#i hate summer :( i hate the warm weather and bright sun it makes me uncomfortable and unhappy!!!!!!!!!

[ispyspookymansion]

happy for everyone whos feeling good with the changing seasons but it was 70 degrees today and i felt such a deep unhappiness about it i think i might pass away

[extravaguk]

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

wordcount: 15k

genre: summer!au, ex high school classmaters, kinda frenemies to lovers, tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook, popular!reader

rated: m (fluff - smut - angst)

warnings: you broke jungkook's heart you bitch!! , oral sex (m&f), protected sex (shocking tbh), CL as your bestie it doesnt get better than that! idk i dont wanna spoil too much

author's note: fucking finally dude!! i've been writing this since february but school was kicking my ass. now that i finished my exams and mercury is in gemini i was able to finish it. if you read this, i hope you enjoy it!

Inkphoria

You've been standing outside the shop re-reading the word for fifteen minutes, although it definitely feels like it has been longer. You're gripping the flyer too tightly, rumpling the paper in your hand until you're pretty much sure it's ruined. It's the first day of June, and it's already too hot. The sun and humid weather are causing beads of sweat to form in your hairline and your white tank top to stick to your skin. Your jean shorts didn't feel this uncomfortable a few hours ago and you're sure the heat is causing your mascara to transfer to your eyelids and lower lashline. You've never needed a slushie and a smoke this bad in forever, even if you knew the later would make your parents lose their shit.

Inkphoria

You read it again. Your brain is trying to guess what font its written in, an excuse to try to steady your heart beat until your nerves ease a little and you can finally gather the courage to step into the damn shop. You've noticed a few people passing by giving you strange looks because maybe it hasn't been fifteen minutes. Perhaps you've been unmoving like an idiot in the middle of the street for longer than you want to admit.

Chaelin's voice echoes inside your head.

'Its not that much of a big deal. It's not even that painful, trust me.'

You wish you could trust your best friend, but your best friend is also the same woman who assured you Cats was the movie of the year. Yes, not 'Cats: The Musical'. 'Cats', the movie.

'And this could be a great start to get out of your comfort zone and start living your life exactly the way you want to, not the way people expect you to. Not the way your family wants you to, not the way Adam wanted you to.'

But although her credibility could sometimes be questionable - like that time she also told you she'd tried marmite and 'honestly, it's not as bad as people make it out to be'-, you also didn't trust anybody in this world as much as you trusted her. She had always been your entire support system, the only one around you who never sugarcoated, who always treated you as an equal, who was always there for you to help you discover yourself and, at the same time, remind you of who you were.

'And it's gonna look so hot, too.'

That's it. Sticking the wrinkled flyer on your back pocket, your feet finally start moving. It doesn't take longer than three strides and you're pushing open the door.

The first thing you notice is that, thankfully, the shop is empty. The second thing you notice is the bright sky blue walls, a green undertone peaking through. Your eyes scan nervously the interior. Frames with tattoo designs and people modeling other different designs decorate the walls, some skateboards also hanging from the ceiling. A few plants in the corner, and two leather couches on either side of the room. Your scanning stops on the counter, where a girl with short, platinium hair and -what you guess is- the eighty percent of her body inked. Face included. She's been looking at you, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her tone is amused when she speaks

"Hi." she says. "You can come closer, you know? We don't bite."

Great. As if you couldn't feel more out of place, apparently you also couldn't look more out of place.

"Sorry." you gulp as you walk forward. "It's my first time doing anything like this."

She laughs this time, but it's not mean. It's not mocking, thank God, and the smile she sends you is as warm as the weather, friendly, luckily helping you calm down a bit. "A virgin, huh? JK's gonna love this." your eyes jump in surprise, but she's fast to wave her hands in front of you. "Just a joke. So, first time getting a tattoo. You have something in mind, honey?"

"Um, no. Not a tattoo. Not yet, I think." you wet your lips, regretting not reaplying chapstick before stepping inside. "A piercing."

"Oh! Cool!" she claps her hands, too excited for your own taste, pulling from under the counter a catalogue. "So, where will it be? Cartilogue? Nose? A lot of people are getting their septums pierced right now, though, so you might-"

"Nipples. Like, one of them."

Her gaze finds yours in surprise, although her face swiftly transforms again into an amiable expression. "Now, that's badass. Alright!" she skims through the pages of the catalogue until she finds the nipple piercing collection. You scratch your head before wiping your forehead sweat-free. "You can pick either barbells or hoops, although barbells heal faster and they don't move around as much. There's different kinds of metal, too. Gold or platinium. If your skin is sensitive, I recommend titanium. It's hypoallergenic and not as problematic."

The blonde keeps talking as you nod your head, a smile making its way into your face while silently thanking her for her easygoing personality. It quickly makes you feel comfortable and stupid for being so terrified of doing this.

Once you decide, settle on the cost and sign the papers, she stands up from the stool she'd been sitting on. "Ok, I'll go tell my coworker. He's been sketching tattoos all morning, it's time he gets to work!" she laughs, but suddenly your smile banishes and your throat shuts down.

"He?" your alarmed tone halts her motions and she looks back at your frightened expression.

He? A he is going to pierce your nipple? You're about to let a random stranger, a HE, see and touch one of your boobs and then pierce a needle through one of your nipples?

"Oh, baby, don't worry. I'd do it myself if I knew how to, but I only do tattoos. Most of our staff are on summer vacation so it's mostly just him and I. If you don't feel comfortable, which is totally understandable, you can wait until september when Minzy comes back and she can do it for you." It's her turn to scratch the back of her head as she adds: "but trust me, we're professionals. He's not a creep or anything like that. He's been doing this for a long time. He won't cross any boundaries."

September? You won't even be here in september. Fuck.

Sure, you could do it when you move back into the city. But this summer was supossed to be the summer. You already decided after your breakup with Adam that there would be no trace of the old you. That it was time to push yourself, to do the things that you've always wanted to do, unapologetically. To find the new you, the real you. To stop being scared.

So after going through you options for a few seconds and taking a deep breath, you make up your mind.

"It's fine. I can do it."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"JK, sweetheart!"

Jungkook is finishing drawing a Chinese dragon when Mijoo opens the door without knocking. Again. He puts the pen down, rubbing his eyes. It's monday, a slow monday, not much work, and he had hoped it would stay that way until closing time. It's summer and Jungkook hates summer. He hates the heat, he hates being drenched in sweat, and he hates the fact that he can do nothing about it. Because working in the summer is terrible. Summer makes him lazy, makes him want to bathe in a tub full of iced water and not get out until he turns into a raisin and october comes. It makes him irritable. Summer makes him annoyed by people -like Mijoo, even if he loves her to death- and himself.

"I got a girl here who wants a nipple piercing, her first piercing by the way, so get your shit ready and bla bla bla. Straight titanium barbell. Also, don't flirt and don't be creepy. She almost ran away when I told her a male was going to be touching and piercing her tit, be mindful of that. She's too cute, if you want to get her number you should wait until it's done. I think that's it. I'll bring her in in a minute."

Mijoo leaves as fast as she talks, but Jungkook is already used to it. He's already used to the headaches her mouth causes too. He sighs before standing up, tying his too-long raven hair into the best bun he can manage. He washes his hands, sets the table up, sits on the chair and puts the gloves on. He's too busy sterilizing the jewerly when Mijoo comes back with you.

"Alright, my babies. I'll leave you to it." she turns to you. "He'll explain everything, from how the process will be to how to take care of it after it's done." she leaves before saying bye, closing the door behind her, and then he finally turns to you.

Your eyes meet and suddenly everything stops. He almost drops the sterilizing machine, his whole body tensing, going into panic mode as he recognizes you immediatly. His hands shake.

Of course he does. Of course he recognizes his high school crush. The too goody two shoes, too pretentious and too rich, too good for everybody and, most importantly, 'too good for Jeon Jungkook' girl of his high school dreams. Of course he recognizes the girl he had confessed his stupid crush to when he was sixteen. Of course he recognizes the girl who rejected and broke his young and foolish heart when he was a dumb teenager.

It doesn't matter that six years have passed ever since. He still knows every lock of your hair like the palm of his hand. He still remembers the shape of your lips and the exact shade of your eyes. He can still identify the body he fantasized about -and jacked off to- when he was a hormonal teen, now filled in all the right places. Now a grown woman.

Just one look at you after years and years of pining is enough to almost make him faint. And grow a boner under his jeans.

And by the look on your face, your eyes wide and your mouth agape, you recognize him as well.

Dammit.

He schools his features and clears his throat. Forces his body to relax and compose himself, because he's not a teenager anymore. He's also a grown man, who has matured, who now has much more experience with women than he did back then. He had already embarrased himself enough when he was sixteen to be doing it all over again. You're just another attractive girl in a sea of attractive women.

He turns to you. You still haven't said anything. Neither has he.

"Um, you can sit on the table." he manages, motioning to the set up in front of him. He watches you taking doubtful steps until you're sitting down, your eyes avoiding his gaze. He almost forgot you were here to get pierced. Holy shit, you were here to get pierced. To get your nipple pierced.

You're a professional, Jungkook. You can do this, Jungkook. You've seen boobs before, Jungkook. You've pierced nipples before, Jungkook.

Clearing his throat again and forcing his hands to stay by his side, he speaks. "The... The top." your gaze finds his, like a puppy about to get scolded. You look at your top, realization dawning on you. "You don't have to take it off. You can just pull it down."

So you do, pulling the straps of the white tank top down and dragging the fabric down with trembling fingers. No bra. Jungkook gulps as your breasts comes into vision. As perfect as he had imagined years ago. His cock twitches. Round, full, perky and so damn inviting he has to hold himself back from latching onto one nipple with his mouth around it and swirling his tongue over the nub until you're a pretty, moaning, little mess on his piercing tabl-

He closes his eyes for just a second before reminding himself to act like the 23 year old Jungkook he's tried so hard to become. The confident, assured Jungkook he is.

"Okay, this is how it'll go. First I'll clean it and scrub it to get rid of any bacteria." he's so glad he hasn't stuttered yet. 23 year old Jungkook doesn't stutter like 17 year old Jungkook. He's also glad he can pick the alcohol bottle and the surgical scrub without trembling. When he faces you again, you're watching his motions with your lip caught between your teeth. That has him swallowing the lump in his throat.

Making eye contact with him again, you take a deep breath and offer a small nod, so he gets to work. He can show you and himself he's a grown man. A grown man who can pierce a nipple without appearing like it's the first time he's seen a boob in his life. The sooner he does it, the sooner it's over.

Jungkook wets the paper towel with alcohol before carefully wiping over your nub with it. Your back arches, probably from the cold feeling, he guesses. He rubs it a few times before throwing it in the trash can nearby. He avoids looking at how enticing the soft peak is salluting him when he reaches for the marker. He doesn't say anything when he dots it with it, jaw clenched and his dick painfully stiff.

"Lay back." his voice low as he commands, turning away to get the clamp. When he slides closer, he tries to ignore the view: you, with your hair sprawled and your sweaty, shiny skin and your eyes focused on the cieling, nipple fully erect, like the star of one of his most erotic dreams. He extends his free gloved hand before he can stop himself, fingers carefully working the nub until he's sure it's painfully hard. Almost as hard as he is.

You gasp, your back arching again. He stills and looks at you, your cheeks flushed pink. Probably from the heat, he guesses again. Or at least that's what he tells himself. He can't stop himself from wondering how responsive would you be in a different setting, most likely his bed while his teeth play with your breast and his cock dives into-

"You okay?" he studies your face, your eyes not meeting his and instead still focusing on the white ceiling.

"Mhm." you reply with a small voice.

"Relax, alright? It'll be over soon." his voice is as gentle as he can, his fingers mindlessly caressing your breast to try to soothe your nerves. Or maybe it's just because he's a selfish bastard. Whatever it is, he forces himself to bring the clamp to your nipple, securing it around it.

"Take a few deep breaths. This will only take a second of pain and then it will go away." He misses the way your mouth falls open, but he doesn't miss the way your eyes squeeze tight as the needle goes in.

"Ah!" he definitely doesn't miss that either. He goes rigid for a second, because that didn't fucking sound like a cry of painfulness. It's breathy, and whiny, not too loud and, for fucks sake, if that's how you sound when you're getting fucked, he swears to God-

He feels your heartbeat under his hands when he puts the barbell in and then the bandage over it. He takes a look at you, chest moving up and down. And then you take a look at him and what he sees is almost enough to take you right there.

Reddened cheeks, drops of sweat framing your face and those eyes glazed with something he's seen too much in the women he's fucked throughout his life. They're half lidded, mascara adorning your long lashes and almost smudged, looking right through him.

"Jungkook..." and your voice, as you say his name -acknowledging him for the first time since you stepped into his shop, for the first time since you were sixteen-, it's hoarse, almost inaudible, like you just came all over his-

He's on his feet in an instant like he's been burned. "It may bleed for the first week, and it can be really sore. The swelling will eventually come down." he's quickly tidying up the table, a bottle in his hand that he hands to you without looking directly. "Wash it gently with this soap and warm water once per day. Don't touch it. Wear a comfortable...bra. If it gets crusty, clean it with saline. Not alcohol or any other thing you might clean a wound with. The soap I just gave you or saline. Nothing else."

He's pacing around the room as he takes his gloves off and throws them in the trash bin, too agressively maybe, then he keeps rambling, like he's hurriedly trying to make you leave as soon as possible. "Avoid pools and the sea. It takes about six months to a year to heal, so don't... don't touch it, don't play with it or..." he clears his throat, "don't let anyone else play with it. And if it gets infected, come back immediately and I'll take a look at it." which he honestly hopes it won't happen. When he faces you, your top is back on and you're getting off the table.

"Alright, um...I'll do that." clearing your throat, your hand gripping the doorknob. "Thank you."

But right before you can exit the room, Jungkook says your name.

"_____." when you turn around to face him, it takes a few seconds for him to make eye contact from across the room. "It was good to see you."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"Let me see!"

It's the first thing Chaelin says when she opens the door to her appartment. It's on the second floor, small enough to compare it to most expensive appartments you'd stayed in throughout your life, but big enough for Chaelin, her cat and her -impressive- collection of acrylic nail kits and pairs of high heels. It's also big enough for her to offer you the only guest room until summer is over so you didn't have to, one, stay at your parents' place, and two, find an appartment in a short period of time for a short period of time.

When you left years ago, you did so with the thought of 'never looking back'. You never really expected to return here, of all places. Maybe visit your best friend for a weekend at most, have dinner with your parents on a saturday and then go back to the new life you'd made for yourself on a sunday.

But that was before you'd caught Adam cheating.

Tale as old as time: childhood sweethearts get engaged, move in together, son of a bitch sleeps with the assistand he told his girlfriend not to worry about, and then the brokenhearted girl packs her bags and leaves the cheating bastard begging for her to come back.

You'd be lying if you said you were surprised.

Throughout your life, you'd learned to expect many things, regardless of being sheltered and babied by your family since you were born. Watched too much Maury and Dr.Phil. Too much Gossip Girl to know what the deal with life really is.

So, thankfully, you'd only shed a few tears, mostly because your ego and self steem were slightly triggered. You'd realize long before that your feelings for Adam started to disappear once he popped the question and you said yes. Your love story began as teenagers but soon after graduating, the two of you went on different paths: you'd matured, grown into your twenties while he got stuck at 17 and never stopped acting as such.

So yeah, whatever, break ups are hard. But they're not as hard when the love is gone and the sole reason to stay with your partner is to please your parents. You were also right when you expected your mom to tell you to 'forgive and forget' because 'those things just happen, it's not a big deal, honey'.

But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

The lanky nerd with braces, glasses and an anime obsession much bigger than his hentai obsession, which is saying a lot. The shy, awkward classmate who'd stuttered his undying crush for you when you were just kids. That one who you had rudely rejected like the bitch you used to be in high school.

But my God, Jeon Jungkook was anything but a kid now.

You were shocked. You were gagged. Couldn't seem to fathom what was happening and what your eyes were seeing. It took you a while to close your mouth when you realized JK was Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

With messy black hair, a smoldering gaze free of glasses, piercings adorning both ears, and his right eyebrow,, the braces long gone showing perfectly straight - but still bunny like- teeth. The clothes he wore were loose, all black, but it was impossible not to notice the muscles of his back and arms, covered with tattoos from his hands to his forearms. You'd bet there were more of them underneath the fabric.

It was awkward at first. You didn't know what to do, or what to say. Didn't know if he rememberd you. So you chose to stay quiet while your body chose to react like it had never been in the presence of an attractive young man in it's entire life.

And oh, did it react.

He was reluctant, his old timid demeanor peeking through his newly adopted persona. But as soon as those hands came in contact with your skin, your whole body was lit on fire. Like you were 16 and losing your virginity over again and it was the first time a dude touched your boobs.

There shouldn't have been anything erotic about it -besides the fact that your entire breasts were exposed-, it should've been just a professional procedure. But those gloved fingers touched and pinched and suddenly you were too aware of Jeon Jungkook and the way you were starting to sweat profously, not due to the heat of the season.

You tried to distract yourself by looking at the cieling and not at his gorgeous face. Tried to avoid thinking about Jeon Jungkook and how his mouth would feel wrapped around you. Tried not to think about the way your panties were a second skin to your folds, and how tempted you were to grind your hips until you recieved some sort of friction with the jean fabric of your shorts. You wonder if he noticed you squeezing your thighs together. You hope not.

