, he had every right to be if these idiot kids that he calls friends were talking about him and his pros and cons behind his back.

“Because you’re not part of the party, Steve!” Mike swung his arms around some more, narrowly missing clipping Max’s shoulder at one point, which made Max glare and all the other kids’ heads turn to face him.

“What? Yeah, he is,” Dustin said, sounding confused and almost offended which was sweet, he thinks.

“Mike, literally last week you told me that I had to go to D&D night or else I would be kicked out of the party,” Steve knew his voice sounded like an exasperated father at this point, and the numbers of times that he’s rolled his eyes in the last few minutes was going to bringing on an ugly migraine, but it seemed like he’d just have to live with it.

It was unfortunate, really.

In fact, he was really feeling ready to just leave the middle school and drive straight home for a well-deserved nap.

Hopefully, Billy would follow in that scenario.

"Well, I lied, dumbass. We would never want you in the party,” Mike glared Steve’s way, and Steve would have probably tensed at that one if he wasn’t already so tired of this situation, though, that didn’t stop Billy from tensing at the insult in his honor.

Which was unnecessary because Steve doesn’t need Billy doing anything in his honor at all, and Mike is, like, twelve anyway so it doesn’t really matter. Nonetheless, Steve appreciated the sentiment behind the action and squeezed Billy’s wrist gently in hopes to settle him a bit.

“I mean–” Will butt in, which caused Mike to look at him all bug-eyed, and truly warmed Steve’s heart, “I would.”

“Yeah,” El jumped in too, which was just rich, really; both of the people whose opinions Mike respected the most were on Steve’s side here, and not his, “I like Steve.”

Steve winked at Will and blew a kiss at El that made her giggle. She pretended to catch it in the air and place it on her cheek like she always did, and Steve felt a bit better after that. Something about her always made Steve feel a little better, a little less ‘weird’, or ‘dumb’. It was nice.

He looked up to find Billy looking between the two of them and smiling. It was a small, sweet little thing, and Steve really wished that he could kiss it off him.

But that would probably give poor Michael a heart attack, and he doesn’t want to pay for the kid’s funeral costs or anything.

“You guys are not helping,” Mike said, slapping his hand to his head and sighing, “Not helping at all.”

“Maybe you should stop while you’re ahead, Wheeler,” Billy said out of nowhere, sounding amused and almost cocky, like a little kid getting their way, “Looks like the rest of your little ‘party’, or whatever, isn’t really backing you up.”

“Huh, what was that?” Mike said, holding a hand to his ear exaggeratedly, “I can’t understand you.”

Steve glanced at Dustin, confused, but Dustin looked just as dumbfounded as he was. He could feel Billy looking down at him for a moment, but he looked back at Mike soon after.

“What are you–” Billy started to ask, but Mike cut him off.

“Sorry pal, I don’t speak skank. Maybe you should 'quit while you’re ahead’ and stop talking to me.”

Steve let out a chuckle that sounded like it was punched out of him because Billy’s face was honestly just too much at this point. The kids’ almost-worried looks in his direction were just the icing on the cake as Billy’s wide-eyed, practically stunned to silence look was turned to him completely.

Poor baby barely liked it when Steve called him a slut in bed. This-

This had to be traumatizing.

“What is a 'skank’?” El asked out loud, smirk on her face the screamed trouble as Mike turned to face her, horrified.

If El really wanted to know, she would have turned to ask Will quietly. That’s what makes this golden. She knew it had to be a bad word, and she knew that Mike would be devastated that he was the one who taught it to her. He scandalized the sheriff’s daughter.

Steve was laughing in earnest now, shaking his head her way half-heartedly, “No, honey, don’t say that!”

“Nah babe, let her say it,” Billy said, watching him laugh, and nodding his head over towards Mike, “But all of you shitheads better let her pops know who she heard it from, got it?”

Will started laughing too, which made Mike flush a deep red color. The rest of the kids seemed to have caught on to the fact that no one was in any real trouble here, and that Billy Hargrove was picking on Mike with them. They all said their own variation of “Got it!” and Billy smirked down at Steve.

“Oh, you are diabolical,” Steve said quietly, mainly to Billy but not caring if the kids heard too.

“Big words coming from you,” Billy’s voice sounded like it was mixed with a laugh and it made Steve’s heart happy, “You’d do the same exact thing if you were in my shoes.”

Steve knew he was staring a little too deeply into Billy’s eyes though there was company around, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Too much, anyway.

“I still don’t get what the big deal was, Mike,” Lucas said with a sigh after a while, wrapping his arms around Dustin and Max’s shoulder, effectively making them a force to be reckoned with.

