#(blows dust off diploma)

[princess-stabbity]

been awhile since i posted about the war, but i've been meaning to put this down in writing somewhere, so

in response to the question of whether russia will escalate to nuclear warfare, i'm undecided. on the one hand, the russian strategy is "escalate, escalate, escalate." the calls since march to offer putin an off-ramp fail to understand he had them and did not want them.

further, i've long suspected that part of what fueled putin's miscalculation in launching this invasion is that he received some kind of grim prognosis on his alleged thyroid cancer. so compound the normal dictator mindset with a sense of running out of time, and lack of concern for long-term consequences...

additionally, they've been putting out a (laughable) pretext that the ukrainians are going to detonate a dirty bomb on themselves. y'know. because most people are gonna buy that.

on the other hand, as beau of the fifth column has pointed out, nuclear superpowers have lost wars before without resorting to nuclear warfare. like, a lot of wars. my only counterpoint to this would be that, without greater analysis, we can't really assume that will hold true in this case. easy jokes aside, there are considerable differences between the political climate and military conditions of, say, the U.S. in the '60s or the soviets in the '80s vs russia today. it's an encouraging trend, but not conclusive.

beau has also made a good argument that the NATO response would be devastating. this is harder to gauge, particularly with the political chaos in the U.K. right now, but again, it's a strong argument. my read of biden is that, if push comes to shove, he will decide that setting international precedent outweighs other concerns. i know that freaks people out, but 1) there are other ways of punishing russia besides launching our own nuclear weapons and triggering mutually assured destruction, 2) mutually assured destruction requires deterrence. it requires every nuclear country reliably believe that the others could and would strike back at them, and that therefore the cost of use is pointlessly high.

if the world allowed this to happen without severe repercussions for russia, there would be incentive to repeat it. not just for russia, but for every nuclear power. it sends the message that as long as you don't target another nuclear power, you can do whatever you want. invade your neighbor, drop a kiloton on them. who cares. nobody's going to stop you. but if you drop a tactical nuke on another country and it results in your entire navy getting sunk, your last international allies dropping you like a hot rock, and nerve agent rubbed in your underwear? well, the next guy might hesitate. the point of punishing russia for using nukes is to decrease the likelihood of future nuclear war. it enforces the precedent that nuclear weapons should not be used, and that other countries possess the will to actually carry out their threats. without the latter certainty, mutually assured destruction doesn't work.

the only viable solutions people have been able to agree on for preventing nuclear conflict are deterrence and worldwide disarmament, and while i would very much prefer the latter, good fucking luck getting them onboard for that right now.

("but nobody punished the U.S. for dropping nukes on japan!" 1) the capacity to do so was limited at the time, 2) we should have faced consequences for that. but that does not change the current situation. remember: whataboutism is an argument for more suffering in the world, masquerading as fairness.)

i can't attribute this to a reliable source, but there are rumors that the russian nuclear stockpile has, uh, not been subject to good care. which frankly makes sense, given what i've heard about how the U.S. have handled our own. so, even if they want to deploy nuclear weapons, they might not be able to.

it has also occurred to me that irradiated lebensraum ain't exactly worth much. even if he targeted kyiv in order to take out zelenskyy personally, destroying the heart of the kievan rus would be considered abhorrent on multiple levels.

but all of this relies, to one extent or another, on putin acting rationally. he has not been acting rationally. and we cannot safely rely on the assumption that someone in the chain would refuse such an order, because anyone who shows signs of that kind of backbone or brains get purged. that's the nature of authoritarianism. it's also a major reason why he's in this mess. the guys who say "no, sir, that's a bad idea" are long gone.

so i don't know what will happen. except that the chance of this leading to the U.S. getting nuked is so unlikely that i forgot to bring it up until now. the people freaking out about that? not worth listening to.

what i do feel somewhat comfortable predicting is that if russia truly intends to resort to nuclear war in ukraine, they will likely do it sometime in the next two weeks.

putin bases a lot of his moves off of the political landscape in the U.S., and to a lesser extent other major NATO powers. the U.S. midterms are in two weeks. the tories have been in a fucking tailspin thanks to their own idiocy. it's getting colder, and General Winter does not take kindly to ill-equipped invaders, even russian ones.

if putin strikes now, he can hope to turn reprisal into a political problem for biden ahead of the midterms. most americans are weary after decades of the forever war; chances are, people will freak out about the specter of WWIII if biden leads a severe reprisal, which i suspect he will. if putin waits out the election, he's faced with two potential outcomes: if the democrats somehow hold onto both chambers, it implicitly signals greater american unity and a strengthening of biden's mandate, including his handling of ukraine. putin might feel tempted to lash out, but the consequences will be much more dire. an uptick of subtle, divisive action against us is more likely.

if the republicans get even one chamber, especially the house (which is more probable), then it's likely aid will be held up or stopped entirely. this is obviously good for putin, and might embolden him, but biden would still have a lot of unilateral moves he could make, and, perhaps more importantly, a stopped or decreased flow of supplies to ukraine would ratchet down the military pressure on putin.

so if democrats win, the consequences are higher. if republicans win, the need is lower. either way, the temptation will likely be less. and if he does it now, he might be able to push the U.S. towards the right and towards isolationism, and therefore into less of an adversary. i think a lot of it comes down to who he thinks is favored to win; the neck-and-neck nature of current polling might unintentionally save a lot of lives.

i guess what i'm saying is, if two weeks pass with no dirty bomb massacre, i'll be able to relax a little. unless the republicans win, in which case i will be chewing on wires, for many reasons. but my concerns about this, specifically, will lessen.

[alfrottos]

Oh shoot, did somebody blow off the dust of his 6 year old Tumblr? Hello, hello all who stumble upon this. Felt like if I was going to come back I had to toss my old avatar and create a new one in honour. So much has happen between then and now it’s crazy. I think I left around early 2018, we all know how the next few years went. Next thing you know I graduate my 4 years of art school with an Advanced diploma in fine arts. So far, hasn’t done much for me lol. But we keep on treading and making that oh-so lovely artworks. Most of my work has been on Instagram and Reddit so if you want a peak on what I’ve been up to, those two are your best bet.

I also got a nifty little website alfrottos.art :)

What I kind of want for my Tumblr to be my stress free area in the web. A place where I can show off my projects or stories within my life.

I sort of forget how this site works, but hopefully I meet some fellow artist here again and enjoy this new era of the Alfrottos Tumblr page. Have a good day!

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 9: Home for the Summer

Fandom: Gargoyles (but *very* much Gargoyles-adjacent; I can writer for the Manhattan Clan, but this is just Elisa and Beth).

Rating: G

Summary:  Beth is back for summer break and notices some...changes around Elisa's apartment.

“Ah!” Beth flopped down onto Elisa’s couch with a sigh, stretching her arms luxuriously, taking care to mind the lamp on a nearby side table. “Now *this* is *the life!*”

Elisa arced a brow in the direction of her den from were she was mixing Country Time into two glasses. “I’d hardly call my apartment the lap of luxury.”

“Sis.” Beth craned her neck back over the arm to shoot Elisa an upside-down look. “Trust me: after two straight semesters in a dorm- with, need i remind you, a communal bathroom,- this *is* luxury.”

“The ACs busted.”

“Eh,” Beth rolled onto her stomach and propped her elbows on the arm, grinnng archly as she tapped her temple. “It’s all about perspective.” Because really, the stuffiness of her sisters apartment, in her mind, was a fair trade off for the privacy her accommodations afforded.

“What *are* they filling your head with in that school?” Elisa chuckled, rolling her eyes good-naturedly as she turned to replace the pitcher of ice water back in the fridge.

“How to identify rhetorical questions.”

Elisa laughed again as she turned back around to Beth sticking her tongue out at her like they were kids again and arguing over cereal box prizes. “And yet,” she handed her a glass as Beth sat properly so Elisa could take the seat next to her. “You still felt compelled to answer.”

“And let you think you got the best of me?” Beth clinked their glasses together in a smug toast. “Not a chance, sis.”

Elisa shook her head but apparently decided it was too damn stifling for more retorts and eschewed any snappy response in favor of taking a long swallow of her drink. Beth sat back against the cushions as a comfortable silence lapsed, letting the condensation on the glass cool her hands before draining it, placidly roving her gaze across the apartment.

A fond smile curved across her lips as she took in the home-Inness of it all, everything just as she remembered: television there, family photo here, pile of half-finished books on the coffee table (the same ones from her Christmas break, she noted with a smirk; guess she’d be collecting on that bet), diploma from the police academy displayed in pride of place on the wall (she really was just like dad in that way); right down to the dusting of cat hairs tenaciously clinging to the cushions, it stayed true to the mental snapshot she took the last time she was here months ago.

It was nice, for a reason she couldn’t quite explain, to know that in this city, this *world,* where winds and tides and trends and headlines shifted by the second, that there was at least one little corner that stayed the same, untouched by time. Comforting, like the old musty rose scent of Nana’s potpourri that permeated Polaroid memories of Christmases and Thanksgivings.

Except...

Beth frowned, gaze narrowing as she swept it across the space again, this time with a more discriminating light

Living across the country for the better part of a year sharpened one’s powers of observation as far as those places and people of personally sacred went. Minute alterations and discrepancies that are rendered invisible to those who observe them on a daily or weekly or monthly basis become glaring to the infrequent vistor’s eyes, and Beth was no exception (besides, Elisa may be the detective in the family, but she had a pretty good eye if she did say so herself).

Taking in the room over the rim of her glass, her brows knotted with each noted change, not because they existed (after all, it’d be weird if there were *none*), but because they were...strange. Yeah, strange was a good word. Strange, and very un-Elisa.

Her window was shut, but unlocked. Dad would blow a gasket, especially considering all the enemies she’d made on her years on the force and had already been shot once.

There were rented video castles stacked next to her TV. Which wasn’t unusual in and of itself, but the titles...those that wern’t gangster flicks were film noir, Sam Spade up the river and back; Elisa had never liked those, even when they were kids with a rudimentary sense of taste, and she only watched them when her and Derek begged.

The remote was scratched, but not in the usual way. Gashes, jagged and clumsy, ran along the plastic, peeling pain of the cheap silicone buttons. They were oddly similar to the larger, growling ones gouged into the carpet. Both were far too big to have come from Cagney, and any responsible creature she tried to picture always trended towards the impossible.

There was a scent, faint, but distinctly there, of stone. Not the red industriousness of the exposed brick lining her walls, but an older kind, sun-warmed and ancient, that reminded her, oddly, of the Cloisters.

And...she looked to her side. And Elisa was changed. Tired. Not in the usual night-cop way, but like there was something weighing on her, far more heavily than the crimes and injustices that filled her shifts. Something that lived in a corner of her mind, never far from the fore, that had her always on guard and metaphorically looking over her shoulder. Fearful, almost, but not of something; for.

Beth studied her as she stifled a yawn behind her hand, frowning at the lines around her eyes that weren’t there on her last visit, thinking over her options.

Elisa valued her privacy and the secrets filled it, she knew (dad was the same way; must be a night-cop thing). Asking straightaway, she had long ago learned, never ended well. She’d have to be tactful...

“Elisa?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re sisters, right?”

Some of the lines receded. ‘Last time I checked.”

Beth nodded slowly, carefully. “And...you know you can tell me anything, right?”

For a brief moment, she saw it, an unreadable something from that guarded corner flashing her face, a cross between guilt and anxiety and uncertainty. But it only lasted a moment, because now Elisa was grinning at her again in her old, teasing way. “Except what I’m getting mom and dad for their anniversary, yes.”

In spite of the worry in her gut, Beth felt a like smile break across her face. “That was *one* time!”

“Three, Beth. I’m not dumb enough to falling for *that* again.”

“Oh!”

“Careful!” Elisa laughed as Beth grabbed a throw pillow, swung, and *just* missed, shielding herself with an arm. “I’ll write you up for assault and battery!”

“Not a crime if you deserve it!” Beth laughed as she bypassed the arm to whack the pillow across Elisa’s ribs. “Especially since you really should have learned after the second time.”

“I was ten! That’s a low blow!” Elisa grabbedher own pillow in the name of self defense, laughing widely as the old girlhood game reigned in the apartment.

The changes were allowed to lay forgotten.

Because, Beth decided, if something was wrong, or there was someone new in her life (a carpet-gouging Batman wannabe who had an appetite for Sam Spade, for instance), Elisa would say. She was confident in this eventuality as she waited on the building’s steps for her sister to finish taking a call from the station that had come in as they were about to leave. They were sisters, after all, and on the best of terms; Elisa wouldn’t keep anything from her.

Right?

Right. If something was truly amiss, she’d say.

A discarded tabloid blew against Beth’s shoe, and she bent to pick it up, intending to chuck it in the garbage where it belonged, but a grainy, blurry photo caught her eye.

“Heh,” she chuckled, holding it out to Elisa for inspection as she *finally* exited th building. “Check this out.” She tapped a finger against the clock tower that towered above the station, indicating the dark blob barely visible agains tthe night sky and circled in attention grabbing yellow, an arrow flowing from it to the shouted headline: “MONSTERS IN GOTHAM?!?”

“Some yahoo thinks there’s *actual monsters* living in the clock tower. Nuts, right?”

“Yeah, nuts.” Elisa’s brow creased as looked again, then shook her head. “Absolutely nuts.”

But then, Beth couldn’t help but wonder as she slid into the passenger seat and clicked her belt in place. Why did she fold it and tuck it in her pocket?

And why did the something flash again?

[cheetos-and-chopsticks]

*nods* i do. i wanna be your girlfriend. but eddie… *bites lip* i don’t know how long i’ll be here. maybe i’ll be here until graduation, or maybe we’ll leave tomorrow. i… i don’t want to lead you on. - 💎

*nods slowly* We could write. And call. And I’m blowing the dust of this crummy town off the second I snatch my diploma out of Principal Wiggins’ hands, so I could…come and…find you. *blushes*

- Eddie

[nelapanela94]

tw: SMUT, modern!AU, Reader and Levi are both seniors in HS, Oral Sex, m!receiving, Virgin Levi, kind of subby Levi, friends to lovers.

wc: ~ 3.6k

"Don't forget to put my name on it, Levi." You rolled on your back, scrolling down on Instagram, waiting for certain someone to reply to your last message.

"I left you out." Levi bluntly said, pushing down the lid of his laptop, and turned around on his chair.

You sat up, glaring at him. "I did my part!" You narrowed the eyes, blowing out your cheeks.

"The introduction and the references." He rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest.

"Well, then give them back!"

"You owe me a big one, Y/N."

You blew a kiss and threw a smile at him. "I knew you wouldn't let me die. I'll add your name to my diploma."

"Now get off my bed. You're messing it up."

"We can mess it up together." You winked, twirling a lock of hair on your finger.

A huff roamed out of his mouth as he turned around again, delving into the drawer of his desk.

Growling, you rolled onto your tummy and reached out for a pillow, crushing it under your chest. Levi's room didn't seem to belong to an eighteen-year-old. It was neat, not a single speck of dust left in sight. The grayish blue walls added a sober touch, all his books were perfectly organized by size and author, and Maria, Rose and Sina, the three succulents you had given him for his birthday, adorned the shelf where the books to be read were lined up. In all the years you had been visiting him, you had never found clothes scattered around, unlike yours, where it was difficult to discern the wooden floor under half-dirty hoodies and pants. That's why you always met in his room; Levi couldn't bear to set foot in yours.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and a smile tugged on your lips when you read the name in the notifications. But your excitement soon faltered, and you tossed your phone across the bed.

"Zeke is an asshole, a mother fucking asshole." You groaned, sinking your face into the pillow, inhaling deeply that familiar sandalwood scent.

"We finally agree on something," he nonchalantly said, grabbing a book from the drawer and opened it to the page where he had left the mark, before swiveling around to face you again.

You flipped on your back again, your hair sprawled, and your limbs splayed out—arms above your head and feet spread white. "I can't believe he prefers playing baseball with his friends rather that going out with me," you huffed.

"I thought you'd ditched him." Levi pursed his lips. His eyes lingered along your legs and a ticklish sensation seized his cheeks. He cleared his throat and quickly buried himself in the book, but he could not stop stealing glances out of the corner of his eye.

He was sick of your drama. You called him weeping and babbling late at night to vent out all the shit anguish he made you go through, yet you jumped back into his arms when he sent you a cute 'I'm sorry' sticker.

Each time, he swore it'd be the last time he'd answer those calls, though he couldn't help himself, and ended up sweeping the green button on the screen.

A knot tightened in his belly whenever the image of beardy laying his filthy hands on you meandered in his head.

You and Levi had met in kindergarten when you invited him to join your tea party with imaginary drinks and plastic biscuits. You smiled at him and he dragged a chair out, sitting next to your teddy bear, Mr. Butter. "Wear this." Your eyes sparked as you handed him the bowtie. His eyes darted around the table. He reached out for a cup and examined it carefully, then frowned at you. "You have to clean your toys better," he said, wiping it with a handkerchief he drew out from his pocket.

Why kind of five-year-old does that? Levi was an outcast. Other kids feared him and he didn't even try to get along with them. He spent his breaks and lunchtime on his own, reading one of those books with huge letters and colorful drawings.

Suddenly, everything changed when the girl with uneven pigtails asked him to play at the tea table, and ended up spending the break with her and her plush friends.

About a month later, a bully stuck chewing gum in your hair and Levi stood by you, breaking the boy's nose. He didn't mind getting suspended. Levi was your hero, and ever since then, you'd become best friends.

"When is your uncle coming over?"

Levi eyed you and shrugged.

"He's a really cool guy. I enjoy listening to the stories of when you were a kid."

His brows twitched in slight annoyance.

"He showed me a picture of you wearing a bunny costume. Next time, I'll ask if I can keep it."

Levi would make sure to find it and burn it before you laid a hand on it.

You got off the bed and grabbed a cookie from a tray on Levi's nightstand. "Your mom makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world." You sniffed it and munched on it, wiping your hands with the hem of your skirt before getting back into the bed. Leaving crumbs in his sheets would be a death sentence.

"Why are you so quiet today, Levi?"

"I'm just trying to read."

"You're no fun. With that attitude and that cranky face, I'm sure you'll die a virgin." You taunted.

He glared at you; his jaw clenched tight.

"No way! Don't tell me you're still a virgin." You sat up, looking at him with wide eyes, gaping, then you flumped back onto the sheets.

Levi was ill-mannered and unapproachable, yet he was popular among girls in school. He even dated Petra Ral for a while. Miss. Perfect Grades was no saint of your devotion, and you were relief when they broke up. Levi was reserved on certain topics, thus you never asked; you just assumed.

The skein of jealousy vines untangled.

"Aren't you?"

You bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head, averting the eyes. Levi felt a pang in his chest, as if someone was twisting and squeezing his heart. He hadn't made up his mind yet, but given that obnoxious reaction, he knew that his feelings for you transcended those of friendship.

"Was it…" He gulped.

"No!" The truth wasn't any better, though. "It was some random guy I met at a party." You fiddled with your bracelet. "To be honest, I regret it. He came in seconds and fell asleep. I felt nothing but pain." You made a paused and opened your mouth to continue, but clamped it shut, leaving out the part when you got home and cried all night. Even though you took two showers, the stench of alcohol from his breath didn't wash off. It was a scene you didn't want to reenact in your head.

Levi glanced to the window, nibbling on his lower lip. He didn't want to see you, nor hear anymore.

"I've never slept with him."

An air of relief swaddled him.

"Aren't you curious?" You turned your head to the side towards where he was sitting.

"Curious of what?" He didn't look back at you.

"Sex."

Only with you. "No."

"Don't you want to try?"

Levi slouched in his chair, the book resting open on his lap, and threw an arm over his face, trying to think of something else but you naked on his bed. He felt his cheeks burning, and blood rushing down, his growing erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.

"I'd like to do it with you." You pursed your lips, tapping your fingers on your sternum, staring at the ceiling as you waited for an answer, too embarrassed to look at him.

"Fuck, Y/N." Levi let out an exasperated sigh. "You'd the only girl I'd do it with," he mumbled.

You sat up, glancing with eyes round like plates. Your jaw dropped and your cheeks tingled. Was it some kind of confession? You had a hard crush on him all middle school, but he was too dense. He didn't catch the hints, or pretended not to, and you eventually grew tired of trying and gave up, settling on just being friends. Cupid failed you, thus you wanted to thwart any possibility. That's why you ended up in someone else's bed, thinking of Levi, wishing it was him; at least he would've tried to make you feel good.

"Look at me and say that again," you demanded.

He didn't say a word, and ran his fingers through his silky hair. His lips were quivering, his cheeks flustered.

You leaped out of bed and rushed in front of him, clasping the armrest of his chair so tight your knuckles blanched. Levi startled; a bead of cold sweat trickled down his back. He was stronger, yet he did nothing to push you off.

"Say it!" Your brows knitted, and your jaw tightened, but he clamped his mouth shut. Your eyes darted from his eyes to his lips, to his eyes again.

Levi didn't see it coming. You leaned forward, planted a peck on his lips, and withdrew right away. Levi blinked twice, completely abashed. His cheeks blushed, his heart beating fast.

"You really are an idiot." You pulled him towards you by the collar of his shirt, smacking your lips on his. Levi's eyes went wide, then closed as he gave in to the kiss, and didn't notice the book slipping off his lap, plummeting to the floor.

His fumbling arms draped around your waist. Levi tasted like mint, and you never expected his lips to be so tender. He gasped at your bite, and you shoved your tongue in his mouth, swirling and fighting with his in an insatiable battle.

You pulled back deliberately, and Levi blindly leaned forward, asking for more. He glanced at you through the haze, like a fool addicted to you.

He looked beautiful, all flustered, his flushed cheeks and rosy, dewy lips stood out against his pallor.

With just a kiss, Levi surrendered to your game and allowed the assail. You took his shirt off and your lascivious eyes wandered over his chest and abs, nibbling on your lips as you relished in the bewitching sight. "Holy fuck!"

"You're objectifying me," he huffed, but his grimaced was soon replaced by a smirk. Your mouth crashed on his again and his body's will lost to you.

His mind clouded as your wet kisses scorched his skin, leaving a trail of your sweet saliva on his jawline, neck, and collarbones. He gripped the armchair, air brushing past his parted lips as you continued your way down his chest and abdomen, his taut muscles squirming under your caresses.

You kneeled down between his legs, pulling away, and unzipped his pants, sneaking a hand under his boxers.

"Fuck!" Levi yelped when he felt your fingers wrapped around his hardened length.

"Let me suck your dick." You lifted your chin, staring at his half-lidded eyes. Who said you weren't romantic?

Levi nodded, rising his hips, and you pulled down his pants along with his underwear, slipping them off his legs.

A thin line of dark hair, marched down, down, down from under his belly button to where his pretty dick stood thick and proud. Your pussy was dripping, aching to have him inside, stuffing you to the brim.

You raked your fingers down his hard thighs, keeping his legs spread, and without breaking eye contact, you leaned closer, pressing your lips to the base of his length. Levi flinched.

Shit.

Levi thought he'd come by just looking at you. You grinned and pampered his inner thighs, tracing a ticklish path of kisses and soft nibbles over his soft skin.

You dragged your mouth back to his cock, flicking out your tongue, and a gasp dragged out all the air from his lungs, as you swept it along the throbbing vein underneath his shaft, from the base all the way to the top and planted a suckling kiss on the head. Levi's legs tensed, his toes curled, and the skin stretched across his lower abs as you swirled your tongue on the glistening tip.

"Shit!" He grunted.

You curled your fingers, gripping his length, stroking up and down, and took him into your mouth. Levi hissed and sank into his chair. Color drained from his knuckles. His head tilted backwards, and his eyes squeezed shut.

You sucked furiously, hollowing your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down, slurping his length as far as you could. Levi was mesmerized by how skillful you were in this art. His dick slipped deep in your mouth, and you remained still, gagging as the tip tickled your throat. Grunts and moans past Levi's parted lips, filling the room with his sweet sounds.

His cock slid off your lips with a popping sound. "You feel good?"

"Mm-hmm."

You pumped his shaft in your hand few times before wrapping your lips around the tip, taking all of him again and swirling your tongue all over. You hummed, sending ripples of pleasure through his belly, down to his legs. Levi was about to explode.

"Holy... Fuck!" He dug his fingers in your hair, slamming your head down, until your chin met his balls, and eased your head back to the tip, repeating it all over and over again, until his cock twitched in your mouth. His muscles clenched, and his teeth gritted and with a lewd, loud grunt, he spilled all his load deep into your throat.

You stood up, and kissed him, then pulled away, dragging your lips to his ear. "Get on the bed," you whispered, and walked towards the hanger, rummaging through your bag and fetched a foil sachet. Crawling into the bed, you sat next to him and tore the condom wrapper with your teeth.

His sweaty chest was heaving up and down as he struggled to catch his breath, rubbing his palms down his face. He lowered his head and spotted the bead of cum dripping from the corner of your mouth.

He wanted to carved that image in his head.

"Are you always ready?" asked, his sultry voice gushed down from your ears to your belly. Something in his husky voice made you drip hard for him.

"I always take precautions."

"Good."

You held his engorged length in one hand and placed the condom on the pinkish tip, then lowered your mouth, using your lips to roll the condom down over his shaft. His fingers sank into the quilt as a soft moan escaped from him.

"I want to see you naked."

You tossed your shirt away. The chilly air nipped your perky nipples that were soon warmed with Levi's strokes. He took one bud in his mouth, then seized the other.

"Last I recall, you were as flat as a wood plank."

"Fucking asshole, I still can leave you hanging." You punched him on the shoulder. "Last time I saw you fully naked, when we played in the rain, your balls hadn't descended yet, and..." you curled your pinky finger repeatedly at the level of his eyes.

"Shut up." He hurled your hand and kissed you.

"Levi." You rubbed your nose on his cheek. "Today is all about you. I want to make you feel good."

You jumped off the bed and got rid of your skirt, then your panties, throwing them at his face. Levi grabbed them, bringing the piece of clothing to his nose and took a deep breath, without taking his eyes off of you. The sweet smell of your arousal made him ravenous and had him longing for your pussy. "I want to taste you"

"Next time,"

"Next time?" his brows shot up.

“I mean…” You averted the eyes, scratching the side of your head, cursing inwardly at your yourself.

Levi shook his head, a small smiled flashing across his lips as he offered a hand. You took it. Levi pulled, and you scrambled forwards onto the bed.

You swung a leg over his lap and straddled him. His latex-clad dick glided back and forth along your slick cleft, both relishing in the delightful friction. Your arms draped behind his neck as his hands braced the soft flesh on your hips.