And then the needle happened. You never thought of yourself as a particularly kinky person. Sex with Adam was boring for the most part and you'd lost your libido for a long time. Stopped thinking about sex altogether. But the pain. The pain mixed with his hand rubbing soothing circles on your breast and his voice, as sweet as honey, guiding you through it. It made you reconsider a lot of things you'd once dismissed as 'weird' or 'deviant'

You swear you almost came right on his table.

And then your eyes connected, you made the mistake of calling his name like a satisfied woman who still needed more, and it was all gone. He stood up like a scared cat, gave you a bunch of explanations about the aftercare that you barely grasped without even looking at you and pretty much rushed you to leave.

So you walked, all the way from the tattoo parlor to Chaelin's appartment, mortified, and completely humilliated.

"Are you gonna let me see or not?" your friend says expectantly as you finally sit down after chugging a glass of iced water. You sigh, placing the glass on the table before carefully pulling down your top. "Oh my God, it looks so cool!" she gasps and you can't help a smile while she studies it in amazement. "Did it hurt?"

"Um, I guess." you keep out the part where you almost orgasmed, obviously, stopping her hand from touching when she reaches towards you. "Wait, no. He said something about not touching it for like six months or a year, I don't remember."

At that, Chaelin's eyebrows quirk up. "He? It was a he? Was he cute, at least?"

"You won't believe this..." looking away for a few seconds, you take a deep breath. "It was Jeon Jungkook."

There's a pause, a silence that fills the room when Chaelin's jaw drops. "Jeon Jungkook...pierced your nipple?"

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for what you're a hundred percent sure is coming.

"Ha..." there it is. "Ha ha..." you still know there's more. "Ha ha ha..."

Chaelin laughs hysterically for about God knows how long, while you keep drinking your glass of water unfaced, your mind drifting back to Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie, his tattoos and his stupid gloved hands.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

You know he's here.

Everything was cool, you were doing alright, having a great time with your vodka sprite in hand and your cute white bikini on. Chaelin was by your side, the guys were excited to have you back and thankfully, you'd avoided most questions about Adam and they'd avoided digging too deep into the topic. You'd sunbathed the whole afternoon, kept away from the water like he'd told you and ate the Hawaiian pizza Yoongi insisted on ordering despite Namjoon's and Jimin's complaints.

It's at night, when you're a little tipsy and your cheeks are flushed, that you feel it. You'd barely noticed Taehyung disappearing to let in a new guest.

You don't see him, but you feel him.

You're sitting on the pool tile steps, legs dangling and the water baely reaching your belly to make sure it doesn't touch your very sensitive and newly pierced nipple. Your back is facing the sliding glass doors of Hoseok's house, but the moment you hear his voice, smooth but animated as he converses with Taehyung, your body wakes up immediately, back straightening, goosebumps forming on your arms and nipples tightening against the fabric of your two piece.

You don't turn around, instead opting for downing the remaining of your drink and coming to the realization that, of course, Taehyung, social butterfly who'd always got along with everybody and remained friends with most people from high school, still keeps in touch with Jungkook.

You ignore him when he enters the pool, still peering from the corner of your eyes while pretending to be engaged in Chaelin's and Jihyo's conversation. Your mind sabotages you by taking you to that day a week ago at the tattoo parlor.

To the warmth of his hand, to the few strands of hair that his small ponytail couldn't keep together, to the way his eyes focused on such an intimate part of your body, to the endless ink decorating his skin, to-

Great. Now your bottoms are wet and not due to the water.

You don't miss Chaelin supressing a laugh and her not so subtle elbowing. You glance at her in warning and try to keep calm for the next fifteen minutes until Jin proposes moving to the living room to watch a movie.

"I'm gonna stay here for a little longer, guys." you say, after clearing your throat. You needed some time to gather yourself before being in a confined space with Jungkook.

"Are you sure?" Jin stops by your side to place a hand on your shoulder as everybody starts exiting the pool. "It's Mean Girls! You love Mean Girls! You never miss a minute of Mean Girls!"

Rolling your eyes, you wave him dismissively. "I know every dialogue on Mean Girls like the back of my hand, I think I'll be alright, Jin."

When everybody finally leaves, you take a deep breath, covering your face with your hands in an attempt to get him out of your head. Damn Jeon Jungkook and his irresisitble glow up.

"You okay?"

The unexpected voice startles you, a gasp finding its way out of your mouth and causing you to jump on your seat, heartbeat erratic as you instantly recognize who it belongs to. Your hand grasps your chest as if that would do anything to protect yourself against him.

"Shit, don't do that!" you say, the words almost getting stuck in your throat as you see him approaching you, still submerged in the pool. The more he nears you, the less water depth there is and the more visible his torso comes into view. Wich was exactly what you'd been avoiding.

Because Jeon Jungkook was ripped, as you'd imagined when you first encountered him.

Broad shoulders and strong biceps and chiseled abs and veiny forearms. Drenched hair, a full sleeve of tattoos and water dripping from delicious tan skin and all just so very hard. That paired up with a loopsided smile that does nothing but make you shudder.

"Sorry." he doesn't sound apologetic at all when he says that, the smirk adorning his features telling. "You just seemed a little off." you advert your gaze when he pushes his hair back.

"I'm fine, just...just wanted to be by myself."

"Oh" Jungkook's smile disappears. "I can leave, if you want me t-"

"No!" you're not sure where that comes from and neither does he, judging by the look on his face when your eyes find his. Eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted, he's as surprised as you and there's an awkward silence for a few seconds. "Um, you don't have to. I mean, it's not my house, you can do whatever you want." you sniff and tame your voice, trying to seem cool and collected like you didn't just practically beg him not to go.

Ironic, considering this was exactly what you had been fearing for the past thirty minutes.

And then he smiles. A knowing smile. A smile that says 'you just totally checked me out and now you don't want me to leave'. A smile that you would have never associated with Jeon Jungkook of all people years ago. A smile that makes you want to look away but still keeps you in place.

"Sure." he says, closing the space between the two of you slowly but still leaving enough distance. "So, how's it going?"

You clear your throat, head high and determined not to let this man, or any man for that matter, turn you into a trembling mess. You're still you and you're not easily shaken by the opposite sex. Or at least that's what you helplessly chant in your head.

"Everything's cool. I'm on summer vacation now," a little white lie, "so I decided to-"

"The piercing." he says, the smile never leaving his face. "I meant how's the piercing."

"The pier- right." you almost miss the step he takes forward, all too aware of his height over yours but thankful for the centimeters that being propped on the stairs added to yours. "It's-" you almost, almost miss his knee touching your knee and him slightly separating your legs with his own inch by inch. Or how your thighs open unvoluntarely to welcome him in and how you can barely find coherent words to speak. "It's doing-" or the way his smile disappears and is instead focusing his dark stare fully onto yours.

"It's doing well." you finally say in a whisper, not being able to bring yourself to be louder.

He hums. "May I see it?" Jungkook wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and the action and his voice is enough to make you nod your head, bewitched.

His movements are unhurried, his hand coming up to tentatively come in contact with the flesh of your clavicle. His fingers skim through your skin upwards, his touch is feather-like when it wraps around your throat. You pant, and he stops but he doesn't move away, his eyes still focused on yours, studying you, daring you to pull back, to tell him to back off. But just a simple touch of his and you're fully under his control. It reminds you too much of the day you got that damn piercing.

Your lips are parted and for a moment he stays just like that. His body so close to yours but not close enough, and his hand slightly gripping your neck. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you can't wrap your head around the fact that something so simple sets your entire being alive and leaves you aching.

Then, as slow as he started, his hand travels from the front of your neck to the back, pushing your hair aside to carefully untie the straps of your bikini. He breathes through his nostrils, doesn't make a sound. He seems so collected it's starting to annoy you.

Instead, your breathing is ragged when the top falls down, exposing both your breasts to him. That's when he removes his eyes from yours and his jaw clenches. Your nipples perk up under his gaze, like they remember him and the effect he had on them just a week ago. You're at least glad you're not the only one affected but he seems to be a master at keeping it under wraps.

Then, his hand moves again, leaving goosebumps on your skin as it goes south. Jungkook takes his time, so deliberate you want to scream, until he's cupping your pierced breast, keeping away from the nipple just like he'd advised you a few days prior. You can't look away from his face, from his eyes observing you like you're a full course meal and he's been starving for days. You feel drops of water falling from his hair to your thighs, his thumb caressing your skin so delicately as it faintly nears your still tender nipple. Just nearing it, never touching it.

"Beautiful." his murmur is almost imperceptible and for a moment you think you've imagined it. Your back arches on its own, breast pushed against the palm of his hand, almost like your body is begging him to come closer, to touch you more, to feel you all over. He meets your eyes briefly, gauging your reaction, before going back to your chest. Suddenly, the grip on your breast tightens, fingers ever so softly squeezing your flesh. From your throat comes a mewl, your eyes shut and your legs close around his waist.

"Jungkook, please..." you whisper when you open your eyes. He looks at you, unvertainty written all over his face, lips bruised as if he had been biting on them too hard, gaze as glassy as yours. And just like that, the spell is broken. He blinks and his expression changes completely. Lips forming a straight line and jaw tight. His hand retracts, fixing your bikini top over your breasts before tying it around your neck like it originally was. Meanwhile your eyebrows crunch in confusion. But when you're about to start asking questions, he clears his throat.

"It's healing okay." he steps back, avoiding your eyes. "I'll see you inside."

Jungkook leaves the pool like nothing happened.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Jungkook is fiddling, fixing the position of his glasses and combing through his straight hair with shaky hands, habits he's tried so hard to get rid of in his sixteen years of existence but still finds impossible to.

He can't help it. He's always been like this: the quiet and awkward kid in class who sits in the back, a misunderstood puppy in a sea of stronger dog breeds that could eat him alive. An outcast. Too geeky for his own good. Notebokes full of Dragon Ball doodles on the margins of the pages, the shelves in his room stacked with Marvel figurines, and a closet filled with outdated clothes that he has been inheriting from his older brother.

He has never been the type to stand out, always being overlooked by people like he's invisible. He doesn't mind though. He'd much rather be ignored than getting picked on by bullies like he used to in elementary school.

He never gets invited to parties. Ever. He's a nobody who barely speaks, and when he does he either stutters or manages to embarrass himself in one way or another. He's seen the look on people's faces when they look at him. Their eyes seem to scream 'weirdo' everytime he gets acknowledged.

So obviously the only reason he was invited to this particular party had a first and last name: Kim Taehyung. The only kid in Jungkook's entire life who didn't look at him in a funny way, the only kid who took the time to entangle in a random conversation with him after class and who seemed geniune enough to make Jungkook feel comfortable.

He's not sure how it happened, since Taehyung mostly hangs out with the cool kids. But somehow it did, and now Jungkook is uncomfortably standing in a living room full of drunk teens, looking directly at you.

You, the one girl Jungkook had been pining on for God knows how long. You, who are obviously too pretty, too popular, and way out of his league. You, with your plaid skirt and your polo shirt and those legs that never seem to end. You, who are sitting with your friends in a couch, drink in hand and visibly tipsy. And yet, he doesn't think he's ever seen anyone pull of the 'drunk-rosy-cheek' look better than you.

He can hear your laugh through the music and he already thinks it sounds better than whoever is playing in the background.

"Come on, Gukkie! Her friends are leaving and she's all by herself now! It's your chance" Taehyung's obviously drunk too because it took Jungkook a while to decypher his exact words. He'd disappeared for a while and now that he's back, he's pushing Jungkook in your direction.

"This was a mistake, Taehyung." Jungkook shakes his hair and steps back, quickly glancing at the front door to prepare his escape. But his new friend's grip on his hoodie keeps him in place.

"Guk, listen. The only thing you have to do, is walk up to her, and say 'hey I think you're, like, really pretty. Just letting you know. Bye!' That's it. Jung- Dude, Guk, seriously, look at me." Taehyung grabs Jungkook's cheeks, squishing them between his hands and forceing him to face him. "You've been crushing hard on her for years, my man. We're graduating and you won't see each other again. What's the worst thing that can happen? Getting rejected?"

Jungkook's eyebrows draw together. "Um, yeah?"

"Exactly! Getting rejected is not the end of the world, bro! It just means keep trying on other girls!" Taehyung releases his hold on Jungkook's cheeks. "I just think you're going to regret not telling your crush she's your crush. Who knows? Maybe in the future you two will get married."

Jungkook snickers, muttering a 'yeah right' under his breath. Still, he can't help the smile that Taehyung's words always seem to pull out of him.

"Now," Taehyung playfully slaps Jungkook before turning him in your direction again. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

"Okay," Mijoo's voice slices through Jungkook's memories. She's sitting on Jungkook's desk, munching on her brownies and looking at her coworker expectantly. "And then what?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, sits back on his chair, already feeling the effects of Mijoo's baked goods. "And then I walked up to her, like a damn fool, stutter and all. And I say:" he clears his throat, making an effort to do his best teenage Gukkie impression."'Hey, _____, um, so, I think you're beautiful and I've had a crush on you since seventh grade, haha, just wanted to let you know.'"

Mijoo rolls her eyes, still chewing. "And then what?"

"And then she looked me up and down, giggled, fucking giggled, Mijoo, and said 'Who are you, again?'" Mijoo gasps and Jungkook closes his eyes, trying to force that recollecion out of his head.

"What a bitch." she can't help but laugh before apologizing. Jungkook merely shrugs his shoulders and takes another bite of his brownie. "She didn't say anything else?"

"She said something along the lines of:" he clears his throat again, this time, doing an impression of you. "'That's sweet and all but, you and I... we're not the same. And I have a boyfriend, so...' She said that like I didn't know, like I wasn't aware of the school's it couple! Like I was dumb!"

Mijoo nods. "And now you want to fuck her even more than you did in high school."

"I- No! Well, yes. Fuck, of course I want to sleep with her! But I just... can't."

"Why not?"

"Did you hear anything about what I just told you or were you too concentrated trying to get high?"

It's Mijoo's turn to roll her eyes. "I heard everything you just told me. I just don't understand what the problem is. You two were sixteen. Sure, she was a bitch about it, but Lord knows I've been a bitch my entire life and now I'm not anymore." Jungkook raises an eyebrow at that. "Okay, sometimes I can be nice. But the point is..." Mijoo finishes her piece of brownie before getting off of Jungkook's desk. "It's been, what? Nine? Ten years? People change, JK. You're the best example of that. You want to fuck her and she obviously wants to fuck you too. You're both adults." she wipes her hands on her shorts. "I think it's time you fulfill that high school fantasy of yours."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

You've made up your mind.

And by you, it means Chaelin has made up your mind.

It didn't take long to convince you though. That last interaction with Jungkook cause too many emotions stirring within you. It left you hot, it left you bothered, it left you confused. Sure, it also left you a little bit embarrassed like the first time, but above everything else, that interaction with Jungkook left you absolutely livid.

Because who the fuck did Jeon Jungkook, formerly known as Guk, Gukkie, Jungukkie, and currently known as JK, think he was to come near you, speed your heart rate's up, and then runaway like that?

You've spent days thinking about it. About that face, about that body, about those hands and- shit. You're doing it again.

You've spent days trying to push those intrusive thoughts. Spent days trying to bury what happened. You've spent days trying to keep quiet, not telling anyone about it and just wishing that stupid spark of desire simply went away.

But it has just been simply unavoidable. You haven't been able to ignore the sleepless nights with your brain drifting back to that night and forbidding your hand from slipping under your panties. Or the excessive amount of time during the day where images of him suddenly popped in your head and wouldn't go away, even with you squeezing your thighs to try to make the ache go away.

So you ended up ranting and ranting and ranting to the only person you could confide on, who is obviously your best friend. Your best friend, who's too smart for her own good and knows you too well for your liking. Because apparently your moodiness and snappy remarks couldn't go unnoticed.

And after explaining the fiasco over a bottle of wine -and minutes of endless laughing on Chaelin's part because, again, it's Gukkie you two were talking about and, according to her, this was "the most karmic thing I've ever seen"-, she gave you the best advice an older sister could ever give.

"Fuck him."

"I know right? Fuck him!"

"No. I mean, fuck him."

And now here you are. Right inside that room you stepped in weeks ago, confronting the man in question with the same confidence that has always distinguished you from others and trying to act like the fluttering inside your belly wasn't nauseauting.

"A date."

"Yes."

"You want to go on a date with me." this wouldn't be so hard if Jungkook didn't look so delectable in a plain white t-shirt and ripped jeans. You cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to not look down at the exposed skin of a man who obviously worked out a lot and apparently, never skipped leg day. "What's the catch?"

He's sitting on his chair, back resting comfortably and legs spread, narrowing his eyes at you and probably wondering why the girl at the front desk let you in without an appointment. Also, probably wondering if there was a catch to all of this.

"There's no catch. I just want to go to the fair this weekend. I'll ask Taehyung for your number and text you the date and the exact place we'll be meeting. Unless..." your quirk one of your eyebrows. "Unless you're already planning on how you'll chicken out this time."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Of course, Jungkook says yes to going on a date with his high school crush but spends the following days overthinking every single thing.

He can't help but feel like it's kinda sketchy. What if you're planning your vendetta on him? What if you don't even show up and he ends up there looking like a damn idiot? What if you hate him and are just messing up with him? What if that incident in high school is going to repeat itself?