“Yeah, so they kissed,” Dustin shrugged, putting a hand on his hip in a way that almost reminded Steve of himself, “Whatever, man. It’s their business.”

“You didn’t have to see it, Dustin,” Mike’s face was still red, but now his voice was coated in that scandalized tone again, “It was horrifying! There were noises, guys. Noises!“

"There were not any noises,” Steve spluttered out, sounding way more defensive than he wanted to.

He was, like, ninety-five percent sure there were not any noises.

“But there’s about to be if you kids aren’t out of this room and doing something else by the time I count to five,” Billy raised his voice, like he was challenging the kids to defy him.

It reminded Steve of those kids who would push people to dare them to do stupid things.

"Wait, what?” Dustin turned towards Steve, eyes silently asking is Billy was being serious or not.

Steve was about to shake his head and reassure him when Billy gripped his jaw tightly to stop him from doing so. “One!” he nearly shouted, which was overkill really.

This is a tiny ass room anyway.

“They’re gonna kiss again!” Mike’s screechy voice was back, and then he was bending down and scooping up some bags, hightailing it out of the room, "I’m out of here!”

“Two!”

“Mike, wait!” Lucas called after him, turning to chase him down, “Dude, you grabbed my backpack too!”

“Three!”

Dustin looked a little flustered and sped out as calmly as he could manage, and Steve really wanted to shake his head now.

“Don’t take too long, please guys?” Max said with a roll of her eyes, grabbing Will hand and heading towards the door.

“We’ll be at the cars in, like, five minutes. Now scram,” Billy said, stopping his counting to roll his eyes back at her, but somehow managing to roll his eyes harder.

Because of course he would.

El started to follow after them but paused by the door to look back at Steve and Billy one last time.

“We’ll be outside soon, El, okay?” Steve reassured her, keeping his voice sounding soft, “Just stick with Will and Max until me and Billy are done talking.”

She snorted in a way that sounded way too much like Billy for Steve’s liking. “Okay, Steve. Have fun,” she put her fingers up into air quotation marks, a new thing she’s learned that Steve now regrets teaching her, “Talking.”

Billy laughed at the slight shock on Steve’s face as El closed the door behind her.

“Alone again, finally,” Billy muttered, putting his hands back down on the desk on either side of Steve’s hips, “Now, where were we?”

“Apparently, I was making out with a skank,” Steve said, smiling sweetly up at him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

"Wanna make out with one again?” Billy asked, waggling his eyebrows and licking his bottom lip extravagantly.

Steve wanted to tell him that he looked ridiculous when he did that, wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to act ‘extra’ like that all the time; Steve was already his. He wanted to tell Billy that his ass had fallen asleep a few minutes ago and that his head hurt, and that, all of a sudden, he was really craving some caffeine.

But instead, all he did was lean up and Billy leaned down and mumble against his lips, “Yeah, I think I could get behind that.”

[woppy42]

no excuses writing meme

Leave it to me to post an ask meme and then get wrapped up in something for several hours. Anyway, here it is! Thanks to @the-majestic-cheese-turtle and anonymous for sending me asks! :D 

These are from a fic I’m (very slowly) writing for @forksalesperson, starring @the-majestic-cheese-turtle‘s fantastic OC Ambrose. 

(I’m also working on a Royai fic... if anyone wants me to do this again for that fic, let me know!)

Last two sentences (unedited)

I didn’t quite know what his name was, actually, despite his frequent appearances in our humble monument to liquid caffeine. Not every morning, but more often than not, Sparkles would show up with his entourage and order two large black coffees—one for each of the suited gorillas, but never anything for himself.

Next two sentences (newly written)

‘Gorillas’ might be an unfair way to describe the two men, but (a) my inner monologue has never been particularly concerned with fairness, and (b) anyone would have a tendency to look stout and unrefined next to the slender grace and easy charm of Sparkles. He had a smoothness to his motions that naturally drew your eyes to him, and the kind of killer jawline that made you want to keep them there.

The End

Spoilers! :p (There’s kind of a twist to the ending, so I can’t say...)

POV (something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective) (Warning: I literally just wrote this and it’s all unedited)

“Uh-oh,” Tony said, nodding his head toward where Ambrose stood waiting for the coffees he had ordered. Behind the counter, the young barista was tightly gripping her hand—must’ve just burned it, he thought—and looking like she was about to combust with the effort of not swearing in front of customers.  “Looks like the drinks are gonna be a little late.”

Dmitri grunted, observing Ambrose lean over the counter to check on the girl. “Think we should go over there?” he asked.