You felt one hand striding down your back. Levi gripped your ass and urged you up. You held his gaze and nodded before lifting your hips, and sank down on him leisurely. In one heavenly slide, Levi's manhood began to disappear within you.

"fu—"

"Sh—"

You groaned in unison; his body trembled as he reveled in the warmth grip that swaddled him. A gasp fell from you at the blissful sensation pulsing through you as your walls stretched to take him all. You went still, swathing in the moment.

You were so tight; Levi wasn't sure if he would last long.

“Fucking hell, you feel so good, Y/N.” His voice was raspy, scraping your ears like sandpaper. He grazed your lips, his hands roaming all over your back. Levi fit perfectly inside you, as if your bodies had been molded for each other. You moved your hips up and down slow, your fluttering walls stroking him tightly, inducing a delightful and intense friction. The tip of his cock nudged the right place, setting your core ablaze with every movement.

Your moans and gasps entangled in a mellifluous melody, and Oh God! You sounded lovely together.

"You… filling me s… good.” Your voice came out so squeaky you couldn't recognize it. You nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck, picking up the pace.

You rode him hard that your hips slammed against him, moans and the nasty meshing sound filled his room. Levi was becoming addicted to the new sensations your body evoked on his: your skin searing his, your beautiful sounds melting his ears, the taste of your juicy lips and your scent consuming his lungs.

"Look at me… I want to see your face when—"

You seized his lips in a hungry sloppy kiss, as if your purpose was to rip his lips apart. Your teeth knocked, but neither of you minded. His hands on your hips squeezed and helped you keep that intense pace that was catapulting you to the pinnacle of pleasure. Your head lolled backwards, your mouth parted, your hair stuck on the glistening skin of your forehead, shoulders and back. In Levi's eyes, you looked divine, painfully sexy.

“What the—” A gasp choked him as he tilted his head backwards, your walls clenching around him desperately, forecasting your imminent peak, sucking him tighter. All his muscles flexed, his collarbones peeping out as if his bones were to break his skin. He was breathing hard, air seeping out his bruised lips.

Levi was close, too. His cock twitched inside you, and he felt his lower limbs strained, the hard-muscle lines peeking on his thighs. He hissed, gritting his teeth, as the fireball within him was about to detonate.

You dug your nails on his shoulders, air being dragged out of your lungs. You were so full of him; your entire body was throbbing in ecstasy. “Levi!” you cried as the waves of pleasure rippled from your core to the rest of your trembling body. Levi thrust his hips upwards, the base of his cock rubbed against your engorged, sensitive clit, stealing a gasp from you, and let out a growl that seemed to be torn somewhere deep in his chest.

You collapsed on him, your forehead pressed on his as your both struggled to regain your breaths. Levi eyed your through the fogginess that clouded his gaze, and the corners of his lips quirked up, before planting a soft kiss on the side of your mouth.

You stared at each other, giggling idiotically as you raked your fingers through his hair, sweeping the messy locks off his face, and Levi twirled a lock of your hair around his finger.

You both startled, turning your heads towards your desperate buzzing phone on his bed. Levi looked down, pursing his lips into a thin line. You pulled out, reaching out for it, but you didn't reply. As soon as you read his name you rolled the eyes and set your phone in Do Not Disturb mode, before putting it on the nightstand.

"There's a new episode of Vanitas no Carte" You turned around, meeting a baffled Levi. Your shrugged, and your mouth curved into a smile. "Screw Zeke, I have something better to do now." Levi shook his head and let out a snort, then cast a smile at you.

"Let's get a shower first," he said, getting off the bed, and took the condom off, tying the open rim into a knot before throwing it to the bin.

"What will your mom think if she sees us with wet hair?" You followed him to the bathroom.

"I'll make sure is completely dry before dinner."

Neither of you dared to talk about what just had happened.

You were afraid to know if any of it had changed your relationship, if you were still friends or if he was willing to become something else. Even though you've known Levi for a lifetime, it was hard to read him, to delve into his head. You feared his answer might break your heart; thus, you remained silent. You thought you had gotten over him, but those buried feelings were scraping back to the surface.

No. You dug the hole in the ground but you could never lift the shovel to cover it up.

[gohyuck]

part 1 is out now! here

pairing: greaser!jeno lee x rich!reader; ft. brother!johnny

genre: greaser!au; runaways!au; criminal!au; angst/fluff/smut

word count: 2k

warnings: none

a/n: this is just a prologue (but you should still read it 😉) and it provides some context for the events of the main story... part of the criminal collaboration by @neovisioned

let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

April 13th, 1956

There’s a couple of lilies in a transparent vase, half filled up (half emptied out? you ponder this in an attempt to keep your mind off of what is right in front of you) with water that likely hasn’t been changed since before the weekend. Jojo, the class pet, runs on his wheel, keeping a surprisingly steady pace for a hamster. He pays no mind to his surroundings. What it must be like - to be completely and utterly unperturbed and unaffected by those around him. Maybe you’ll be reborn as a hamster in your next life. A quick glance (your fourth in maybe three minutes) around the tense room at the rest of your classmates and at the teacher leaves you hoping.

The clock’s ticking is louder than usual - though that may just be your mind playing tricks on you - and the room seems to be holding its breath as a singular entity rather than a whole composed of twenty-three individuals (one of whom is the teacher himself), or parts, within it. The whole situation is like a suspenseful movie scene - you know something big is going to happen, and soon - it’s just that none of you have any idea of what it’ll actually be. All eyes are focused on one person - a person who’s up on his feet with a previously pristine stationary-based letter crumpled between his fingers and who is staring holes through the teacher up front, who just so happens to be the sorry individual who had handed him said letter. The teacher, a man whose knuckles have more hair than his head, is trying his best to stare back. He can’t quite match the student’s gaze.

You glance down at your desk at the wrong moment. Before you can even register that anyone has moved, the distinct sound of a textbook hitting the floor startles you. A chair follows it. Before you can look up, the classroom door shuts with a resounding bang. The crumpled up letter is on the floor by the door. Mr. Simmons, in all his balding, middle-aged, beginnings-of-a-beer-belly glory, stands in front of the chalkboard, mouth open in a comically wide look of shock. 

After what has to be more than just mere minutes, your English teacher decides that the lesson must go on, and in the midst of telling the class (now with twenty one students and one teacher) more about Shakespeare’s specific usage of language in The Taming of The Shrew, he subconsciously wipes his chalky hands on the front of his pressed khakis. You wince. That’ll be hell to wash. A girl behind you snickers behind her hand to the boy beside her that it looks like Simmons does cocaine. Somebody wonders aloud, though in a quiet enough whisper that Simmons himself can’t hear, who would sell a man like your English teacher coke. 

A smart-mouthed class-clown type in the back heaves a cough that sounds oddly like “Jeno Lee”. laughter ripples through twenty seniors. you don’t join in.

Jeno Lee. 

You hadn’t even caught sight of his scuffed black Chuck Taylors or the back of his hand-me-down leather jacket when he’d stormed from the room. There was no glint of his pocketknife, either. You’ve come to see all three as hallmarks of his persona. 

There’s a lingering smell of smoke in the air, though. His seat, after all, is only two over from yours to your right, and you’ve always been unlucky with inhaling his secondhand smoke. Rumor has it that he smokes two packs a day. 

Somehow you doubt that, though. 

Maybe you’re naive, but, after all, nobody with a smile like that can plow through 40 cigarettes in 24 hours.

♕ ♕ ♕

April 16, 1956

That's the last class you ever have with jeno. His desk is noticeably empty the next day, and the next, and the next after that until your teacher finally - though with an air of relief you find at least mildly despicable - lets his remaining students know that Jeno will no longer be attending your high school, or any high school at all. You don’t pretend to understand - there’s only about four weeks left until you’re all set to graduate, anyways - but you also don’t pretend to be surprised. 

The recycling bin hasn’t been emptied for days. In what’s far from your proudest moment, you stay after class - waiting until Simmons himself walks out to check on what sounds like a hallway fight between two boys - to dig through it, trying to hide your triumphant smile from your own self when you find the crumpled paper Jeno had discarded on his last day here. It had very obviously made him angry, angry enough to drop out, and the wonder of what might be in it is killing you.

After all, he’d been good eye-candy in class, at the very least. You kind of miss him being there, even if you’re the only one who does. You squint, trying to make out what the ink on the paper says. 

It’s a letter - specifically it’s a letter from the Neo Institute of Technology, easily one of the most difficult universities to get into in your state. Your fingers twitch as you battle internally over whether to open it or not - rejection is hard to deal with, even if it isn’t your own. Your school sends hardly two or three people to NeoTech per year, and there’s no way someone like Jeno could’ve gotten in. Eventually, your curiosity wins over, though not before Simmons walks back into the room and you find yourself telling him that you’d tripped and fallen near the recycling, all while hiding Jeno’s letter behind your back. 

♕ ♕ ♕

Your brother, home from college for the weekend, is lying languidly across the couch, hand in a bag of chips when you walk in through the front door. You aren’t surprised - you’d seen his prized red Chevy Bel Air convertible parked out front when you’d stopped to pick up the mail. You realize fairly quickly that he’s the only one home - your mother must be at a book club meeting, and your father is still at his 9 to 5. it’s just you and the devil himself. 

Johnny raises one chip-dust covered hand in greeting before turning back to whatever old western rerun is playing on the TV. For your part, you pay him no mind, dropping the mail - some bills, a... magazine, a reminder card from the dentist - on the kitchen counter while shouldering your backpack to keep it from falling. 

“Hey, John?” You finally call, already halfway up the stairs. 

He grunts in response, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You consider not telling him for a moment, but then realize that you really don’t want to witness the screaming match your parents will have with him if they get to it before your brother does. 

It, of course, being his not-so-guilty pleasure. 

“This month’s Playboy came in. it’s on the counter.” You finally say, though not before throwing him as disgusted a look as you can muster once you see the way your brother perks up immediately. Pig. He drops the chip bag onto the coffee table, scattering bits and pieces of food across it. You don’t hold out hope for him to clean it up. You also don’t wait around to watch him grab his magazine, instead making your way up the stairs and into your room, finally free to be truly alone for the first time all day. 

You shut the door, making sure it’s locked properly, before dropping your backpack on the floor and jumping backwards, bouncing once, onto your bed. The letter’s been in your hand since you’d found it, and you can’t help but feel mildly excited - and also, of course, just a little bad - as you smooth it out in your lap against your plaid skirt. Slowly, very slowly, you pull it open, bracing yourself for what you know you’ll see. 

Dear Mr. Jeno Lee,

Once again, on the behalf of the admissions board at NeoTech, I extend a hearty congratulations to you for being accepted as a member of the class of 1961. The School of Engineering looks forward to witnessing your growth over the next four years, and we know that, upon your graduation, you will make us proud as an alumnus. However-

You pause in your reading, blinking rapidly in mild disbelief. Jeno - Jeno Lee, known for being a greaser and a hooligan, a threat and a terror - had gotten into NeoTech? The realization shakes you, causing you to blow air out through your lips before you continue reading. 

However, we find that we will have to rescind your full scholarship. I understand that you may find it difficult to pay tuition, but there just seems to be nothing we can do: we request a disciplinary record for each student, and yours is riddled with fights and altercations with both students and teachers, especially one Mr. Richard Simmons. Typically, this would be grounds for rescission, but considering how stellar your grades and essays are, we will allow you a probationary semester. 

You will still have to pay your tuition in its entirety. The first semester payment of $1,200 is due by Friday, April 20, 1956. If you cannot pay it, I’m afraid that we will be unable to take you on for the fall semester. 

Best regards and congratulations once again,

Sooman Lee, Neo Institute of Technology President and Board Chairman

Although you’re still surprised at him having gotten in - internalized prejudice, your brain whispers to you, and you hate that it’s right - your heart twists as you read the letter over and over again. $1,200 is steep for a college, and you know that there’s no way in hell Jeno can ever fork that up. Of course, you realize, heaving a heavy, heavy sigh as you do, he no longer can guarantee getting a high school diploma anyways. His rescission from NeoTech must be on its way to his mailbox already. 

Before you can think too deeply into Jeno Lee and his now-precarious future, a loud knock interrupts you, causing you to swiftly slide the letter underneath your bed. You never know if Johnny’s going to try and pick the lock on your bedroom door or not, though you’re glad to see that he stops short of doing so this time. 

“What?” You ask, your tone as annoyed as possible. 

“Don’t ‘what?’ me, shithead,” Your brother responds, throwing your tone of voice right back at you. “Mom’s back, wants your help with dinner.”

“Why can’t you help for once, you ass?” You snark, sliding off of your bed regardless. The door swings open just as you unlock it, revealing your brother smirking down at you in a way that makes you want to right hook him directly in the face. 

“Men aren’t made for the kitchen.” Is all he says, stepping back so you can get out. Before you can reprimand him, threatening to kick his patronizing and patriarchal ass, Johnny disappears into his own bedroom, slamming the door shut. 

“(Name)?” Your mother calls, sounding displeased at having to wait for you. You groan, pulling your own bedroom door shut before bounding down the stairs. As rock-and-roll music starts pouring out of Johnny’s room, no doubt courtesy of the radio he’d gotten as a high school graduation gift, and as your mother thrusts a rolling pin into your hands while grumbling about not raising you right, all thoughts of Jeno are pushed out of your mind. 

Dust starts to settle on the letter beneath your bed. 

It’s no matter, though: though you believe it might very well be the last thing connecting you to the Jeno Lee, fate has other plans for you. Soon enough, the surface level image of who Jeno is will no longer exist to you, replaced by your own truer perceptions. 

Of course, there’s a series of things that have to happen before that.  

It all goes to shit on May 25th, 1957. 

[staticscreenwriting]

California Summer - B.H. Smut [one]

Synopsis: Kings Cove California is Billy Hargrove’s hometown. It’s also a popular summer vacation destination for rich couples and their spoiled kids. (Y/N) is one of those rich girls. Proper, sweet, innocent. Only that all bores her to death and Billy is just the adventure she’s been looking for. It’s all fun and games. A summer fling. Not strings attached. Right? 

Inspired by the songs “dreaming of you” and “Kiss it off me” by Cigarettes After Sex.

 A/N: This is smut, babes. Filthy. I will sit in the shame cube after I post it. Please if that is not fore you, don’t read it. Also do not interact if you’re under 18, that’s just not cool. Kay, thanks ♥

Might fuck around and make this a series.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

There’s something about California summers, Billy thinks, thank makes them special. They’re hot and sticky and messy but they’re also exciting and exhilarating. The world seems to be dusted in a perpetual golden glow and days seem endless and full of possibility.

Maybe that sentiment is what brings all the tourists to the little coastal town of Kings Cove, California. A town caught between the undeniable charm of an old sleepy coastal town and the ever-expanding demand for tourist-friendly beach houses in gated communities where rich people can relish in the charm the town brings and then piss off once their vacation days are over.

Billy was born here, raised here until he was 17 and shipped off to forge his path in shitville Indiana. He was miserable then, but a shadow of himself. Angry and sad and overwhelmed by emotions he never learned to properly deal with. Singers and artists always seem to find something poetic about being young and angry and lost. Truth is: there’s nothing poetic about it, nothing romantic or desirable. It’s hard and it kills you slowly. Starting with your heart and then taking over every part of you, slowly but surely.

Soon as he turned 18 and was handed his High School diploma, Billy packed all his belongings into the Camaro and was off. The drive back to California, back home, it felt cleansing. Like a rebirth. A return to life at his own terms.

He got out. He survived. This, Billy is sure, he would always pride himself with no matter how trivial it may seem to anyone else. He got out. Not completely whole. Severely bruised. He got out with a heart so scared he’s sceptical it will ever fully heal. But he got out.

Though coming home didn’t come without its hardships and obstacles. There was nothing waiting for him here but a bunch of questions and an uncertain future. Finding a job, a place to stay, a point from which to start — it was hard. It still is hard. But he’s trying his best.

Kings Cove has a handful of restaurants, some convenience stores, a gym, a few bars, a drive-in, a normal cinema and a bowling alley. It’s really nothing spectacular and yet it seems there’s more and more tourist making it their temporary home in the months between May and September. It started about 5 years ago, that the town started changing with the increase in tourism. They bulldozed the playground Billy always played at, the one closest to the beach and built a bunch of fancy-ass houses and condos and a fucking Starbucks. It pains him to see it. To watch the town he loves so much, the one that holds so much charm, turn into a sandbox for rich people to shape and turn and make it something it isn’t. Something empty and lifeless.

The good thing about those tourists though, is that they are really really rich. Absolutely filthy rich. The kind of rich where they don’t know what to do with their money so you can charge them insane prices for ordinary things.

And that’s what the locals have started doing. A scoop of ice cream used to be 30ct, now it’s a dollar. You gotta bend with the world. You gotta adapt. Surviving means changing even if it sucks ass.

When he first arrived back, Billy had no idea how to navigate this place with all its changes. He felt so god damn out of place in his own home. That’s until he reconnected with Johnny, an old friend from middle school. A kid who grew up in a home filled with anger and sadness just as Billy did. Someone who understood. Someone who understands.

Johnny had it all figured out, adapted and changed. Got Billy a job at the maintenance business he works at. Fixing rain gutters and mowing lawns and cleaning driftwood off the sections of private beach belonging to the beach houses. It’s not the greatest job in the world but it’s alright and it pays good money and sometimes Billy even gets to hang out at the houses when the rich people are out taking surf lessons or doing a wine tasting a town over or try their luck on a god damn banana boat.

Kings Cove is small and the locals know each other. They’re a community tightly bonded through their shared disdain for the change their beloved town went through and the knowledge that though they can’t change anything, they can at least make the vacationers pay big money for everything.

It’s his second summer now and most of the families whose houses he tends to he’s already familiar with. You don’t forget the people who tip you 50 bucks each time. On Mondays, Billy cares for the Millers’ backyard. On Wednesday he makes sure the Callaghans’ pool is clean and still stinks of way too much chlorine. On Thursdays, it’s the Franklins’ estate that needs tending to. And weekends? Those are off.

Weekends mean he gets to enjoy the California summer himself. He goes out to the beach just after sunrise, to catch a few waves or just hang out in the ocean and let it wash away the stress resting on his shoulders from a whole week of hard work. Later, much later, when the sun is about to set, the real fun begins. There’s a bonfire almost every week. No one is ever quite sure who starts it and no official invitations are ever spoken though everyone knows and sure enough, every Saturday a crowd of young people gather by the driftwood pile and hang out and drink and dance as the bonfire crackles on.

It’s not just locals either. There’s always a few stray tourists there. Billy isn’t really all that interested in getting to know them. This is just a blip on their radar. A temporary adventure. But to him this place is home and he’s so fucking tired of these rich kids coming around and acting like they own the place. He’s the first to admit though, that the girls are quite hot and he doesn’t mind a little fling here and there without the fear of having them want anything permanent, knowing their time together comes with an expiry date. They can be quite fun and they’re so willing to let themselves fall into an intimate adventure with a local.

There’s no chase, no effort from him. The only annoying thing is they usually don’t grasp the idea of a summer fling and get clingy to the point where it becomes frustrating.

It’s a bonfire like any other, when his eyes drift across the beach, filled with people mingling all clutching a bottle or a cup. Nothing feels different or spectacular or special. But maybe that’s the thing about special moments — we don’t realise they’re special until we look at them in retrospect. And then they mean everything.

His eyes meet hers across the way. There are no fireworks. His heart beats at a normal rate. Whatever the movies and the songs try to sell you, that’s not how it really happens. Your world won’t shift and there will be no hummingbirds going wild in your stomach. It’s just a glance, a flicker. A moment that seems to hold no significance at all.

Billy can tell she’s not from here. Her outfit says it all. She’s wearing a long flowy skirt and a white tank top and some denim jacket over it that looks like it probably belongs to some boy with a trust fund and a name like Kyle or Charles. In her hair, there’s a clip with a fake flower on it. She looks expensive and fancy and like a piece of work that he’s not willing to put any effort in. He bets the guy beside her, the one that keeps playing with her hair. The one in the polo shirt. That’s probably her boy. His dad owns a boat for sure and probably fucks his secretary.

And even though he pulls his eyes away, he can feel his thoughts drift back towards her. As if some magnetic force tries to keep his mind there, with her. On the way she smiles, or how the wind blows through her hair and makes them looks messy and disorderly and — hot. On how he wants to be the one making a mess of her. He wonders what she feels like, tastes like, sounds like. Even Billy can’t deny he wants her. She’s just his type though something tells him she’s different from his other flings. There’s something deeper in her eyes. A secret he wants to unravel. It’s hidden there and it’s screaming out to him and only him.

As he turns back towards her, he sees her looks straight back at him. With those eyes full of secrets and that smirk on her lips.

Maybe his heart does beat a little faster then. Though he’ll never admit it.

That night he goes to bed and dreams of her and the beach and California.

California summers come with heat but they also come with thunderous storms. Mighty and unforgiving and rough.

Billy makes his way down the roads of Kings Cove, windshield wipers just about dealing with the heavy rainfall as it drums down onto his car window.

“ It’s the wrath of all women scorned and mistreated “ his mother used to say when he was younger and a storm washed over them. He always thought that was silly. Women aren’t thunderstorms, they’re April showers. They’re sunshine on your skin. They’re dewdrops on the lawn.

It’s so dull and gloomy he almost doesn’t see her. Only the peach coloured baseball cap makes her stand out against the grey. She’s slowly walking along the side of the road, unbothered by the downpour. Casual and relaxed as if she’s not getting soaked right this moment. There’s a Slurpee in her hand, blue raspberry.

He wants to drive past and no let himself be bothered with it. This, she, it’s not a mess he needs to get involved in. This can only end in a disaster. Rich boys don’t like you picking up their girlfriends. Rich boys also don’t like you lusting after their girlfriends. And rich boys who see you as a threat can get your ass fired real fucking quick.

And yet he pulls up to the curb and rolls down the window. “ Do you need a ride? “.

She smiles at him, the same way she did that night at the beach in the glow of the bonfire. Her lips are cherry red and for a second he wonders what they taste like. It’s like a primal desire, to taste her. To have her. God, he’s such a guy.

“ Need? No. I’d like one though.”

It’s the first time he hears her voice. It sounds so proper, so innocent. And yet there’s an edge to it. She’s all riddles and mysteries and things he wants to unpack and unravel. Something tells him all the red and the ribbons are only the outermost layer of who she really is. And wouldn’t he like to see more of her?!

“ Get in then,” he instructs with the nudge of his head. A gust of wind follows her as she opens the door and slides into the car. She smells of sunscreen and salt and artificial raspberry flavour. She smells like summer.

“ I’m Billy. “

“ I know. “

That catches him off guard. Sure he knows the locals and some of the kids whose parents he works for but that’s about it. He’s not nearly as prolific as he used to be in Hawkins. He’s a bit more mellow now if he can say so himself.

“ And you are?”

“ (Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You tend to our beach house on Tuesdays. I saw you clean our pool the other day”.

That’s news to him. The fact that the (Y/L/N)s have a daughter. He thought it was only her parents alone in that big house in some attempt to rekindle the fire of their marriage. Last year it was only them two, he could swear.

“ Is that so? I could’ve sworn it was just your parents in that house. “

“ Was just them last year, I was in New York City last summer. This time they decided to bring me. Let me enjoy the California sun. “

“ So you enjoying it? “

“ Verdict is still out but I quite like the view yeah. “

The teasing edge in her voice does not get lost on him. If Billy Hargrove is good at one thing, it’s realising when a girl is flirting with him.

“ You watching me then? What does your little boyfriend think about that, huh?”

“ Boyfriend? “ she sounds almost offended at those words, spits it with a certain malice that takes Billy by surprise. “ You mean Dawson? “

Dawson. Of course, that’s his name. Fucking Dawson. Dawson with the swoopy hair and the polo shirt. Dawson with the trust fund. Dawson with the DUI and the state attorney dad. Dawson with the scholarship.

“ Dunno his name.”

“ He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a friend that’s a boy that thinks if he waves around his money I’ll spread my legs for him. As if I don’t have my own money. It’s so unsexy it makes my pussy dry as the Serengeti.”

Billy has to stop himself from pushing the brakes too hard. It’s not something he has expected her to say. Not this outright at least. Something about her brashness and her honesty is truly charming though. It’s endearing for sure.

“ Wearing his jacket though, poor guy thinks he’ll score soon enough.”

“ Eh. Maybe I’ll let him. I’m getting a bit bored. If nothing better comes along— “ she says it casually and shrugs her shoulders but Billy swears there’s an open end to that sentence. Almost like an invitation.

“ Hope pretty boy does it for you then. So — where to? “

She faces him, peach baseball cap on her head and cherry smile on her lips. “ See, the thing is that my parents aren’t home right now and I don’t have a key so … “

“ So...? “

“ Just wanna hang somewhere until they get home tonight. Maybe somewhere dry? “

Everything in him screams at him not to do it. Not to get tangled up in this. He knows, god he knows, this is a bad idea and yet he says it anyway.

“ Do you wanna chill at my place? “

She bites her lips then takes another sip from her Slurpee. “ Yeah, sounds good to me.”

God Billy, you are such a dumbass.

Billy’s apartment is small but he feels more at home here than he ever did in any house he shared with his father.

There’s an open kitchen/living room area, a bathroom and his bedroom. It’s not much but it’s his and that makes all the difference.

“ Well uh — this is my place. “

He almost expects to see some kind of disdain on her face, disappointment too maybe. She’s used to big fancy houses with white shutters and stucco ceilings. Though when he turns to look at her there’s none of it. Just curiosity. No judgment. Not even a tiny spark. Not even at all.

“ It’s nice. Do you uh — I’m soaked. Do you have a shirt or something you could give me?”

It’s now, that he lets his eyes travel down her body, and notices her shirt clinging to her body. She’s not wearing a bra and it’s painfully obvious and he swears he dies in that moment. There’s only so much a guy’s heart can take.

“ Uh. I — mmh.”

As if his body works on autopilot, Billy hurries towards his bedroom and rummages through his closet until he finds a shirt that’s even baggy on him and will surely work for her. God, seeing her in his clothes is gonna give him another little heart attack.

“ Here you g — “ she’s naked. Not completely but her shirt and jeans are gone and all she’s in is a pair of red underwear and no bra and some socks and that damn peach baseball hat.

“ Huh? you never seen a pair of tits before? “

“ No, I have. “

“ Good. “

“ Yeah. Here “

She smirks as Billy hands her the shirt, doesn’t break eye contact. Not even once and she slips if over her head and almost drowns in the fabric. It reaches down to mid-thigh and she looks glorious. Wet hair clinging to her skin, shirt covering everything but just barely. Bily is usually suave and charming and smooth. Why not now? Why not with her? What is it about this girl that she plays his games better than he does it himself.