"If she doesn't show up, you simply move on and never speak to her again. It's that simple. She can't have that much power over you to cry about something like that." Mijoo had said that same day she let you in the tattoo parlor after you'd asked to see Jungkook. Jungkook's coworker hadn't even question you and just motioned you to Jungkook's room with a knowing smile on her face. Later that day, Jungkook had scolded her about it and she'd simply shrugged.

He considers cancelling, eyes reading the 'won't be able to make it, sorry (sad face emoji)' over and over again and fingers hovering over the send button so many times he's lost count. But then he remembers that comment of yours about him chickening out and Jungkook starts seeing red.

How couldn't you understand he's just terrified of you rejecting him one more time? Sure, Jungkook is now an adult who doesn't get butthurt over stuff like that. He's experienced too much after graduating from high school and he's a much stronger individual than his fragile self back was back then.

But something about you just makes him feel so... weak.

He still finds it impossible to concieve where he got the courage to approach you like that at Taehyung's pool, or how he brought himself to touch you for longer than a minute without coming in his pants. He'd enjoyed it too much. Allowing him to see you so exposed, just for him. He'd be so tempted to kiss you right there and then, to run his hands up and down your thighs and fully wrap your legs around him to let you known how much you'd affected him. Once you called his name, it was like he'd finally snapped out of it and backed away like he'd been burned by you. He spent the next twenty minutes trying to keep himself from pulling down his pants and jerking off in his friend's bathroom.

It's terrible. Because he feels like the teenager he used to be when you're around. Shy, insecure and overall a mess. You showing up in his life after so many years and now apparenly being interested in him seems like a dream that he's not sure he wants to keep being in or wake up from before it's too late and he falls back into that tumoltuous longing that will inevitably end up in heartbreak. His heartbreak.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

It's saturday night, he's standing by himself in the crowded fair at the spot. You're fifteen minutes late and he's already about to turn back and dip out. He feels too awkward and the nerves are eating him alive.

You're not going to show up. You're not going to show up and now he feels and looks even dumber than the time he told you he was crushing on you. You're not even going to show up and now he's going to come back home, get drunk by himself and curse your name for-

"Hey!" he turns around to the sound of your voice and sees you running towards him. "Sorry I'm late! I couldn't find my phone and spent like thirty minutes looking for it. Turns out, Sharon Stone, was taking a nap on top of it and I didn't even notice."

"Sharon Stone?"

"Chaelin's cat."

To be honest, he's too surprised to process your explanation right away. He might also be a little speechless because that sky blue sundress looks too good on your skin and your eyelashes are so long, framing your beautiful eyes, and your lips are all glossy and kisseable that it takes him a while to find his own voice.

He clears his throat. "It's alright." scratching the back of his head, he momentarely adverts his gaze from you in an attempt to not get distracted by how soft your hair looks and how much he wants to wrap it around his hands in a ponytail. "Um, where do you want to go first?"

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Almost an hour and a half later, when the sun has already disappeared and you're both surrounded by colorful lights, Jungkook decides to buy the both of you hot dogs and a drink and you both settle down on a bench.

You've been walking all over the fair, going from booth to booth, playing any game in sight Jungkook dared you to -he obviously had a competitive streak-: from the ballon and dart games, to the shooting games, to the bumping cars, to the ball-in-basket one. To say you were having fun was an understatement.

You'd almost regretted setting the date up. You were sure he wouldn't even show up and if he did, you were scared of how awkward things could get between the two of you. And if things were awkward, you were sure it would only take less than thirty minutes for the both of you to part ways and never talk again about such failure of a date.

To your surprise, none of that happened.

The conversation was flowing, both of you acting like you were strangers on their first date getting to know each other, which, to be fair, that's exactly what it felt like. There was a slight banter, teasing each other when one of you lost in whatever game you were playing while the other was obviously winning. There were laughs and a funny feeling in your tummy whenever you'd walk side by side and his arm brushed yours.

There was no stiffness on his shoulders, no mention of the past or your previous encounters, no acknowledgement of the blatant sexual tension you'd experienced before, not an ounce of avoidance whenever your eyes met his and he was even sure of himself enough to place a hand on your lower back or briefly interwine your fingers with his to guide you through the mass of people.

It felt like you'd both unspokenly agreed on making each other feel comfortable enough to have a good time.

"I didn't think you were going to show up, to be honest." you suddenly say, taking a sip of your strawberry juice and thankful to finally let your feet rest for a while.

Jungkook looks at you, hot dog mid air and eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. "You didn't think I was going to show up? I didn't think you were going to show up." you simply shrug, lowering your gaze seepishly, the beginning of a smile on both your faces. He surprises you by tilting your head in his direction with his forefinger. You watch him watching you, a little dazed, a little lost in how his dark hair messily falls over his forehead and his equally dark eyes study your face, his thumb swiping over your lower lip. "You um... There was ketchup right there." he lies.

"Oh" you say, feeling your face heating up. "Thanks. Red doesn't really match this dress." you manage a smile and tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.

At that, he eyes your dress for a moment, mouth slightly ajar. He's debating on whether or not to say something but you beat him to it.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

"For being late? I already told you it's fin-"

"No." you shake your head. "For... that time when we were young and I was such a concieted brat." you say, looking away , trying to find anything else that's not his pretty face. "I thought I was a queen bee back then. I was annoying and rude, specially to you. I..." you lick your lips. The cherry glittery gloss was already gone. "I thought it was cute, what you said. There was no reason for me to act like that. I know this doesn't make anything right but..." when you turn to face him again, there's still the same expression on his face. "I'm sorry."

A few seconds go by before it's him who's shaking his head. "It's okay. It was a long time ago, anyway." he smiles at you, although it doesn't reach his eyes and seems sorta forced. You sigh, and he takes your hand. "Let's go to the ferris wheel."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

tell you're tense. You're sitting right beside him in the ferris cabin, your back is all straight, you're facing forward and he believes you haven't blinked for what feels like an eternity. He thinks it has everything to do with your conversation a few minutes ago. You were probably not content with his response but what could Jungkook do? There was really no point in apologizing for something that happened years ago, but at the same time, he didn't want to hold anything against you like a resentful asshole because it was really not who he was. But there was still a little bit of stingyness inside of him and he didn't know how to make it go away.

At the end of the day, here you were, on a date with him that you'd asked for, getting along and asking questions about him and laughing at his jokes and trying to start all over again.

But then the ferris wheel starts moving, and he finally understands why you look so uncomfortable.

It's the way you immediately grip his forearm, nails digging in his skin and he swears he hears the smallest gasp forcing itself out your throat.

"Are you... scared?" he tentatively asks.

You say nothing for a while, not moving an inch. He would laugh if you didn't look so pained about it.

"I don't like small confined spaces nor rollercoasters." you finally say through gritted teeth.

"It's not really that small and ferris wheels are not rollercoasters. " your nails dig deeper and he winces. "Okay, okay. You don't like small confined spaces nor rollercoasters, and that includes ferris wheels. So why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. I've never liked ferris wheels but you seemed excited about it, so..."

There's a silence after that in the environment, neither of you exactly sure of what to say or how to act. Until Jungkook moves one of his hands hands until it's resting on the one who's holding onto him for dear life, fingers caressing yours. The warmth of his hand spreads through yours and although it's almost July and you can already feel your sweaty back staining your dress, it's oddly comforting. What's more comforting even, is him twisting his body towards you and talking with the calmest and most soothing tone you've ever heard.

"Look at me." you do instantly, unwillingly, and kinda wish you hadn't. It's almost as if your body will do anything he says without question. Like he has some sort of power over it to just react however he wants. His eyes bore into yours and suddenly the cab doesn't seem so suffocating. "It's just you and me right now. We're not even on a ferris wheel." the corners of his mouth turn slowly upwards. You zone out the environment, suddenly too aware of him and how close he is and how loud the beating of your heart is to your own ears.

"Jungkook."

You swallow the knot in the back of your throat when he removes his hand from yours. It almost makes you protest, - now realizing you've losened the tight grip on his arm- , before it craddles your face, keeping you in place while bringing his body closer.

"You have to stop saying my name like that."

With his thigh touching your thigh, your whole demeanor melts. When he leans closer, and you feel his breath fanning over your lips, your eyes shut closed.

"Tell me I can-" he starts to say.

"Yes." you finish for him. He doesn't doubt on closing the distance between you two. His lips touch yours and your body shakes in excitement. It's just him lightly skimming your lips with his but it's already too much and at the same time, not enough. It has you deepening it, yourself moving closer when he kisses you again. It has you relaxing against him, the tenseness prior disappearing and making you arch your back when his tongue asks for permission.

But it's exactly then, the moment you open your lips to him, that has you losing your mind.

The sparks fly, traveling from your head to your toes and then settling on the pit of your stomach as soon as the kiss starts to turn desperate and rough. When he nibbles your lips with his teeth, it makes you mewl and whine and your nipples tight against the cotton of your dress. It makes the metal barbell to feel uncomfortable, slightly painful. And when he goes back to being messy and filthy with his tongue tangled with yours, your thighs close on their own.

He forces himself to pull his hand back and bring it down, finding the parting of yd opening them for him. "Wait," you say, your fingers wrapping around his forearm as you try to catch your breath."The ferris-" he shuts you up with another kiss.

"We're not on a ferris wheel." he reminds you, a soft whisper against your mouth. And for whatever reason, you believe him.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"He fingered you on the ferris wheel."

"Yes."

"And you came before the ride was over."

You take a small sip of wine, your eyes focusing on the TV where a rerun of the Golden Girls is playing, although, to be fair, lately you haven't been able to pay much attention to anything else but a certain brunet with doe eyes and kisseable lips. "Yes."

She hums, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bowl between your thighs.

"How long did it took? Like five minutes?"

There's a pause in which you clench your jaw, your fingers twitching around the glass in your hand, and then you answer. "Probably less."

There's another pause, and then-

"Ha...Ha ha...Ha ha ha-"

You let her laugh. It's okay. You knew you had it coming.

Chaelin knows the pillow you throw right at her face is also something she had coming.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

It's not that you're mad.

Jungkook and you had a great time on that fair date, he made you laugh, bought hot dogs and drinks for the two of you and got you off inside the cab of a ferris wheel on record time with those magical, long fingers of his. Technically, there shouldn't be anything to be angry about.

Except it's been a week and you can't stop thinking about him, about wanting more, and about those words that he left you with after the ferris wheel ride ended, when you had tried to return the favor.

'Next time, maybe.'

And there hasn't been a next time.

The thought of texting him or giving him a call to ask for another date is persistent in your mind. It remains while you do the laundry or wash the dishes, while you shower, while you eat or while you spend your days at the beach with Chaelin. There's always the incessant desire to reach out towards your phone, unlock it and dial his number to beg for more.

But you'd never been one to beg, so you resist the urge everytime that feeling starts to creep up on you and it washes over you like a wave. You silence your phone and try to concentrate on making the most out of your summer.

It's one random night, when you're tiredly dragging your feet across Chaelin's apartment's carpet, yawning and ready to succumb to a well needed slumber, that you see your phone screen's lighting up with a message.

Your heart pathetically leaps inside your chest when you read his name.

'you free on saturday?'

You wish you could say you ghosted him, ignored his text and moved on with your life until it was him who begged you for another date. But the truth is you opened it in a matter of seconds and typed 'i'm free, why?' back in a rush with trembling fingers.

So now you're on the passanger seat of his car while he sits on the driver seat, the first saturday night of July, like he's Danny Zuko and you're Sandy Olsson, watching a vintage movie in a drive-in theater which plot you don't give a shit about, even if Jungkook's date plan idea made something inside of you churn with adoration.

And the only reason why you don't give a single damn about the movie playing in front of your eyes, is because you're hot. Way too hot. And the reason and cause is none other than the boy-now-turned-man sitting on your left.

You barely exchanged words when he picked you up, just rode in silence until you got to your destination and you bet he can feel as well as you do the tension in the air.

You've surveyed him a few times from the corner of his eye, noticing him fiddling with the rings around his fingers and shifting in his seat from time to time. And if the sight of his fingers bring memories that you've tried to bury to keep yourself from lunching towards him, a brief glance at his forearms, adorned with ink drawn through his golden flesh -doing a poor job at concieling the veins running underneath- and his skin-tight jeans wrapping those muscled thighs of his is enough to have you be the one squirming in your seat.

A woman can only endure so much, and you come to that realization thirty minutes into the movie.

"I want to suck your cock." you say, a stern expression on your face as you turn your body in his direction.

Jungkook frozes as your voice slides over him. It takes him a couple seconds to look at you, shock widening his eyes and parting his lips.

"Huh?" he manages, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white.

Without separating your gaze from his, you gather your hair and tie it in a ponytail with the hair tie previously around your wrist. You don't miss the quick glance he sneaks into the curvature of your neck and the valley between your breasts.

Inching forward, closing in on him, you place one of your hands on top of his thigh, the action making his whole body tense. "____..." he whispers your name in a warning that doesn't sound convincing even in his own ears.

You smile, your eyes never wavering from his as your hand inches upwards, slowly caressing over the fabric of his jeans until you finally come across what you were looking for.

His hand flies to your wrist, stilling your movements. "____, this is not-". He starts, but his voice gets stuck inside his throat when you palm his undoubtly growing erection.

"Shh." your shaky breath fans over his cheek and you force yourself on your knees on the passanger seat in a more comortable possition to stop the trembling to reach them.

You fumble with the belt holding his pants in place, then with the button and finally with the zipper. He helps you by lifting his hips to pull his jeans and boxers to his thighs and you have to bite back a mixture between a gasp and a moan at the sight below you. You haven't even seen Jeon Jungkook naked all the way, but the mere sight of his hard cock with pre-cum glistening on his crown is probably the sexiest thing you've ever had the pleasure of appreciating.

It gets sexier when you wrap your hand around the base and his body melts in the driver seat, throwing his head back with his eyes shut. It gets even sexier when you finally lower your head, swirling your tongue over the head before finally engulfing him fully in the wet warmth of your mouth.

"Shit." his voice is tight, uneven as his hand loosely grips your ponytail, as if careful not to accidentally hurt you and break the glorious moment.

Although you wouldn't mind at all. Because the moment your hands are on him, and your tongue is on his shaft, that's the only thing you care about. Your belly is twisting, an undeniable wet spot on your panties as the fabric sticks to your folds, and the more you suck Jungkook, the more you want from him. His earthy taste is addicting and the soft little whimpers he occasionally can't prevent himself from are making you want to milk him until he can't take it no more. There's this desire within you to whorship him and his cock like you had been dreaming for the past weeks.

"This is s-so fucking h-hot." he rasps between ragged breaths, the bobbing of your head, sliding up and down his dick as your hand works the centimeters your mouth can't take is about to make him faint.

"Getting a blowjob?" you joke, your throat starting to feel sore as you kiss his leaking tip.

"N-no." he draws in a rough breath when you take him all of him again. "You giving me a blowjob... T-the f-fact that anyone c-could see us..." he darts a quick glance at your body, your ass up in the air and your dress sliding down, almost exposing you completely. "The fact that-ah! Shit..." he squeezes his eyes when he feels a glob of your spit lubricating him.

There's a sudden need to make you feel the same, to touch your skin and have you shaking the same way you have him. So one of his hands travels from your spine, to your perked ass, finally dragging the cotton of your dress to allow himself to see your thin white panties. "The fact that anyone could see you l-like this," he murmurs, regaining a little bit of control when he squeezes one of your cheeks. "letting t-them see you s-sucking my cock and..." he smirks when he feels you gasping around him, his fingers trapped between your thighs and pushing them inside your heat easily "and letting them see me fingering this pretty little pussy."

Soon after that he's cumming in your mouth while you're cumming around his fingers.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

At first, it's mostly on weekends when you see each other. Weekends of stolen kisses and soft sighs and whispering against each other's lips. Then weekends turn to week days, sitting on grass while sipping on refreshing beverages, drawing each other laughs, elbows touching as you walk around the park side by side because the both of you are too scared to interwine your fingers together.

Jungkook feels content like this: sitting on the sand with you between his thighs, admiring the sunset while nuzzing your neck and inhaling your scent every now. He likes waching you enoying your strawberry ice cream, almost forgetting the chocolate chip one already melting in his hand.

"If you were an ice cream flavor,which one would you be?" you ask him, relaxing against his chest.

"Rocky road."

"Why?"

He shrugs behind you. "Everyone likes rocky road."

You hum, playfully rolling your eyes. "What about me? Which ice cream flavor would I be?"

"Lemon sherbet, in the summer."

"Lemon sherbet? Out of all of the flavours out there, you're rocky road and I'm lemon sherbet?"

"Lemon sherbet, in the summer." he corrects.

"Okay, fine. Why?"

"You're boring and basic."

You gasp, trying to feign outrage but not being able to repress the laugh that escapes your throat. You elbow him, his laugh mixing with yours while taking the time to wrap his arms around your form, the breeze blowing your hair allowing him a spot between your neck and your shoulder. "You're boring and basic, but once you have a taste..." he presses a small kiss on your skin, causing the tiny hairs on the nape of your neck to rise. "Once you have a taste, specially on the hottest day in the middle of summer, you can't stop tasting and licking until there's no more lemon sherbet left."

You suck in on a breath when he craddles your jaw to face him. "It's been my favourite flavor since I was a kid." he kisses you immediately after, his lips swallowing the small whimper now stuck in your throat.