“Nah,” Tony replied. “Kid could use some socialization that doesn’t involve teenage girls screaming at him on a stage.”

Dmitri checked his watch.

“Don’ worry,” Tony said. “I always build a little extra time into our morning schedule. Ya never know what’s gonna happen with this guy.” 

Still, Tony spared a glance toward the vintage clock that adorned the far wall of the shop. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ambrose speaking animatedly—was he arguing with the girl? An instant later, he pulled up his sleeve and gestured at something on his forearm. Tony half-jumped out of his chair. What was the idiot doing? Before he could decide whether he should stop him, the girl had reached across the counter and yanked Ambrose’s sleeve down to hide his arm. Tony sank back into his chair with an exasperated sigh. Leave it to a clumsy barista to have more common sense than the wildly successful, yet surprisingly naive pop star he was trying to protect. As much as he appreciated the gesture of free coffee, every minute spent in public with his charge felt like it took another year off his life.

He looked toward Dmitri. The man was still staring at his wrist, having missed the entire exchange. He tapped experimentally on his watch. “Think is broken,” he muttered.

Tony sighed. If his coffee wasn’t ready yet, he’d better make it a double.

[novellysarah]

night and day (pt. I) (jack thompson x reader)

pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader summary: After years of working in solitude, the reader is sent an urgent message from her cousin, Daniel Sousa, begging her to come to New York to work on a case. Once there, she learns that she will have to play pretend wife to none other than Jack Thompson, the arrogant Chief of the New York S.S.R. Although they are at first night and day in differences, a series of events neither could foresee radically alters the course of their lives forever.  word count: 1601 trigger warnings: Minor violence a/n: Part I of a new series based around our favorite asshole, Jack Thompson! Partly based on a few requests I got ages ago, and partly from my own brain. It’s been a while since i’ve posted on here... Hope you enjoy my loves. 

PART I: FIRE AND BRIMSTONE

If hell was a feeling, this was it.

Something had told you, whether it be a celestial force or simply your own intuition, that he was in danger. And so, you’d fled the little apartment you’d sworn to hide in, jumped into the car you’d promised not to drive, and burst into the hotel you’d vowed to avoid. You stood in the lobby, looking around wildly as you tried to plot out your next move.

You didn’t know which room he was in, and that was the first order of business. Damn him and his secrecy, disguised under the pretense of “keeping you safe.” You approached the front desk carefully, forcing your steps to remain measured, and fixed your face into a mask of calm. It was time, once again, for you to play your part. You only hoped that you weren’t too late.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said, pouring as much false sweetness into your voice as you could muster, throwing in a Southern accent for kicks. “Would you mind tellin’ me which room my husband is in? I just flew in, and silly me, I lost the--”

The man looked at you, boredom written plainly across his face. His eyes barely med yours before he returned to the papers that he was shuffling through. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not allowed to give out the personal information of guests. Perhaps you should call your husband?”

You forced a thin smile onto your lips, though inside your head you had already broken three of the man’s fingers. You had only so much patience, and the most of it had been used up as you’d sat in that damned apartment, checking the clock every three minutes. So, you tapped your perfectly manicured nails against the desk, the only movement that portrayed your intense annoyance.

“Well, mister, I would call him, but I don’t know what room he’s in.” You let out a breathy little laugh. “I’d be ever so grateful for your help.”

The man rolled his eyes, already looking back at the papers in front of him, and gestured to the empty lobby. “Take a seat, ma’am, maybe that husband of yours will come down--”

It was your turn to interrupt. After taking a surreptitious glance around the room to confirm that it was empty, you reached across the counter and gripped the man by his collar. His eyes grew wide as he spluttered, hands clawing uselessly at his throat. You pulled his face closer to yours, all pretenses of a light, lovely woman gone. You were made of fire and brimstone, and whatever was etched on your face told him this.

“You will give me your logbook, or I swear to every entity above that I will make you see stars, and you will be so far gone that not even a god himself could bring you back,” you spat, glowering at the cowering mess of a man before you.

“Yes-- Yes ma’am,” he managed to choke out, face turned a peculiar shade of red. You released him, and it only took a second for him to throw the log book at you.

You flipped through the pages quickly, impatiently searching for the false surname that was all too familiar to you now. However, it wasn’t the name that caught your eye first, but rather, the handwriting. The loopy “J,” far more feminine than you’d expected his penmanship to be; the not quite lowercase, but not quite capital “S,” infuriating when you were trying to type up his notes. Your heart rate spiked as you thought about him, and you forced yourself to not dwell on what it would be like to never see that lettering again.