“ You want something to eat? “

What the fuck, Billy. There’s a half-naked girl in your kitchen and you’re asking her if she wants food? What is going on?!

“ Sure, what’ve you got? “

“ Lemme see — “ Billy says and turns towards the kitchen cabinets and (Y/N) slides up and sits down on the island. Her ass must be flush on the counter and Billy has to stop himself from following that thought any further because that would result in a serious hard-on right now.

“ So I got some Nachos aaand — “ he says and squats down to open a lower cabinet, “ I think there’s guacamole somewh— “

A soft thump interrupts him and, as he realises what’s caused the sound, his heart drops straight down into his pants and his whole body goes hot. Like his entire system is going haywire.

His hand reaches out to take the flimsy red fabric into his hand. Her underwear. This has crossed flirting long ago. This is an obvious invitation and if this was any other girl or any other situation he’d already be balls deep inside her so why not now?

As Billy turns to look at her, the teasing smirk is back, her eyebrow is raised in a way that tells him she’s challenging his next move, and the secrets are back sparkling in her eyes.

“ Oops “ she says though he can tell she’s all but sorry.

“ What are you doing? You have a boyfriend. “

“ Uuuugh ”  (Y/N) moans in annoyance, “ I told you, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a boy who doesn’t get it. I have a lot of boys in a lot of cities who all do not get it. They think because they’re rich and their parents have influence, everyone has to do as they wish. They’re not used to not getting what they want and I like to see ‘em get pissy once they realise they can’t have me. Billy those guys — they are so boring. So dull and if I have to listen to one more lecture about politics or their scholarship or how their daddy helped finance the university’s library I am going to off myself. “

“ So what role do I play in this game? You’re just a rich girl who’s bored with her suitors then, huh? What am I ? “

“ Exciting. You are different. You are you, no ifs or buts. You are your own person not a clone of your wealthy father and his even wealthier father. You are exciting and so. fucking. hot. “

Billy doesn’t notice it happening but suddenly he’s so close he can feel her breath on his skin. She’ so close. So close. All he has to do is reach out and grab her. Touch her. Kiss her. Taste her.

“ Fuck me.”

“ You sure? “ he murmurs, voice low and deep and soothing. “That’s all this is gonna be. Sex and fun and nothing serious. “

“ Just fun. No strings. I’ll leave at the end of the summer anyway. Until then we can — explore. “

“ Explore? “

“ Mmh. There’s so much we can do.“

“ Sounds good to me. “

Billy doesn’t give her time to reply before his lips descend on hers. She doesn’t taste like cherries or chapstick or sugar. She tastes cold and like fake raspberry slushy. Billy thinks it’s his favourite flavour now.

His hands wander up and down her sides and hers get tangled in his curls, combing through his hair and tugging slightly. She’s breathing deep, quick breaths as his lips make their way across her neck and down towards her boobs. He bunches the shirt up and pulls it over her head leaving her naked on his kitchen counter. She’s absolutely fucking breathtaking and his jeans are getting awfully tight around the front.

“ You’re so hot “ he murmurs against her skin as he buries his head in the crook of her neck. Her skin is flushed and there’s a cute red tint to her cheeks. Maybe he was wrong about it on all accounts. Maybe she’s not as innocent as he has first thought.

Her fingers slip down his body and straight into the front of his jeans, grabbing his dick and squeezing his hard on softly. Yeah, she’s definitely not as innocent as he had first thought.

It’s a clash of teeth and a tongues and a lot of saliva. This is messy and raw and rough and he feels like he’s died and gone straight to heaven. With every second, his lips wander a little further down her hot skin, placing kisses one every inch he can reach until he’s kneeling in front of her. Her eyes lock on his as she spreads her legs further letting him see just what he’s been lusting after since the first moment he’s laid eyes on her. He feels like a man starving being presented with an all you can eat buffet.

Their eyes lock as his lips kiss the spot where her abdomen meet her thighs. It’s not where she wants him but it’s enough to make her go fuzzy in the head.

“ I’ll make you forget about all those rich fuckboys, baby.”

And he does. God, he does. As soon as he licks at her clit she can’t recall a single name of any other boy she’s ever met. He devours her like he was born to do nothing but eat a girl out. There’s kisses followed by kitten licks followed by more kisses. It’s driving her crazy, the way he flicks his tongue.

(Y/N) lifts her leg to rest on his shoulder as her hand reaches down burying herself in his hair. The way she tugs, the slight pangs of pain, it’s delicious. Billy can’t get enough of it. He adds a finger, then two, slowly in and out, the faster, then even faster. He knows she’s close by the way she throws her head back, bites her lips. Her lipstick is everywhere, her hair clings to her skin now from sweat instead of rain. She’s a mess and he’s so proud of getting her to this point. He further spreads her lips, lapping up the wetness, sucking at her clit, making her come undone right there on his kitchen counter.

The moans that fall off of her lips are almost pornographic, he wonders if her parents know the kind of activities she gets up to when they’re away. He bets they don’t. She’s a princess at home. Nice and proper. A princess who spends her free time getting fucked by their poolboy.

Billy pulls away at the last minute which (Y/N) really doesn’t enjoy. She pouts at him, gives him a sound of pure dismay. “ Why did you stop? “ she questions, voice breathy, almost incoherent.

“ Cause I wanna feel you cum when I fuck you. “

He’s not usually this bold and brash. Girls like lovely words. They like soft voices and hushed whispers and for boys to say nice things during sex. Not her. She wants the dirt and the mess and the honesty.

(Y/N)’s hand finds its way back to his crotch, pulling down the zipper of his jeans and freeing his solid boner.

“ No boxers? “ there’s a glimmer of mischief playing in her eyes.

“ You complaining? “

“ Fuck no. I’d suck you off but I want you inside me — like right now. “

Billy only nods, before fumbling a condom from his wallet and pulling it down his cock. He shares her sentiment. All he wants to be right now, is inside her.

Rough hands grab her hips and turn her around before pushing her down. Her boobs as flush against the counter, ass on full display. She’s a sight for sore eyes. A masterpiece.

Billy can’t keep his hands off her ass. He has to grab a handful, squeeze it, caress it. There’s boob guys and butt guys and then there are guys like Billy who know that both those features are mutually phenomenal and to limit yourself by choosing one or the other is a move only a fool would make and he ain’t no fool.

Billy lines himself up at her slit. He can’t wait to feel her around him, wet and warm and throbbing and —

“ What are you waiting for? “ she grunts, impatience clear in her voice and she tries to wiggle her ass closer to him.

“ Patience, baby.” Billy instructs as he grabs onto her hips and pulls her even closer. Her skin is so soft, so perfect. There’s a primal desire in leaving his marks of passion there so he leans over and places little love bites on her shoulder. They’ll be easy for her to cover up with a shirt but he’ll know they are there and that’s all that matters to him.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he trails his erection up and down her entrance, coating it in her arousal. He’s really not looking forward to clean this mess later on but right now it’s damn worth it by the way she’s trembling and wiggling underneath him, desperate for some stimulation.

“ Patience is not a word I know, sorry “ she’s so god damn desperate it almost makes him cum before he even gets a fuck in.

“ Yeah me neither. “

With those words he sinks into her and it feels heavenly. Engulfed by her warmth, her wetness, her passion. Quite frankly, he’s convinced, there’s no better place to be in the entire world, than buried in the pussy of a pretty girl.

Billy moves his hips slowly, deliberately, set a rhythm and a pace. He watches his cock disappear inside of her then slide back out in a delicious cadency as he dings his fingers into her hips, surely leaving bruises.

The moans tumbling from her lips are almost pornographic though he can tell they’re real and honest. There’s no reason for her to fake anything. He’s pretty sure she’d set him straight if he was doing something wrong.

“ more. “ she gasps, breath hitching as she pushes back against him, taking him even deeper. This girl is a dream if he’s ever seen one.

Billy speeds up his movements, slamming into her at a faster pace, pounding her against the counter. The air is hot and both of them are so sweaty and the room smells of sex and salty ocean air. God, he loves California summers and pretty girls.

There’s a fire lit in his lower abdomen as she whimpers and arches her back off of the counter. Billy lifts one hand off of her hips and grabs onto her front, caressing her soft tits and pulling her upright so her back is flush against his chest. The sheen of sweat covering them makes it hard to figure out where one of them ends and the other begins. Right then, they are one. Her peach colored baseball cap falls off of her head and onto the floor, where the rest of their clothes lie discarded.

His hand desperately moves across her chest, squeezing and teasing and trailing fingers around her nipples, hard from arousal.

“ Oh fuck yes. “

The confirmation that he’s doing something right, that he’s making her feel good, makes Billy’s ego grow 3 sizes. He’s such a sucker for validation.

He snaps his hips faster, harder, tries to go deeper. His hand grabs onto her thigh and lifts it up so her knee is resting on the counter letting him fuck her at a whole new angle.

At the way she cries out in ecstasy he knows he’S doing something extremely right. “God, right there. “ she almost sobs. Billy’s sure she’s biting her lip so hard it must be close to drawing blood.

Billy buries his head in her messy hair, softly traces kisses and love bites up and down her neck, tugs on her earlobe with his teeth. “ Yeah? Your pussy is a dream, baby. A fucking dream.” he grunts, voice laced with lust.

“ I’m gonna cum, Billy. “

He can tell, by the way she trembles, clenches around him. By the way her breathing hitches. And he’s right there with her.

There’s a fire pulsing through him, shockwaves rippling. It bubbles in his abdomen then boils over. With every snap of his hips the movements get more arrhythmic, messy, uncoordinated, desperate

A bunch of expletives fall from her lips but Billy can hardly make them out as his own orgasm washes over him. It feels like time slows and every sound disappeared into a white static. Nothing matters then but to chase that high and catch it and get some sweet release.

Billy feels her cum around him, squeezing him tightly in the process. The way she moans his name, as if it’s both a secret and a confession to himself and the world, that’s what does it for him.

Grabbing her hips with both hands, he holds her in place, before pounding into her with a few last uncoordinated hard thrusts. And then his vision goes black for a moment and his brain stops functioning as he cums into the condom.

For a moment there’s no sound but them trying to catch their breath as they slump down against the counter, spent from the activities. Sweaty, filthy, messy. But oh so satisfied and content.

Billy pulls out of her and for a second he misses her warm and tight around him. Like he was meant to stay there forever. Fuck, he’s such a guy.

Another heartbeat passes and (Y/N) lets out a melodic but breathless giggle. “ I could go for some Nachos and Guac right now. “

This girl is really something else.

They devour the snacks while lazing on his couch. Naked as they came to this earth, unbothered. Maybe this is what makes him go so absolutely feral about her, the fact that she’s so uncomplicated. Yeah she comes with all kinds of warning signs and bad news for him but being with her like this it’s so easy. Like they’ve been some kinds of friends for a long time.

Their bodies are always touching in one way or another. As if they can’t get enough. Billy’s sitting on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table while her legs are places on his lap, cigarette dangling from her fingers. The air is sticky and humid and even the late afternoon breeze doesn’t bring any cooling-off.

As his eyes fall onto the clock on the wall, Billy lets out a frustrated grunt. “ Fuck.”

“ What’s the matter?”

“ I’m supposed to meet my friend Johnny at the gym in about 10 minutes. Totally forgot about it. “

“ Do you have to go? “

“ I really should. “

“ You’ve had quite the workout today though. “

Billy scoffs a laugh at her words before plucking the cigarette from her fingers and taking a drag. He lets the smoke sit in his chest for a moment, hoping to capture even a bit of the warmth he felt when buried balls deep inside her cunt.

It doesn’t work.

“ He’s waiting for me. “

“ Aw, that’s too bad. “ she says grabs the cigarette back and, after one last drag, then stubs it out in the ashtray resting on the coffee table. “ I was just about to ask for a round two. Guess I’ll have to do it by myself then. That’s fine. “

Her fingers trail down her body, teasing her nipples before descending towards her slit. She slowly circles her clit. Billy is honesty sure she’ll be the death of him. This girl is so sweet yet so dirty and he’s not sure he’s ever met someone like her.

“ You gonna sit there and finger yourself on my couch ? “

“ You gonna sit there and watch and not join in? Come on Billy, I can give you quite the workout. No gym necessary. Do I have to beg? “

Yes. God he wants to hear her beg but that makes him feel a bit — uneasy. He doesn’t want her to think he doesn’t want this just as much as she does. Maybe they can leave the begging for another day.

“ You’re insatiable, huh? “ he asks as he settles himself on top of her, lips colliding with hers ina fiery kiss.

(Y/N) just nods, a satisfied moan slipping from her lips as his fingers nudge her hand away and replace them softly trailing up and down her slit, slipping inside every once in a while.

“ What can I say? It’s a bad habit I just can’t seem to quit.”

Maybe this is a really bad idea. Maybe he’s getting himself into more trouble than he needs right now. But the way she feels and sounds and taste make it worth it.

As the sun sets upon the horizon and the summer storm has long passed on to another coastal town, Billy thinks that it’s so worth it if only he can feel like this for the rest of the summer.

There’s really nothing quite like a California summer and a pretty girl with a dirty mind.

[ms-maj]

For @theheavycrown​ on her birthday. Sarah, thank you for all the laughter, support and friendship and for being an all around awesome human being. xoxo

It’s not that he doesn’t like mornings, he does, it’s just that Jughead Jones has come to learn that few good things happen before nine a.m. Yet here he sits at seven, a fine layer of silt covering his beloved Honda, his leather jacket, his helmet (next time he’ll make sure the route he takes avoids as many of those dirt roads as humanly possible; he really wishes he’d stuffed his backpack in the saddlebag instead of wearing it on his back.) The goggles he’s pulled down rest under his chin as he slides his helmet off, his hair feeling heavy and hot in the already building humidity. The helmet clanks against the steel frame as it hangs from the handlebars, dust kicking off in a little cloud as it sways. 

He sighs, peeling the filthy eyewear off his head and wipes the lens across his dirty jeans before hanging them on the opposite handlebar. This is not his scene. Well, it’s not not his scene, Jughead is pretty well known as the patron saint of all things forgotten and bygone,  so the flea market isn’t too out of turn but taking time off his life to pursue nothing but leisure? Not so much. So when he heard tell of the best collection of antique cast iron this side of the Mississippi he knew he’d be remiss if his cross-country culinary trek didn’t at least find him some new pieces to add to his ever-growing collection. The one that personally threatened to take over another corner of his small house, and the one he’s building a culinary empire on. He exhales forcefully, lifting his coffee from the holder, thankful he opted for the tall, solid cupholder as it somehow managed to save his necessary caffeine from the horrors of the open country road. 

Finish below or on AO3

Sipping on his "coffee" he watches as the vendors turn into the old yet still operating drive-in, the name Sunset peeling off the ancient sign. This weekend’s fare, Jaws and Jurassic Park, piecemeal spelled out in crumbling letters on the old marquee. Truck after truck, some with trailers and others just loaded to the brim, turn in a steady stream and supposedly have been doing so for the last hour. There’s a strange excitement that simmers just under the surface, it’s as if he knows he’s going to find exactly what he wants today, maybe even if it’s not at all what he’s been looking for.

Jughead likes to think he’s lived. In his—some glorious and others very much not—thirty-four years on this earth he’s eaten, what he thinks, is the finest food on every continent. He’s trained under classic French chefs in Michelin starred restaurants and with street vendors from Thailand to Peru. His own restaurant, a quaint throwback bistro in the heart of upstate New York is the culmination of those years and years and years of hard work. His passions, he’s come to find, cannot be confined, nor defined, simply by the walls of a kitchen. They’re in the pages of his acclaimed cookbooks and the mystery series he’s been stringing together since high school that he was sure would never amount to anything. 

But it did, and here he is. The very definition of latchkey, Jughead Jones grew up the poor son of a couple of addicts and con artists. The ones he hasn’t seen since he got his high school diploma. The moment that piece of paper was in his hands, he loaded his rucksack onto his rusted out Kawasaki and never looked back. 

He’s lived in trailers and dorms, in cramped studios and lavish flats, and once, in the projection booth of a drive-in theater. Very much like the one he assumes is in the middle of this one. He sighs, leaning back against his bike, forgetting the heat from the muffler until it starts burning beneath the heavy denim of his jeans. 

“Shit,” he mumbles as he shifts uncomfortably away, dislodging his near burnt calf but manages to spill the bitter, gas-station coffee he’d been absently cradling down the front of his white t-shirt. The next expletive out of his mouth is not so quiet. “Fuck me!”

The cup drops to the ground as he wipes at the seeping stain barehanded. “I might have a tissue,” he hears. Instantly he stops the futile attempt to clean himself, looking up when the laughter reaches his ears. “Though I can’t imagine it would be much help.”

The corner of his lip pulls up despite this recent bout of bad luck. She’s in a bold, floral print sundress with the kind of soft hem that dances with the breeze as it blows across the nearly empty lot. The sunhat is floppy, almost too big over the cascade of soft waves that hit her shoulders, she smiles, warm and amused before she takes her lower lip between her teeth, eyes darting from his to the growing spot of wet fabric sticking to his chest.

“I would say I’m well prepared,” he gestures back toward his bike with its ample enclosed storage, and his dust-covered backpack draped over the rear seat. “But apparently I wasn’t thinking this morning. This is also my last clean shirt, so, really batting a thousand today.”

Pink tongue peeking between her teeth as she laughs her eyes narrow as her head dips to the side. “Hmm,” she runs that tongue over her lower lip, looking at him with hooded eyes before seemingly catching herself; clearing her throat she starts again. ”I just pulled my car out of storage, I might have something in the trunk if you want me to take a look?” She half turns to follow where she’s absentmindedly pointing, and he sees the very moment her left foot doesn’t seem to get the memo. If he waits another second she’ll be in the dirt and without even consciously thinking about it, his arms wrap around her waist and keep her from toppling.

She lets out a shaky breath, fingers digging into the leather that encases his bicep. “Sorry, I, uh,” her head darts from side to side before she rights herself and extricates herself from his grip. “I wish I could say I wasn’t normally this klutzy but that would be a lie.” She sweeps the dirt and imaginary wrinkles from her dress and adjusts the hat that now sits just askew on her head.

“Glad I could be of assistance,” he drawls, watching as pink colors her cheeks. “So, a shirt? Maybe?” 

Nodding, she turns (with a skosh more grace than before) and walks to the end of the makeshift aisle. “Right this way.”

 “You’re not trying to lure me behind an abandoned building so that you can murder me, right?” He thinks it sounds playful, flirtatious even, though both things are patently out of his wheelhouse, but he can’t help but wonder why this gorgeous woman even stopped and looked in his direction.

“Oh, no, see this building might be abandoned, but these grounds aren’t going to be for too much longer. And I have a feeling you might be a screamer.” 

Choking a little on his own spit, he slows, swallows, and drags his eyes back up to find hers looking back over her shoulder. She winks, then stops between the fins of some powder blue oddity Jughead has never seen the likes of before. 

“I don’t usually find myself at a loss for words but you seem to have found my weakness.”

“And what is that exactly?” She questions as he moves next to her, almost too close, he can feel her breath shuddering against his skin as she places an oddly shaped key into the opening on the trunk. 

“Klutzy green-eyed blondes,” he can tell he’s caught her off guard when she gasps as the latch lets go on the trunk lock. 

“Okay then,” she’s smiling back at him, that lip caught between her teeth again when he realizes he’s already mapping out their future and he doesn’t even know her name.

“Jughead. Jones.” he supplies, voice cracking like he’s all of sixteen again. He wasn’t nervous, not before this simple moment in which he provides his chosen name and she either laughs or…

Her dainty hand hangs between them. “Pleasure to meet you Jughead, I’m Betty Cooper."

His large, calloused hand engulfs hers, happy to find the spark he thought he felt before was very real, and much, much more than a spark.

Their clasped hands hang between them, neither too eager to drop. Betty finally pulls away with another one of those flustered head shakes, before she starts to rummage through the cavernous trunk. It’s fairly empty, save for whatever Betty is looking for, and it's clearly all the way in the back.

 “Okay, but really, you can’t tell me that you haven’t thought, you know hypothetically of course, about how many bodies you could actually fit in this trunk,” he’s taken a step back to get the full picture, which is mostly just Betty stretching the entirety of her gorgeous frame into the depths of the unknown to find him a shirt, but his writers’ mind can’t help but wonder.

She stops her scavenging and with a triumphant grunt, she’s righting herself, the strap of a black duffle bag between her fingers. “Aha! And honestly, who hasn’t seen an old car and thought about the sheer amount of fuckery one could get away with simply based on interior cargo space.”

He knows he’s staring, gaping really, but he can’t seem to help himself. Betty shrugs, unphased, and goes to open the bag. She rummages around for a few seconds then pulls out a Johnny Cash t-shirt. 

“I know it’s a little wrinkled but it doesn’t seem to smell,” she pulls the aforementioned garment from her face and hands it to him. 

“Even if it did it—anything is an improvement over,” he waves his hand over his sticky shirt and worries she can tell his heart straight-up skips a beat when she laughs. 

Jughead takes off his leather jacket, passes it wordlessly to Betty who tries to clean it as best she can with a small rag from her car. He slips his arms inside of his soiled shirt and pushes it up around his shoulders, sliding it off as he pulls on the clean one. When he looks back at Betty she looks a little perplexed.

“What?”

“Just wondering what prompted the middle-school locker room style shirt change. If my seeing you topless would’ve been too much for your delicate sensibilities than perhaps I’ve misjudged—”

“That is quite enough out of you,” he points a menacing finger in her direction but is laughed down. His glare breaks quickly and the smile that takes over almost hurts. Has he been that out of practice with even smiling that the muscles in his face don’t know what to do about it? It’s a definite possibility. It just seems to come so naturally around Betty that he doesn’t want to question, and subsequently, jinx it.  

“Oh yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?" Eyebrow raised, she leans closer, arm outstretched with his coat.

He reaches to grab it but he misses the jacket altogether and brushes his fingers against hers. "Sounds like you'd love to find out, " it's from who winks this time. Betty's grip falters and the leather falls into his hand. Words form on his tongue but before he can get them out a shrill ring cuts through the ambiance of the morning. 

The trunk is slammed close; the moment is gone. “Shit, it’s a client, and a big one so I have to take this. I, um, I’ll see you in there? Hopefully?” He knows the disappointment is etched on his face, but he tamps it down and nods in her direction. Her smile back is enthusiastic, she looks sanguine; before he turns around he hears, what he assumes, is a happy lilt as she greets whoever is on the line.

He stuffs the jacket and his soiled shirt into one of the saddlebags, slides on his trusty (and dusty) grey beanie, grabs a few canvas tote bags, and heads into the flea market. There’s a moment he thinks he hears her voice but when he turns he's met with the endless drone of tires as the lot begins to fill.

It seems silly—feels silly—to be missing someone after such a short time. Not only just since you’ve seen them but also because you’ve only exchanged a handful of words in the entire five minutes that you’ve known one another.

There’s a small line at the gate. As he waits to pay his admission, he runs a hand over the back of his neck and tugs at the edge of his hat, trying to keep this weird, swirly sensation inside instead of letting it bubble out lest he ends up skipping through the lanes. 

He lets out a mirthless laugh, the kind he finds usually echo throughout his empty home only this time it's met with the hustle and bustle of the early-bird crowd. There's no time to dwell, no reason to wait; just the time (and patience) to find himself that thirteen-inch Spider skillet, and maybe a new Dutch oven...or two.

Or, he remembers after he's grabbed new forty-fives for the jukebox, old carnival prints for Toni, a snake ashtray for Sweet Pea that he knows Val will hate but it's so ugly he can't help himself, that while he may be able to mail himself whatever he can't carry across the states...he still has to get it there in the first place.

It's why he talks himself out of the awful Rocky poster. It's not for him, of course, but rest assured it would be most appreciated by Archie and Reggie. Jughead can actually picture exactly where in their apartment where they'd hang it. Their housewarming present would have to wait until the next flea market.

He hasn't even made it to the small cluster of more upscale dealers before he's at the snack stand, walking away with a blue icee and cotton candy like the grown man he is. While enjoying his treats he's only half paying attention to the stalls and tables that line each of drive-in’s aisles, surely missing out on some choice vintage toys and housewares that he has no use (or room) for.

Mostly, his mind wanders as he weaves through the ever-growing throng. He’s been looking for a floppy sun hat but, unfortunately, many, many people seem to be concerned about the adverse effects of UV rays. Not that that in and of itself is not unfortunate, it’s just not helping him at the moment. If he couldn’t look down and see the physical evidence of their interaction, he’d believe he hallucinated the whole thing. The universe doesn’t just drop his idyllic dream girl into his path, well, it absolutely would allow him to see her once and then never again. But he doesn’t want that…

He wants to know what it feels like to have her legs wrapped around his waist, on the bike, in their bed. He wants to see her tangled in their bedsheets or sitting at the counter as he feeds her his latest culinary creation. Not that he’s ever been one to live inside the delusions, his upbringing has forced his ‘manifest your own destiny’ lifestyle to never rely on the dreams, just use them as touchstones for achieving said ruminations. But these, the daydreams are so vivid, so real that he almost walks right past the intended object of his affection.

And it’s only the melodious cant of saccharine condescension that brings him back to the moment. 

“I realize that I’m here later than we discussed, but that shouldn’t affect the price we agreed upon, right?”

Betty’s arms were crossed over her chest, head cocked to the side, the sunhat effectively obscuring her beautiful face, which by her tone, Jughead assumes is sporting a proper scowl. 

“It shouldn’t, no,” the vendor starts. He stands a good foot and a half taller than Betty, broad-chested and fully bearded, he runs a calloused hand over the gray whiskers. “It’s just that this is a highly collectible item—”

“Which you are being more than fairly compensated for! You acquired it for me, I don’t understand why you’re being so obstinate now.”

“C’mon Betty Boop, you know exactly why. You’re looking so pretty today, go on a date with me and I’ll throw in that Griswold trivet I’ve seen you eyeing up,” Jughead sees the man's hands come down on the table as he leans closer to Betty. He watches her body swell with a deep inhalation that releases as her hands hit the table to mimic his pose. 

“Not if you were the last man on Earth, Andrew. Just sell me the damn dutch oven and I’ll be on my merry little way.”

The vendor sucks air through his teeth so loudly it whistles. “Doesn’t sound like I’m getting anything out of this…”

Jughead is practically standing over Betty’s shoulder now, the tension and frustration rolling off her like waves. “Andrew, I swear to all the gods in existence, if you don’t take the agreed price and put my dutch oven in this fancy bag here I’m calling your Gran.”