You close your eyes as his tongue opens your mouth, arousal blasting your insides and something much, much deeper that you fear to even name shredding your chest.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

The beginning of august comes faster then you two realize, but what you both do realize is how hard it's becoming to stay away from each other.

It's been thirty days of dates happening almost everyday, sharing high school memories and anecdotes of the time you spent away from each other. Hours of getting to know each other and opening up to each other. From failed relationships to new friendships. Of park dates walking side by side and fingers now interwined because you both realized one day that, fuck it.

It's difficult to sleep when you realize you're starting to catch serious feelings for somebody who was just supposed to be a fling. It's hard to sleep when his face, his voice and his touch and thoughts of missing him when you don't see each other start haunting you at night.

It's hard for Jungkook to focus on work when you're everything that's occupying his mind. Because he has a hundred sketches to make but he's too busy thinking about the hundred different sketches he would make of you.

It's hard not to send him a goodnight text, just like it's hard for him not to reply in a matter of seconds, almost as if he was already waiting to recieve it.

Jungkook thinks of you at night. Of how pretty and absolutely perfect you are for him. Of the taste of your lips, the way your hair feels between his fingers, or the flush on your cheeks when he makes you cum as droplets of sweat accumulate between your breasts. He thinks about your voice. He also thinks about the amount of hours left to be able to listen to it again.

But mostly he thinks about how ridiculous this situation is. Because he was stupidly crushing on you when you were only teenagers, daydreaming about a chance with you. And now his crush is long gone and he's starting to realize that he's falling, and falling fast.

You, too, think of Jungkook at night. Of his ability to bring a smile out of you, to soothe you with just a few words and filling your belly excitement, happiness and feelings you're sure you've never felt before.

Jungkook's managed to imprint himself in your dreams, and you, in his.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Getting drunk with Jungkook is fun and messy.

It's fun because he lets loose, he stutters a lot like he used to do when he was a teenager and he makes you laugh louder than ever before. It's messy because he has no control over his hands as they explore your body, clumsily taking your clothes off as his mouth laps at the breast he's allowed to touch.

He's more forceful and dominating too, pinning your hands above your head, and commanding you to keep them right there, on the pillows of his bed. When you rebel against it, your fingers finding the hard planes of his chest, he pulls away from you and places them back where he left them. "Don't make me tie you up." he threatens, and your body shudders beneath him.

He sucks, and bites and leaves marks all over your skin, grunting in response to your moans. Creating a path of kisses from your lips to your stomach, his shoulders separating your knees, opening you up only for him. And thankfully, when you reach down to tug at the strands of hair framing his face, he lets you, because he knows you need something to hold on to the moment his tongue eats you up. He leaves his fingertrips on your thighs as he keeps you in place, not allowing you to runaway. Just forcing you to take it as he takes from you.

And when you cum, he doesn't back away. He keeps sucking, and licking and punishing you with his mouth until you're cumming over and ove again, screaming and begging for his cock.

Having Jungkook over you, both completely naked, skin to skin and only sweat in between is more than you could've ever fantazised about. He slurls your name when he puts the condom on. He would do anything to feel you raw, but he also knows he wouldn't be able to last a minute. The sight of you spread open, with your cheeks darkened by a crimson blush and your hair tangled all over his pillow is a picture he wants to keep forever.

He enters you when you call his name, your voice dripping with need. He stretches your warm and wet felsh, slowly easing himself into you at first, until he's fully inside and your bodies are completely in union. A shiver runs down Jungkook's spine when he looks at your contorted face in pleasure, your lips forming an 'O' and your pussy clenching around him.

"Oh, my God." you moan into the dark of Jungkook's room, and even then, he can clearly appreciate every curve of your body lifting off the mattress to connect with his. He lowers himself on his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in and capturing your mouth with his.

"I know, baby." he murmurs. It's hot, in the middle of August but suddenly Jungkook doesn't hate summer as much as he used to. Not with you sharing the heat with him. "It's way beyond what I could ever imagine." You nod hurriedly against his lips, your arms finding their way around his neck as he starts rocking in and out of you.

"It's too good." you cry, when he hits a particular spot that has you rolling your eyes in bliss and gripping his waist tighter with your legs against you. Your fingers thread through his hair, not bothered by the beads of sweat gathered on the nape of his neck.

"Too good..." he agrees, not missing the shiver that's shaking your own frame when he picks up his speed. "You have no idea what I would do t-to fucking feel you with n-no barriers between us," his movements become frantic as his hips slap against yours, his jaw clenched as he keeps talking, "to s-stuff you full of my c-cum over and over again until it won't stop d-dripping."

Jungkook's voice against your ear has you trembling and your orgasm nearing closer, your nails scratching down his back as his thrusts overpower your form. "Would you like that?" he asks with his voice strangled.

"Y-yes. Anything y-you want."

"You'd take all of my cum like a good cum-slut?"

You hate the fact that that's what makes you come undone. The twisting and knotting in the pit of your stomach finally snapping until you're holding on to him like you never want to let him go and he's following soon after.

Because if Guk, Gukkie, Jengukkie was not only able to make you come in less than a few minutes with his fingers or his tongue, but he was also able to make you cum instantly just by calling you a good cum-slut, that means you're fucked. Like, really, really fucked.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

There's a knot in Jungkook's stomach and a suffocating grip around his vocal chords as he caresses your skin. The sun is rising in the distance with the first rays of light entering his room through the window. Your shamphoo is intoxicating him, numbing him and enticing him to bury his nose in the tangled curls pressing against his chest. Your arm is thrown across his stomach, your breathing leavig goosebumps all over his body.

"It's too early. Go back to sleep." you mumble against his heart. He wonders if you can feel it dangerously speeding up.

"I can't." he says, voice struggling to stay balanced. "I have to tell you something."

You hum in response, sleep still interwined with your body, your arm tightening around him. You sigh in content, expecting him to elaborate.

He wets his suddenly dry lips. "I don't want this to end. In fact, ____.... I want more. Need more."

"Jungkook..." your whole body goes rigid right away, untanglling your bodies from each other and sitting up on the mattress.

"No, listen to me." he mimicks your movements, rapidly grabbing your hands to make you look at him. His eyes are expressive, a mixture of fear and hope swirling in his dark irises. "I wake up everyday, and you're the first thing I think of. I go on about my day, and I keep thinking about you, wondering what you're doing and counting down the hours until I get to see you again. I spend every night dreaming about you, and when we'e together, the only thing I can think about is how I wish I could stop time so I don't have to say bye to you the next morning. ____, I-"

"Jungkook, stop please." you shake your head, pushing away from him and in desperate need of air. You press a hand against your chest, beating back the throb of pain while the other curls in a tight fist, the feeling of your fingernails digging into your palm less painful than the ache inside your heart. "This... This wasn't supossed to happen, Jungkook." you start pacing around the room, as if trying to find an exit while avoiding his gaze. "This was just a summer fling. That's all it was, I'm supposed to come back to the city in two weeks and-"

"A summer fling?" a sardonic sneer comes out of him. "Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again..." he mumbles to himself before rising from the bed. You stop immediately, a shiver quaking through you as his impressive frame intimidates His eyebrows are drawn together and his dark eyes are void of any prior emotion. "You're going back to the city in two weeks? And you didn't care to tell me until now, after I just spilled my guts to you?"

You eyes fill up with uncomfortable tears, reaching one arm towards him. "Jung-"

He flinches, taking one step back. "A summer fling is all I mean to you?"

"Ju- "

"Look me in the eyes, right now, and tell me that's all I mean to you. A summer fling." panic crawls up your throat. There's the need within you to confirm, to stare into his beautiful and stern eyes and tell him that, yes, that's all he is to you. But you've never been a good liar. So nothing comes out. You opt for wrapping your ams around yourself wishing they were his and lowering your eyes to the ground. "I think... I think you should leave."

Those are the last words he says to you, and the last thing you see when you turn around one more time after gathering your clothes, is his back as he looks out the window.

You allow yourself to cry the exact moment you step into Chaelin's apartment. Your friend is sitting on the couch, bowl of cereal in hand and a fresh cup of coffee sitting on the livingroom's table.

"Hey, you're early tod- Baby, what's wrong?"

"Please, don't laugh."

That morning, you lay down for hours on the couch with your head on Chaelin's lap while she softly brushes your hair as you cry, hiccup, fight through the pain in your heart and relate to her as best as you can the latest events.

She doesn't laugh at all.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"She'll come back." Mijoo's slurred words do nothing to put Jungkook's state at ease that night. He simply shrugs, fingers clenching at his sides, frowing into his drink before gulping down the bitter taste of vodka in one shot. "Seriously, I think she's just afraid. My ex was the same."

"Comparing her to your ex is not the analogy you think it is."

"Ugh, shut up. Things didn't work with my ex because she was a bitch." Jungkook gives Mijoo a pointed look which she responds to by rolling her eyes and sipping on her rum coke. "Your girl is not a bitch. She used to be a bitch. What she did this morning was bitchy, but, like I said, she's just being a pussy. If she only wanted sex with you, she wouldn't have been doing couple stuff with you the entire summer."

"Whatever. I don't care." he lies and Mijoo knows he's lying but decides to drop the subject fo now.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"We can't keep spending our days smoking weed." Chaelin speaks over Blanche's voice on the TV.

"I know. I'm just sad."

"You have to come back and tell him how you feel."

"I know."

There's a beat of silence before your friend kicks your thigh with her feet.

"I know and I will." you mumble through red eyes and smoke clouds.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

It's September first and it doesn't feel like Jungkook's birthday at all. He's been trying to focus on his work, alternating between isolating in full hermit mode and hanging out with friends to drink away his sorrow. The days have gone by and before he could realize it, he woke up today with over twenty text messages wishing him a happy day and a throbbing hangover.

He dresses up on autopilot. First a cotton shirt, then a pair of jeans and lastly, his Nike's. He doesn't bother tying his sneakers just like he doesn't bother taking a shower. He smokes a cigarette for breakfast, the death stick making him feel nauseaus on an empty stomach. And then he goes to work.

He's been repeating the same routing for the past weeks and he's not thinking of changing it, not even on his bithday.

He spends hours drawing, tattooing and drawing some more between yawns. He ignores texts an phone calls and simply waits until the day is over to go home, go to bed and forget about the fact that you're probably on your way to the city and that he hasn't crossed your mind not even once.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Inkphoria.

You've been standing outside the shop re-reading the word for fifteen minutes, although it definitely feels like it has been longer. You're gripping cup of ice cream as it melts down your fingers the more you wait. The shop is already empty and it's starting to darken out side, and still you're so hot. Your shorts are heavy and your tank top is sticking to your skin. You didn't even bother to put on any make, although your eyebags definitely needed some concieling and your lashes some dimension to hide the fact that you'd been crying for the last few days.

'You're crazy about him.'

Chaelin's voice echoes inside your head.

You've lost count of how many times your best friend has given your advice, or simply encouraged you to do something you've been too scared to try.

'And he's cazy about you too.'

Chaelin might be wrong about marmite and the movie Cats, but she's definitely now wrong about anything regarding your and Jungkook.

That's it. You briefly close your eyes, inhale a deep breath then release it slowly. You start walking. It doesn't take longer than three strides and you're pushing the door open.

The tattoed blonde looks up from the counter the second you come into view. She smiles at the distance between you two. "You can come closer. I won't bite."

You clear your throat, stalking closer to her. "Is he-"

"He's in the back." she replies before you can finish you question. You close your mouth, clear your throat and nod your head.

"Thanks, Mijoo." she gives you a small wink, her smile easing your nerves like she had three months ago.

She watches you disappear. She shakes he head, her smile meeting her eyes. "I told him so."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Jungkook ignores the knock on his door at first. It's almost ten and the parlor is about to close. He just has to finish this last fucking sketch so he can grab his shit and go the fuck ho-

Knock knock.

He growls, exhasperation cursing through him. He runs a hand through his messy pile of hair, his rings tangling between the strands, making him wince in pain. "Come in." he grunts under his breath. The door opens. "Mijoo, I really have to finish-"

He stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees you.

"Hey." you say after a moment of hesitation.

"Hey." he replies and although there's something inside, deep in his chest, shouting at him to stand up, run up to you and kiss your face while he tells you how beautiful you look right now and how happy he is to see that you're still here, he decides against it. "Listen, ____, I'm pretty busy-"

"No, you listen to me." you cut him off abruptly. He looks taken aback and is already opening his mouth to say something, but you're not having it. "Please, just... Let me talk."

Silence looms between the two of you for a while, a staring contest defying each other to back down. When you take one step inside and close the door behind you, he sighs and leans back against his chair.

You move towards him slowly, your lip caught between your lip going through your mind for the speech you'd been preparing the last few days. Your hands are sticky due to the the sugary treat liquifying in your hand. "I know there's no reason you should give me another chance after rejecting you in high school, and there's definitely no reason why you should forgive me for the way I shut you out a few weeks ago. You've been confessing your feelings to me since we were teenagers, and now it's my turn to tell you exactly how I feel about you."

"Jungkook, the truth is... I like you so much. I like you more than I've ever liked anyone. Ever. I said this was just a summer fling, and I was lying. I was lying because there's no way a simple summer fling could make me feel the way you do. There's no way a simple summer fling could make me want not just summer with you, but also fall and winter, and spring and every summer that comes next."

You hadn't realize when your eyes filling up with tears until the sight of him starts blurrying in front of you. His fingers reach yours, his thumb comforting on your skin. "____, it's okay-"

"I'm not done yet." you sniffle, gathering enough courage to continue. "I brought you a lemon sherbet because you said it was your favourite. But you also implied I was your favourite, and I want to keep being you favourite, but now it's already melted and-"

The corners of Jungkook's lips start pulling upward as he tugs you towards him, his heart loudly jumping inside his chest. "Shhh, come here."

He takes the ice cream from your hand and places it on his desk. Then he's helping you onto his lap, your head tucked under his chin and your arms wapping on their own around his neck.

He doesn't care about your sticky fingers or the wet stains of your tears in his shirt. The only thing he cares about is the fact that you're right there, letting him engulf your frame and drown in the scent and warmth he'd misses so much.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

The first day of June has Jungkook sweating and wishing for a haircut. Jungkook usually hates summer. He hates the fact that he has to shower at least twice a day, and the fact that the heat is almost unbearable to sleep in and also the fact that he's easily sunburnt.

This year, however, Jungkook likes summer a little bit more.

"Excuse me, miss. Do you have an appointment?" it's the fact that you're starting to wear those summer dresses he loves so much, and the fact that your skin glows under the sun like glitter, and also the fact that he can lick ice cream off of it whenever he desires.

"I am the appointment." your giggle is almost childlike, playing with Jungkook's heart strings. You shut the door behind you, nearing him. You also seem to always have that flush on your cheeks. Although he likes to think part of it is due to him. He doesn't say anything else as he puts his pencil down and instead turns around in the chair to have you immediately on top of his thighs.

Yeah, he also likes the path your lips trace from his cheek, to his jaw, ending at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. It still makes his body quaver to this day.

"Let me see." he murmurs against you forhear, his hand already working on unbottoning the front of your dress.

"Mijoo hasn't left yet." you whisper back, your smile impossible to supress and the faint whimper impossible to hide when his fingers expose your breast and tug at the titanium barbell adorning the already hardened nub.

Jungkook loves knowing he was the one to do that, and also the only one to play with it. He doesn't hesitate when he dips his head. "As if we'd ever cared about that." he adds, wrapping your sole point in his mouth.

He fucks you on his studio table with your legs around his waist and his tongue playing with both your breasts, the tattoo sketches long forgotten, scattered on the floor as he whispers against your flesh something that sounds a lot like 'I love you'.

[lizzy-williams]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭

🐺Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamic, SMUTTTT, neediness, language, mature themes, dubcon?

🐺Masterlist

🐺Summary: Every Omega knows that going into heat is rough, especially when unclaimed. All eyes are on you. So when it hits you in the middle of a coffee shop with your friends, a particular alpha is very willing to help.  

🐺Theme (All I Need by Radiohead)

🐺A/N: Lol we gonna get dirtttyyyy. By the way, you’re small in his, like body proportion wise, like 5′4 small so there’s that. I know people want the ‘independent strong hardheaded alpha female’, but in this one ur compliant, sorry if ya don’t like it. There will most likely be a part 2 :)

“Y’know, I dunno how you drink that stuff,” Anna-Lynn said from across the table, making [ y / n ] roll her eyes and look up.

“You’re just jealous cause your tastebuds are weak,” she retorted, taking a teasingly long sip of her dark black coffee. 

It was nice having a day out like this. Especially when everyone seemed so busy with preparing for the spookiest holiday of the year. Paper bats and small pumpkins littered the store-fronts of London, the summer weather fading with the light chilly breezes autumn seemingly brought. 

The calm warm light streamed through the window of the coffee shop the three young women were in, the dusk just hitting them. The tree leaves complimented the light as it covered the area in a soft blanket of pink and orange hues. 

“So, um,” [ y / n ]’s other friend, Elizabeth, began to speak, clearing her throat and shooting a daring look at Anna-Lynn, “Have you thought about Ethan at all?”

Ah, yes, Ethan. He was Elizabeth’s younger cousin, just then turning 19, a simple beta with no claimed mate. 

[ y / n ] shook her head, and to this, the two girls let out a defeated huff, “You need to chose someone,” Anna-Lynn’s voice was clipped as she huffed, but it had a hint of concern. Worry even. 