202D. You shoved the logbook across the counter, not bothering to look at the man, who was standing as far away from you as he could in the space. You’d deal with him later. You raced for the stairs, figuring that you might spontaneously combust in the time that it would take for the elevator. It seemed that the last of your patience had finally run out.

Your feet pounded against the metal staircase, shaking the entire contraption as you wound up through three stories. Finally, you pushed open the door labeled “D,” and found yourself in the middle of a carpeted hall. The room on your left read 212D, so you followed it, hands shaking as you tried to convince yourself that your gut was wrong, that you’d open the door and he’d be there, exasperated but alive. You’d take his anger a hundred times over the alternative.

206… 204… 202.

You jiggled the doorknob, fully expecting to find it locked, but to your surprise, it opened easily. At first, you saw nothing but an empty room: bed unmade, of course; windows shut and curtains drawn; radio playing quietly… And then you looked down. The scream that echoed around the room couldn’t have been issued from you. It was wild, animalistic. There was no earthly way for it to have crawled out from inside a human being.

But so it had. You sank to the ground, kneeling in a pool of rich, dark blood as you pressed two trembling fingers to the neck of the man lying before you. For a split second you thought you felt a pulse, but then you realized that was just your own heartbeat thrumming through your fingertips. And that is the moment when you lost what little control of your sanity that you had left.

“Goddamn you, Jack Thompson!” You sobbed, fingers curled around his collar, reminding you of all of the times that you’d straightened it before you left for the day; of unbuttoning his shirt on that one mistake of a night… “Don’t you dare die, damn you! Please, Jack.”

And suddenly, you were sure that the universe was playing some cruel joke on you. The soft opening strains of “Night and Day” drifted through Jack’s little portable radio, causing your stomach to tighten and your grip on Jack’s collar to slack. A calm washed over your body, allowing you to think clearly for the first time since you’d entered the hotel room and saw the horrors that had taken place.

You unbuttoned Jack’s shirt, searching for whatever injury had caused such bloodshed, and located a bullet wound in his chest, just below his right shoulder. You applied pressure to the wound, using strips of fabric from your skirt, and were alarmed at how quickly the blood soaked through.

For the first time since you’d discovered him, your eyes left Jack with some difficulty, now searching for a way to call for help without having to leave his side. You wouldn’t let him be alone, especially if--

You wouldn’t allow yourself to finish the thought. You located the telephone across the room and sprinted to it, immediately having the operator connect you to 911. The man who answered the phone began speaking to you in a soothing tone, but you completely ignored him and plowed through your speech. “My name is (Y/N), I’m at Hotel Astor in room 202D. My--” you fumbled for a second, trying to decide whether or not to reveal the truth to the operator. “My husband has been shot, and he’s lost too much blood. Get someone here as quickly as you can!”

You hung up the phone before there was a chance for too many questions to be asked. Although you possessed a rather large range of skills, you’d never been much good with coming up with lies on the spot. That was much more Jack’s forte. Jack, who apparently hadn’t been quick enough on his feet this time… You took another anchoring breath and dialed the S.S.R.

Thankfully, you immediately recognized the voice that picked up. Daniel Sousa, once again there when you needed him. You quickly repeated the same information to him that you’d told the 911 operator, only adding, “I’m scared, Daniel,” before your voice broke.

You could hear Daniel barking out orders to the others in the office. “Henry, you and Reese get ready to go. Come armed. I want you stationed outside of the hotel, and if you see anything, I mean anything, you take them down. Wallace, Fisher, meet us at the hospital. Carter, you’re with me,” Daniel then addressed you, and you could tell that he was making an effort to keep his tone calm. “(Y/N), everything’s going to be okay. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Keep him alive.”

You nodded, although Daniel couldn’t see you through the phone. After setting the phone down on the hook--it seemed ridiculous, taking such care at a time like this--you once again attached yourself to Jack’s side, alternating between feeling for his weak pulse and checking the amount of blood still oozing from his chest wound. You wrapped the shreds of fabric more tightly around him, and something caught your eye in the process.

Your wedding rings, stained red with Jack’s blood, but still sparkling in the light. Bile rose in your throat as you stared at the objects, but you couldn’t force yourself to take them off. “If we survive this, Jack...”

You trailed off, unsure what promises to make to the man in front of you. Jack was so many things to you, so many complicated, confusing things, but you knew that if he died, a part of you would as well. There was no (Y/N) without Jack Thompson, you sussed, because his death would mean that you failed. And you’d made a promise to him, what felt like a lifetime ago...