Jughead isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone deflate so quickly. The man grunts holds out his hand and in it, Betty presses a neat stack of cash. The large, lidded pot makes its way to the table and from his vantage point can tell it’s a Wapak and in pristine condition.

“Nice looking piece of cookware you got there,” he says loudly behind her. She startles straight, turns slowly, and greets him with the brightest smile he thinks he’s ever seen.

“Jughead!” Her arms are around his neck and face pressed against the planes of his chest before he can blink. She seems to realize herself and is out of his arms and standing in front of him within the second it takes to realize how much he misses her warmth.

“What, did you think you could get rid of me that easily? I still have your shirt,” his hands rest on her waist, he hasn’t dropped them, and she hasn’t moved further away so he’s going to assume it’s not unwelcome.

She hums.”Well, it looks much better on you than in did crumpled up in my trunk

“Everything okay here?”

“We’re just peachy, right Andrew?” Betty questions, turning away from him and out of his grasp. She grabs the bag he’s placed on the table and with a most unrefined grunt, hoists it over her shoulder.

“We’re good, Coop. Just try to be on time from now on, it’s not very,” he pauses. Jughead can feel the man’s eyes slide from Betty to him, looking him up and down with a displeased expression. “Professional.”

“Oh, Andrew. Green is not your color. If you weren’t the only person in the tri-state area who could get me this stuff then I would never give you my business, ever again. But since I clearly work for sadists who love forcing me to interact with you, we’re at an impasse,” she shifts the bag on her shoulder and continues. “However, you make any more assumptions about my professionalism or personal life, then they’re going to have to find a new liaison.”

Andrew groans. “Don’t be like that, Betty! You know it all comes from the heart,” he crosses a hand to his and pats, and then he’s reaching under the table. “Here’s that trivet you had your eye on.”

Jughead moves up next to her and takes the trivet before it reaches her hand. “Is this a 1739? I’ve only been able to find pictures of these!”

He holds the metal piece reverently between his hands, long fingers tracing the intricate lace pattern, running over the feet, brushing against the logo that was stamped into the bottom some seventy years ago. “You know Griswold?” Betty’s tone is more than just surprised, there’s a slight breathlessness he can’t quite place as he places the trivet into her hands. 

“Oh, uh,” his head shakes a little with the chuckle. “Yeah, cast iron is pretty much why I’m even here. My best friend told me that if I was looking for something special, this would be the place to find it.” Suddenly feeling very shy, he rubs nervously at the back of his neck.

“Interesting,” Betty’s eyes narrow and fix on him, but it doesn’t make him feel as uncomfortable as he thought it would. Maybe it’s because an hour ago he was flirting like a lovesick teenager and he’s merely happy to be the object of her attention. He hears her bag hit the ground with a heavy thud. “If you’re looking for something in particular, this is your guy. I wasn’t being hyperbolic when I said he had the best. And if he doesn’t have it on-site, he’s usually able to procure it in a very short time.”

Andrew smiles at her praise and nods along. “Yeah, man, if you’re a friend of Betty’s you must be in the know. What tickles your fancy?”

Not really sure how to process, or address, any of what the man in front of him has just said, he locks eyes with Betty and lets out a sharp breath. She’s got the kind of smile that they used to write poetry about and he knows he’s done for. He’s smiling himself now and with a quick turn of his head he’s looking at Andrew again. “What do you know about Spiders?”

They’ve managed to walk the rest of the flea market, Betty picking up a few random items along with the (many) client requests. He learns she owns a small but successful antique shop in western Mass but she's rarely there. Mostly, she travels and he wonders what she's running from. She says it's to procure the things people want versus the things she thinks they would want to buy. It's not about the money, although it seems to pay well, she insists it's the history, the adventure, the joy it brings when she tracks down a vase-like what was on Grandma's table or an album that your grandfather taught you to dance to. She talks about antiques like he talks sous vide, the process, the art, how when it all comes together...life is magic.

"I can’t believe he’s going to find me a thirteen Spider! Do you have any idea how rare…oh, well, I suppose you do being an antique dealer and all that,” he bumps his shoulder (the one not carrying her stupidly heavy dutch oven) against hers, her head ducks in response but he can see the rosy hue on her cheeks. 

“If you’ve known each other for so long why all the shit for being late? And if I’m what made you late I apologize—”

“No, Jughead! Not even a little,” she grabs his shoulder and pulls him to stop beside her. “Andrew was just being a dick because that’s who he is as a person. Yes, I was late to meet him but that was because I was having a little car trouble this morning.”

“What, the marvel of modern engineering you’re tooling around in is finicky? Who’d have thunk?”  He holds out his (second) icee, offering Betty the last sip but she politely declines. He shrugs as best he can and finishes the cold red syrup in a quick gulp. The sun is blazing, scorching them from on high before he knows it. Jughead feels the sweat beading on his brow, threatening to drip down his face in the most unbecoming of ways. He's thankful they're heading back toward their respective vehicles. It's not that he wants this day to end, in fact, he's kind of hoping he can repeat it forever, but he really would like to get out of the sun. 

She smacks his arm playfully. “Don’t talk about Edie that way!”

“Edie? She’s even got an old ladies' name, Betts,” they finally reach said car and Jughead heaves the bags from his shoulder and drops them in the dirt.

Betty sighs as the lock clicks, trunk springing open. "She's an Edsel. You're not wrong about her being an old lady but trust me when it comes to classic cars Edsels are…"

Jughead scoffs. "I might have a proclivity for two-wheeled machines but I do know a thing or two about the four-wheeled varieties as well. The Ford Edsel, only produced between 1958 and 1960, was an ode to Henry's wife but was too modern and impractical to gain popularity. What?"

Jughead Jones knows a thing or two about food, and how people look when they're truly enjoying something. At this moment he'll tell you he feels like braised short ribs or a perfectly cooked steak or a decadent slice of dacquoise, with the way Betty is looking at him.

She swallows, audibly. "No one knows Edsels. No one knows they exist let alone know actual details about their launch, and subsequent failure."

"Hmm, sounds to me you just haven't been meeting the right people," he hoists her heavy bags off the ground and puts them in the trunk. 

Betty's hand reaches for the lid and lingers for a moment before she gently closes it. "You might be onto something, Jones.”

He steps forward, careful not to invade her space too badly but unable to resist the urge to be closer. “Do you maybe want to grab a bite to eat?”

The diner is nice, albeit the interior leaves a little something to be desired. It’s cliche in the way you want a retro establishment to be; walls lined in old adverts, gas and oil cans on shelves, kitschy to a fault. They're tucked in the corner, in a  red, squeaky vinyl booth and had to cross a very large expanse of cheap, sticky linoleum. He just hopes the food makes up for the fact he had to peel his feet up with every step. That’s not a sound one wants to hear in the place where they’re going to eat.

He explains as much to Betty, how atmosphere can change and engage perception, how the menu is designed to make you want the items that make them the most money, and not necessarily the ones that they cook well. After their food comes and he samples the fare he raves about the milkshakes but is unimpressed with everything else. 

“This is farmland, Betty. I passed not two, but three farms coming back. And at least one of them had Angus! Why are we being served frozen burgers?”

Betty eats a fry and pretends to look thoughtful.“I guess it never crossed my mind, Jug. You certainly have strong feelings about food.”

“Yeah, and that’s about the only thing,” he leans back in the booth and lays his arm across the back. “It might align very closely with what I do for a living.”

“You’re a chef,” Betty says matter-of-factly. “That explains your love of cast iron cookware and,” she vaguely gestures around the room. “How you know so much about the business. Still doesn’t answer how you know about Edsels.”

Jughead chuckles in response. “Misspent youth” When she shoots him a questioning look he sighs. "There may be some less than savory characters in my past. I wasn't one of them per se but I could have been described as gang adjacent."

Nodding, Betty takes a sip of the cold confection in front of her. She starts to speak and pauses like she's rolling something around before she says it. Next, she's looking at him as though a lightbulb has gone off. "Wait, wait, you're not a chef you're the chef! The author," Betty’s eyes narrow ever so slightly before going wide, her mouth gapes a bit before she produces words. "You're Forsythe."

How the fuck? "How the fuck?"

"My client from earlier was looking for a dutch oven for her partner's friend, a chef, whose niche is cast iron cookware. This same friend has also authored a series of cookbooks and a youth mystery."

“And what about any of that makes you say my name is Forsythe?” His voice comes out lower than he expects, a harsh timbre colors his words. "And it was not a youth mystery. It sounds like some Tracy True or Baxter Brothers nonsense when you say it like that."

“You are. Holy shit! And they set this up! Oh, those sneaky, brilliant, beautiful women,” Betty buries her face in her hands and groans. 

“Would you please fill me in because I am feeling ten ways of lost and, if I’m being honest, a little creeped out.”

Betty looks up, soft eyes, and smiling. “Oh, Jug. Apparently, our friends have finally gotten sick of our wallowing.”

“What friends? Who has friends?”

She rolls her eyes. “It would seem we do. You see, Cheryl is my cousin and Veronica is my best friend from high school."

"Wait, Cheryl, as in Blossom? And Veronica Lodge?"

Betty nods in affirmation. "They were oil and water through most of our formative years and then after their first year at Sarah Lawrence, well, they came back together. Fast forward two years and enter Toni Topaz, who I'm assuming is the missing link here, yeah?"

"Toni would be one of the three people on this planet I consider family, " he's leaning across the table, elbows making divots in the surface when suddenly he has his own lightbulb moment. "Elizabeth? The itinerant eccentric antiquarian?"

“Wow, is that a Cheryl or Veronica description?" She rubs the bridge of her nose, head shaking as she takes it in. "Doesn't matter, but with a title like that, it's no wonder that you were never around when I was. Oh, and surprise! It would appear your pseudo-sister and her girlfriends are giving you a dutch oven for your next birthday. Congrats.”

Jughead is trying to process, though it feels an awful lot like failing. Until suddenly, it all makes sense. “She's the one who told me I needed to stop here and check out the cast iron. Insisted there was something I needed, something she was certain I would find."

"Well, " Betty looks up at him from under the thick veil of her lashes. "Was she wrong?"

 For years he’s traveled from place to place; running from anything and everything. Even when he decided to put down roots it was relatively far from even the best of his friends. No one could just ‘drop by’, it’s not like he’d have been home anyway. He’s buried his loneliness in new recipes; it’s scratched into the margins of his favorite books, in the words poured from his own hand. He looks at the woman sitting across from him, strawberry milkshake in front of her, glowing under the harsh neon lights that contrast so glaringly will all her soft edges. 

The realization comes easily. He doesn’t have to think about anything more than ‘do I take this risk’ and he’s never been one to say no to risks before. 

He drops his arm, reaching across the table, and before it can rest on the Formica Betty slots her fingers between his. “She has never been more right in her life, but please don’t tell her that."

Betty’s laughter peals through the restaurant. He smiles despite himself. For the first time that he can recall, something good came before nine am. As a matter of fact, when her thumb traces the back of his hand, he’ll even go as far as to say it's something great. 

[solarwriting]

 try hard

— luke patterson

summary: luke falls for someone a little out of his league 

genre: fluff

wc: ~1.3k

warnings: au where the phantoms area live and the whole shtick is really just holograms or something idk i just like this song a lot okay??? also me projecting as usual 

♫ try hard — 5 seconds of summer

She's dropping out of school 'cause she don't need the grade, The colors in her hair don't seem to fade, I get dressed up when I go out but she gets dressed down She's 17 I've told her I'm 20

y/n sighed as she wiped the table, at least the band playing wasn’t bad. she ran a hand through her hair which was partially dyed a bright orange and watched as the band finished the set. the four bowed before the three guys disappeared. julie walked up to the table y/n was standing and and took the bottle of water she was offered. “so, are you ever going to explain how that disappearing act works?” 

“i would tell you if i understood it fully myself, the guys know a guy.” julie answered with a shrug just as the three boys walked up.

“hi,” luke said looking at her, “i-i’m luke, this is alex, reggie, and it seems that you already met julie.”

y/n nodded, shaking the respective boys’ hands, “actually i used to go to school with julie.”

“oh, that’s cool. did you graduate early or something?” alex asked.

“no, i actually dropped out. you don’t really need a diploma to be an artist.” y/n shrugged, “anyways! are you guys excited to perform tonight? this is what, your second time here, right?”

reggie nodded, “i’m excited, but also really hungry. food, guys?” 

“next door has great burgers.” y/n smiled, returning to cleaning the table as reggie nodded before rushing off, alex close behind him. 

“i’ll be right behind you,” luke assured julie before she rushed of after the other two. “so, h-how old are you?”

“seventeen, you?” y/n answered walking towards the bar, dropping her rag into a bucket behind it.

“uh, t-twenty. why’d you drop out?” 

“i want to be a makeup artist, maybe eventually i’ll be in set of a big movie but for now i work hear and sell paintings online.” y/n explained, untying the apron around her waist, “i have to go, pretty boy. good luck on your gig.”

“oh,” luke tired to speak but she was gone before he could even think of what to say. his shoulders slumped a he turned on his heel to find his bandmates. 

She's got a rose tattoo but she keeps it covered, I play guitar but she's into drummers, She's seen my face around but she doesn't even know my name 

”alex, who keeps blowing up your phone,” luke asked as alex’s phone went of for the third time.

alex smiled, laughing softly at his phone, “oh, it’s y/n. that girl from the orpheum. she’s getting a tattoo and has been sending me updates.” 

“when’d you get her number?” reggie asked, genuine confusion on his face. 

i ran into her like a week ago and we got to talking and now we text like, all the time. she’s actually really good at giving advice, she’s been helping me with willie.” alex explained, a blush dusting his cheeks at the mention of willie. 

reggie laughed, he fidgeted with the tuning knobs on his bass as alex looked at his phone once again. “oh, we’re going to hang out after practice.”

“very cool, can we please get back to practing?” luke asked, annoyance radiating from him.

julie sat from her seat at her keyboard, “yes, practice.” she gave luke a questioning look before she began playing. 

a knock came from the open studio door, “am i too early, alex?

“not at all, we just finished. how’s the tat?” he asked, sitting next to julie.

y/n entered the garage, “okay, it hurts pretty bad and my leg is now covered in plastic, but it looks awesome so i can’t complain.” 

alex and julie both let out small laughs to that. y/n grabbed the strap of her bag, “so wanna go eat? you guys can come, julie, reggie?” y/n looked a luke who was messing with an amp, “um, pretty boy? sorry, i can’t remember your name.” y/n cringed slighty. 

“it’s okay, it’s luke. and i’m good. i have to get home. 

I pierced my lip so she thinks I'm cool, I ripped my jeans and dropped out of school, I followed her 'round the town but she thinks that I'm a weirdo now

luke walked the street towards the orpheum or more specifically, the tattoo and piercing shop near it. he may or may not have seen y/n post that she was there for another tattoo session. the bell to the shop ran and luke looked around before stopping in front of the counter, “how much to get my lip pierced?” 

“fourty.” the girl in front of him looking lightly unamused answered, “follow me.” 

she walked through a curtained door way, luke quick to follow. walking down the hall he saw her, y/n had her back to him. all of her attention was focused on her leg where a heavily tattooed man was working on coloring the rose tattoo.

he follwed the girl to the next room and sat down.

“do you want a ring or stud?” she asked as she washed her hands.

“a ring and on this side, please.” luke said as she prepped her supplies and in almost as little time as it took him to decide to do it, it was over. 

“okay, that’s it. you can go back up front and i’ll ring you up.” the girl said disposing her gloves.

luke made is way back to the front and froze for a moment when he saw y/n holding her wallet laughing at something her tattoo artist said as he rung her up. “pretty boy!” y/n looked up, surprised, “what are you doing here?”

“got my lip pierced, felt like a change, you could say.” he explained, hoping he was being as cool as thought he was. 

y/n laughed, “very cool.” she tucked her wallet back into her bag, “i guess i’ll see you around, pretty boy. bye, jay.”

the bell rang and luke looked at the man in front of him sheepishly, “s-she said fourty?” he offered the money to the man, jay, before leaving quickly.

But now, who knew? She's in the crowd of my show Nothing to lose, She's standing right in the front row The perfect view, She came alone on her own,

y/n cheered as she watched the band play, she stood in the front dancing along to the beat. she looked up at the stage a caught luke’s eye as he leaned down and winked. luke grinned, straightening himself back up before began singing the chorus,

“You're so out of reach, and I'm finding it hard 'Cause you make me feel, you make me feel, Yeah she makes me feel, she makes me feel It's obvious

“She's so out of reach, and I'm finding it hard 'Cause she makes me feel, makes me feel, Like I try, like I try, like I'm trying too hard,”

after the show, y/n sat at a table near the stage with a drink in hand and a smile on her face. “so,” luke came up behind her, “did you like the show?”

y/n stood up so she could be closer to eye level with him, “yeah. i think try hard was my favorite. very familiar.” y/n leaned closer to his ear, “if you wanted to go out with me you could just ask.” she trailed her hand down his arm as she walked away before getting pulled back by the wrist by luke.

he pulled her into him before grabbing her face and kissing her, his lip ring chilling her skin like ice. y/n threaded her fingers through his already messy hair and kissed him back with an equal enthusiasm. she pulled away slightly breathless, lips puffy, “i’m suddenly very glad i opted to go without lipstick tonight.” 

she grabbed his hand, pulling him along. leading him to (eventually) her apartment.

[wwwafflewrites]

Never Fear (The Winchesters Are Here)

Follow Your Heart

You tried following your heart, once, as a senior in college with straight A’s, a bright future, a career so close you could almost touch it. You were so close to satisfaction. So close to that diploma.

And all at once, that dream ceased to be. And all you could think was my heart must be very very lost.

It all began on a cloudy Friday evening, you were just about to end your shift with the dogs. It was a tangled mess of leashes when you made it back to the animal shelter. Sweat and dog hair covered you, and after a good shower of puppy kisses, you finally untangled yourself from the mass of dogs and return them to their rightful cages.

You refused to meet their sad eyes. You made that mistake, once, and had spent half an hour reassuring each heartbroken dog that they were, indeed, a good boy.

"I’ll see you guys in the morning!" you promised with a wave and a jangle of your dog whistle, and after a reply of barks, you left the building at dusk.

The road was silent, the street lamps weren’t on yet, and the clouds had become heavier in the sky. You had read in the forecast it was going to rain, but hadn't expected this.

The tightness in your chest only continued to build as you made it to the campus. The sun was just barely visible behind the storm clouds that had rolled in. The wind had become cool, and the wind had picked up, sending chills up and down your spine.

Perhaps it was just a combination of paranoia and reasonable worry for a woman walking alone at night to her college dorm, except your blood chilled the moment you unlocked your room and entered.

The hair on your arms and the back of your neck were on end. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you realized that the window was open, and the harsh breeze was whipping past you.

You laughed it off, feeling silly. Though that night you slept with your cover tight against your chest, back against the wall, and your little silver paring knife under your pillow.

The next day, you experienced the same fear. Except, this time, it was sunny out.

What was triggering these feelings of dread? It was like you couldn’t focus anymore. Everything just felt... itchy. That was the only way you could describe it.

With each day that passed, the source of your terror was slowly revealing itself. Little, weird things that wouldn't be so noticeable to an outsider, but as someone who valued cleanliness and order, it might as well have been an elephant in the room.

Things were never as you left them. On Sunday morning you couldn’t find your hairbrush. Monday evening, your bed was mysteriously unkempt, even though you’d recalled making it that morning. Tuesday, the caps of your perfume bottles were all off and littered on the floor of your bathroom. Someone had been in your dorm.

You didn't have a roommate.

You called the police at midnight on Wednesday, and they showed up to your dorm to find you locked in the bathroom.  They chalked it up to a wild imagination. You were three floors up, after all. Nobody was breaking in. You were just a stupid, homesick college student.

Right?

Pah, it wasn’t like you were a senior, or anything. Or that you’d ever even cried wolf in the last three years of living alone. But yeah, sure, call it paranoia.

Three weeks later, there was a knock on your front door.

It startled you enough to send you on your ass. You stared at the door from the floor, and it loomed over you like a bad dream.

Your stalker had been your shadow for almost a month at that point. A gaze that burned into the back of your skull, even when there was no one around. You wanted them to keep their distance.

You stood like a whisper, careful not to make any noise as you tiptoed to the peephole of your door. This was it. There would finally be a face to your terror. Someone you could blame.

A weird combination of disappointment and relief washed over you when you saw two FBI agents instead. Your fear of it being your stalker morphed into a fear of the justice system. Had they come to laugh at you just as the police had?

When they knocked a second time, you opened the door.

They showed you their badges and introduced themselves. "Mind if we come in?" Agent Young asked. He had longer, brown hair and kind eyes. You couldn't hold a gaze with him worth your life.

Strangers in your home, even authorities, made your hackles raise. What the helllllll was all you could think as you welcomed them into your tiny dorm as your legs shook.

A million questions raced around your head at once.

"Could we ask you about the death of your professor? Mr.Cleveland?"

Your heart plummeted and all hope died within you. Oh. This was about that whole freak-show. "What about it?" you said. Your feet shifted.

"Well, it’s said that you were there at the time of his death. Is that true?" Agent Scott asked. He was more intimidating—more rough around the edges—but you supposed he was just professional.

"Um. Uh, yeah. It…" the agents were watching you with intrigue, and you looked to the carpet. "It was horrible." And it was. It was bloody and scary, and all your fault because you had just stood there—watched as the professor died right in front of you.

Upon seeing your haunted look, Agent Scott spoke a little gentler. "Did you see what happened?"

"I—yeah… I saw it all. He—he had been helping me with something. An essay. I was flunking and he suggested a one on one." That had only been a week ago. Your grades had suffered as you juggled your classes. When Mr.Cleveland died... you abandoned college altogether and let the dog whistle collect dust.

"I don’t know… he just…" started dying at your feet. You hadn’t even tried to pick up a phone. You just stood there, and you watched. Your breath picked up. "...he just—"

Agent Young's voice was sympathetic. "He started coughing up blood?"

"Yeah. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking about..." the stalker, you thought. I couldn’t stop thinking about the stalker. "I froze and, a-and I just watched—"

"Easy, easy. It’s okay. We just need to know the details," Agent Scott said.

You paused, then. Something didn’t add up. "Wait... why is the FBI interested in a guy that died of a lung disease?" When the agents exchanged glances, you squinted at them, your anxiety briefly replaced with confusion.

"We don't think it was, erm, lung disease," Agent Scott said. "We think he might have been…" He searched for the word a little too long for your liking. "...uh, poisoned."

"Poisoned?" you yelped. "Who could have… oh god, that makes me a suspect, doesn't it?"

"Unfortunately."

Your stomach sank, and that anxiety returned. "You guys have to know I wouldn't—I would never—"

"If we thought it was you, you would be in custody," Agent Scott informed you curtly.

Agent Young frowned at his partner as if to say not helping and then turned back to you. "We just want to know what you saw that day. Anything weird? Strange noises? Smells?" He narrowed his eyes. "Is there anyone you know who would want to kill Mr.Cleveland?"

This was your chance to tell them about your stalker. If there was anyone who could help you, it was the FBI.

Yet you clammed up.  "No, not really," you blurted. "Nobody I can think of, honest. Not to be rude, but I have finals tomorrow. Could you… leave?"

Who were you kidding, your grades had dropped so low lately that even finals wouldn't save you. But they didn't know that.

...probably.

They offered you a trained smile that didn’t reach the eyes. "Of course. We'll get out of your hair. If you think of anything else, here's our card." And with that they left the room.

The tightness in your chest did not ease.

///

That night, you had dreams of monsters and of evil people that could poison someone and smile. You dreamed of your stalker, and them laughing as you choked on your own blood.

You woke up in a cold sweat, eyes snapping open to the glow of an agape window. It was shut when you fell asleep, but it was open now, blowing in a breeze that chilled your blood.

Your dog whistle was gone.

It was a fear like no other. Your gut was screaming at you to launch for the phone. You did, automatically dialling the number on the business card that laid discarded on the other end of the room. You had memorized it after hours of staring at the numbers, debating whether or not to call them, then ultimately deciding not to with anxiety gnawing away at you.

They answered it on the second ring.

"Hello?" said a gruff voice. Agent Scott.

"I remembered something," you blurted. "You-you said to call… if I thought of something..." You trailed off when you saw the clock. "Oh god, it's three in the morning. Maybe this can… this can… this can wait…" It couldn't wait.

"No, wait. What is it? Might be important if it's got you up at three in the morning. Unless it's just finals?"

You shook your head and then realized he couldn't hear that. "Not finals. Someone's been stalking me for the past week. I thought… maybe, I was paranoid. I was... constantly told that I was paranoid. But someone was in here while I was asleep. And might… might still be close."

"Okay, you got a knife?"

"A knife?" You squeaked.

"Yeah. A knife. To defend yourself."

"Oh. Right. Right, okay. Uh. Well, uh, I have a paring knife?"

"You have... a paring knife," he repeated.

"Um, yeah? Is that okay? The dorms have rules against big knives. For safety reasons. It's a silver p—"

"Silver? Okay, you know what? That's fine. That's good. Use that. Is it sharp?"

"Sharp enough, I hope." You ran over to your cabinet, pulling out the knife and holding it to your chest. Your ragged breaths were loud in your ears. "Now what?"

"Well," he said, and you could hear an engine starting in the background. "We should be there in a few minutes. Stay on the phone, you hear me?"

"I—should I have called 911? This has never happened to me—"

"You're doing fine. Now, what made you so sure that someone had been in your room?"

"Well, the open window. I live up a few floors. There is no way they could have opened it unless—"

"Unless someone had been in your room. Alright. Just sit tight, okay? Don't hang up."

"O-okay." The agents will be here soon. They will help me. You had the knife and phone held so close to your chest and tight in your fist that your knuckles were white.

I will not die.

Without warning, you choked. It was wet, coppery, and lukewarm on your tongue. You clawed at your neck for air. You fell to your knees. The phone clattered on the wooden floor'; it buzzed with muffled shouting, but you couldn't pick it up, nor could you answer.

Just then, a massive shadow crawled in from your window, and it grunted like an animal. You barely had enough strength to look at him as trails of red spit hung from your face.

The man had claws. The man had claws. The man—the thing, had—for the love of God, inch long claws.

Down the hallway, there was a muffling of running feet. They would be too late. You realized then: you were probably going to die. You were no fair match.

You could feel the monster’s breath on your neck when the beast abruptly fell down like a sack of potatoes, howling and twisting.

Blindly, you stabbed it in the chest with all your strength, twisting the blade and then collapsing once again into a fit of retching.

The agents burst into the room.

But instead of moving to help you, they tore the room apart in search of something. You couldn’t help but sob in despair. Why weren't they helping you?