And of course there was a stipulation to one of [ y / n ]’s favorite seasons. Because for her kind, not only was it autumn, but it was also mating season. A dangerous time for any omega unclaimed. If you were unclaimed when the time came around, you were easy pray, and other alphas and betas could smell you much much easier. 

You would become a target. Even more so if you were in heat. 

“I’m not worried about it.” [ y / n ] sighed, nonchalantly, taking a large gulp of her drink before setting it back down. But deep down she truly was.

“We just don’t want you to become like one of those other omegas... you know, getting claimed by someone on the street during their heat... someone they don’t love at all and being forced to have pups, it’s just barbaric.” Elizabeth glanced down at her dwindling hands. 

“I understand that. But I’ve had no issues with this before. I’ll just... lock myself up in my room with a vibrator and some porn. That’s worked before,”

“Bullshit, you were a grump for like a month because you had built up aggression. Ethan’s a good guy. You should really consider it.”

Yes, Ethan was nice. But when it came to [ y / n ]... she just felt as if they weren’t meant for each other. And there was no way that she would consider having pups with him and-

Speak of the mother fucking devil-

It was as if she was hit with a million bricks at once, her body becoming hot, a powerful wave of uncomfortable warmth crashing through her body like a tidal wave, her mouth clamping shut tightly. Her breath hitched, her thighs tightening around nothing, her legs shaking as she felt herself feel as if she were going to throw up. The moisture between her thighs was uncomfortable as she felt her panties stick to her mound.

How could she be so careless? Now she was in heat in public and she knew that nearby alphas and betas had already caught onto the scent, most likely heading their way. She knew it was roughly the time she would go into heat. And it was hell on earth right now, knowing that now that the sun was just now taking it’s last breaths over the tall buildings, the night heightening her kind’s senses acutely. 

Her friends caught on almost immediately, knowing the mannerisms of the heavy breathing and the quivering lips. Her eyes were wide as she bit down on her bottom lip harshly, trying her best to keep her whimpers and whines in the back of her throat. 

Thoughts raced through the young woman’s mind. Thoughts of her being taken in the most delicious ways possible by any man that just so happened to look her way. And her friends could tell that there were already at least a few alphas coming in hot, the sudden howling through the now darkened air making the 2 other girls’ senses hyperactive. 

What was ironic was that there was a conversation going on between two baristas behind the counter, “The dogs are at it again, they’ve been a lot noisier than usual.”

“We need to get her home, right now.” Anna-Lynn commanded, Elizabeth giving a chaste nod before flipping through her phone as a poor, squirming, [ y / n ] sat right across from them, panting in her intense discomfort. 

She shut her eyes tightly, desperately trying to ignore the ache in her core. She wanted, no, needed to be filled up. To be claimed. But the thoughts only drove her down deeper, desperation seemingly seeping out of every pore. 

As soon as she was called an Uber, it was an agonizing amount of time before it finally came to a stop, the driver flashing concerned looks at the poor squirming girl in her back seat. Throughout the whole ride, it took everything for [ y / n ] not to touch herself, and all she could do was shift her thighs together, and thankfully, (soon enough), the car came to a stop. 

[ y / n ] let out a strangled ‘thank you’ to the driver before getting out, and after the woman drove off, she found herself stumbling into an alleyway. Her whole body was on fire and she needed release, any release. 

Her back violently hit the brick wall of a darkened alleyway, her loud and labored breaths echoing through the seemingly empty face. She needed tension. At least a little bit. 

As if her legs weren’t her own, [ y / n ] spread her legs only a small amount, just enough to slip her hand under her pants and softly drifting her fingertips over her clothed clit. 

A smooth and controlled rubs soon turned into harsh and fast circles, her needful thoughts forcing her mind to tune out the howling that was getting closer and closer to her. It wasn’t until a low and terrifying growl resonated through the hollow space, making her stop in her tracks, yanking her hand out of its position, doing her best to stand up and steady herself. 

But it was far too late, because by the time she finally started bolting towards the opening in the cold alleyway, her body was caught and thrown against the frigid brick, a pitiful yelp leaving her lips, unleashed tears forming in her eyes. 

“You smell fucking delicious,” a dark voice spoke, no doubt an alpha, and [ y / n ] wouldn’t dare look up and meet his eyes. 

“P-Please, I c-can’t-”

[ y / n ] didn’t even know why she was saying please, for there were so many reasons she could be saying it. 

Please don’t.

Please help the pain.

Please touch me.

Please don’t touch me.

Please.

But the young woman’s thoughts were cut short by a violent tug to her hair, forcing her gaze on the person in from of her. He had bright red hair, freckles apparent, even in the dull light of the closed off space. He wore a jet black hoodie, and that was all that [ y / n ] bothered to take in. 

“You’re a pretty one...” his words rattled through her mind, muffled by the sharp ringing in her heat from the sudden contact to the wall only moments earlier, “Glad I claimed you before anyone else could,” he paused to chuckle to himself, “Would hate to touch damaged goods.”

[ y / n ] whimpered and almost recoiled away, but she knew better. This alpha seemed ill-tempered, and she didn’t want to find out what would happen if she dared to disobey. 

He gave a rough tug to her hair, standing her up, and immediately started to kiss her neck in hopes of warming her up a little bit more, not that she needed it, but nonetheless, his lips continued their assault on the young woman’s neck, whimpers and whines escaping her lips. 

“Just one little thing, pretty girl, you’re unclaimed, I can smell it on you.” he spoke before leaving a long, sinful lick up her throat, “I’m going to bite this pretty little neck and make sure that nobody else is going to touch what’s mine.”

The girl’s body shivered violently. He was talking about a claim mark. If that happened, she could never escape him, it was a tracking device. Where ever she decided to go, he would know exactly where she was. 

“Please, don’t, I-”

But a violent growl made her blood run cold and her words pause half-way up her throat. But it wasn’t from her captor. His head was already snapped towards the source of the sound, which was at the opening of the alleyway, the minimal light caused by the streetlight exposing a clothed figure with its hands in its pockets. They weren’t tall but they weren’t short, but their stature was confident. 

Great. Another alpha.

“Drop her.” the voice spoke, straight to the point and commanding. 

“Fuck off, she’s mine, I got to her first.” the ginger male snapped, his eyes now a vibrant scorching gold, shining in the darkness. 

“Drop the fucking girl or I’ll rip you’re fucking head off.” this time it was a vicious growl, strong and unwavering that sent goosebumps down [ y / n ]’s spine. 

“That a challenge, pint-size?” the ginger taunted, referring to the other alpha who only stood at a good 5′8, while he stood at a large 6′1, slamming the girl onto the ground making her yelp out in pain.

Finally, the young alpha stepped into some form of light, making his face visible, and the ginger’s expression of defense faded into a face of fear and regret, the eyes that once glowed yellow dying down to it’s original color. 

“T-Tom, Jesus, man, excuse me, I didn’t-”

The alpha, apparently named Tom, harshly grabbed the ginger’s shirt, pulling him in and looking up at him with deadly eyes, “Leave.”

And just like that, he was gone, and hopefully never going to be seen again. 

Tom’s expression turned soft when he saw the poor writhing omega in a mound on the hard concrete of the ground, small whimpers of discomfort making his chest clench. 

“You live here?” he questioned, motioning to the building she was now leaned against. 

All she could to was let out a whine of confirmation, nodding her head slowly as she clamped her thighs together as tightly as possible. 

“Come on then, can’t have you out in the open, there’s already talk, let’s get you inside,” he said, kindness and understanding in his tone, holding out a hand to [ y / n ], who in turn took it almost immediately. 

It took her a second to walk, her knees weak, not to mention it was hard not to notice Tom’s muscles, and his face. God, he was truly attractive. 

She let her mind wonder as they began to walk, his arm firmly around her waist, trying to keep her steady. She wondered what it would look like when he came, filling her up to the brim, making her full, a thin blanket of sweat covering his body, his eyes glowing, hungry, and she let out a whimper at it. 

“You’re staring.” Tom smirked as they stepped into the elevator of the complex. 

“S-Sorry,” she muttered, trying to shake the embarrassingly dirty thoughts from her mind as she continued to try and focus on just getting to her apartment. 

The sooner she got there, the sooner she had her vibrator, the sooner she had release. She was convinced, at least, that that would solve her problems, at least temporarily. 

She led him to her apartment, still holding onto him for dear life as her core throbbed with need and want. When the door unlocked with a small click, she turned the doorknob, almost collapsing through the doorway. 

“Do you need any help?”

This could have meant many things. But of course, [ y / n ] was oblivious in her response. 

“N-No, I think I can manage to put myself to bed.”

Tom gave a small chuckle as he sat her down on the couch, sitting next to her as she slouched back, “No, I mean I can help with your problem... that is, if you want me to,”

[ y / n ]’s mind was clouded in a haze of neediness, so with no hesitation, she whimpered a small yes, before immediately unbuttoning her jeans and slipping them down a little bit to eagerly. 

She knew this was happening to quick, almost irrationally quick, but the need in her pounding cunt was much more important to her at the moment than her petty morals and reason. 

“Are you sure?” he looked at her with sincerity, watching as she shifted out of her pants and took his hand, placing it on her covered mound. 

“Please, just touch me, Tom,”

Hearing his name on her lips was almost enough to make him lose his control and say ‘fuck it’, but he figured that if her were to do this, he might as well try to do this right. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice, darling,” he muttered, easily finding her sensitive bud, even through the material of her panties.

She let out a soft and breathy moan, taking her hand of his own and moving it to his bicep, squeezing, as if it were anchoring her down to Earth, because she had never been touched like this, especially by someone else. 

As if Tom had read her mind, he looked up at her, drinking in her reactions before speaking, “Are you a virgin?”

She nodded her head, his pace never faltering. 

“I’ve been waiting- ugnh - for the right person... I trust you,” she managed to get out between moans.

“You barely know me,”

“But I want to. There’s - ah, fuck - something about you. I l-like you,” she admitted, the filter between her mouth and her brain nonexistent as she felt nothing but pleasure and a release from the uncomfortable pressure she was feeling only moments before. 

“Fuck,” to Tom, it was nice to hear that somebody needed him, trusted him, especially with something like this, so sacred and meaningful. She was giving him the gift that could only be given once, and he was happy to receive. 

After a few moments of him rubbing her in all the right ways, he hesitantly pulled his hand away from her, hating the noise of protest that she released. 

“Come on, princess, let’s take this to you're bedroom, yeah?”

[ y / n ] was compliant to his suggestion, standing up best she could without Tom’s help, but soon leaning on him as she directed him to her bedroom door. 

The door was busted open, and she was thrown onto the bed, and as soon as she hit the mattress, she stripped off everything else, leaving her completely nude, and her actions inspired Tom to do the same. 

He quickly got on top of her, grinding the length of his cock against her soaking wet folds, making him growl. 

“Fuck, darling, I’m not even inside you yet and you feel heavenly-” he hissed, the little omega nodding in response. 

“Alpha, please, I need you inside me, I want you to fill me,” she desperately pleaded. 

Tom let out a feral snarl at the use of the word ‘alpha’, surprised it had so much of an effect on him being used like this. It was so fucking hot. She had him wrapped so tightly around her pinky and didn’t even know it. 

“Anything for you, darling,” he muttered, lining himself up and ever so slowly easing himself inside his new mate, a pained whimper escaping her, his cock seemingly splitting her in half. 

Tom finally remembered that she was a virgin. And that made him even harder inside her. He waited for him, for her mate, while he was out fucking every omega that crossed him. But with her, she wasn’t just an omega. And he wanted to prove it to her. 

He took his time, almost cockwarming, staying still inside of her as her body naturally adjusted to his size, feeling so close to each other, it was enough for the two of them to almost fall in love right then and there. Tom finally took in how perfect she was to him. Someone he knew he wanted to keep around in the long run. Someone he knew he wanted to protect, even when she didn’t need protection. 

[ y / n ] scratched up his back, signaling that she was ready, and confident that he could move with little to no discomfort from her. 

The alpha started to move his hips, her tight cunt making his eyes roll back in his skull as he dropped his head into the crook of her neck, leaving soft and reassuring kisses to her neck as she made the most delectable noises, making him addicted, almost like his own brand of opioid. 

“So fucking tight, princess, you feel like fucking paradise,” he praised as he drank up the omega’s reactions as she experienced her first time with him. 

She’s like this for me and only me.

Her face was scrunched adorably in pleasure, her eyes shut tight as she felt the moment, his skin under her finger tips, the burning that was set in her core easing as she finally had pleasurable relief. Like getting a refreshing drink on a particularly hot day. 

Tom couldn’t help himself, and as if his body wasn’t his own, primal instinct took over as he began to make his strides harder and quicker, making the most pathetically cute noises release from her mouth. 

“You like that, darling?” he panted licking and sucking her neck, making one of her tiny hands weaving itself though his chestnut curls, “Why did I bother asking, of course you do. You love it when your alpha fucks you.”

All she could do was nod her head as she felt a coil inside her tighten. Tom felt his cock inflate as he continued to drive into her, pounding her into the mattress as he growled praises into her neck, her moans and whimpers never stopping. 

Soon the praise turned into a single word, falling out of his mouth like a prayer, even though what they were doing was the farthest thing from holy. 

Mine. Mine. Mine.

The omega could take it anymore, whimpering out, “P-Please, I... want you to b-bite me. Please, I need you to claim me,” she begged, which made his assault on her cunt falter slightly, slowing down to a calm and intimate pace. 

He knew what that meant. When an alpha bites an omega, she’s claimed. It means that nobody can touch her. Almost like an unbroken bond between two of their kind, and it meant a lot. 

And though they had just met only a half an hour prior, he knew that she was special, and he knew that this was who he was meant to be with, and his heart swelled at the thought of getting to know her inside and out. A true connection. 

“You want me to claim you, huh?” he paused his movements, [ y / n ] nodding frantically, wanting more than anything, “I’m not going to go easy on you. I want you to feel nothing but you inside me while I claim you, nothing but rapture as I claim you as mine.”

[ y / n ] nodded once again, to while Tom protested, “Words, darling,” 

“Yes, alpha, I understand, I- OH FUCK-,” she yelled out. And she thought he was going hard before, but that was nothing compared to the pleasure she was now presented with, his cock properly railing into her as he left a long and sinful lick up her neck before taking a bite, his eyes glowing a bright fluorescent gold as she let out one of the most pornographic moans she had ever heard. 

The copper taste in his mouth tasted like candy, and home, the sweet substance covering his lips as he finally pulled back, knowing that she was close. 

And close she was. She was so close to release she could almost taste it, and god did it taste good. Without warning, the coil inside her snapped, making her vision cloud, her thoughts unable to collect themselves as her vision clouded, and she swore she blacked out for a second. 

She was so overcome with pleasure, she didn’t notice that he had cum himself, the sensation of him pulling out and his cum spill out of her enough to get her riled up enough. But if what just happened didn’t vanquish the heat she was experiencing before, God only knew what would. 

Tom stepped back, taking in the sight of his new mate, completely fucked out and covered with marks, his cum dripping out of her like a faucet. He wished for this image to be branded into his mind so he could see it every time he closed his eyes. 

“Absolutely stunning.” he praised, his hands now running up and down her thighs. 

[ y / n ] was finally Tom’s, inside and out, and Tom couldn’t be more proud. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, love, yeah?”

The morning was soft and filled with nothing but admiration to each other, the two staying in bed most of the morning until they finally went to the omega’s kitchen to make breakfast/lunch.

[ y / n ] was cooking the bacon and eggs when she suddenly felt arms wrap around her from behind, a chin resting on her shoulder. 

“How’re you holding up?” he questioned, and it make [ y / n ] blush at how considerate she was about her state, his fingertips dragging lightly over the violent-looking bite mark on her neck.

“I’m absolutely perfect,” she smiled, “Feels nice to belong to someone.”

“You know what? I was thinking the exact same thing.”

And for once, the two of them were truly excited for the future. 

[eeunoia]

TXT Mini Series

Tomorrow x Together (teaser)

pairings: txt members x reader

summary: five boys, five stories.

a/n: this will be my first mini series for TXT! Yehey! I’m really happy and excited. I hope you guys will support this and my upcoming works for them. I actually got the ideas from their songs and tried to give a good teaser but then i think i failed at some point hehe. The lines at the beginnings were lyrics ksksks Also, I used didn’t put Kai’s surname in the pic, it’s bc his name is too long:( Anyway, enjoy and have a nice day! 🌸 (tag-list is open!)

soobin

“my heart sank into a maze of memories.”

— do you have someone you value the most? someone you feel like you can never lose in your life.

— well, for soobin, yes. you are the most important person in his life. he can never look forward for tomorrow without you.

— just like any other stories, yours and soobin’s didn’t started in a good way. he was the type of person who don’t express himself much. always, quiet and just preferred to be left alone.

— but that just made you grow more interested and curious of him. that’s why despite his rude remarks, you stepped in and finally earn his attention

— from being the person he hates the most to the person he cherishes more than himself. it was the glow up you never expected to get.

— you two became close as your relationship grew stronger and your feelings became deeper. and soon. you’ve became inseparable. 

— “Don’t go breaking my heart.” soobin whispered over at you, lips softly touching your ears. a smile grew over your face as you slowly face him.

— “I will never do that.” with a soft caring touch, you cupped his face.