But when Agent Scott whipped out a little bag from your drawer and lit it on fire, the choking miraculously ceased.

You melted into the floor to catch your breath again. For a minute everyone just breathed. You really appreciated the minor break.

Agent Young helped you up, closely inspecting your heavy, slightly bloody, zoned-out face, and decided you were okay.

You licked your lips, still not processing any part of the last hour. "What," you said, "just happened."

The agents exchanged looks.

You looked at them. Really looked at them. "You're not FBI, are you?"

Agent Scott shrugged at his partner. "You gonna give her the talk, Sammy, or should I?"

///

"Were-witches," you deadpanned. Monsters, hunters, hex bags, and were-witches.

"Yep," Agent Scott—or Dean Winchester, you were now learning—said. "He probably got a whiff of you covered in dog hair or something. You're lucky we got here in time. The pervert was, I kid you not, jellifying human hearts with dark magic. Like, alive. And then he’d make you regurgitate—" He caught the hard look from Agent Young—Sam—and shut up. "But, yeah. Were-witches."

You frowned. "I can accept witches and werewolves, but… were-witches? For real?"

"Trust me, we didn't know they existed either," Sam informed you.

Dean laughed to himself. "Hey Sammy, should we call him a son of a witch or a son of a bi—" His smile faltered with both Sam and your glaring. "Get it? Witch jokes? Dog jokes? Sheesh, okay, you guys are seriously no fun."

Sam sighed. "We should probably take the, um, dead werewitch, out of here."

You followed his eyes to the heap of fur on your floor. Seeing your stalker dead was a major weight off your shoulders. It was such a relief that you felt high.

Sam was still talking. "—and you have finals?"

You sobered. "Right. Those." Like you would do anything except bomb them.

Sam must have known the look. "You haven't studied, have you? At all."

Shaking your head, you slumped into the mattress. "Nope. This stalker thing screwed me up big time. There's just no way." You sighed. Sam's dark look made you squint at him. "What?"

"I just, uh, know the feeling," Sam said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "I got a free ride to law school before the hunting life took me away. I was already a hunter, I didn't have a choice. But you still do. You can still have that life you want." He tapped the card, still on the desk from his last visit. "Stay out of trouble and call us whenever. Especially if it's three in the morning."

Right then, you noticed the dog whistle was back, as if it had never left. Realization hit you like a brick to the head. "You did that! You blew the whistle."

"Yeah, well, I knew it was a werewolf. So I took a gamble and… borrowed it. Guess I didn't think you'd miss it—it was pretty dusty."

"You stole my whistle!"

"Hey, no, I borrowed it—"

"You gave me a heart attack! I thought the werewitch had stolen it! That's what set me off and made me call you—not the window!"

Dean cracked a smile. "Hey, it saved you, though, yeah? If I hadn't taken it, who's to say I could have saved your damsel ass?"

"Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean said automatically.

You blinked in surprise at the speed of his reply.

His eyes widened. "Sorry. That's… uh, Sam usually says that and I respond with…"

You laughed. Really laughed. You doubled over, struggling to breathe for the second time today, but this time it was welcome. The Winchesters inevitably joined in as you howled. You wiped away your tears of laughter, occasionally breaking into a smaller fit.

"You good?" Dean asked, grinning,

You sighed, the hysteria wearing off. "God, it wasn't even that funny! You just caught me by surprise. Thanks, though. For saving me, and all."

Dean smiled, patting you on the back. "No problem, kid."

You settled into a comfortable silence. You were still trying to calm down as they watched you with looks of fondness.

"Are you going to be able to sleep?" Sam asked.

You knew what he meant: were you going to be able to sleep alone? And honestly, you had a feeling you would sleep like a baby tonight. However, you had no purpose staying here anymore. "Would I be stepping too far if I asked to come with you? Just for the night."

"Of course."

[valkyrieofsmut]

Captive Love   5

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: (Y/n)'s day at the skelebro's house, Sans' day out.

A/N: So, in this chapter, we find out that (Y/n)'s soul trait is integrity; honesty and strong morals. The only problem with having integrity as a main soul trate is that, because you're so honest, even if you don't want to trust people, you can have the tendency to believe people easier, because you expect others to mean what they say as much as you do. Even extremely smart beings with the trait can second guess their instincts or have them overwritten because the person lying is someone they (want to) trust or have positive feelings about/ for. Based on the note... can you guess what's going to happen in this chapter... lol Also, sorry, guys! I kept trying to get this to post all day, but I guess that tumblr hates long posts...? Or me... Might just be me... lol.

Masterlist      Series Masterlist

Story

Little lies never hurt anyone.

Sans leaned on the counter of the odd and ends shop, though it should rightfully be called a thrift shop, since most of its contents had come from other people and not “sources” like a normal store. 

“You got a friend you’re buyin’ all this stuff for?” The bunny on the other side asked suggestively. 

Sans gave her a smirk. “what’d make ya think that?” 

“Well, you haven’t flirted with me once since you walked in the door,” she hinted. 

“ah, sorry, doll. jus’ a lil distracted fer a sec, thinkin’ a comin’ in... did ya want ta hop on th’ sans express an’ ride it ta th’ bone zone?” He asked with a heavy handed lewdness. 

Honestly, he’d rather spend the time with his sweetheart, but he had to keep up appearances so that no one got suspicious. 

Plus, awkward sexual tension filled innuendos were easier to deal in than talking about feelings and shit.

The bunny gave a giggle and continued to lean over the counter toward him instead of going to get his requested items. “Still as charming as ever, I see.” 

Sans flashed his smirk again. “so, can i get my stuff?” 

The bunny giggled again and with a wiggle of tail asked, “so, does that mean that you’re thinking of getting a pet? Going to go out and take one?” 

He let out an annoyed sound. “can i jus’ get my fuckin' stuff?” 

She looked a little startled by the suddenness of the change, but took it in stride as it wasn’t really so strange for the former Underground citizens to be testy, and turned to go to the back. 

"So," the bunny’s brother asked as he brought the requested items out a moment later, "you gonna wear these, then?" 

Sans sneered at him. "you wish ya freak." 

"A little too much denial…?" The bunny suggested with a smirk. 

Sans gave a disgusted face. "go fuck yerself." He turned, flicking his fingers and letting his magic tug on the piles of stuff on the shelves above the bunny's head. "get dunked on, ya ass hat," he called back over his shoulder.

.

“aww, ya ain’t seen nothin’ at all?” Sans asked with a suggestive grin to the small cluster of spider ladies selling their baked goods in the corner of the bar. "'s a human, hard ta miss..."

“Ooooh, no,” one hummed.

“No, not anything… Do you wanna buy a croissant, Sans? It tastes soooo good with mustard…” another tempted. 

“heh. ‘d rather have somethin' a lil sweeter on my tongue,” he insinuated, thinking of (Y/n) at home, spread across his bed, his tongue tasting all sorts of things… 

Drool was slowly pooling between his sharp teeth, and he quickly wiped it, giving an internal groan at how fast his cock had risen to attention at the thought. 

He needed to get with his sweetheart quick, even just enough to curb the appetite growing inside of him. 

The spider girls giggling brought him back to the present. He flashed a grin and went to the bar, getting a mustard to drink as he continued around, checking everyone for info. 

After the rest of his rounds, he headed to his last few information gathering contacts. The ones he knew couldn't keep their mouths shut. 

.

(Y/n) didn’t know what to do. She was stuck in this house, not able to leave, not much to do, nowhere to go. 

Sans’ room was messy, her clothes were dirty, it wasn’t even lunch time… 

First, she went to the bathroom and washed her clothes in the tub the best she could, cleaning herself as much as possible in the process, hanging them to dry so she could have something clean to go home in. 

Then, she went back to Sans’ room, looking around. She couldn’t read any of the books on the shelf, seeing that the words were all written in a strange sort of glyph, and remembered that Sans had told her he couldn't read human language, but as she put all the books on the shelves, she saw the covers had various strange pictures, outerspace, numbers, shapes, most of them looked like school books, but, like they’d be for some advanced courses. She flipped through the pages of a few of them and saw all sorts of charts and formulas that looked reminiscent of something she’d seen on a tv show with Neil deGrasse Tyson as the host. Very smart… and science-y… 

(Y/n) put them on the shelves, trying to keep them together as best she could. Some of the books were obviously not… string theory… or whatever the hell the others were… but, novels or something, a few of them she had only a vague idea, having to make a guess that one with a simple cover of a monster laughing at a casket and a crowd laughing at the two was either a black comedy novel, or a book of dark jokes. 

She leaned toward the dark jokes. 

Under his desk, she found a folded up paper and opened it, trying to see if it was important, though she'd really have no idea, and saw that it looked like some sort of congratulatory certificate. High school diploma, maybe? 

After she got everything sorted, she tried to put it with other things that looked the same. 

She went out into the rest of the house and found a garbage can under the extra tall sink cabinet, and took it up Sans' room, only throwing away things that were obviously trash; food wrappers, crumpled up bits of paper, other strange little things that might have been dried lava, or eternally frozen snow… any way, they were things that looked like they had fallen from his shoes. 

When she took the garbage can back down, she found something that looked like it might be a vacuum, and she looked at it, turning it around and pressing the buttons to see how they worked without any power, before sticking it back in the closet and pulling out the broom and dust pan. 

Sweeping was better than nothing… and also better than blowing up the house. 

The next task (Y/n) tackled was sorting out the laundry, though she couldn’t find any washer or dryer to clean them in. Maybe they made laundromat trips? 

After that she figured it was about lunch time, so she dug through the fridge and ate a small portion of the lasagna from the night before. It wasn’t the worst she’d ever had, but it was far from the best. Maybe if she hid some of the spices he’d used that should have stayed out of the mix, like sage, paprika, cinnamon, nutmeg… really, she thought maybe he’d just put some of everything in the spice rack in there. 

She tried turning on the tv and entertaining herself, but the only channels they seemed to get all had the same robotic actor on them, overdramatically giving monologues, "hosting" or cooking things- awful things… that’s probably where Sans’ brother had gotten the recipe for the lasagna… 

She turned it back off, and decided to look through the windows to try to get an idea of the area she was in. Knowing that she was at least supposedly in danger, and most likely truly could be, she only peeped from the edges of the window for the first few minutes, but after noticing that there didn't seem to be anyone or anything outside but tall grass and flowers, she just looked through it normally. 

I thought they said we were in monster territory…? 

(Y/n) put a hand over her face. What if they were all the way on the other side of the monster territory? She certainly couldn't find any landmarks that looked familiar, and the tall buildings usually on the horizon seemed to be missing. 

Only more support for her 'Sans is actually a nice, though perverted, guy' theory… 

She sighed and decided to go look out the windows in Sans' room, thinking that maybe she'd see something familiar from higher up. 

(Y/n) was standing at the window, wondering what kind of flowers were in the field, when the door opened. She, of course, expected it to be Sans, this being his room and all, but the blood drained from her face was she saw the tall skeleton in the doorway. 

"HUMAN, I THOUGHT YOU WOULD PROBABLY GET HUNGRY, AND I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D BE ABLE TO FEND FOR YOURSELF," he shouted, sounding extremely put upon. "AND I KNEW SANS WOULD BE TOO LAZY TO REMEMBER TO FEED YOU, SO I- WHAT ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?" He asked suspiciously, cutting himself off before getting to his point about how much of a hassle it would be if she died from starvation.  

Her color had gotten paler when she'd seen him, and her eyes had started darting around the room, as though taking stock of what she could use as a weapon. Papyrus automatically did a check and found that not only did she have a blue soul, denoting her strong integrity, but it seemed to have a bit of a purple glow around the edges showing her perseverance, looking a bit like blue velvet; blue, but purple in the shadows caused by the texture, and she had an extremely low LOVE, around that of a child's, and was surprised that her desire to find a weapon went so against her stats. 

It must be a survival tactic, then. Probably to defend against any oncoming attacks.

She posed no threat to him, but he applauded her instinct to be ready to fight if necessary. 

She swallowed harshly and managed to rasp out a broken whisper. "Loo-n-  ou-si-." She pointed out the window to try to help him understand what she was saying. 

He seemed to have dismissed her, though, looking around the room. "OH MY GOD!!" 

She jumped at his exclamation. Did she do something wrong by cleaning? 

"THIS IS THE CLEANEST I'VE SEEN MY LAZY BROTHER'S ROOM SINCE WE MOVED IN!! BUT, WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THE LAUNDRY? IT'S JUST SITTING HERE IN PILES." 

"C-ou-... cou-n't fi-d," she rasped, shaking her head nervously apologetic. Her hand went to her throat, and the way she winced showed how hard on her throat just getting that much out was. 

Papyrus hummed, his fingers lifting to his chin. It would make sense that she wouldn't wash them if she couldn't find anything to do it with. "FEAR NOT, HUMAN! I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, WILL SHOW YOU WHERE THE WASHING MACHINE IS! AND HOW TO USE IT!!" 

(Y/n) opened her mouth to object that she did know how a washer worked, but it didn't matter, because he had just turned and started out the door with, "COME, HUMAN, AND BRING A PILE OF LAUNDRY!!" 

After having the instructions on how to use the machine yelled at her, for no particular reason, she was glad that it had been Sans that had found her, and that Papyrus had only come to check on her and would be leaving soon. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to stay in his presence without constantly being on the edge of a panic attack. 

When she came back into the front room from where the laundry room was, behind a hidden door in the kitchen, Papyrus was standing a little awkwardly near the door. 

"W-WELL… I CAN'T SPEND ALL DAY MAKING SURE THAT YOU DON'T DIE! I HAVE TO GO! …" He stood silently for another moment, then announced, "I'M GOING." 

(Y/n) gave a smile and waved, the most she could do without hurting her throat further or risking offending him, and had to hold back a laugh as the start of a red glow touched his cheeks and he looked flustered for a millisecond before he gave a tug to straighten his outfit before he turned and walked out through the door. 

After Papyrus left, (Y/n) mostly just hung around and did laundry, looking through things, but not finding much for her to do until she found a deck of cards, then she sat on the floor and played solitaire, pausing only when the laundry was done, to fold it and put it on the desk chair, not wanting to dig around in Sans’ drawers. 

He was a guy… guys had… stuff … that she’d rather not stumble across… especially due to the strange things that had apparently turned him on before. Also, being a skeleton monster made him different from every other guy she'd known, and the thought of finding super weird fetish stuff that she'd inevitably be morbidly curious about gave her pause. 

She wasn't a "freak" but… curiosity was something that had gotten the better of her before, and some things in life, you just didn't need to know. 

.

(Y/n) had finished the few loads of laundry, folded them, and turned to just playing card games by herself on Sans’ bed by the time the door opened and Sans walked in, looking tired and sweating a weird sort of translucent, but red tinged, perspiration. 

He stepped in and closed the door behind him before looking up, but then froze in place and swept his shocked and slightly horrified gaze around the room. 

For the second time that day, she wondered if she'd done something wrong by cleaning Sans' room. 

He stiffly walked to the chair and pushed the laundry off onto the floor. 

(Y/n) made an indignant noise from the bed, but heard him mutter, "too clean…" 

Ahh, so he's one of those people who need a little disorder to feel comfortable , she noted, feeling the anxiety leaving her as he tossed his coat on the chair and turned to her. 

He smiled and lifted a bag onto the bed. "i, uh- i uh- gotcha some stuff…" His expression shifted to that angry sort of flustered look he'd had before, paying close attention to how his other hand was fiddling with the edge of his red sweater. "somethin' ta wear, s-so ya don't have ta keep wearin' dirty clothes…" 

Sans glanced over at her and felt another pang in his chest at the beautiful smile she was giving him. 

fuck-! so adorable! an'... why d'i feel disappointed that she's not wearing my clothes, now?  

(Y/n) smiled at him, mouthing thank you . She hesitated before nervousness seemed to grow over her a little and her gaze focused on the bed. 

“wassup, sweetheart?” He asks, feeling a bit nervous about what was on her mind. 

She gestured, asking, can I go home? She immediately winced and glanced up at him then back to the bed, as though she were worried he was going to hit her. 

Sans felt his soul throb painfully at the thought of her leaving, and his hand automatically went to it. He realized what he was doing, and changed the movement to scratching his sternum through his sweater. Luckily, he had a reason for her to stay. He move the bag onto the floor, then sat on the mattress and laid back with his shoulders about even with her, making himself comfortable as he told her, “i talked ta alla my contacts, an’ it sounds like no one knows ‘xactly where ya are, but they definitely know that there’s a human on monster turf.” 

Her brow dipped in confusion and she asked, how?  

Sans shrugged as he put his arms behind his head, his fingers running over a crack on the back of his skull. “dunno fer sure-” ok, it might have been from his asking so blatantly if anyone had seen a human around- “but i hadda getcha here somehow. coulda jus’ been spotted on th’ way. tough luck, but, should be good in two or three days. ‘f we wait fer three, they’ll most likely ferget ta be lookin’ fer ya.” 

(Y/n) eyed him, and he was glad that he’d already been sweating so that she hopefully didn’t notice the fresh round of perspiration beading on his skull. Finally, she seemed to accept it, and he let out an internal sigh of relief. 

“so, you, uh, ya have an ok day?” She gave a half nod half shrug. “noticed ya cleaned up ‘round here… an’ i appreciate th’ thought behind it, sweetheart, ‘s real sweet a ya, but, i gotta ask ya; please don’t. kinda wigs me out when ‘s too clean. like it’s a fake fuckin’ storybook,” he muttered. 

She put a hand on his arm, and it felt like Sans’ soul tumbled around his rib cage. He looked up to see the apologetic look on her face. Sorry...

Apologies? Yeah… Those were something that never happened in the Underground. 

In a kill or be killed world, any sign of niceness was seen as a form of weakness, so niceties had been dropped long ago. 

The way his sweetheart was so nice, showing kindness and caring was definitely something he liked about her, but… it also made him uncomfortable. 

Sans would never turn away from her for her weakness, he wanted to protect her, keep her with him and safe. But… he didn't know how to react to this kindness. So he again took it to a place he was more comfortable with. 

“ah, dollface, don’t worry ‘bout it…” He turned and his thumb went out to run down her cheek, trying not to let the tiny flinch get to him. “if it’d make ya feel better, i know somthin’ ya could do ta make it up ta me…” He gave her a smirky grin and took his hand back, putting a fingertip on his cheek. “how ‘bouta kiss?” He watched her gaze turn wary, her body stiffening like she was getting ready to bolt. 

False, flirty affection and innuendo was so much easier to handle than real affection, even if he wanted her affection like a starving man wanted food. It seemed, though, that she knew how to take flirting about as well as he knew how to take a compliment, so he again changed directions.

 “kiddin’- ‘m kiddin’, doll,” he assured quickly, feeling a prick of pain in his soul. He was not kidding. He'd probably do anything to get her to willingly kiss him again. “heya, knock knock.”

She looked at him uncertainly, but lifted a brow and tilted her head. Who’s there?  

“sherlock,” he told her, watching as she puzzled over it. 

Sherlock who…? Seemed to be what she asked with her confused expression after a moment. 

“ sherlock yer door tight, sweetheart,” he told her, watching as her eyes closed as she took it in, then her posture changed as she silently chuckled. 

Sans’ smile widened in satisfaction that she enjoyed his joke. “knock knock, doll.”

She lifted her brow to ask who's there, but it was the cute little smile on her face that made his soul throb. 

“mustache,” he told her, watching her expression contort in confusion. 

Mustache? Can skeleton monsters even grow mustaches? What the hell? She thought and tilted her head inquiringly.

“ mustache ya a question, but i’ll shave it fer later,” he told her with a blow off expression, watching her giggle as squeaks and huffs left her. 

There… that adorable expression on her face was a much better look than her being worried that he was going to do something unpleasant to her. Even if the worry was justifiable, given his track record concerning her… 

He just watched her giggling for a moment, red spreading over the bridge of his nose. 

She tapped her hand to his arm and managed to ask, you know a lot of knock knock jokes?  

“knock knock,” he told her in answer, and she lifted a brow immediately in question. “rhino,” he told her. 

Oh, this one had to be good. She tilted her head and lifted her brow again. 

“ rhino every knock knock joke there is,” he told her, his grin getting a bit goofier at her reaction. Stars she was cute! “so, what else d’ja do?”

(Y/n) wondered if it was something normal for monsters to talk so comfortably with someone they’d only really just met the day before. It really seemed like some ideal relationship situation from some rom-com; he got home from work, told her about his day, asked about hers… The only thing missing was an actual relationship…

She masked the feelings her internal musings brought up with the ease of practice and gestured around the room. She was good at ‘don’t rock the boat.’ 

“jus’ this, huh?” He asked and she nodded before pointing at the cards, indicating that she'd also played cards. “sounds like a  good day ta me, but maybe ‘m jus’ lazy,” he said as he closed his eye sockets. A contented smile tilting his normal grin up. “‘m gonna try ta get a nap in before dinner. feel like joinin’ me?”

(Y/n) shook her head to answer him, knowing he could see her though his slightly open socket. 

“suit yerself, sweetheart,” he told her, shifting his shoulders as he got comfortable.

He seemed to almost immediately fall asleep, soft snores coming from him, and not even reacting when she’d waved her hand in front of his face. 

She went back to her card game, the weird feeling of being so comfortable around a strange man (one that had pushed her against the wall and basically rubbed against her, no less!) struck her as wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to be truly uncomfortable. 

Uneasy and worried from his actions sometimes? 

For sure. 

Uncomfortable? 

Nope. 

Something brushed against and down her back, laying against her butt. 

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder, seeing Sans' arm laid out behind her. She watched him closely, not wanting to miss any tell in his expression, but other than slightly rolling toward her, he still seemed asleep. 

She gave a doubtful glance, but it fell to the back of her mind as she continued her game. 

After a few minutes, she felt Sans rolling toward her more, his hand sliding over the bed, snaking over her thigh, wrapping around her waist and burying his face against her thigh. 

Oh, yeah. He's asleep, my ass, she mentally grumbled. 

She rolled her eyes and went back to her game, not entirely comfortable with this extent of touching, but she knew that some good friends got touchy and cuddled, so it wasn't some insanely strange concept to her, even if they weren't that close. 

Halfway through the next round of her game, (Y/n) felt Sans' arms tighten around her, and she looked down to see him rolling over onto his stomach, putting him on the cards and into her lap, his head awkwardly pressing against her. 

She tried to shift around to get rid of the discomfort of his skull pressing against her hip, and the weird kink he'd put in his neck vertebrae to do so. 

Of course, with all of her edging around his head, and their shifting around, she ended up laying back with him in her lap, his skull laying on her stomach. How could this end any other possible way with her luck?

Honestly, though, with all the terrible things he could possibly do to her, that she knew of and worried about, laying with his head on her stomach hadn't even made the list. 

She gave a shattered, huffing sigh that made her cough a little, but it cleared quickly. 

She kept herself ready in case she was going to have to defend herself from the skeleton, but folded her arms over her chest to feel like she had at least a little cover, and resigned herself to laying there until either he "woke up," or she had to convince him to move so she could use the bathroom. 

Sans tightened his arms around his sweetheart as she coughed, hating that he didn't have green magic to try and fix it instantly, but, thankfully, it quickly ended. 

He tried to be subtle, not wanting to give away that he was awake, but it was so hard when all he wanted to do was nuzzle into the soft squishiness of her belly. Especially when some of her squishiest bits were against his clavicle and were tempting him to rub against them… and give them a sniff…  

fuck- ya smell so fuckin' good, sweetheart… He mentally groaned to himself. 

(Y/n) shifted under him, but he didn't let it disturb him; he was an expert at pretending to sleep. 

"SANS-" 

The skeleton on her belly jumped at the loud voice, giving a grunt of surprise. 

"YOU BETTER BE DOWN HERE IN FIVE MINUTES TO EAT DINNER!!"

"paps, you fuckin' sonuvabitch," he grumbled to himself, not quite audible to (Y/n). 

"welp. dinner time, doll. you joinin' us downstairs 'gain t'night?" He asked as he sat up, not leaving the bed, or her pile of cards, but off of her. 

She gave him a nervous look, not wanting to be afraid, but also very afraid of the tall, loud skeleton downstairs. 

"aww, c'mon sweetheart, he ain't that bad. i mean, don't get me wrong, 'e's bad, but not that kind a bad." 

As strange as it was for her to trust anyone so quickly, his words kind of made her feel better about being in the same room as the taller skeleton.  

She followed him downstairs, deciding that she was misreading the look on his face and posture as content and proud, as though she trusted him to be her knight in a red sweater; it was probably just self confidence. 

God knew she'd never felt that much of it to know. 

Sans pulled out a chair for her, but instead of waiting to push her in, he sat in the chair next to it and shifted the seat, pulling it closer to him when she sat. 

(Y/n) would protest, but she really did feel safer being closer to him, and farther away from the other skeleton. 

He served her a small slice of lasagna, and she knew that it was because he knew it was going to taste awful, and he didn't want to stick her with too much to eat instead of a plot to starve her. 

It was a quiet dinner, much the same as the night before, with the toe of Sans' sneaker hitting the leg of her chair he was so close, and Papyrus giving her not at all hidden suspicious glares, as though he didn't think it was safe to hold a conversation in front of her. 

(Y/n) took another bite of the lasagna and hid her wince. 

She really should have hidden those spices earlier… 

A/N: Oh Sans... there's a difference between telling Paps that he's an amazing cook and telling (Y/n) she has to stay there because there's no possible way she can get home. Also, I recently got a message from someone who had made fanart of another story I wrote and asked if I wanted to see it- uh, fuck yeah, I do! You kidding?! You were inspired by something I wrote?! I'm gonna fangirl... I love it even more because I can't draw... I guess what I'm saying is that if you do anything inspired from something I've written (art, stories, drabbles), you don't have to ask, there's a 100% chance I want to see it. And that I'll squeal.

[everythingoesnk]

Once in Rockfield Farm (3/5)

summary; 🤡🔫

word count; 4 970

disclaimers; this is my least fave chapter don’t ask me why. tell me what u think please i’m so conflicted !!

warnings; nopeee

part 1

part 2

********

By the ridiculous number of plaques of the albums' sellings and accomplishments hanging along the corridors, it was quite obvious that EMI moved a lot of money.

With your middle finger, you went over the edge of one of the paintings. There wasn’t a single speck of dust on it.

The boys’ manager and lawyer invited you to wait for them outside.

Roger’d already warned you that they wouldn’t allow you to be present. Not that you cared or wanted to. But at some point you were growing tired of sitting alone doing absolutely nothing.

Once they abandoned the office after what seemed an endless time, you immediately hauled yourself to your feet.

“You’ll kiss the floor we step on as soon as we introduce you to A Night at the Opera, my dear," Freddie told Foster as he left the room.