— soobin was contented as long as you’re beside him, assuring him that everything will be okay. he was so sure that you two will be together forever.

— and that’s why when he lose you, he was broken and his heart sank into a maze of the memories of the two of you.

yeonjun

“Run away with me.”

— nothing’s more hurtful than to not be with someone you truly loves. and for yeonjun, he will do anything just to be with you.

— ever since, your mother wasn’t really fond of your relationship with him. she wanted somebody else for you and since you’re madly in love with yeonjun, she cannot do anything about it.

— it came to the point that she started interfering between you. started to forbid you from seeing him, always telling you bad things about him like as if she really wanted you to call it off.

— the situation was clearly giving you a hard time because it’s like you are required to choose between two important things over your life--family over yeonjun.

— you love your family but you can’t afford losing yeonjun as well and so you had decided to go with him.

— yeonjun starred at you while you’re quietly sitting at the passenger seat of his car. a small smile spreads to his face, happy that despite of all the chaos, you are there with him.

— he slowly reached out and held unto your hand. it caught your attention as you turn towards him, showing off a small smile.

— “Are you scared?” he asked softly. you pursed your lips as you held unto his hand as well after giving him a nod.

— he let out a small chuckle, “It’s okay, don’t be afraid.”

— your eyes never left his as you nodded afterwards entrusting everything to him. you are indeed afraid but knowing that yeonjun was there for you, makes you feel at ease.

beomgyu

“I don’t wanna be just friends.”

— having both of your parents close to each other, beomgyu and you grew up together. you had known him ever since you were born.

— he was your best-friend and also your greatest enemy. always there for you no matter what. eventually, the comfort you felt whenever you’re with him slowly turned into something deeper.

— you started developing feelings for him and without you knowing, it was the same for him. 

— you were a bit worried because beomgyu was very good-looking that made most of the girls in your school to like him. he was basically very popular but it seems like he don’t care so much about it

— being close to beomgyu also means that you’re always with him as well, so not just once had you witnessed him turning down every single girls who confessed to him

— you gulped as you carefully watch the newly rejected one walk sadly away from where you were sitting. you felt bad for her but also delighted because beomgyu didn’t return her feelings

— your eyes soon darted over to the boy beside you who was quietly reading his book like as if nobody just confessed their feelings at him. 

— “Why you kept on rejecting them? S-She’s beautiful.” you said trying to start a conversation. he lets out a small sigh before he looks up at you.

— you felt your breath hitched a bit as your eyes met his. they always look blank and cold whenever his talking to other people but when it’s you, it’s warm and expressive.

— “With my two eyes, I can only see you.” you blinked twice completely surprise at what you just heard. you tried searching for a slight hint of chance that he was just kidding but none.

— his face was dead serious that it actually made you feel nervous and shake a bit. you were a dumbfounded by the sudden indirect confession.

— “I don’t want to be just friends, y/n.”

taehyun

“Melt the cold me.”

— taehyun was known for being an introvert. he preferred to be by himself all the time and really don’t mind being alone.

— he was always quiet and refused to talk to other people. he was always cold to everyone, thinking they’re not really worthy of his attention.

— you on the other hand, was the complete opposite of him. you just recently moved into their town and so everything was new to you.

— you felt really excited even if it was all new for you. as you enter your new school, your eyes was filled with amusement because it was really beautiful.

— eyes darted at you as you enter the classroom. smiling, not even slightly bothered by their stares, you roam your eyes around. trying to see the faces of the students that you will be with for a whole school year.

— “hi, i’m y/n. please take good care of me!” your soft but energetic voice reached taehyun’s ears. he wasn’t paying much attention. not really interested.

— he raised his head and met your eyes. both of you kept your stares with each other, didn’t really catch what the teacher was saying.

— you were captivated by his beautiful eyes, it did look cold for some reason but something about it attracts you. with a small wave at him you even smiled.

— taehyun was already used with the attention from the opposite sex so it wasn’t really a big deal for him. he kept his straight face then starred back down over his textbook.

— you pouted but smile right after, he was cute for you. luckily, he still don’t have a desk-mate so you were told to sit beside him.

— and just then you learned that taehyun was originally a quiet and cold guy. it didn’t stop you tho, to try to get closer to him as to leads to the journey of you melting the cold in him.

heuning kai

“If we are together no matter where we are I still feel summer.”

— for heuning kai, summer was his comfort weather. whenever he’s sad or scared, he always thinks about anything that reminds him of that weather and he will be okay.

— he grew up in a place where he can fully enjoy the summer. house at the country side, away from all the pollution of the city. he thought it was really relaxing.

— the place was perfect for every summer activities that’s why he really likes it there.

— but then when his parents announced that they had to move over to the city because of his Dad, he became so sad but he knew he have no choice.

— kai was uncomfortable by moving into a new place, he wasn’t used to all the noise and pollution of the city. he wasn’t enjoying it.

— not to be exaggerated but the sudden change of environment was making heuning kai feel sick because he wasn’t used to it.

— he thought he could never enjoy there until he encountered you. 

— the moment he first saw you, he was amused at how beautiful you are. you were always smiling brightly that kinds of reminds him of the bright sun every summer. you were always kind that makes you seem very warm.

— he was obviously having a hard time but you were there to help him every time. he clearly enjoyed your company since you were so nice to him.

— it was just a matter of time when you two slowly became so close to each other. heuning kai didn’t even notice how he was slowly adapting to his new home.

— you were the one who managed to show him that the place were not so bad at all. it was you who made him appreciate these new things.

— kai slowly found something that comforts him in that new place, you became his summer. 

[masonscig]

beach

wayhaven summer fic #4

pairing | mason x sofía

word count | 1.4k

warnings | body image issues

author’s note | hi here’s something i wrote last minute because i wanted to get back to writing one of my favorite pairings! i don’t go too in depth with her body image issues, just general discomfort, but just know she’s uncomfortable with showing skin because of it. let me know if i need to add anymore warning tags!

•─────────────────•

Summer was her least favorite season.

She had a full list of reasons for hating the heat. She hated the way her bangs would cling to her forehead, the way her glasses would fog up the minute she stepped out of an air conditioned car, the way her skin would glisten with sweat no matter how thin the fabric she wore was.

She hated the way her shirt clung to the small of her back, and she hated the way her underarms felt when she sweat through her clothes.

Most of all, she hated the pressure of wearing certain things that she’d never choose for herself.

No, no one was telling her she had to wear a bikini.

There were just… pressures.

When she saw Tina running around town in a sports bra and a cutoff shirt that showed the rolls at her side, she couldn’t help but feel a little envious of her friend. Happy for her, but a little jealous of her confidence.

She’d always been that way, though – the one to always wear a tankini bathing suit top and shorts at pool parties, regardless of how many boys she had crushes on were there.

Fall and winter were the times of year in which she found the most solace. Stuffing her closet full of long sleeves, sweaters, jackets until it was bursting at the seams was pretty much how she felt when she noticed the first hints of orange bleeding through the leaves.

And similarly, when the temperature began to rise, dread creeped up the back of her neck and laced itself in the collar of her turtleneck, clinging to her skin tighter and tighter with each day.

So no, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to this day.

But she didn’t want to alarm them – they’d risked their lives for her before, so in comparison, they weren’t asking much when they wanted her to come with them to the beach, if you could even call it that.

Wayhaven’s beach was riddled with more rocks than sand, and most people sported wetsuits for the chilly weather, unless it was the rare warm and sunny day, like that day – the one day Tina invited Sofía and Unit Bravo to the beach.

Felix took off like a rocket the minute his feet hit the rocks, splashing and flailing as soon as he was chest deep in the water. Tina followed suit, trying to float on her back, but opting instead for a dunking contest with Felix after he splashed her.

Adam kept watch, his mind already made up that he’d be the one to do so (and there was no changing his mind when he was set on something).

Nate had walked ahead, umbrella tucked underneath one arm, and a tote bag full of books slung over his shoulder.

(When Felix joked that Nate would play lifeguard, both Adam and Nate glared in his direction. Felix since apologized – and Nate said he didn’t mind as long as he didn’t have to touch the water.)

As for Mason? He was leaning against the side of the car, cigarette in mouth, clearly trying to figure out his next move.

She didn’t pay much attention to him in that moment – she was frozen where the grass kissed the gritty, dark sand.

The linen pants and loose t-shirt she wore gripped her tight, like they weren’t ready to let go.

She curled her hands into fists, clutching the fabric until her hands shook.

This shouldn’t be that hard, Sofía. You’ve faced supernaturals who tried to kill you. You can handle a little sun and skin, she reassured herself, sucking in air through her nostrils, exhaling a shaky breath through her mouth. This isn’t your worst fear. You’ve conquered worse.

She tried to make herself move.

On the count of three, I’ll go. When the next wave crashes, I’ll go. When Tina comes up for air, I’ll go. When the sun goes behind the clouds, I’ll go.

Her feet were all but nailed to the ground, planted firm like she was rooted there. Her heart was thudding faster than she realized, her palms sweating around the linen she clutched in her pockets.

A soft, featherlight touch against her elbow stopped her from thinking in circles.

“What’s wrong?” Mason asked, mumbling around his cigarette.

She shook her head, blinking. “I’m alright. Just haven’t been to a beach in a while, that’s all.”

He crossed his bare arms, the lean muscle flexing with the movement. The only thing that’d changed about his summer outfit was him ditching the sleeves.

“Doesn’t seem that simple to me. There’s always more with you.”

He didn’t say it as an insult – he’d passed the point of unsubtle digs long before.

He was just transparent. Blunt. It was refreshing for both of them.

Shrugging, she finally tore her hands from her pockets to reach back and rake her hair into a ponytail.

“Your hands are shaking.”

As he pointed that out, the band snapped, breaking around her hair and she mumbled an expletive and tossed it into her tote bag.

Wordlessly, Mason pulled one from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Huh? What’s this –” “The shit you tie your hair back with. You know what it is,” he rolled his eyes, teasing.

She took it from him, her heart slowing down just a bit when she noticed his faint playful smile.

“Thank you.”

They fell into a comfortable silence a bit longer than she was used to. The faint laughter from both Felix and Tina echoed off the rocks, and soft music from a speaker nearby floated over to them. The waves were loud, and the seagulls were louder.

Whatever siren song the beach was singing wasn’t one that enticed Sofía.

“I always fucking hated sand.”

Startled, she glanced his way, a bit confused he spoke first. He pinched the cigarette between his thumb and pointer finger, inhaling deeply, before tilting his head back and exhaling a plume of smoke.

“I’m not going down there,” he said, head lolling to the side to make eye contact with her, his bright eyes honest. “I’d rather do Felix’s chores than get near that shitty water.”

She laughed, and he watched her as she did, fully aware that it was her first genuine laugh since they’d gotten the invitation from Tina.

“We could watch the clouds?” She asked, pointing at the fluffy cumulus pillows that lined the sky.

Within minutes, they’d covered the top of the Agency-issued SUV with beach towels and blankets, layering as many as they could to protect them from the hot metal.

There was just enough room for the two of them when he curled his arm around her neck and tugged her closer.

“That one kind of looks like a dinosaur. There’s the head, and the streak is the arm,” Sofia hummed, pointing to one to the far right of them.

“I can’t see anything,” he shrugged. “They all look the same to me.”

“You’ve gotta have a bit of an imagination,” she rolled her eyes, laughing when he poked her stomach once.

“Don’t be a smartass,” he chuckled, nuzzling her neck, pressing a soft, quick kiss there.

“Thank you for this,” she said, turning her head, nose to nose with him. “This is the most fun I’ve had on a beach in years.”

His brows furrowed. “Nothing to thank me for, sweetheart. I could just tell.”

“Tell what?” “That you didn’t want this.”

An open ended phrase that said so much, told her so much about him, and where they were.

She reached out to cup his cheek. “I don’t know what to say, besides thank you.”

“You don’t have to know what to say all the time,” he said, matter-of-factly, kissing her before she could respond.

He kissed her deeply, smirking when she sighed into it.

Kissing Mason had been a desperate affair for the longest time, because it always ended the same way. At first, kissing Mason always led to something, and that was fine, because they were caught in the heat of the moment. But it’d seemed the longer they practiced, the less eager he was to rip away her clothes.

Before, there was intent behind each press of their lips, knowing that it’d lead to mutual gratification, like it sealed their exchange.

But these kisses were different. He kissed her just because he could.

[gingermintpepper]

100 million years ago, I sent an ask to @nostalgicbookworm

requesting headcanons about a High School AU and after a ridiculous amount of time, I've finally gotten around to writing some stuff for it. It's Drolxinia centric, naturally.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"I like you."

Is what he said, the scarlet of his hair a curtain that blocked the sunset from Drole's relaxed eyes. His honey coloured eyes gleamed gold, cherubic face scrunched awkwardly as usually delicate lips frowned in earnest concentration. And, in the end, that was what tipped him over the edge. The earnesty.

Gloxinia was a creature of cold smiles and borderline cruel words, a perfect blend of wintry disposition and welcoming charisma. He was rarely straight forward, a faerie's trickster nature given human flesh and forced to abide by mortal man's nonsensical laws and Drole accepted this easily. For all his contradiction, Gloxinia was passionate and where it counted, more dependable than even the ever rising sun.

So when met with a pale face twisted in genuine effort; vulnerability and ill-fitting openness blatant in the trembling of tiny fingers which valiantly clung to the empty packet of sunflower seeds, Drole did what any surprised yet undeniably relaxed person would do.

Drole laughed.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

He knew he was wrong but Gloxinia was not an easy person to apologise to.

He made himself scarce almost immediately, jumping off the roof and sliding down the guttering to save face then presumably running all the way home. It all transpired so quickly that Drole barely understood what happened, nevermind formulating an adequate response quickly enough to de-escalate the situation. His friend was smart though, he'd chosen Friday afternoon to make his confession and each call Drole made to him that night went straight to voicemail.

It wasn't that Drole...didn't like him.

In fact, he's pretty certain that he's been in love with Gloxinia since they were in primary school and the spitfire had defended him from a group of bullies. The image of bright bright vermillion had been burned into his vision that day, the tiny child who looked so frail that the girls all whispered that he was a doll whenever he left class with his back arched and scowl fierce. He'd let out a battle cry unlike anything Drole had ever heard and leapt at the biggest bully to scratch and spit at him. Naturally, he'd been beaten as well (bare fists weren't exactly a match for chairs and sticks especially not when those fists were about as large as a first year's), but they'd ended up laughing about it in the nurse's office later.

They'd been inseparable since then, Gloxinia a whirlwind of red hair and sharp fists while Drole contentedly stood by his side. Two misfits facing the world. David and his Goliath. Drole could've died happy if things had stayed that way - he never was a being particularly fond of change. Even after they'd joined secondary school, Gloxinia had continued to be a bit of a terror in his own right, too charismatic for people to be rightfully frightened of him yet too unapproachable for him to actually make friends. Drole's appearance kept the faint of heart away but his quiet disposition meant that even the brave found him uninteresting company. Gloxinia was the only one who accepted him entirely. The only one who had never been disappointed with Drole's truths. He'd accepted that Drole wished to dance instead of fight or play sports, he'd accepted that Drole was happiest in the middle of the botanical gardens on a cloudless summer afternoon, that flowers and butterflies and other childish symbols brought him peace.

He was the only one who understood everything Drole stood for - had stood by his side resolutely through every battle and struggle and Drole had laughed at his confession.

He sighed. No matter how he thought about it, he was unequivocally in the wrong.

"You could always apologise, you know?"

An unimpressed violet eye glared past his veil of brunet locks. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he'd forgotten all about Diane's weekly check-in which, naturally, led to the girl squeezing her way through his perpetually open kitchen window when she found the front and back doors locked.

Drole wasn't... upset at her appearance. Diane was excellent company, one of the newer members of the school's dance team, trained in both ballet and contemporary. Her energy was infectious and she was surprisingly sharp when she wasn't pretending to be a pure maiden from one of her endless fairy tales. She'd taken one look at Drole's ragged countenance and had firmly planted herself on his couch, tea clasped in her dainty hands as she tapped the open cushion next to her in invitation.

Even though Drole hadn't any intention of divulging his troubles to another soul - he had gotten himself into this problem, he would see himself out - somehow, Diane had managed to pry almost everything out of him before he had drained even half of his warm milk.

"Gloxinia doesn't want to talk to me."

Diane hummed, her cup long drained of whatever spicy smelling drink she'd concocted in his kitchen. Her hands were busy twisting his too long hair into something presentable, part of her plan to cheer him up no doubt. "That's fair," she said eventually, voice light even as her thin eyebrows scrunched in concentration, "I wouldn't want to talk to the jerk who laughed at my confession either."

He stifled another sigh. "It was an accident-"

"Doesn't matter!"

His fingers dug into the textured cloth of his upholstered couch, anxiety returning to gnaw at his stomach lining. He'd spent all night replaying the moment in his head in-between calling and texting Gloxinia like some obsessive ex-partner. He felt plenty bad without Diane continuously reminding him that he'd messed up. "Must you continue to bring that up?"

Agile fingers stilled, the warmth of her hands almost uncomfortable against his ear. She grew quiet beside him and Drole cautioned a look in her direction, freezing as he noticed the rueful smile on her face. "Diane-?"