Ray followed the grandiose Freddie with his eyes, a bit of mistrust in his face.

"I very much hope so" he answered before closing the door.

"It went well?" you asked to no one in particular, holding your purse against your tummy.

"We think so" Brian murmured.

"He doesn't believe we're going to present him the best album in history," Freddie bragged confidently as if it were definite that they were going to do so.

"Will you? Create the best album in history?" you smirked.

"Yep," John replied with all the sincerity in the world, leading the way to the elevator.

Roger stood beside you as the group left the building behind, and pulled a pack of ciggies out his pocket. In record time, he brought one urgently to his lips.

"You don’t think we can?" he inquired you, aiming the other way before blowing the smoke out.

You extended your hand and he understood the message.

Before shoving the package back, he took out another one, and with the cig hanging immobile in your mouth, Roger lit it for you.

At that exact moment, while he was concentrated on the task, you realized how long and thick his lashes were.

"I haven’t said such thing"

"Lovebirds, when you’re done with whatever it is you have to do, come to Mary's”

Roger nodded at Freddie’s words.

Posterior to waving the other three goodbye, you glanced at him with a puzzled expression.

"Right. This way"

"What are we doing?"

"Do you always have to ask questions?"

"And do you always have the habit of not answering when being asked?" you objected.

"When we get there you'll know it"

"You’re impossible" you groaned, and quickened your pace.

He took a new puff on the cigarette and looked at you jubilantly, pushing his tongue into his cheek, enjoying your harmless tantrum a little too much.

If only you knew how much he loved these domestic moments with you.

"Not that much, believe me"

In what sense is that addressed, even?

Although you didn’t speak much because Roger was intent on not getting lost, obediently following the instructions Clare had patiently listed him the night before, from time to time you exchanged a word to fill the silence.

You really appreciated the stroll. The last couple of weeks it’d been home-uni-home-uni-home-uni. You’d missed the active streets of London, the continuous loop of the loud noises and the accent.

"I think we’ve got to turn to the right"

He didn’t seem completely sure of his own words, and because of how fast his eyes moved from side to side, you knew he was struggling.

Eventually, he managed to ubicate himself.

"We have to cross the park and technically we’ll be able to see it"

"You'll see it, you mean. I don’t know what there is to see"

Roger rolled his eyes and put his hand on your lower back to guide you.

Checked first if it was okay to go ahead, and ignoring that the light was red, you passed the zebra crossing together.

Bringing you back to an old memory, it made you recall how several weeks ago you witnessed the boyfriend of a classmate of yours do the same with her with hectic traffic when they were late for their class. Nevertheless, it was also something a father could do with his daughter.

Why were you spinning around the matter? Nonsense.

But it was cute that he kept you close while crossing the street, though. Had it been a reflex action or had he been fully aware of doing so?

The thread of your thoughts caused you to space out, and as a result you didn't notice until then that you were approaching the exit of the aforementioned park.

Your heart enlarged a couple of sizes when he nonchalantly slipped his hand out of your back to entangle his pinkie with yours.

The pulsations your heart kept on producing were hard, so hard they hurt. Persistent and quick like a hummingbird’s flap.

As lightly and subtle as he did, you slowly proceed to move your fingers and hold his hand in its entirety, both of you looking ahead as if looking at each other would turn out to be too much right now.

It all felt too intimate, hands being the only method you used to talk to one another during the remaining bit of the walk until the final destination.

Roger stopped walking, and you did too.

You fixed your eyes on the store window before them: there were two mannequins wearing sets that genuinely caught your attention. From where you were stood, the store seemed to be empty. Sign that it was expensive. The walls inside were painted with neat white, thin golden lines forming patterns on the walls. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, so large that you were surprised it stayed in place without falling off, dragging the roof along with it.

You looked suspiciously at Roger.

"What are we doing here?"

“See if you find out yourself. After you," suggested Roger, and as on the day you met, gesticulated you to go first.

A tune rang in the background announcing your arrival after you stepped right in. It made the employee’s head lift up. She left her position behind the cashier and walked towards you. Her outfit was all white with a golden headband, matching the drawings on the walls and the rest of the store.

When the three of you were together, you noticed that both of you wearing heels surpassed Roger by a few tiny inches. It didn’t seem to bother him, perhaps he didn’t even detect it.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

"Clare’s friend?" Roger asked.

"Oh, Roger and (Y/N), I’m guessing. Very well, come with me"

The girl marched away, Roger with her.

He turned around and stopped when he saw you hadn’t moved.

"Ay, what's all this?" you whispered, not wanting the woman to hear you as not to be impolite.

And who the hell was Clare?

Roger grinned.

"This is my surprise"

Head in a muddle, you let Roger lead you to a small room filled with clothing items where the saleswoman’d been waiting for you.

A tray of tea and freshly made biscuits filled the air with a nice scent of sweet and salty.

"Our firm is not particularly well known for its catalogue of dresses, we rather excel at accessories such as handbags and glasses. Either way, I hope you find one you like. Anything you need, call me"

In the blink of an eye she was gone.

"Roger, care to explain?" you asked after a pause, looking around.

"Yesterday you mentioned you didn't have your graduation dress. I know your father's behaviour saddened you, I thought this would cheer you up"

"Shopping? Don’t tell me that, Roger. I didn’t take you for a sexist"

He looked like if you just hit him across the face.

"No... I never... I didn’t mean... I just wanted to have a nice touch, to buy it to thank you for—"

"I'm messing with you. Of course I don't think you're a sexist. I know very well you did it with the best of— What did you say? Buy it?"

Wide-eyed, you were shaking your head no.

"Yes. Buy it"

"Why would you do that?"

"To thank you for your hospitality"

Also because Roger simply wanted to give you the world, but since it's something that takes time, he decided this was a way to start. But he meant what he said: adopting four crazy and weird children for months… no one in their goddamn right mind would have agreed to that.

The first couple of following days after their arrival, having very little confidence around any of them, you didn’t really hang out together. Still and all, after some time but soon enough, you learnt that the four of them were warmhearted, fun and loving people.

"I know how hard you’re working to earn that diploma. We’re proud of you"

"Roger, you already pay me a rent. And I know you are, but it’s not necessary. You don’t have to do this, I can pay for it myself” you said too quickly.

“I know you can” he shrugged, letting you know he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Because of the look he was giving you, all defensive, you knew he already made the decision.

Arguing was only going to make you lose a valuable amount of time you could invest in killing the curiosity raised by the outstanding dresses displayed out front.

Following Roger's orders to take a good look at them, you picked three that you thought were pretty and elegant. One was black and the other two different shades of blue.

When you glanced up at Roger to tell him you were done choosing, he was no longer on the small sofa near the fitting room devouring the biscuits like the last time you saw him.

A one-sided grin lifted the corner of your mouth when you spotted him snooping on the other side of the room, rummaging through the dresses as well to be occupied. By his expression of absolute concentration it seemed that he was really putting effort and interest in the mission beforehand.

He turned around unexpectedly and smiled delightedly at you.

Every time he did smile like that, you could feel your soul leaving your body.

From time to time you had these intermissions where the world around you gradually began to slow down, Roger Taylor as your only source of light.

It was one of those.

"I have these," you said shyly after some time of you two staring at each other. "Have you found any I could try on?"

“Not really”

Seventeen minutes since you entered the dressing room. Roger was bored.

“Can I see?”

“No. The black one’s so ugly on me” you roared, looking at yourself in the mirror.

“You’re not being objective. Let me see”

“No”

“You look gorgeous”

You quickly turned on your heels, ready to hit him in the head for not listening, but he was nowhere to be seen. How the hell…?

“How can you tell?”

“I just know”

You laughed it off, blushing.

“So cheesy”

“But you’re smiling”

“Roger! Are you seeing me?” you asked, staring intently at every part of the curtain to see if maybe there was a tiny hole in it where he’d been peeking at you.

“No, but I can hear it in your voice”

“Shut up” you giggled.

“Can I see now?”

“No, you can’t”

God.

You weren’t sure about this.

You weren’t sure about this at all.

Roger taking the credit card out of his wallet to pay for something that was not going to be his but yours made you all flustered and uncomfortably red as hell itself in the face.

You took his hand before he could pass it to the woman.

“(Y/N), stop” he chuckled and gave her the card anyway.

He pulled you closer to him and kissed your cheek so casually, like if said actions didn’t have consequences. Hello? Your heart combusting, perhaps?

“There you go,” the woman handed him the bag, “tell your sister I said hi”

“I will” Roger nodded.

“Your sister? Clare?”

"Uh-huh"

“Younger or older?”

“Younger”

"You didn't tell me you had a younger sister," you said as you two initiated your way to Mary's.

"You didn't ask. Aren't you gonna tell me which dress you've chosen?" he cocked an eyebrow at you. "I paid for it, I believe I have the right to—"

You wanted him to see it the day of the ceremony, to make it a surprise as well.

"Please don't remind me you bought it. It's embarrassing"

Roger snorted a chuckle.

“Oh my God, woman. You’re so worried about it”

"We've got to be frank here. Mary told me you guys are broke, because you had issues with… whoever in the past. And now you take me to an upper high-class store to buy me a dress. Don't take me wrong, but I just don’t get it”

“Don’t have to swear on it” he noted quietly to the last part.

You sure weren’t getting anything.

“We firmed a contract we shouldn’t have. Life goes on and we’re with Rheid now, about to launch a masterpiece that will change our lives forever. Every penny he’s given us is for the album, but I know it’s gonna pay off. Of the little I had left from before, I wanted to do this. It’s my money. I do whatever the fuck I want with my money”

You didn’t say anything, perplexed.

He wished you'd understand the real reason why he wanted to make you happy. To cover your whims. To take care of you.

“So,” you spoke after a while, breaking the ice, “A Night at the Opera”

“Freddie’s suggestion. Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s weird, but it sounds like Queen”

He grinned.

//

Freddie said that enough was enough, that they deserved to disconnect from work for the group’s sanity.

They were getting ready at Mary’s to head to the nearest pub –putting it in his words— to dance until their feet bled and hopefully drink like psychopaths. He dictated how disappointed he’d be in them if they didn’t wake up naked and hangover in the middle of nowhere.

He was now in the bathroom applying black eyeliner to John.

“Can we come?”

Mary and you opted for a chill sleepover at first, but you changed your mind and managed to persuade her to go out as well, telling her you couldn’t remember the last time you went partying together.

Brian and John didn’t speak up, expecting Roger to do. When you saw that neither of them were saying a word, you turned your gaze towards him. He was wearing a seemingly chill unbothered facade, pushing aside how your request had tickled his stomach.

"Sure" Roger replied, mouth curving into a perfect smile.

Mary told you you could choose whatever you wanted from her closet in case you wanted to change to a more appropriate outfit for the occasion.

The two of you hurried upstairs.

It was evident that once you were there you were gonna dance all freaking night, so you picked a pair of denim bell-bottoms to be comfortable, a basic top, and kept the pair of black heels you had on already. Then you ran to touch up a little the makeup you had previously put on in the morning, adding a bit of glitter to your cheekbones.

Listening to the front door open and Freddie screaming to get your fat asses down there, Mary rushed to put a sparkly belt on while both of you trotted down the stairs.

“We’re coming!” you shouted, jumping to skip the last three rungs.

Sliding the back of your hand across the forehead to remove the sweat, you took Mary by the arm and escorted her to the opposite end of the pub, fleeing from the group of girls who were screaming at you for having spilt drink on them by accident. Mary tried not to fall while you made your way through the congregation of people going against your flow.

You raised your arms and kept dancing carefreely, ignoring the looks of all kinds you received.

Mary knew she’d never be on the same level as you. Her knees were begging to stop, meanwhile you were as fresh as a rose. It didn’t seem like you’d been dancing for over two hours without a break.

The boys, even Freddie, had also thrown in the towel a while ago.

"(Y/N), I'm going with Freddie!" Mary shouted, grasping you by the shoulder.

"What about me?"

"Come, I’m not keen on leaving you on your own" with this said, she began to gently push you towards where the boys were.

You were careful not to stumble since the drinks you had consumed earlier were already coming into effect. The purple, yellow and blue lights that illuminated the area disorientated you, so without question you let Mary lead you.

"Mary, I've saved you a seat, darling" Freddie said, patting the empty space next to him.

You frowned when you saw there was no room left for you in the booth.

"Shit”

John laughed when he heard the disappointment in your drunken voice.

Roger didn’t stutter. He held your hand and sat you on his lap.

"I don’t like this posture. Your thigh will hurt you, y’know what I mean?" you slurred.

Yet your actions were contradictory, because you moved to squeeze against him, too exhausted all of a sudden.

"I'll handle it," he murmured, fighting the instincts that grew inside him to touch you everywhere.

Fiddling with your necklace, you looked at the people on the dance floor.

You’d been wasting your time with them, bizarrely enjoying being so proximate to Roger more.

Speaking of the devil, the bastard had unbuttoned his shirt at some point.

The top you wore had its back completely uncovered; as a result, your sticky skin collided with his. Not that you complained, in fact, the contact made you horny. Could it possibly be that you were just dreadfully drunk and that your five senses were way more sensitive than usual? And that it didn’t have anything to do with Roger?

You’d been secretly having lascivious dreams concerning him for a hot minute, but resigned to admire from a distance. So no, he absolutely was the one to blame.

Roger waved his glass of tequila, offering you some.

As you were already drunk from the shots you had with John as soon as you stepped in, when you threw your head back to swallow til the very last drop, a lot of the liquid dripped down the sides of your mouth, staining your top and wetting your neck.

You laughed, clearly too tipsy to be upset.

Roger watched you attentively.

Many inappropriate thoughts seized him as he saw the liquid running down your collarbone.

You deposited the glass back on the table.

“You won’t be dancing anymore?” Roger asked.

“Perhaps at another time. I like it here”

“I like it too” he replied, and added in a small voice the following request hoping you wouldn’t get to hear it through the music. “Don’t leave”

You listened without interest as Brian and Freddie exchanged opinions on whether they should or shouldn't add a guitar solo in an almost finished song. John looked at them as if it were a tennis match, throwing glances at Mary from time to time that she returned. They knew they had to act before they started an argument, so Mary proposed to go dance some more.

Freddie followed her, and you saw him complaining to her about Brian's last-minute changes. John gestured Brian for the two of them to leave the booth as well, pointing discreetly with his thumb back to Roger and you: Brian understood.

"They’ve abandoned us" you stated, staring at your friends walking away until they were no longer in sight.

Now it was you sitting on the leather sofa, with Roger tucked between your legs –clearly if he sat on your lap he wouldn’t even last five minutes because you wouldn’t put up with it any longer than that, so it wasn’t worth a try—.

You had your feet against the edge of the table, legs wide apart to make room for him. At first he wasn’t sure, but quickly changed his mind when your fingers slipped into his hair, lazily massaging his scalp.

The idea occurred when he proved your point, telling you to sit on his left thigh because the other was getting numb.

He was in a trance, and felt his eyelids heavier by every second, not because he was sleepy but because of the pleasure.

“Fuck” Roger muttered thoughtlessly with his eyes closed, catching you off guard.

A sudden increase in your heartbeat, now irregular, rattled you.

“Wh-what?”

Embarrassment crept up his face when you stopped.

“Sorry, I don’t know what was that, it just felt good and—“

Your core was throbbing. You were so confused but so pumped at the same time.

“You want me to continue?”

He turned his head and scanned your features. He definitely didn't expect that, thought you'd want him to get off you instantly.

The intense eye contact that followed earned you another electrifying whip that shook every corner of your body.

When Roger went back to his initial position, you smiled mischievously.

He had to keep biting back his moans throughout the entire thing.

The mixture of alcohol running at an unrestrained rhythm through your veins, including how dangerously turned on you were by Roger’s constant heavy breaths, pushed you to take a step further: you traced your finger along the curve of his jawline, painfully slow, and with the tip of your nose you drew patterns on his neck, observing hungrily his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard.

Roger looked up at the ceiling and attempted to count its tiles. Anything that'd distract him from having a boner, really.

"You good?" you teased with a smile, whispering near his ear.

"I wish I could answer honestly"

"Do it, I won’t judge"

He ran a hand through his golden hair, feeling really irritated that this was happening now, where he couldn’t rip your clothes off.

Saying he was having a hard time keeping it together doesn’t do justice to the reality of how much he had to retain himself.

"Say it" you insisted, intrigued.

In a hoarse whisper, pretty much thanks to the alcohol and the inebriety that your touch drowned him in, he grew the balls to actually say what was crossing his mind.

“I’ve never had the urge to taste a woman this bad”

You grinned, and that throbbing kept escalating.

“Oh, Rog. You couldn’t be any more subtle, could you?” you laughed, burying your hand one more time in the mess that his hair was, pulling it.

Literally, you couldn’t control yourself.

It’s his fault!, claimed a voice in your head. For being too fucking irresistible.

"Don't" he desperately groaned, taking your hand in his.

He sat straight.

“Why?”

Roger gave a small sexy laugh, and he turned to look at you in the eye, shoving the hair back of his face.

“Wanna hear me say it or feel it yourself instead?”

“(Y/N)”

A bad feeling that you did something terrible sunk in when you saw Mary towering over you, her mouth set in a line.

If yours'd been watering seconds ago because of Roger's cock being hard because of you, now it was as arid as the Sahara desert.

"I need a ‘you-know-what’," she said, the ‘you-know-what’ item usually being a tampon. This time it was only a petition for you to follow her quickly, “come with me”

Once inside a bathroom stall, she locked the door and sat on top of the toilet seat, crossing her arms and looking at you as if you were the biggest crackhead in the world.

"What the fuck was that? What were you thinking? What was all that about?" she argued.

"I don’t understand a word you’re saying"

"If I’d gotten there just ONE second later you’d be sucking him dry right now. Don’t play dumb with me, (Y/N)”

You leant your back against the door.

"Mary, cutie, this conversation’s stupid"

She put her hands on her hips. It made you giggle that she was so angry.

"I already explained to you what Roger is like. Once he gets what he wants, he’ll forget you and drool over the next one" she hissed matter-of-factly.

"Why are you acting like I’m in love with him or something? We’re adults having a good time. If there’s physical attraction, why shouldn’t we able to fuck?"

She winced, and focused on the first question only.

“You aren’t?”

You furrowed your brow. Okay, maybe the conversation was more serious than you thought. Alcohol slowing your brain down didn’t help the situation either.

“You’re being weird”

“And you’re being an asshole! Are you even listening to me? Roger’s a—“

“What?! What is he, Mary?! Enlighten me! And I do listen to you, always! Sure I remember me phoning you after that day I sang ‘All Too Well’ to him and you saying I shouldn’t get too close. But he’s been nothing but nice to me, M. He’s polite, funny, sweet… What the hell did he do to you?” you asked, staring at her with a look of incredulity, not recognizing the person in front of you.

“To me? What he did to endless women that once were in your place. He’s used them all and he’ll use you too”

When she pointed an accusing finger at your chest, where the heart is, you could feel yours dropping.

That you liked each other physically was undeniable, but what you didn’t know was that you cared about him so intensely. When and how did that happen?

It was true that out of Queen he was the one you talked to the most and the one you had the best time with, always joking and finding interesting subjects to talk about. Above everything else, he became a confidant. And it felt mutual up until now.

Had he been toying with you just to get in your pants?

“But… he helped me cope with my dad, and…”

“And what was he supposed to do?”

“And today…,” speaking was so hard. You were scared you’d choke clumsily with your own saliva, “today he bought me a dress. For my graduation”

Mary’s strong gaze changed, and she pulled herself to her feet. You swore something was eating her alive internally, but she was good at pretending she had it all together.

“Buying your love and attention. I saw it coming”

Mary let a calculated pause set between you two.

“You’re my best friend, (Y/N). I don’t enjoy doing this. I… I want to protect you”

She sighed and left when you didn’t open your mouth.

A couple of minutes later, you did too.  Staring at yourself in the smudged mirror, you couldn’t tell whether you needed to go home or have twenty more drinks.

“Finally” you suddenly heard Roger say. He hugged you from behind right away, stopping you from literally rushing to John to tell him you wanted to leave. “I missed you, love”

Although you noticed your pulse rapidly accelerating, Mary's words seemed to be floating through your mind with a big neon sign with the word “alert” above them. She’d known Roger for a longer period of time than you did, and saw every lover appear and vanish whenever he found a new interest.

It just… You had to accept that one way or another, Roger was most likely to create damage.

“I want to go home, I’m wasted”

“Go home? We’re having a good time” he pulled you closer once again, his hands resting on your stomach.

He debated whether to bite your earlobe or not. One second later, he went for it.

You moaned. Loud. You wanted him to do it again.

“No, stop” you turned around and took two steps backwards, convincing you it was for the best.

He looked nothing but shattered.

“What’s the matter?”

“Forget what happened earlier. It was foolish”

Roger blinked too many times. He didn’t want to believe that you were being serious.

However, you looking everywhere but him was everything he needed to confirm you meant it.

Anger, exasperation and hurt clouded his face.

“So, we were this close” he began, his thumb and forefinger almost touching, “to make out about ten minutes ago, and now you want me to simply pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Well, I don’t want to ‘make out’ anymore, easy as that”

“I just can’t fucking wrap my head around it” he snapped.

It wasn’t about making out or not: he enjoyed your company and loved the way you made him feel when you were together. And he thought… you felt the same.

His heart was pounding so fast in his chest he thought he’d suffer a stroke.

You lapsed into silence, broken only by the one thing that made Roger understand why you were rejecting him.

“All girls swoon for you. Find another one to spend the night with, it won’t take you long, really. And please do forget about whatever happened between us in the booth”

It sounded way crueller than you wanted to. You wished you could take it back, but what's done cannot be undone.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything for a while.

Knuckles white and breathing uneven, Roger got closer and bent forward invading your personal space.

“Assuming I’m a womanizer, eh?” he replied coldly, jaw hard.

Curling up into a ball and crying never appealed to you that much before.

“Don’t worry. I will”

********

tagging; @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers @benders-diamond-earring

[ethereal-mists]

Of Fame and Misery

I decided to start writing a Hollywood AU/Bodyguard AU for Castlevania

Summary: 

Trevor is a fighter in an underground ring. Adrian is an actor and model for his father's esteemed agency. It seems unlikely that their paths would ever cross, until Adrian starts receiving death threats with no idea who's sending them, or why.

With his son's life at risk, Vlad Tepes hires him a bodyguard. Though they don't quite get along, Trevor and Adrian are stuck with each other now, and with the help of Adrian's co-star Sypha, they will find a way to keep him safe.

( Also on Ao3 )

                                               Chapter One

“HIT HIM IN THE NOSE!!! THE NOSE!!”

The crowd cheers ravenously, circled around Trevor and his opponent and eagerly watching as the two men beat the ever-loving shit out of each other in the middle of a dusty old basement. Who exactly the crowd is cheering for, he doesn't know and doesn't care. This fight isn't about pleasing the crowd, at least not to Trevor. No, it's about money. Like it always is. And with rent payments due soon, Trevor has no intention of losing.

 Each powerful blow sends another painful jolt through his body, and he knows that by tomorrow he will be a bruised and aching mess. But right now that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is bringing down the ugly bastard in front of him. Gerard, he thinks his name is, if he goes off of what a good chunk of the crowd has been cheering. If he had to guess, Gerard must be in his mid thirties, balding, crooked jaw - no doubt from a long career of underground fighting - and is probably twice Trevor’s size. Gerard grins and swipes a meaty fist at him, and Trevor takes a step backwards on instinct. The fist harmlessly swings by only inches from his face, and he feels both immensely relieved and proud of himself for dodging a blow that would have surely left a nasty bruise.

“Ha! You missed.” Trevor goads, taking a moment to catch his breath. He’s panting heavily from the exertion of the match, and he's reached the point where he can no longer hide it. And although he's disappointed in himself for showing how worn out he's getting, Gerard doesn't look too much better, face reddened and body entirely drenched in sweat. This match has been going on for far too long. Gerard scowls and lunges forward, his other fist poised for another attack. Trevor is ready for it, but the punch doesn’t come. Instead, he kicks at Trevor's legs and sweeps them out from beneath him, and Trevor is falling, falling, falling onto the filthy concrete floor of what was affectionately dubbed The Brawl Hall. “Oh shi-!” He yells out as he goes down. 

If he wasn’t already covered in dust, he sure as hell is now. Every bit of dirt and grit that makes contact with him clings to his sweat soaked skin like he’s some kind of swiffer duster. But really, that's the least of his worries.

He manages to catch himself as he falls, preventing his head from smashing into the concrete floor. The last thing he needs today is a concussion. There’s no time to thank himself for his quick reflexes however, because that bloody fist is back and it’s connected with Trevor’s left cheek. He does his best to scramble backwards on the floor, away from the brute, but he can only go so far before he feels the boots of spectators nudging him to get back in there and fight, or at least, take it like a man. 

His opponent saunters towards him with a smug look. He knows he has the upper hand now. He knows he’s going to win. Trevor can feel the adrenaline - and alcohol- pumping through his veins. He can hear it in his ears. It’s deafening and desperate, and begging him to do something, anything, to just keep going, keep on fighting, even though his body is screaming at him to give in and yield.

But Trevor Belmont doesn’t give up so easily.

As the man bends down to grab him, Trevor doesn’t try to duck out of the way. Instead, he reaches up to meet him, grabs him by the shoulders, and pulls him down and forward as he uses one of his legs to kick at his stomach, pushing his back-end up in the air. The man, rightfully surprised, flips over Trevor and onto his back. The crowd has to jump out of the way to avoid getting caught in the crosshairs. 

Gerard lays on the ground groaning, and Trevor uses that moment to climb on top of him and knock him out with a quick fist to the chin. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then the crowd is cheering. Most of them, anyway. Some bystanders boo him and yell that he got lucky. Trevor flips them off and spits in their direction.  Luck or not, he doesn’t care. He’s won. And that means he gets to collect his prize. 

And that means he can go upstairs to the bar and get himself a nice drink before he fully sobers up. 

God forbid that happen.

                                                   —————

By the time Trevor is all cleaned up and paid, two other fights have started and finished, and most people seem to have either cleared out and headed home, or gone upstairs to grab a drink like Trevor planned to do. 

Everything hurts, just as he knew it would. Just like it always did after a match. It somehow feels good, in a way that Trevor can’t quite put into words, but it’s still a bitch to deal with, and Trevor knows that it will be no better tomorrow. But that's how life goes when you make a living with your fists, he thinks absentmindedly. He’d do something else if he knew how to, but with no high school diploma, and no so-called ‘dreams and aspirations’ beyond getting his next meal and drink, there was no reason to go to the trouble of changing what was already clearly working for him. After all, he was still alive, still had a roof over his head, and in the end, that’s all a person needs, right? Somewhere to sleep, something to eat, and occasionally, someone to fuck. That’s what he tells himself. That’s all he needs, he thinks, and the aching emptiness that creeps up on him sometimes, threatening to suck him in and swallow him whole… well. That’s what drinking is for. 

He climbs the creaky stairs and gives a quick nod to the bouncer that guards the entrance of the Brawl Hall. The upstairs area is much nicer than the dusty makeshift arena hiding beneath, and even the old storage room where the hidden entrance is, is much cleaner at the least. The rest of the place is just your run of the mill bar, with all the expected amenities that a bar might have, including an old jukebox that sits in the corner and never works and a neon sign above the bar that says ‘Harold’s Pub’. 

The smell of old varnish and whiskey is warm and welcoming by now, and if he’s being honest, this shitty little bar is the closest thing Trevor has had to a home in years. Landlords kick you out, apartments come and go, but Harold’s Pub never changes. It’s still the same shithole he walked into years ago, searching for work. Still filled with the familiar faces of lonely broken people that come here night after night, hoping to drown their sorrows in the bottom of a pint. Trevor can’t help but feel sorry for them, but sometimes he wonders if he’s any different. Maybe being an old man, drunkenly passed out and alone in the corner of a shady bar was what the future had in store for him. The thought always unsettles him more than he’d like to admit, and yet he feels almost resigned to it. It’s not that he never had dreams or ambitions for himself. He had plenty of them when he was younger. But that was a different time, and a different Trevor. One who was young and naive and not yet broken, one who didn’t know the meaning of loss and how it can haunt you endlessly, even in your dreams.

He slides onto one of the barstools and raises a hand to get the bartender's attention. Clearly, he’s sobered up a bit too much.

The bartender is an old man with a kind face and greying dreadlocks named Carlson. He’s familiar with Trevor, and doesn’t bother asking what he wants - just pours him a pint and slides it over without a word. Good man, not very talkative, but Trevor likes him. Too many people these days like to stick their noses where it doesn’t belong, like they’re entitled to know your personal history simply because they’re bored. 

He takes a sip of his beer and peers around the room. It's not too busy, and he can recognize a few familiar faces. Like the tough looking woman he knows as another fighter, sitting on the other end of the bar. He doesn’t know her name, but he sure as hell remembers her face (it was the last thing he saw  before she knocked him out in their match last week). Trevor makes a point of not spending too much time looking in her direction. Asides from her, there’s a pair of old men huddled in a booth over their whiskey, whispering amongst themselves, a shifty man sitting in the back corner, and a few of other fighters celebrating their victories or drinking their losses.They"re all regulars. But there are a few unfamiliar faces too. A young couple flirting in a booth, and a beautiful woman with platinum blonde hair and sanguine lips that smile as she meets Trevor's gaze. He freezes momentarily, but quickly gets his bearings and gives her an awkward smile in return, throwing in a little wave for good measure. Compared to the rough-and-tumble appearance of the usual patrons this place attracted - Trevor included - she looked like she belonged in a museum, as if she was a marbled statue of a Goddess that a man might pray to. 

Maybe if Trevor played his cards right, he could pray to her too.

Hes considering whether or not he should send a drink to her table when she gets up, heels clicking on the old wood panelled floor, and comes to settle on the barstool beside him. He flashes her a smile, which he hopes passes as charming.

"Can’t say I’ve seen your face around here before." he begins, "Though I must admit, I'd like to see a lot more of it."

She scoffs, and he can feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up on him. He rubs the back of his neck nervously, and she watches him like a hawk - no, a tiger, analyzing its prey. And then suddenly she’s all smiles.

"Listen, Trevor - it’s Trevor, right?” She asks, and he wonders how she knows. He could swear that he’s never seen this woman before in his life. He opens his mouth to respond, but she waves a hand at him before he can get a word out. “It doesn’t matter. Now listen to me…” her eyes narrow and her smile disappears, “I'm not here to listen to your pathetic pick up lines." she states, “nor am I here to flirt and make pleasantries.”

"I... see." Trevor responds, for lack of anything better to say. There’s a moment of silence, and he doesn’t know whether or not he’s supposed to say something. He can feel her eyes boring into him, sharp and glinting like ice against the warm light from the neon sign. He supposes that he is meant  to say something after all, and sighs, too tired and worn to play into whatever game she’s after. "Well, if you’re not here for a hookup, what do you want from me?”

"To get to the point, I saw your fight.” 

Ah. That explains how she got his name.

"And?” He prompts, “What did you think? You don’t strike me as the type who likes that sort of thing." 

"Oh, please. You think I’d debase myself by stepping foot in this establishment without due reason?" she scoffs as if affronted by the very idea of it, but seems to settle down, relaxing her shoulders and replacing her slightly annoyed expression with a more neutral one as she idly picks lint from her dress and then smooths it out. "I’m here on behalf of my employer, Mr. Vlad Tepes. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

“Can’t say that I have." Something about the name sounded familiar, but there was no way for him to really be sure he wasn’t just imagining it.

She looks at him, incredulous. "Well, I can assure you, he’s a very powerful man."

The way she says it has images running through Trevor's mind of men wearing suits with guns blazing, gambling houses filled with the heavy smoke of cigars, and a man smiling as he cracks his knuckles. A very powerful man could be many things, but given that this Mr. Tepes guy wants to hire a bodyguard straight out of some dirty underground fighting ring, Trevor is placing his bets on him being some mafia boss or something. And that’s a mess Trevor does not want to get mixed in with.

"That’s great and all, but I still don’t see what that has to do with me." He says gruffly, eyes narrowed.

"I’m getting to that. You see, Mr. Tepes has a son, Adrian. Recently he’s been receiving death threats. We have no idea who's sending them, or why, and as you can imagine, Mr. Tepes is beside himself with worry. He’s given me the task of finding and recruiting a capable bodyguard for the boy."

"So… you want me to be that bodyguard, I'm guessing?"

"Yes. I’ve seen you fight, and I can say with confidence that you’ve impressed me. You’re quick on your feet, and your reflexes are fast. You’re obviously strong. Judging from what I’ve seen… I believe you just might be the man we’re looking for."

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. The praise was unexpected, but it sure as hell felt good. It wasn’t often someone pointed out his skills like that, even though it’s really no secret -at least in Trevor’s eyes. Guarding some kid didn’t sound too hard. The death threats were probably just bluffs anyway, something to put the kid’s old man up in arms, or put pressure on him to do God knows what. Still, this whole ordeal was a little odd, even for Trevor’s liking.

"Hang on," he says, slowly, "don’t people normally collect resumes for this kind of thing? Put out flyers or whatnot?"

She waves a hand as if she can just shoo away his worries. "A piece of paper won’t divulge whether or not a person is a capable fighter. I talked to Mr. Tepes, and he agreed with me that this would be the best way to access our options. Are you interested in the job or not?"

Trevor took a sip of his beer as he mulled over the proposition. Sure, it was strange. Some mysterious beauty shows up out of nowhere and offers him a job? Trevor almost wants to laugh at the absurdity. Maybe it’s not that funny, maybe it’s just the beer, but either way, he stifles a chuckle. 

“Is something funny?” She says, wryly. 

"No, not at all.” He assures her, clearing his throat and gathering himself. A deep breath, and he’s back to business. “How much will I be paid if I take you up on your offer?"

"Payment will be discussed between Mr. Tepes and yourself. But I assure you… You will be paid very, very well."

He likes the sound of that. Really likes it. A steady job that pays well and doesn't involve getting the shit kicked out of him on a regular basis (hopefully), and all he has to do is guard some kid.

"I’m interested."

"Good." she says, obviously pleased with his response. She pulls out a slip of paper and a pen from her purse, and scribbles something down in elegant writing as Trevor tries to peek over her hand to read it. She finishes and passes it over to him. He takes it, and notices her long, red painted fingernails as he withdraws his hand. Something about them sends shivers down his spine; and not the good kind. Eager to look at anything but her hands now, he examines the paper. It's an address. "Be there at noon sharp. Don’t be late. And please," she pauses, her face scrunching up in disgust, "wear something clean, or at the very least, presentable"

He looks down at his shirt and notices just how dirty it is. Dried sweat, dust, and a bit of blood (whether his or his opponent’s, he doesn't know). “Uh… right. Presentable.”

She seems satisfied with that and gets up from her seat. “Good. It’s been nice meeting you, Trevor. I hope to see you soon.” She turns to leave.

"Wait." he pipes up before she can walk away. She halts and turns back to give him a pointed, questioning stare, "What's your name? Seems a little unfair that you know mine and I have no idea who you are."

"Carmilla. I’m a personal assistant to Mr. Tepes.”

And with that, she leaves.

[cherryyharryy]

Chapter 2: Manubruim  

 'Lover's Spit' left on repeat

Part One

“What did dad get you for Valentine’s Day? Your first Valentine’s Day together?”

Adeline’s mom looked up from her computer. Her eyes slowly rose as her face twisted in concentration, willing the memory to appear before her. “Um...oh that’s right! He got me a teddy bear!”

“Well what about him? What’d you get him?”

“Oh I didn’t get him anything, dear.” With a wave of her hand her focus was back on the screen.

“What? Why not?” Adeline slumped down in the armchair in the corner of her mom’s office. “That seems a little rude.”

“Well we’d had a fight. And I was still mad. There was no way I was going to buy him something after he’d pissed me off.”

Adeline chuckled through a breath. “Okay then. You’re no help.”

“Help?”

“Yeah, for Harry.”

Her mom hummed, drumming her nails along the edge of her desk. “Candy?”

“Candy? As a gift?”

“Well yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

Adeline rolled her eyes, slinging her legs over the arm of the chair and huffing out a response. “No candy.”

“Wait…” Her mom pushed back against her desk and wheeled her chair towards the bookcase behind her. She scanned over a shelf before sliding out a large decorative book.

Dust flew out in a small cloud when it was dropped on the desk. It was a mix of dark grays and browns, a metallic finish coating the intricate swirls. Adeline scrambled up from the chair with a grimace on her face, curling her lip at the old book.

“A gross book?”

“No, not exactly.” Her mom opened the cover and tipped the book over, a mess of random items spilling out leaving the hollowed-out center bare.

“What’s all this?”

“Things your dad gave me over the years. Some were for holidays and birthdays. Others were just little gifts for fun. And then I saved little things, like mementos I guess.”

Adeline sifted through what she could only call junk. Wine corks and a single playing card, a Panama City key chain and little elephant figurine. There was the typical, some pressed flowers and handwritten notes, an aged birthday card and a plethora of fortune cookie papers.

“What’s in that envelope?”

“Oh that’s the letter your father wrote me after our first fight.”

“The Valentine’s Day fight?”

“No, no, this was much later. A real fight.” Her mom slipped a folded paper from the envelope, a smile working its way onto her face as she read over it. “I was really scared. I knew I loved him, then we had this big blow up about college. I got a great scholarship but it was out of state. We’d never see each other if I went.”

“But you went to school here.” Adeline nodded to the diploma on the wall.

“Mhm I did. I regret it, but I did.”

“Wait, regret it? But you guys ended up together.”

Her mom shrugged her shoulders, folding the letter back up and tucking it back into the envelope. “It was still a great opportunity I gave up. For a boy.”

“But you loved him. Isn’t love like, the ultimate goal in life?”

“Happiness is, dear.”

“So, you’re not happy?”

“Oh no! I’m extremely happy. I’m in love with my life and my husband.” Her hand gently lifted her daughter’s chin up. “And my daughters.”

“Well then how can you have regrets?”

“Life’s complicated. You’ll understand more when your older.”

They continued picking through the pile of sentiments, Adeline asking for the stories behind a few.  

“A necklace, this is...hideous, mom.”

Her mother laughed and took the beaded necklace from Adeline’s hand. “We went to an arcade, and bless his heart did he try to win me something. He ran out of money, and spent his last quarter on one of those gumball machines that has little toys inside.”

“Oh. Well I guess it’s sweet then. Not ugly.”

“No, not ugly,” her mom sighed, eyeing the cheap jewelry like it was made of gold and diamonds.

“Well I need some ideas.” Adeline curled back up into the cushioned chair, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her head atop. “We’ve been together just a little over a month. And I know he’s getting me something because his friend Logan said he was.”

“You could make him something?”

“Like what?”

“Write him something!” her mother gushed. “You do so well for the school newspaper. And that poem you wrote for me last year was amazing, I’m sure he’d love something like that.”

Adeline scrunched her face up, rocking her head back and forth in thought. “I think I’ll hold off on that. I’ve never written for a boy before anyway.”

“Okay, well you can make him a sweater. I can show you how—”

“No.”

“Buy him a sweater?”

“No. He has a hundred sweaters. I don’t wanna get him clothes anyway.”

Her mom hummed as she filled the box back up and slipped it back onto the shelf. “What about...take him out to dinner?”

“Too formal.”

“Lunch?”

“We go out for lunch all the time.”

“You’re hard to please, sunshine.”

Adeline groaned and dragged herself up from the chair. “M’just gonna go ask dad.”

***

Flowers. Harry loved flowers. He’d spent plenty of time since they’ve met complaining about the weather, about how dead everything looked and how there was no color outside. He made promises of showing Adeline the beautiful garden his mom planted each year, full of daisies and tulips, and his favorite—sunflowers.

His head nearly popped off when he found the sundress tucked into her closet one day, a pastel blue with tiny sunflowers decorating the fabric.

And then there was their first kiss, where he’d tucked her hair behind her ear and after a while gained the courage to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, including the promise to take her to a field out in the country where he’d make her a crown of the bright yellow flower.

And so she really can’t show up to their date without flowers.

“Would you like to write a note? Or we can have it printed for you?”

“Yes that’d be great, my handwriting is atrocious.”

The man behind the counter finished wrapping up her bouquet, complete with a silky black ribbon to hold the stems together and glittery paper that looked like the night sky. “Okay, let me go get a pad an pen and we can work on your message.”

The bell of the door chimed a moment later, a young girl came bouncing in with her mother close behind. They went straight for the roses, the girl’s small hands yanking out the brightest reds and shoving them up towards her mother.

“Okay, miss—oh! Mrs. Porter! Nice to see you and Shelby again, always a pleasure!”

The little girl—Shelby—hopped up to the counter with a big smile on her face, front tooth missing as she squealed in excitement. “I’m getting flowers for daddy!”

“You are?” The florist exclaimed. “That’s very sweet of you!” He pulled a page over on his notepad and nodded to Adeline. “Let me get this young lady’s order taken care of and I’ll be right with you, Shelby.”

***

“I must say, wasn’t expecting this. You’re quite the romantic, Addy.”

She certainly didn’t feel like a romantic, and standing in the middle of a room with flashing lights and buzzing sounds, beeps and rings, and the occasional heavy roll of a skeeball followed by a procession of high-pitched nasally chimes didn’t exactly scream romance.

“We can leave,” she pleaded, swallowing down the lump in her throat, already tugging on his sweater to retreat back out the door. “I—I’m sorry. This was stupid, I’m not good at this—”

“Hey, who said anything about this being stupid? I love this, darling. Really, haven’t been to an arcade since I was a kid.”

She nodded, holding back the smile that was sparked at the pet name. He’d been using them more freely and each time her stomach flipped and her brain fogged over. “Okay.”

They tried their hand at every game in the arcade, both of them shaking off the nervous jitters and letting their shyness slip away. They’d managed to accumulate enough tickets for a small stuffed bear which was awarded to Adeline in a most Harry fashion—he made her damn near beg.

Their faces were stuffed with hotdogs and candy, and one too many smoothies plus the giant pretzel they had shared. And despite all the sugar and salt weighing them down, Harry’s dancing wasn’t affected; bopping along to every song that hung in the air above them.

“Damn.” Harry popped two more quarters into the machine and swiped his hair off his forehead.

“Try for that turtle.”

“I want the bear.”

“We already have a bear.” Adeline’s face was pressed against the glass, eyeing the metal claw as Harry maneuvered it over the pile of stuffed animals.

“Exactly. He needs a friend.”

“But look at the turtle’s head! You can get a good grip on that!”

“No! I can get the bear’s arm!”

“Harry!”

Both of them were jumping and Adeline was banging on the plexiglass as the claw descended into the mix of toys, shouting a bit too enthusiastically for two people in public.

“Come on you stupid bear!” Harry’s hands were tugging on either side of his head, eyes blown out with the worried look of a stressed out dad meeting Adeline’s through the glass.

“Nooo!” They groaned in unison, watching as the claw rose back to the top without a prize in its grasp.

Harry slapped the buttons and pulled his wallet out, grumbling about being taken advantage of.

“Oh no, you’ve spent eight dollars on this.” Adeline grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the game and towards the door.

“I wanted a bear,” he pouted.

She sighed, rolling her eyes at the man before her who’s bottom lip was jutted out and arms were lazily crossed over his chest, in a proper disgruntled pout over a stuffed animal.

“Come on, think I may have something that’ll smooth out these lines.” She reached up and ran her thumb between his brows. “Let’s get outta here.”

***

“Addy…” Harry looked up from the box in his lap, mouth wavering around silent words.

A soft snow was drifting outside her car. The heater was on high and the radio was softly playing as they sat facing each other in his driveway. Her hands trembled when she’d pulled the gift from the glove box, avoiding his eyes when he toyed with the gold ribbon.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” He spoke through a smile, holding up the black stuffed bear.

“Your mom said your dog destroyed the one from when you were a kid.”

“I love it, petal. S’a perfect Valentine’s Day.” He leaned over the console and pecked her nose, humming, and going back in for a full kiss on her mouth.

“Wait,” she spoke softly into his mouth, knocking their teeth together when they parted.

Adeline leaned towards the back seat and pulled the bouquet of bright flowers from the floor. Harry chucked, his face a bright red when she placed them in his arms.

“Addy it’s too much,” he giggled. “How’d you know these are m’favorite?”

“What d’you mean how’d I know? You only bring them up in every conversation!”

“Do not!” He grumbled.

“Whatever. Do you like them?”

“I love them.” He stuck his nose against one and sniffed dramatically, sighing with a dopey smile on his face. “Oh, and a little card.”

Adeline’s heart twisted and sunk to hide behind her stomach. Regret of the intimate words she’d bashfully relayed to the florist earlier that day mocked her frenzied mind.

Her hand anxiously ran over the back of her neck. “It’s just, I mean...just words, y’know?” She stumbled.

“I’ll say.”

The smirk carved onto his face and the gleam in his eye only sped up the nervous tyrant going on inside her.

“You tryin’ to tell me something, love? Not as innocent as I thought,”  he teased.

“What?”

He cleared his throat and brought the small card up to read. “For my favorite daddy, happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh my God! No! That’s not—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa now, s’alright, sweetheart. We’ve all got our thing.” His smile was as wide as it could possibly be. “Just didn’t expect to be findin’ out so soon.”

“No! Harry!” She couldn’t get the words out quick enough, no longer able to sit still as her whole body fidgeted in her seat, her hands darting back and forth between the card and her own face. “That’s not mine! There must’ve been a mix up!”

“Now Addy, d’really think I’d judge you? No need to lie, darling.”

“No! I mean it! I—I had this sweet little message and then Shelby came in! And—and—well it’s the florist's fault! I’m complaining first thing tomorrow!”

Harry was beside himself, a laughing fit stifling the words he tried to get out.

“Addy, baby—no darling don’t cry,” he cooed, setting the flowers on the dash and inching closer to her, holding her face in his hands as his thumbs went to work swiping the tears off her cheeks. “I believe you.”

“That’s just—it’s not what I wrote.”

“I know, I know,” he chuckled. “Was just messin’ with yeh. Why don’t you tell me what you wrote?”

She sniffled, nodding in his grasp. She ran her tongue over her lips before flickering her gaze up to his.

“I don’t remember exactly, it was just something about how happy I am with you,” she whispered, voice barely louder than the song filtering through the car, “and how even though we haven’t been together for very long, everything just feels right with you. Like, better than anyone else I’ve been with.”

A new, softer smile tugged at his lips, her face soon mirroring his once he spilled kisses all over her face.

“Harry!” She giggled.

“I’m so happy with you too.”

The snow picked up as they continued to shower each other with soft caresses, gentle humming from both of them when they finally pulled apart.

“I’ve gotta go before my mom comes out here,” Harry sighed.

“Yeah, m’sure my parents are watching the clock right now.”

“I’ll see yeh tomorrow, yeah?”

She nodded, pecking his lips once more before he shuffled out of her car with his gifts in tow. Before he shut the door he leaned down to face her, releasing his lip from his teeth.

“I didn’t forget you, may have spoken to your mom too.”

With a wink from his gleaming eye he was shutting the door and shuffling through the few inches of snow towards his house.

Adeline’s heart was back to top speed as she drove back home, his words bouncing around her mind as her heart filled up with a childlike giddiness. She sung along with the radio, a smile on her face once she pulled into her neighborhood.

“All these people drinking lover's spit They sit around and clean their face with it.”

Her coat was shrugged off as soon as she stepped through her front door. All the lights were off, and her parents were surprisingly in bed already. She flew up the stairs to her room, debating on waking her mom up to find out what Harry’s promise had meant, but once she flicked her bedroom light on the questions fizzled from her mind.

Sat on her bed was a bright pink teddy bear, it’s paws holding a little red heart. She picked it up, and with no shame, cuddled the soft animal against her chest. When her eyes opened they landed on the folded paper that was hidden under the bear.

Adeline,

I’m so grateful to have you in my life. Just thinking about you brings a smile to my face and I couldn’t be more thrilled to call you my girlfriend. You’re just the sweetest, cutest thing, and I want you to know how much I care for you. Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.

XOXO Harry

[machihunnicutt]

Fic-vember Day 15

4 times Evan held Connor’s hand and 1 time Connor held Evan’s 

1.

“The ceremony is going to start soon.” Evan stared down at his too small dress shoes and tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice. He felt like a lampshade in his graduation gown, and the cap was lopsided on his head. He didn’t want to push Connor but he also wanted to have enough time to find his seat and avoid the humiliation and inconvenience of stumbling in late. “Are you okay?” He asked his friend, who was still hunched on the concrete, purple robe pooling around him.

Connor looked up and Evan could see the flames in his eyes. It reminded of the first time they’d met, back before Evan knew that Connor used anger to deflect pain, and that he was gentler if you gave him time and space and met him where he was. Back then Connor had made his palms sweat and his shoulders tense up in preparation for a blow. 

“I don’t want to walk across that stage with a bunch of assholes who call me a freak,” he said sourly. His expression softened a fraction. “Or call you a freak. I hate that more.”

“I’ll be there,” Evan said after a moment. He was sure they were the only people not in the gym. Soon the principal (whose name Evan had never learned) would be giving an introduction speech and Alana would be honored as the valedictorian and they’d all walk across the stage pretending that it meant nothing but feeling it, just as they took their diplomas. It didn’t mean nothing. Evan was still scared about what came next. He was scared Connor would forget about him as he went to college and Evan spent his gap year nervously directing customers at Pottery Barn. He worried that he’d always be two steps behind. He worried that he’d step off the stage and fall flat on his face. “Please,” he said.

Evan reached out his hand and Connor looked up at it. He lifted his own hand haltingly, and stopped right before Evan bridged the gap and held on tight. He pulled him up and didn’t let go until they had to separate and take their assigned seats.

Connor didn’t look angry any more. And when he crossed the stage his eyes found Evan’s in the crowd. He smiled. And Evan smiled back.

2.

Connor Murphy didn’t think he deserved to be this lucky. He was meeting Ev for a walk around the park and then French studying session (as Connor had fulfilled his language requirement with a semi-decent grade and Evan was rusty after a year of no French practice.) When he woke up and pulled back the curtain he had to blink several times in the brightness before he could see the snow. It was just beginning to fall, some sticking to the grass in soft clumps that dissipated when the wind blew too hard. Connor got up and rooted around in his closet until he found the hat Evan had knit him a few months ago. Back then he’d been disappointed he couldn’t start wearing it immediately. The heavy navy knit and lopsided pom-pom that adorned the hat were too good to pass up. Today though, would be the perfect day to unveil it.

When he found Evan he had his head tilted back to look up at the highest branches of an old, snow dusted oak. His face was flushed pink and his scarf was tucked carelessly around him in a way that made Connor ache to readjust it and assess whether or not he was sufficiently warm. When he noticed Connor his face lit up and Connor had to look down at the frozen ground to maintain his composure because it was entirely unfair for Evan Hansen to look at him like he was worth more than he was. 

“Th-the hat looks g-good,” Evan said, smile wide and anxious as it always was. “Are you ready to go?”

Connor nodded, and without an ounce of hesitation Evan took his hand in his and held on. He could feel the warmth of his palm through his glove and gritted his teeth to keep from laughing or turning around to see if there was someone behind him who Evan had really meant to offer this affection to. But he didn’t. Today, at least, he was just lucky.

3.

“Don’t make it harder than it should be Evan,” Jared said, exasperated, but not in a way that made Evan panic anymore. “Murphy’s a giant sap too. The two of you are going to be just fine.”

Evan held the phone to his ear like it was some sort of security blanket and looked down at the chicken scratch draft of things to say that he’d compiled already. Most of it was scratched out:

Connor I like you a lot and like more than a friend, not that just being your friend would be a bad thing I love  your friendship means a lot to me and I don’t want my love for romantic feelings for you to hurt what we have. I just want to tell you in case you feel the same way because my therapist always says it’s important to be honest about how you’re feeling and I

It was mostly incoherent and Connor was coming over in 15 minutes. Maybe he could just put it off again. Maybe they could just watch movies and make brownies and not talk about it for a little bit longer.

“I have to go Jared. But thanks.”

“Hey Ev,” Jared said with intent. “Good luck. It’s going to be fine.”

When the doorbell rang Evan jumped. He nearly tripped in the short distance from the living room to the front door and was immediately speechless when he opened the door and saw his best friend standing there. It didn’t matter how many times he came over, every time Evan would be surprised and happy beyond belief that he was visitng (in converse, long hair smoothed messily away from his forehead, dark wardrobe blending in with the night.) 

He still didn’t know what to say but he couldn’t help himself. He reached out for Connor’s hand and pulled him inside gently. He was acutely aware of the way his palm was sweating. He was acutely aware that if Connor’s fingers brushed his wrist he’d be able to tell how rapidly his heart was pounding. But it didn’t matter. Everything was going to be fine.

4.

The best times Evan held his hand (not that all the times weren’t great) were when it seemed like he’d never let go. He’d laced his fingers in Connor’s before they went though a haunted house at the fair once and Connor was sure that they’d stay linked like that forever. Or when he was sleepy and lost in the pale blue comforter and found Connor’s hand just so he could keep him from getting up and starting the day. It was nice to have quiet gestures like this. It was nice to be tactile and soft and have no one tell you that you shouldn’t. 