"Sorry," she said and her fingers suddenly double in pace as they make short work of the remnants of the plait she'd been braiding, "I don't mean to beat a dead horse or anything, it's just--I feel sorry for him." Her hands drop and she pulls them close to her chest, bowing her head in a melancholy turn of events, "I can't imagine how I'd feel if I confessed to the guy I liked and he laughed at me."

With a huff, Drole uncurled his hand from the back of the couch to pat Diane's head. It didn't take a genius to figure out where her mind was and Drole wasn't about to let her get lost in her insecurities, "Harlequin wouldn't."

The blush that spread across her face was immediate. Somehow, she grabbed a pillow and ineffectively smacked Drole's stomach with it, mood shifting drastically again, "Why would you bring King into this?! I-I'm just speaking hypothetically!"

He weathered the pillow assault with a placid expression, waiting for her to work her wayward emotions out so they could continue speaking like normal people. Eventually she calms, hugging the pillow to her chest and pouting at his relaxed nature, "Anyway, that's why you need to fix things."

Drole blinked.

She gave an exasperated sigh, "You have to give your juniors hope! Everyone at school already thinks you and Gloxinia are dating, y'know! If you let things break apart now then everyone's gonna take that as an omen."

Now that...was certainly news to him. He couldn't recall any particular instance where his peers gave the impression that they thought he was gay. Then again, given the wide berth most students gave him, Drole supposed he didn't talk to enough people for that to be a provable truth. As for Gloxinia, he'd been turning down over eager confessions from both boys and girls since form one. He'd actually managed to gain a bit of a reputation for being unattainable which--and Drole clearly remembers this particular lamentation--only proved to make him more desirable.

Drole thought it was fair though. To call Gloxinia beautiful was to understate his beauty. Everything about him from his royal attitude to the neatness of his appearance to the way his secret smiles would reveal the cutest dimples on his chin and cheeks - it was all a certain degree of perfect. Thinking about him made his chest heat up, made him ache to call him again. He wanted to run his fingers through Gloxinia's pretty hair again, wanted to laugh at his dark jokes and feel the wind on his skin as they sat for late evening picnics. He wanted Gloxinia's hands pressed against his neck as those smart fingers braided flowers into his thick hair. He just wanted Gloxinia.

"I just want to fix this," he mumbled.

Diane grew silent for a moment. Drole closed his eye, tried to lean his head against the backrest of the couch and let out a stiff exhale as his head connected with the hard wall instead.

"What about Gerheade?"

Drole frowned. Gloxinia's sister was not a force to be taken lightly. He'd tried calling her the minute he realised that Gloxinia wouldn't be picking up his calls but instead of being met with her usual sweet voice, chips of ice had whispered into his ear and had firmly warned him against trying to bother her brother again. He shook his head, not bothering to pull himself up from the wall, "She hates me now too."

Diane chuckled, "That's impossible! Gerheade's too sweet for something like that-"

He caught her eyes, voice chilled, "It's the truth."

She sighed, finally seeming to understand the depth of the hole Drole had inadvertently dug himself into, "How will you apologise then?"

A non-commital shrug met her question, listless eye stuck to the blue phone laying innocently on the coffee table. He'd bothered the both of them enough to last the weekend and he knew Gloxinia enough to understand that he'd never be able to meet him on his own turf. He'd hate to do it, but the only option left to him was to wait and pray that Gloxinia's temper would subside come next week. "We'll talk. Eventually." He furrowed his brows at how unbothered that made him sound, "Monday."

Diane frowned, "Do you think he'll be willing to talk with you by then? Gloxinia's pretty..."

Petty. Prone to holding grudges. Unreasonable.

"It'll work out."

[thethousandyearwitch]

Fatal Taste

“The townspeople believe you’re some kind of evil spirit or monster-” he laughed lightly, not sure if it was because of that ridiculous thought, or because of the soft lips that were caressing the underside of his jaw. “Oh, Ging,” Pariston sighed against his skin in a way that chased goosebumps up his spine. “They are right.” -----------

Ging Freecss has been summoned by his elusive pen-pal Pariston Hill, to examine his claim of a rare and unheard of art collection. Even despite the warnings and difficulties on the way, he was not prepared for what awaited him at the artful mansion.

M-Rated; Vampire!Pariston Hill x Art Appraiser!Ging Freecss.

AO3 Link!

It was the height of summer, as a horse drawn carriage made its way into a small valley village, about 8 miles off the coast, 20 miles from the country’s capital. The sky was mostly clear, and hungry crows on fenceposts watched the carriage pass between grazing fields. The carriage itself didn’t carry a heavy load, just some imported goods from the harbour destined to be sold in the capital, the carriage driver, and a stranger to the country, with messy black hair and rough beard stubble, who had asked for a lift. During the ride he kept mostly quiet, though he introduced himself as “Ging Freecss”.

As they reached the village’s main plaza, the man hopped of the carriage, and bid the driver goodbye with a thanks and some money he had pulled from his trousers, seemingly with no mind paid to how much he was actually giving out.

There wasn’t much to this town, a couple rows of houses with dusted windows, a quaint pub with a few tables decked outside, one of which was occupied by an elderly couple, and a shrine to a local god adorned with candles and food offerings. Ging decided to sit down for a brief rest at the pub, grateful to take refuge in the shade of a sun umbrella next to the tables.

After a short while, a short and stout young woman greeted him and offered him a menu, though he knew well that all he wanted to order was a cold beer. And his wish got fulfilled, as she returned quickly with half a litre of local beer and some trail mix in a bowl. The waitress spoke up with a bubbly voice. “We don’t get many outsiders, sir, you’ve must have had quite a trip. Are you on your way to the capital?”

Ging took a large gulp of his drink before he replied, welcomed the cool chill that chased down his throat. “Ah, No, though I heard it’s a beautiful old city. I’m here to appraise someone’s art collection. Do you think you could help me find an address, actually?” He handed the waitress a neatly folded letter and pointed at the sender’s address. She mustered the handwriting closely before gasping lightly.

“That’s mister Hill’s manor! How do you know him, sir?”

At the same time, the old man at the other table turned around with a stern look. “You must not go there if you value your life, son.”

“I’ve only been in correspondence with him over letters, and though he seems like a weird fellow, I doubt that his antics will cost me my life.” Ging laughed with a rough voice, though the man’s stare didn’t waver.

“He’s a strange and dangerous man. I’ve heard of women visiting him and never returning.”

“Maybe they liked it there so much that they didn’t want to leave! I’ve met him before, he was real polite and friendly, even invited me to his home. But my parents would have killed me if I’d gone out that late in the night.” The waitress sighed wistfully.

“Do you insist to go, young man?” Now the old lady spoke up, her voice sounded sore and stutter-y.

“I’m here to do a job, and if his collection is the real thing, then I’d hate to miss it. But I’ll be quick, probably on my way back to the harbour by the end of the evening.”

The old woman stood up and walked with slow steps over to him, before insistingly grabbing at his hand and pulling him up from his seat. “Come pray then, boy.”

“Ma’am, really, I will be fine, I- I am a grown man- “She pushed him towards the shrine and signalled for him to kneel. “I’m not very religious, y’know- “

“Nonsense, in the face of danger, every man can turn towards any god. Let me pray over you.” Ging rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue with an elderly woman, being beaten with a cane can teach you that lesson. “Dear Gods, watching high above, protect this soul who has strayed from his dedicated path. Guide him to safety and be the shining armour that repels any and all mischievous evils. Assist him in making his judgement, and forgive him for his faults, as we forgive as well. Hold him tight within your hand until he may part which his earthly body to meet you once again.”

Ging waited and listened to the eerie prayer until she removed her hand from his shoulder. “Say, Auntie, a couple rumours don’t turn a man into a monster, do they?”

“People have gone missing in the woods around the mansion. The house itself, it’s always been known to home something evil, for centuries. You youngsters are not in touch anymore with recognizing something malevolent even if it were to spit in your face.”

That cryptic message- or insult- still couldn’t convince Ging not to head towards his destination. Afterall, something like evil spirits couldn’t be real, or else he’d be haunted twice over after disturbing crypts and burial sites, places of worship and sacrifice, the last remains of civilisations long gone. Not once did he think about ghosts or monsters taking revenge.

This ‘Pariston Hill’ was no monster, but most likely just a pretentious man with too much money, feigning interest in art without understanding their purpose and meaning.

Ging asked the waitress again about the address, and she explained a step-by-step on which road he had to hike up to reach the manor. He left her a tip, bid farewell to the old couple, and started to head up the hill road, burlap sack with a few travel belongings over his shoulder.

The road quickly turned from sturdy cobblestone to dirt as he walked, the surrounding forest grew thicker and unkempt around the trail. The woods were quiet except for the occasional crow-cry and wing flutters in the tree crowns. Sweat made his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin, his hair frizzed due to the humidity. He was an experienced hiker, but he still was sure that anyone who decided to build a mansion only accessible via dirt road was a sadist.

But as much as Ging craved refreshment from the heat again, the subtle static in the air and the increase of tiny insects flying around hinted at something unwelcomed: A summer storm was brewing. It wasn’t unusual for this part of the country, but it could certainly throw him off his schedule.

“Please, anything but- “Ging tried to plead to whatever deity in these parts might be responsible for weather, however he was interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, followed by booming thunder, and finally cold rain. “Asshole.”

After a half-hearted jog through the rain and mud that would soak him head to toe, dim lights of a fenced in mansion came into view. A lit oil lamp illuminated an unlocked gate, and a gold-plated sign with fancy curled letters that spelled ‘Pariston Hill’. Ging didn’t second guess the open gate and let himself in, eager to get out from under the downpour. As the gate creaked open, he could have sworn he saw a cat that scurried around the corner, but it was gone before he could have been sure. An orange brick path led directly to the main entrance of the house, adorned on either side with well-kept lawn, hedges cut into elaborate shapes, and exotic flowers that Ging had seen in other countries and continents. The entrance was made up of two large solid wood doors, intricate floral carvings, and two iron door knockers that seemed to be decades old but kept in good shape.

But as the rain seeped deeper into his clothes, Ging disregarded the aged architecture and gave the door a few heavy knocks. Through the rain he tried to listen for a response or approaching footsteps, in vain. And yet without any warning, the door clicked, creaked, and slowly opened. Bright light from inside illuminated the outside area of the entrance. In the middle of the light, there he stood.

He seemed a bit taller than Ging, a perfect posture as if practiced. His hair stood out even against the equally golden light, and he wore a vermillion suit, most likely more expensive than the entirety of Gings closet combined. For some reason, the term ‘handsome devil’ came to mind.

For a second, the man looked down on him with a serious, even hostile expression, before he gave a pleasant smile in recognition. “Ging Freecss, I assume? Seems like you had a refreshing journey here.” He leisurely held out a hand, which Ging immediately took for a hearty handshake, subtly making sure that rain splatter from his hand and sleeve would scatter.

“I do enjoy a good hike, and a free shower is a free shower.” He flashed a determined grin, and Pariston removed himself from the man’s cold and clammy grip, still smiling though disgust flashed within his dark eyes. He stepped a bit to the side and made an exaggerated hand motion to invite Ging to step inside the manor.

The entrance hall was lit with a large crystal chandelier and a warm fireplace at the other side of the room, with two red velvet seats facing the fire. Marble floor was covered with a long red carpet, while the walls were adorned with classical paintings. Just at a glance Ging could tell they weren’t imitations.

“Ging- If you allow me to address you so intimately,” Pariston started, though he didn’t wait for an answer before he continued, “Ging, I’ve been anxiously looking forward to your visit. Now, I could have always called a local appraiser to come and do their job, but I sense a sort of passion within you that I’m sure won’t disappoint me.” He flashed another smile, though far from genuine as his stare and tone dripped with mockery.

“Well, usually I would have declined to come such a long way on a shallow request of a pen-pal, but it would be a shame to let the outrageous claim of a complete Ushiromiya portrait collection go unchecked. Where’s the goods?” Ging leisurely started to press out the water that had soaked into his clothes, directly onto the red carpet below. In any other case he may have shown an art collector more respect, but the smug aura of this man, which had already seeped through any and all letters he had ever received of him, pushed Gings buttons in all the wrong ways.

“I’d think a professional appraiser such as yourself wouldn’t want to examine rare paintings in such a condition that you’re in. It would be a shame if you were to get some dirt on them. Why don’t you go ahead and have a shower, while I retrieve the paintings from their safe?”

“I’m pretty confident in my ability to spot a forgery from a safe distance.”

“I’d be a terrible host if you were to catch a cold.”

“Never been sick in my life, now, I insist- “

“This is my humble home, and they are my paintings, Ging. I am the one who insists. And after all, a free shower is a free shower, isn’t it?” Pariston approached him and took clear advantage of his height, looking down at his visitors with an overly polite smile. Ging had never backed down from a challenge, however, his curiosity about the paintings had increased more and more as he looked around the mansion and noticed more authentic art and architecture. If Pariston Hill had truly come into possession of a rare collection, he didn’t want to deprive the world of this discovery just because he refused to take a shower.

“Alright then, but I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“I’ll generously lend you some of my attire, though I won’t make any promises about it fitting someone of your stature.” Pariston laughed lightly as he proceeded to push Ging towards another room down the hall. “Use any towels, soaps, and the likes as you please, be my guest~”

The washroom Ging got ushered into was equipped with a marble sink, a spacious shower, and a white cabinet that held towels of different sizes and colours. It was clean, maybe too clean, as he could find no trace of this room being used…ever. No water stains on the faucet or at the shower tiles, no used toiletries. Most likely it was a washroom just for guests, and he didn’t want to think about the over-the-top luxury that must hide in the master bathroom.

As he pulled his water-heavy clothes off his body, cold air hit his damp skin, there was a knock on the door. “I’ve got your change of clothes~ I’m sure you’ll like these even more than your regular attire.”

“What am I supposed to do about my clothes? I assume you don’t want me to leave them on the floor to rot?” He cautiously pressed one shoulder against the door, just in case his strange host would get any ideas.

“If you insist to keep them, I can hang them to dry by the fire.”

“You mean ‘dry’, and not ‘burn’, right?”

There was a moment of hesitation, before another light laugh echoed through the door. “What kind of person do you take me for?”

“I’ve been told it’s rude to insult a host. Thanks for the clothes!” Ging quickly opened the door just enough that he could fit his arms through, grabbed the neatly folded pile of fresh laundry, and dropped his soaked clothes into Paristons still extended arms, before he shut the door and clicked the lock. He could hear the sound of the clothes hitting the floor with a wet noise and snickered to himself.

.

.

After a long, warm shower, Ging tried his best to towel dry his hair, though in the end he opted to just slick it back. The clothes Pariston had picked out for him were simple, though not necessarily his style: Black slacks, and a white button up that didn’t seem to fit quite right, thus opting to roll up the sleeves just below his elbows and tuck most of the shirt into the pants. He kept the three most top buttons unbuttoned, because he had always hated the stuffy feelings of suits and dress shirts. The faint smell of cologne that wasn’t his stuck to the clothes, but he pretended not to notice. It smelled of cinnamon.

He exited the bathroom, towels discarded in the sink for whoever to clean up, only to find Pariston at the fireplace, Gings clothes neatly folded over the velvet chairs, as he held a small piece of paper. A picture.

“What an adorable baby!”

Ging approached him with quick step and snatched the picture out of his hands at an admirable speed. “Do you usually go through your guests’ belongings or am I a special case?”

“My, I was merely picking up something that fell out of your pockets. Is it your child?”

“What if he was?” Ging glanced over his spread-out clothes, suspicious of any tempering that might have been done.

“He certainly looks like you, if not as, how do you say,” Pariston waved his hand around as if he were to grab a word out of thin air, “bellicose.”

“Whatever that is supposed to mean. He’s my son; since you’re so curious.”

“Well, well~ Congratulations to you and your- “Pariston glanced at Gings hands, before he made eye contact again, prying smile “wife?”

“No such woman exists. Did you invite me here to pry in person about my life, or do I actually get to see the art?”

“Just making casual conversation. But since you are less of a hazard now, I’d love to see you go to work.”

“Don’t throw me out when you have to face the hard truth, though.” He shuffled through his light luggage to retrieve some appraisal tools, then followed Pariston Hill up a wooden staircase that opened to a long hallway of unmarked doors, and the walls here too were lined with paintings. Some were simple landscapes; others elaborate portraits of different eras. A couple of the artists seemed familiar, though most of them seemed to come from absurd sources or lacked an artist’s signature at all. He stopped in front of one particular painting: A painting of this very mansion. It was yellowed with age, and the edges that poked out from its golden frame seemed worn out and somewhat burned. A signature at the very bottom read in cursive ‘P.H.’ and a date around 50 years back. “Huh?”

“Ging~ Here please.” Pariston held a door open, this time with a smile that seemed almost painful with how his teeth were clenched. Ging decided not to question it, and followed his host into a dim room, packed with various dusted boxes and furniture covered in blankets. At the very end stood a row of aged easels holding up paintings.

“Think they will look more genuine in the dark?” he joked dryly, but his eccentric host flicked on a gas lamp in the row with a fool’s confidence, and-

The room lit up and Ging faced four stunning paintings.

He had studied the previously only known Ushiromiya painting painstakingly when he was still just an apprentice. He learned the way the brush strokes had been made in deliberate ways, burned the colour choices into the back of his eyelids, knew the exact curvature of the one-winged eagle that adorned its signature.

These paintings were real. There was no other explanation.