That wasn’t to say everything was easy. Sometimes Connor’s hands wanted to punch drywall or crush beer cans until the world tilted and pounded out of shape. Sometimes he yelled and felt guilty or cried and said things he didn’t mean. 

And these times, when Connor Murphy was at his worst (since the mess that was high school), Evan would be patient and his voice wouldn’t shake. He’d take both of Connor’s hands (too big to properly cup in his but perfect they way they were), and he’d know that they’d be okay. It was hard to learn to love yourself, Evan would say. It was a mantra they shared. It was hard but they were doing it.

+1

“How do you want your eggs Con?” They were in the commercial break for Sunday morning cartoons. Connor was writing an English paper on the couch.

“Over easy, or over hard if you can’t swing it!” he called back, smirking at the challenge he’d just leveled.

“D-don’t test me Murphy,” Evan replied, then a moment later: “Shit!” Connor heard a mild banging sound and was on his feet in an instant.

“You okay?” He slid into the kitchen with his socked feet to see Evan hunched over the sink, water running over his thumb.

“I’m fine, just burned myself,” he muttered. The eggs in the pan were becoming a wreckage so Connor turned the burner off.

Wordlessly he took Evan’s hands from the water and pulled them toward him. He kissed the angry red of the burn gently and found Evan’s eyes. They were watery, probably from the pain, but he didn’t say anything.

“Better?”

“Better.”

[scarletraven1001]

Truly Mine

He may have never said the words, but Bulma knew in her heart and soul that the arrogant Saiyan prince, the love of her life, loved her too.

A seven-year-gap fic, post-cell. One-shot.

An entry for @tpthvegebulsmutfest

Day 7: Afterglow

Also on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12443826 

Hi again, fellow DB fans!

I received such kind words from everyone when I sent in my last TPTH entry, so I was inspired to write one more!

I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it.

Lots of smut ahead!

8-8-8-8-8

Truly Mine

Bulma was still trying to catch her breath.

She was absolutely exhausted, but that wonderful feeling of lethargy was overpowered by her pounding heart, bursting with so much emotion that the sensation of it kept her from falling asleep.

She looked down at the flame-haired head resting on her chest. He nuzzled her breast, giving it a soft, almost innocent kiss. Their legs were tangled together amongst the unruly navy sheets of their bed, while his arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. Her own arms hugged his neck, one hand lovingly caressing his upper back, the fingers of her other hand playing idly with the hair on his nape, damp with perspiration from their vigorous activities earlier.

Sex with Vegeta was always mind blowing, but there was something phenomenally different about this time. This time, she knew, felt with every fiber of her being, that they had made love.

She looked down and peered into his face, her heart melting at the sight of his closed eyes and serene expression. He was vulnerable at the moment, the look on his face such that his heart was openly displayed for her to see, and she was honored to know that she was the only one who would ever see this side of her husband.

Her husband.

She lifted her left hand to gaze once more at her ring. She still couldn’t believe it.

Bulma Briefs was now a married woman. A wife.

Vegeta was now her husband. She was now the wife of Vegeta.

The words repeated themselves in her head, as she still could barely wrap her head around the concept.

Another wave of emotion flooded her chest and tears began to well up in her eyes. She was so incredibly happy that she almost couldn’t bear it. She felt like she was floating, and only Vegeta’s weight on her oh, so sated body kept her from flying off.

He lifted his head from her chest then, an intense look in his eyes as he gracefully crawled up to be at eye level with her. He lifted his left hand to gently caress her cheek, and on that hand, her eyes caught his own ring glinting against the darkness of their bedroom.

He kissed her then, the touch of his lips so sweet and full of feeling, that it made the tears standing in her eyes finally fall. She was so full of love for this man that she finally uttered the three words that she had always known in her heart, but had never before had the courage to say.

“I love you…”

He simply narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath, almost as if he was hiding a gasp, and he dove in and kissed her so passionately that she felt his answer even if he stubbornly still refused to say the words.

His hands started roaming her body again, delicately holding her hips, tickling her waist, and as she felt herself giving in to what she knew would be another rousing session, she thought back to the happenings of the past month that led them to this peaceful moment of bliss.

8-8-8-8-8

“Do you want to get married?”

The question was so sudden, so out of field, that Bulma could do nothing other than stare dumbly at Vegeta. She nearly dropped the dented bot she had been fixing, it suddenly felt so heavy that she would have thought that the gravity chamber she was standing in had been activated.

Her heart suddenly stopped, and then just as quickly restarted, hammering painfully against her chest, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she did, indeed, hear him right.

“Did you just-”

“Woman, just answer me. Do you want to or not?” he snarled at her, looking uncomfortable, standing just out of arms reach for her.

Her scattered wits collected themselves with frightening speed as she took a deep breath, pushing a lock of her short blue hair behind one ear, and carefully choosing her words.

“Why are you asking me?” she asked, her voice soft but unwavering.

Vegeta pointedly looked away from her as he answered, “You were on the phone with one of your asinine friends yesterday, talking about the marriage of those two imbeciles that you always watch on the television. You told her that you had always wished for a large marriage celebration. Now, I will not, even under threat of disembowelment, agree to a large celebration. However, I am not opposed to marriage if you want it.”

Bulma stared in shock at her extraterrestrial lover. A deep red crept into his cheeks as he continued to look everywhere but at her.

“V-Ve-Vegeta,” she stuttered, amazed at this highly unexpected but very exciting turn of events. “Of course I want to. I would absolutely love to. But… What about you? I don’t want to put you through this if you don’t want this.”

“Tch,” he sneered. “I would not have asked if I was so opposed to it.”

“But… but… Do you know what marriage means? You’re not just asking because you overheard me say that I want to, are you?”

Vegeta finally turned to look at her, a light blush still dusting his cheeks.

Bulma wanted to squeal at how cute he was being, but she wisely refrained. This moment was serious, dammit.

“Your wanting it has influenced my thoughts on the subject, yes. But I am not against the idea. I might as well. We have a child, a powerful one, and I need him to be a rightful heir. As empty as my title has now become, the boy is a prince of an entire race, and he must be able to hold that title, even on principle alone.”

Bulma almost sighed. Did she honestly expect the man to profess his undying love for her and drop down on one knee, offering her a ring? Of course not. This was probably the closest she will ever get to hearing him say that he actually does want to marry her and isn’t being coerced into it.

“Additionally, I think I would prefer to be able to call you my wife. Then you would be truly mine, am I correct?”

Bulma actually gasped in shock at what he said, but quickly covered it up with one hand.

“I-I,” she stammered, looking at him through wide eyes. Her stare appeared to make him uncomfortable as he looked away yet again, then turned away from her to leave the room.

“Wait!” she called out, an arm extended in his direction as if to pull him back. “Wait, don’t go. I… I would love to marry you, Vegeta. I really would,” she said, smiling widely in her giddiness. “Let’s get married.”

He turned his head slightly, regarding her out of the corner of his eye. “Yes. Let us marry. And make it soon, Bulma,” he said, walking out of the room, leaving Bulma with a head full of thoughts and unable to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day.

8-8-8-8-8

Wedding preparations were difficult, more so due to the fact that the wedding was to be kept practically top secret. Vegeta had no marriageable identity to speak of, being a literal illegal alien. Strings were pulled, debts of gratitude called in, and all the connections held by her influential family were utilized as Bulma worked to make a fake identity for her husband-to-be.

The legalities involved in marrying an alien was, in a word, a bitch.

But she pushed on, and exactly three weeks after they agreed to marry, Bulma held in her hands a fake birth certificate, fake school diplomas and a real passport for one Mr. Vegeta, the sovereign prince of a now-defunct small nation of people who had lived deep in a rainforest in the south.

Four-year-old Trunks sat on the living room couch, staring widely at Bulma as she spoke on the phone to the people in their local court office, arranging a date for her and Vegeta’s wedding in front of the city’s judge. Her son was scrunching his face in concentration, listening hard, and Bulma wanted to pinch his chubby cheeks as she mentally squealed at how cute her baby was.

He was looking more and more like Vegeta every single day.

Also acting more and more like his father, as his face turned down into a fierce scowl, apparently giving up on understanding what was going on that had his mother so excited. He jumped off his chair and flew off, and Bulma watched as he flew through a window and headed straight for the gravity room.

Plans finalized, Bulma put the phone down and headed for the kitchen to check if any food had been laid out. Her mother, Panchy, was out and had left the cooking to the chef bots.

Panchy was also ludicrously excited about the wedding, that even the disappointment of not having a large celebration did not deter her. She still insisted on taking care of all the jewelry and clothes-shopping needed, and Bulma had to seriously sit her down and swear her to secrecy lest her ditzy mother let it slip to someone and caused a media-frenzy.

Oh, the paparazzi would just love to finally see the elusive father of the little eventual heir to the Briefs fortune.

Upon entering the kitchen, Bulma found enough food to feed an army and thought that it may be enough for her son and her fiancé. In her head, she had been calling Vegeta that since his proposal of sorts, and she smiled as she realized that only a week from then, exactly a month after their agreement, she can finally call him her husband.

The smile was still firmly in place as she called her two favorite boys to come in for dinner.

8-8-8-8-8

The day of the wedding was finally upon them, and Bulma kept shifting nervously in her seat. She was already dressed: a simple, sleeveless, v-neck white dress that reached the tops of her knees, with a thin blue belt and matching blue shoes. She had on some very simple white-gold earrings and a matching bracelet, and she anxiously kept looking at the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, waiting for Vegeta to finish dressing up so they can go.

There was also the matter of the rings. Panchy had been in charge of the jewelry, and her mother had steadfastly refused to show her the rings, insisting that she wanted it to be a surprise.

Trunks was sitting, unusually timid, on a chair in front of her. He knew something exciting was about to happen and looked restless, but she had given him extremely strict instructions to sit still and keep his tiny suit clean for the upcoming ceremony. She had tried to explain the marriage to him, but the four-year-old didn’t seem to care, and merely shrugged, saying “It’s all the same to me. You are my mama, and he is my papa.”

When Vegeta finally dropped down from the stairs, Bulma released the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. He was wearing a navy blue suit and leather shoes, and perhaps, she was just feeling sentimental on this day, but she didn’t believe she had ever seen him look more handsome.

The wedding itself went numbingly fast. A quick trip to the courthouse, and it seemed to Bulma that they were suddenly standing in front of the judge, who was holding up a book that was symbolic of an old marriage register. They signed their paperwork and did not have to go through the vows that she just knew would make Vegeta very uncomfortable.

However, time seemed to stop when the rings were finally revealed to Bulma.

Panchy had given the rings to Trunks, so he could hand it to the judge when the judge called for it. The rings were in a simple blue velvet box, and the judge opened it without preamble before handing it to Vegeta.

The Saiyan then looked at Bulma, his eyes intense, almost as if he was in battle, before he turned the box so that the rings faced her.

She gasped, words escaping her as she stared in disbelief.

Two simple platinum rings were delicately placed, side by side, inside the small jewelry box. This would not have been unusual, except for the tiny symbol carved into the center of each ring.

It was a symbol that Bulma had only seen twice, but knew like the back of her hand.

The royal Saiyan crest was inscribed into each ring, its clean lines and curves distinctive and unmistakable.

Vegeta had absently drawn the symbol on a sheet of paper once, before they had even gotten together, and he had turned away in embarrassment when she asked him about it. She saw it again once more, when she was cleaning his room after they had been sleeping together for some time, and he finally told her of the significance of the emblem then. She knew he treasured the symbol, a sign of his heritage that was now forever lost.

She never would have expected him to have it carved into their wedding rings.

“Vegeta… this… oh my,” she whispered in awe, lifting her eyes to look at a blushing Vegeta, who was clearly uneasy but stubbornly refusing to look away. Bulma heard her mother giggling, and she glanced at the blond woman, realizing that she, and maybe even her quietly smiling father, were in on the plan.

Bulma reached for the larger ring, holding it up while Vegeta did the same with the smaller ring. At the judges cue, they placed the respective rings on each other, and she barely held her tears back as the judge continued reading the rest of the words to proclaim them married.

The judge finally announced that they were now officially husband and wife, and gave the signal for the Saiyan to kiss his new wife. Never one for displays of affection, Vegeta reached up to cup her cheeks in his hands, before he stood straight and gave Bulma a chaste kiss on her forehead.

The lavish meal that her mother had organized for the wedding celebration afterwards was an exercise in excess. Bulma happily watched her son and new husband systematically decimate the food, while her parents and their few loyal household helpers enjoyed more normally-portioned meals along with her.

She felt a bit guilty for not inviting any of her friends, but she knew that Vegeta would not be comfortable with it, and she decided to let them all know that she and Vegeta had married in the most casual way possible the next time she saw them all.

As the day turned to night and all the inhabitants of Capsule Corp had slowly drifted off to bed, Bulma remained in the living room, with a very snuggly trunks wrapped in her arms. Her leg was falling asleep as his weight rested mostly on her thighs, and she slowly shifted to try to lift him up to bring him to bed.

A pair of muscled arms reached for her son, and Bulma looked gratefully up at Vegeta as he effortlessly lifted the heavy child.

“Go on up to our room and get ready for bed, woman. I shall take Trunks to his room and will be with you shortly,” he said as he turned to leave.

Bulma looked up from where she sat, and a giddy sort of delight filled her as she realized that tonight would be their first night as husband and wife.

She rushed up the stairs and hurriedly showered, slipping into a thin blue negligee and matching panties that reminded her of the ones she had been wearing the first time Vegeta took her to bed.

‘This will be another first,’ she thought dreamily, as she quickly ran a brush through her hair, then moved quickly and excitedly to their bed.

When several minutes had already passed and Vegeta still hadn’t returned, Bulma began to worry.

‘Is he not coming up to bed? He said he was going to follow me… did something go wrong?’

Just as worry had begun to set into her mind, the bedroom door opened to reveal her man, still wearing his pants and undershirt from the wedding.

Bulma stood up, intending to walk over to him and pull him to bed, but she stopped mid-step when he suddenly turned his dark eyes her way, staring at her so intently that she felt a small shiver go up her spine.

He approached her slowly, his gaze pinning her to spot, and she found herself unable to move even as he stood only inches away from her. He didn’t touch her, he was so still, and Bulma could have sworn that he was barely breathing.

She kept staring into his eyes, and the world could have exploded behind her, and she would still not have been able to look away from him.

“Vegeta,” she whispered softly, tentatively breaking the silence. He didn’t speak, but his hands slowly rose up to grasp her upper arms in answer.

His eyes started to burn with a feral intensity that Bulma now knew all too well. Vegeta was hungry, hungry for her, and before she even had the chance to gasp, he had pulled her to him, crushing her in his arms as his lips slanted possessively against her own.

Bulma immediately kissed him back, her tongue sliding between his teeth as his own greedily explored every crevice of her mouth. She moaned in delight as his hand began to roam her body, one hand resting on the small of her back as the other slid up and tangled between the blue strands of her hair.

His lips left hers and began to trail down her cheek, stopping momentarily to nip at the edge of her jaw, before planting a wet kiss onto her throat. She whimpered as he began to suck, his mouth leaving a trail of rapidly darkening marks onto her skin.

‘I should start wearing scarves. I’m getting too old to be showing off my hickeys,’ she thought in a daze, her hands dancing around his shoulders as she tried to grasp the hard muscles that she had now completely mapped out in her mind.

“Bulma,” she heard him groan, the sound of his voice filling her with a carnal kind of thrill, and she whispered his name in response.

He pulled away from her then, his lips moving away from her body so slowly that she thought he seemed reluctant to stop kissing her. He looked deep into her eyes again as he brought his hands down to grasp the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and off him swiftly, and Bulma’s hungry eyes took in the familiar but eternally arousing view of his perfect torso.

‘He is so beautiful,’ she thought as she drank in the sight of the body of the man that was now, by all rights, hers.

He moved to grasp her hips, and Bulma was surprised when she realized that his hands were shaking slightly. She looked up at him in concern, but he silenced her questions with a gentle kiss, his lips lingering sweetly against her own as he slowly, tantalizingly lifted her night gown from her body.

His hands seemed to stop and start as he undressed her, lifting the hem of her dress above her hips, pausing there while he moved closer to plant a soft kiss on her shoulder. His hands moved again, pulling the cloth to bunch up below her breasts, as he moved his hot mouth to lick languidly around her collarbones. He pulled up again, this time completely freeing her of her clothing, and he dropped the gown to the floor before quickly encasing her soft body within his powerful arms, his lips once again seeking out her own.

She moaned into the kiss, completely aroused at his unusually tender movements. Her hands moved down to undo the button on his pants, but he stopped her as she began to pry the garment from him.

She pulled back from the kiss and looked at him questioningly, but he said nothing, and only held her by the waist as he slowly eased them both onto their bed. He had her partly on the bed, her knees hanging off the edge, and he kneeled down before her, his legs around her, his knees trapping her thighs closed.

Vegeta leaned down, his hands once again resuming their almost reverent trek around her body. He caressed her arms, his touch so soft and gentle that Bulma felt like he was paying homage to her body. He then propped himself up on one arm as he swooped down and captured her lips again, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he kissed back with gentle fervor. A groan escaped her as his other hand softly cupped and then teasingly squeezed her right breast.

She felt like putty in his hands, and she mewled as his kisses traveled lower. She felt him shift his legs to place one knee between her thighs, and her hands moved to stroke his upper back as he moved down to take one of her aching nipples into his hot mouth.

She hissed, getting more and more aroused by his actions, and she softly scraped her nails against his back. She knew that he loved her breasts, and she let go of him to pull her arms over her head to lift her bosoms just the way he liked it. He growled at her actions, his arms reaching up to hold her upper arms still as he kept smothering her breasts with his lips, sucking strongly enough to make her gasp and arch her chest to push her mounds further into his mouth.

He stopped worshipping her chest long enough to look up into her eyes and smirk at her, before he moved lower, nipping her stomach as his hands stroked her all the way from her breasts, down the sides of her waist, and down further to gently but firmly hold her hips.

He knelt on the floor now, as he slowly pulled her panties off of her, carelessly discarding the piece of cloth. He lifted her hips to the very edge of the bed, and his eyes met hers as he gently cupped her center, one finger moving to gently tap her clit.

She gasped in delight as the said finger began to slowly roll her bud around in a gentle motion that he knew both excited and frustrated her. She rolled her hips as her hands moved, one of them moving to clutch the sheets as the other grasped his hand that was still on her hip.

He inserted a finger into her then, and she whimpered his name, both still looking into each others’ eyes as he pleasured her with his hand.

A second finger joined in and Bulma groaned, no longer able to keep her eyes open as she threw her head back and panted from her husband’s actions.

“So wet for me. You are so ready for me, aren’t you, Bulma?” He whispered lasciviously as his other hand released her hip to join the one at her core. Bulma couldn’t even speak as she felt him open her with two fingers of one hand, and the other one pushed in to pleasure her more thoroughly. Her pants turned into moans as her hands lifted up to grasp the sheets beside her head, desperately looking for something to hold on to.

He increased the speed of his pumping fingers, and when a thumb joined in to vigorously roll her clit, the breathless sensation of an incoming orgasm began to wash over her, making her cry out.

Without stopping what he was doing, Vegeta leaned down and covered her core with his mouth, his tongue sweeping across her nether lips. His fingers moved out of her only to be replaced by his firm tongue, and Bulma cried out as he lapped at her relentlessly.

She peered down, the sight of his flame-haired head bobbing between her thighs so erotic that a shudder went through her body, pushing her closer to that wonderful edge.

Another lick, another press, and he pushed his fingers back inside her as his sinful mouth moved up, pressing the flat of his tongue against her button. His lips then wrapped around it and after one hard suck, Bulma screamed as a mind-numbing orgasm washed over her, her thighs shaking as she convulsed in pleasure.

Amidst her post-orgasmic haze, she watched Vegeta get up and oh, so slowly push his pants down his hips. Her starving eyes widened as he kicked the offending garment off, her mouth watering as she found that her naughty Saiyan had once again foregone underwear.

Vegeta crawled over her and Bulma eagerly used her arms to push herself up to lie down in the middle of the bed. When they had moved up enough that their whole bodies were now on the bed, she raised one arm to quickly push Vegeta to make him lie on his back.

He grinned at her, a cheeky lifting of one side of his lips, and he obediently fell onto his back.

She eagerly straddled him, leaning down to plant a breathless kiss on his lips. Her hands, hungry for his skin, moved greedily to stroke and caress every inch of him she could reach as her mouth moved downward, lapping at his chest, teasing and tasting the hard planes of his body.

Her hands reached below her, mapping a familiar path down to the tantalizing indentation between his abdomen and thighs. She traced the thin line of hair from the bottom of his stomach, a sexy trail leading to the part of him that no one on earth but her is allowed to see.

Her fingers wrapped around him. He was as thick and powerful here as the rest of his body, and as her fingers worked him, he released a strangled groan of pleasure as he lifted his head to look down at what her hands were doing to him. Up and down, she moved her hands, trying her hardest to fully wrap her small hands around the whole of him.

She could feel her breasts heave as she panted, as hearing the sounds of his pleasure, and knowing it was her who gave him pleasure, aroused her even more. She then leaned down and licked him, and he hissed, the sound dissolving into a growl as she took the tip of him into her mouth.

She sucked noisily, humming and moaning as she tasted his delicious essence on her tongue. She peered up at him, only to find him looking at her, his gaze focused on her as she took delight in pleasing him with her mouth.

She felt his member twitch, and suddenly, he had pulled her off of him, his arms wrapped around her once again as he pushed her to lie back down onto the bed. She blinked when he reached up and pulled down a pillow, and he lifted her head with a gentle hand on the back of her neck to place the soft linen under her head.

He crushed her to him again, his lips finding hers as their legs passionately tangled together. One of his large hands moved down to lift her left leg against his hips as he situated himself between her thighs, spreading her wide open.

He broke the kiss, looking intently into her eyes as one of his arms moved up beside her head, and he braced himself on an elbow as his fingers delved into her short hair.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face close to hers as his other hand moved down, and holding himself, guided his member into her waiting core.

“Vegeta!” She gasped as he slowly pushed in, his body stretching her insides so deliciously, and she greedily clasped onto his every inch as he entered her all the way to the hilt. His hips locked against her own, he groaned, a long drawn out sound of pleasured agony that sang to her heart and pulled a strangled moan from her own lips.

A hand moved to clutch her hip, the tips of his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttock as he still stubbornly refused to pump his hips. Instead of moving, he simply pressed their bodies closer together, pushing her deeper into the plush mattress with his body.

A sharp, almost physical ache formed in the pit of Bulma’s stomach as he continued to gaze at her, his eyes narrowed in concentration as his body pulsed within her, her own moving to clench sweetly against his delicious intrusion. She gasped as pleasure filled her, the sensation of their bodies simply melded together taking her breath away.

His hand in her hair moved down to gently cup her cheek, his eyes so unbelievably soft in that moment that Bulma had to choke back a sob. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

Then, he began to move.

He pulled back with his hips, but the rest of his body remained as flush against her own as possible. It was almost as if he needed to touch as much of her as he could, all at once. Bulma moved against him, taking his cue, grinding her hips against his own as she writhed against his wonderful body.

One hand snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer against him as they moved against each other. Deep, guttural moans escaped him, the pleasure making him grit his teeth, but he did not close his eyes, continuing to look only at her face.

Bulma, who did not possess nearly the same amount of control, had closed her eyes, his name escaping her lips in broken syllables that got more and more garbled by the minute.

“Oh- oh! Vegeta,” she panted breathlessly. She opened her eyes to gaze at him, the look in his eyes and the expression on his face overwhelming her completely. “Ah! You feel so good! You are so good! You are so beautiful, Vegeta… Oh!”

Soon enough, she was moaning incoherently, trying hard to keep her eyes locked onto Vegeta’s as he kept his face so close to hers that their breaths intermingled sweetly. His air was her air, his gasps were her gasps, and every exhaled endearment, sigh and wail was shared between them, both oblivious to anything other than each other.

He suddenly cursed, before he reared up and grabbed both of her hands, pulling them up by the wrists, until both of her arms were trapped above her head, his large hands swallowing her palms in his. Their fingers entwined, Vegeta braced a knee down as he moved against her vigorously, chasing that edge that was hovering only just out of their reach.

Bulma was breathing hard, almost sobbing, as her husband continued to pump in and out of her, his movements fast, but gentle and unhurried. He leaned down to plant a kiss between her brows and he strained against her, his heartbeat thrumming hard against her chest as they both neared that inevitable tumble into ecstasy.

Her body began to seize up, her toes curling in as her head arched up and off the pillow, her voice going hoarse as her whimpers melted into groans and her groans turned into screams.

‘I love you!’ she screamed in her head. She had never said those words to him yet, but she had known for years that she loved him with everything she was and more. She would die a thousand deaths to see him smile.

‘I love you, Vegeta!’ she thought deliriously as his body made love to her soul. His movements tonight made her want to shout the words out, but she caught herself getting tongue-tied around the unfamiliar words, and she keened a wordless plea for more, instead.

She said his name repeatedly, like a benediction falling from worshipful lips, and he answered back, her own name carelessly falling from his mouth as his barriers crashed down around them, broken into dust by the swirl of their emotions, the intensity of their lovemaking.

He ground his hips against hers, and a particularly hard twist broke her, sending Bulma spiraling into completion, his name echoing within the walls of their room as she screamed it with all of her heart.

She convulsed powerfully, the tremors going up and down her spine, and she had yet to come down from her high when she felt Vegeta begin to lose control above her, his hands grasping hers almost painfully as he chased his climax, until he finally reached it.

“Bulma!” he gasped out as his face contorted in near pain, his whole body shuddering against hers, and she felt his essence flood her deep inside.

He began to lose his balance, a shocking turn for the nimble alien warrior, and she slipped her hands from his loosening grasp to hold him gently around his chest, guiding his spent form down, and he, without hesitation, moved down to rest his head against her bosoms, his breath fanning harshly against her chest.

And Bulma, lost in the sensations of what had to be the most amazing sex of her life, grinned as she stroked his arms and basked in an amazing, nearly spiritual, afterglow.

8-8-8-8-8

Now, as Bulma felt Vegeta lift himself up to begin another round, she couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that spread across her face as he began to ravish her body once again.

Oh, he may not be able to say the words just yet, but she knew, deep in her heart, that he loved her too.

She was his wife now, and as he put it, “truly his”.

However, now, as he loved her with his body once again, she realized…

He was truly hers, too.  

8-8-8-8-8

END