He went up close, examined the texture, searched for any mistakes in disbelief. But each one was flawless.

“And? Did I waste your time?” Pariston stood a couple feet back, arms crossed, and head tilted.

“They are real… Pariston, this is ground-breaking!” Ging spun around, his face a mix of bewilderment and pure joy. This joy only doubled when Pariston clapped his hands together and seemed to be just as elated.

“Wonderful! Simply splendid!”

“We might be some of the only people alive to have ever seen these!” Ging enthusiastically grabbed Parison by the shoulders, his mind was racing with potential studies he could write on these paintings and the way their existence was to alter history. “How did you get these?”

“They were given to my family by the original artists; So I’ve been told.” A mysterious smile, almost melancholy danced on his lips, before he gave another flash of his shining teeth. “I never doubted their authenticity, but I couldn’t keep their existence to myself, could I?”

Ging gave an enthusiastic slap on Paristons shoulder, feeling for the first time like the two of them shared a surprising, genuine connection. “Will you donate them to a museum? Try to contact the family of the Artist? Or the remaining Ushiromiya family members?”

“I will keep them here. Maybe hang them in my study. Now, would you care for a meal, Ging?”

“What?”

Pariston had already walked back to the door and flicked off the light, his silhouette only illuminated by the faint lights in the hallway. “I’ve let my chef prepare us a meal. I assume you don’t get asked for dinner often then.” He chuckled.

“I thought you didn’t want to keep their existence to yourself!”

“And I didn’t. You know about them now. Exciting, isn’t it?” He chuckled once again, before he disappeared into the hallway.

Ging weighed his option if he were to grab the paintings and escape into the night, but the storm still raged on outside, and he couldn’t safely juggle 4 large canvases all the way to the harbour or capital by himself.

For now, all he really could do was to find a way to convince Pariston to change his mind, through persuasion, threats, or force. Maybe if he were to get some outside forces to apply pressure, he recalled his colleague in forensics, Cheadle, owed him a favour.

He stepped into the hallway and quickly fell into step besides Pariston. “Dinner would be lovely, I’m sure, unfortunately I’m on a tight schedule, so I’d rather get going. I could write you a certificate of authenticity for the collection, though I’d need a second appraiser for the process. My good colleague Miss Yorkshire would be thrilled to visit, I’d think.”

Pariston came to a halt, ran his hand through his messy blond streaks of hair with a sigh. “Oh, Ging, I simply can’t let you continue in this weather. No ship will sail under these conditions, and the way to the capital is prone to mudslides. I don’t want to be complicit in your accidental death.” Ging was about to argue before he was cut off once again. “As for your colleague, you can gladly summon miss Cheadle Yorkshire here, though we’ve never been on very good terms.”

“Wh- How do you know her?”

“Let’s discuss it over dinner, shall we?”

.

.

Ging expected to be taken to a large dining hall with a table set for a dozen people, but in the end, they entered a separate room adjacent to it, with a medium scale dining table only decked for two. Unlike the other rooms in the house, this one was lit with multiple candles in elaborate holders -17thcentury bronze, Ging thought – and a phonograph was playing a concert recording. The men took their seats at opposed ends of the table, Ging sat with a natural comfort and slack, as if any seat he claimed was immediately his own with no regard to manners or humility; Pariston sat with seemingly practiced confidence and superiority as he made a show of crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. A confidence that irritated Ging to no end.

“Must be lonely to usually eat by yourself in this large, dusty room, huh?”

“I keep company one way or another.” Pariston spread a napkin on his lap, though the twitch of his eyebrow indicated his true annoyance with Gings remark.

Just then the door from the hallway opened, and a tall man in a chef’s uniform entered, as he pushed a small silver cart stacked with dishes. As he stepped closer, Ging noticed strange markings around his eyes, though there was no telling if they were tattoos or merely makeup. “Good evening,” he mumbled, in a voice unlikely for a man of his tall stature, “tonight’s meal is wagyu rump steak with rice and garlic Bok choy, served with a bottle of mister Hills personal wine selection.” After Pariston nodded in approval, the tall man started to serve the plates and poured two glasses of deep red wine.

“Don’t tell me you eat like this every day.”

“Of course not~ I prefer Kobe Fillet. I was trying to be mindful of less acquainted tastes.”

“You’re right, I don’t eat beef a lot. I prefer fish, but I understand that not everyone can get their hands on bluefin tuna.”

“Maybe I will let it be prepared for next time.”

“Is it that lonely up here that you’re already inviting me to another dinner?”

“I just assumed you’d appreciate the company, without a significant other and the fact that your child is most likely not under your care.”

The men exchanged challenging looks. Pariston still had a polite smile, though he started to lean forward in his chair like a predator about to pounce, while Ging couldn’t keep an irritated smirk form his lips. The tension was only interrupted by the chef, who cleared his throat and told the men to enjoy their meals. Just then the sweet and savoury smell of the food hit Ging, and he couldn’t deny the hunger that had built itself up.

Pariston lifted his own wine glass up, red liquid sparkled in the candlelight. “To the most interesting guest who has found his way into my home.”

In response, the man in question raised his own glass, though with less bravado and more at leisure. “To the Ushiromiya collection and their questionable owner.”

Both of the men started drink from their wine, though Ging noticed Paristons eyes on him, as if he awaited a reaction. The wine was sweet on Gings tongue, it lacked the usual sting that wine would give him once he swallowed.

“How is it?”

“Could be worse. You’ve got a lot of time on your hands to even make your own wine.”

The blond started to cut off a piece of his meal, and took a small bite, never breaking eye contact. “I am a man that easily gets bored. I need a lot of hobbies.”

“That makes two of us.”

They ate mostly in silence, music from the phonograph kept the atmosphere light. Ging hadn’t realized just how hungry he was, until he finally ate enough and the lingering knot in his stomach loosened. He emptied his plate in what felt like record time, no regard for table manners, and drank more wine while Pariston ate at a patient (and reasonable) pace. After his third glass, he was expecting the normal pleasant buzz that alcohol gave him, in vain.

“You still need to explain to me how you and Cheadle are acquainted.” He poured himself another glass, which Pariston seemed to approve.

“We have met a couple years prior, at a theatre opening in the city, hosted by Sir Netero. A friend of a friend, so to say. Unfortunately, people like us aren’t meant to get along. I offered her a dance out of curtesy, but I felt like she might have mauled me if I insisted.”

Ging laughed lightly, “She does have a temperament. I can’t imagine her being much of a dancer.”

“Saying something like that about a lady isn’t very nice, especially considering the same could be said about you.”

“Bold assumption, with no evidence.”

“You don’t look like you’d have the grace required for dancing.”

“I may not get invited to many balls, but I’ve known myself around a couple dancing events.”

“Are you willing to prove yourself?” Pariston got up from his seat, walked over to Ging, and as the phonograph started to play another orchestra song, he extended his hand to him. “May I have this dance?”

The shorter man hesitated, but unable to admit defeat to the other, he took the hand and immediately got pulled into the starting position for a Viennese Waltz, his right hand in Paristons, his left rested on the others upper arm; Paristons right hand rested on Gings shoulder-blade. As they started to move, Ging had to concentrate hard to not look at his feet, seeing as it would be an admission to not being confident in his steps, though locking eyes with the other man stirred something uncomfortable within him. He couldn’t clearly remember the last time he had danced with someone else, so the closeness of it felt foreign. As the music continued, they waltzed through the room, at first only in the ‘natural box’, though soon Pariston led them to side whisks and natural turns, a steadily increased pace.

“I do have to admit, you’re better at this than I initially thought.” Pariston smiled.

“You shouldn’t judge a book so easily by its cover.”

“You shouldn’t forget who has the lead.” Before Ging could question the statement, he was dipped low as the orchestral music seemed to reach its climax, hands immediately grabbing for more hold before he’d meet the ground. In the end, he clung to Paristons shoulders in a move that lacked grace but not force. The other man meanwhile had let go of his shoulder-blade, and instead had both hands secure at Gings waist. “Afraid I would drop you?”

“It’s what I would have done.”

The two men laughed and stood themselves up straight once again, but their hands remained where they were, whether it was a conscious decision or not. A slower song started, the name of it at the tip of Gings tongue, and as he pondered it, he may not have even noticed that they started a slow dance together. It was a simple three-step, and Pariston would occasionally close his eyes to hum along to the music, uncaring of the closer contact between him and the other man; The longer it went on, so did Ging.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to dance.”

“Maybe the alcohol made me more susceptible to idiocy.”

“There was no alcohol in that wine, Ging. Or at least not enough, to get you anywhere near an inebriated state.” He chuckled.

“A wine without alcohol can barely call itself a wine. What is in it, then?”

“I wonder if you can guess~”

Ging thought about it for a minute, determined to prove himself better once again. “It was very sweet, but too water-y to just be crushed fruit.” This only elicited a humoured ‘Mhm’. “I think it is a process of combining younger wine with some sort of flavoured tea.”

“Incorrect, but a good try~”

“What is it then?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ging rolled his eyes, but continued their slow dance, as he got used to the hands on his waist that occasionally tapped their fingers to the music. “Keeping secrets must be another of your hobbies. The wine, the portraits…” He trailed off when he realized that Pariston inched closer; He smiled, self-satisfied, dark eyes focused solely on the other. Suddenly Ging felt the blood in his veins run cold, like faced with a predator in the woods, his heart was beating in this throat. Every nerve in his body started to feel shocked and screamed to run. But he couldn’t. Didn’t want to. And so, he stood still when Paristons ghostly cold hand cradled the side of his face as if another rare piece of art. When Ging didn’t flinch away from the touch, the blond placed a first kiss just on the corner of the others mouth. Then another. And another. Until Ging turned his head just enough to connect their lips.

Paristons lips were soft and faintly tasted of that sweet wine, with each kiss his hold on the others waist would tighten, like he was afraid he’d turn and run. But instead, the shorter man wrapped his arms around the blonds’ neck, even a tad eager to press his tongue between his lips, to be closer, to taste more. Every new connected kiss made his stomach twist in just the right way, he relished that it felt dangerous, maybe even wrong, and yet so satisfying.

After what felt like hours, though realistically it was probably a couple of minutes, their lips parted and Gings head was left spinning as Pariston continued to kiss along his jaw. But there is one thing that pulled at his mind, annoyingly so.

“The townspeople believe you’re some kind of evil spirit or monster-” he laughed lightly, not sure if it was because of that ridiculous thought, or because of the soft lips that were caressing the underside of his jaw.

“Oh, Ging,” Pariston sighed against his skin in a way that chased goosebumps up his spine. “They are right.”

“Wha- “Suddenly a sharp, paralyzing pain shot from Gings neck to the ends of his body. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, all he could do was to drive his nails deeper into the others shoulder, and let out quiet gasps. Meanwhile a thumb stroked over his cheekbone as if to soothe, the other hand on the small of his back to keep him from collapsing.

He wondered if he was going to die here, at the hands of a vampire that he’d been warned about. He wondered if he’d been deliberately seduced- did he consider himself seduced? – just to be killed.

He threaded his fingers through the vampire’s hair, with no energy to pull him away from himself, just enough to hold on. Acceptance. He felt cold.

A tongue lapped over the fresh wound on his neck, followed by a few soft kisses. The pain subsided to a dull numbness. His line of sight started to darken. Pariston cradled Gings face in his hands, lips and chin stained red. He pressed another kiss to his lips, so tender as if he had never revealed his true nature, and the shorter man but couldn’t help but huff out a laugh with the last of his strength.

“Tastes like wine.”

“Another secret revealed to you.”

The last thing Ging saw was Paristons smile and dark eyes. Then blackness.

.

.

When Ging came to, the past day felt like a distant dream. He felt no pain, only a comfortable warmth that surrounded him, and someone’s fingers that combed through his hair.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. A dim room he did not recognize, next to him a bedstand with a carafe of water and some medical tools that included gauze, needle, thread, and a dirtied scalpel. He himself was still wearing the clothes he had been presented with after his spontaneous shower. He turned his head to the other side, and there sat Pariston on the same bed, one hand in the man’s hair, the other held an aged book. At the movement, he retracted his hand in shock, before his signature smile flashed once more.

“You’re awake.”

“I’m alive.” It somewhat hurt to talk, and as he reflexively reached for his own throat, he felt a thick bandage at the side of his neck. “You kept me alive. Why?” He started to sit himself up, not wanting to be physically talked down to.

“I don’t want to be bored. You’re the first visitor I’ve had in a while that managed to keep my interest. I guess I am pretty selfish.”

“You are.” Ging reached out to brush a strand of hair from Paristons face, before gently pulling him in for a kiss. “So am I.”

He felt his stomach twist again as they kissed, so sickly sweet, and he wanted more. He deepened the kiss, drank up every relaxed sigh that came from the other, let himself be greedy and reach for more. Even though Pariston almost killed him, still could, he touched Ging like he was something treasured, close enough to not let him escape, but not enough to break him. And maybe that’s what Ging wanted, to be desired, even in a destructive, dangerous sense.

As the feeling returned to all his limbs, he took advantage of it to properly sit himself up, then straddle Paristons lap. He broke their kiss, leaving the other somewhat panting. Again, the blonds’ hand was at the side of his face, not as cold this time, and his thumb traced small circles into his cheek.

“How often have you coerced someone here, just to feed?”

Pariston closed his eyes in thought, “It would be pointless to keep count. But no one has ever made it as far as you have.”

This prompted Ging to claim the vampires’ lips with his own in a possessive kiss. Paristons free hand started to trail up and down the shorter man’s thigh; In response, Ging started to feel his way from Paristons shoulders to his chest, lean but firm muscle.

And no heartbeat.

Of course, there wouldn’t be. He was dead.

Ging thought about how, maybe in a different lifetime, the two of them could have met through different means, both alive and entirely human. He thought about the countless people that have stepped into this mansion, never to return to their families. How even he would one day pass, either through natural means or because Pariston had lost interest in his existence. Would he ever let someone else get this far, after Ging? He felt cold steel in his hand.

This time, Pariston was the first to break the kiss, only for a moan to escape his lips. By now, they had slipped further down the mattress, with Pariston flat on his back while Ging still firmly straddled his hips. He looked so human under Ging, dark eyes half lidded and even the faintest flush on his cheeks.

Ging thought about how long he could stay here. About all the paintings in this mansion and their history he could study. About shared dinners and slow dancing to orchestral music. The image of himself as a corpse, entirely dry, flashed in his mind. A wine bottle with his name written on it.

Ging took Paristons hand from his face and held it over his racing heart. “I don’t think someone else has ever done this to me.” It felt ridiculous to say but it also tasted so bitter with truth to say out loud. His other hand grasped the foreign, cold object harder.

“What an honour~” Pariston purred, and he tried to lean up to unite in another kiss before he got pushed back into the mattress.

“We are both selfish, Paris. I don’t want you to do this to anyone else. And I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

In the vampires’ eyes flashed confusion, irritation, and then the glistening object that Ging had hidden. The scalpel from the bedside table. And in his last moment, he smiled with such honesty, that it felt like it was Ging who would receive that fatal blow to the heart.

It was over in a moment.

The scalpel, with enough force, had swiftly pierced through the ribs all the way to his heart, and after a pained gasp and a bit of twitching, Pariston Hill had died.

Ging remained seated for a while; He did not move, just looked. He wondered if he should cry, if he even could if he wanted to. But in the end, he closed Paristons eyes, gave him a parting kiss on the forehead, and left.

He never told anyone about the paintings.

Never told anyone about what he experienced in the mansion.

He wanted to be selfish and keep this secret just between himself and Pariston. Forever.

[its-sixxers]

OC Interview - Tandreth

name ➔ “Who’s asking?” he grins. “Indoril Tandreth, if you’re Velothi. If you’re one of the jarl’s men, I’m no one.”

are you single ➔ “Quite. Why, are you looking to change that? I’m a hard man to tie down.”

are you happy ➔  “My coinpurse is full, I have a collection of various artifacts and treasures, someone to warm my bed every night - I suppose I can’t complain.” The smile leaves his eyes, however.

are you angry ➔ “I’m Velothi. It’s in the blood, so they say.” You can’t imagine the aloof man in front of you furious by any means, but there’s a bite of challenge to his tone.

are your parents still married ➔ “Hah!” he laughs. “They never were. Everyone calling me a bastard is right in more ways than one.”

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ “The Ashlands. Northwestern Vvardenfell, back in the day - now the entire island’s ash.”

hair color ➔ “Black, but I’m told the sun turns strands brown if it’s bright enough.” Tandreth combs his fingers through his curls. “I bleached it white, once upon a time. Didn’t want to look my sister, you see.”

eye color ➔ He flutters his eyelashes. “Red as Azura cursed them.”

birthday ➔  “The tenth of Sun’s Dawn. Year 430, of the Third Era.” Tandreth waits for the math to be done, eyes twinkling playfully. “I look good for my age, don’t I?”

mood ➔ “They change like the weather. Now? Or most often? The answer to both is bored.” He tries to look at the sheet of paper and the notes upon it. “Tell me you have something better to ask.”

gender ➔ It’s not the interesting question he wanted. “I’m a man. Not that the local Nords seem to believe me.” His smile grows wicked. “Their wives do.”

summer or winter ➔ “They’re the same thing, here in Skyrim.” He sighs. “Summer. I like to be able to feel most of my fingers.” You note his left pinky is missing.

morning or afternoon ➔ “Morning. I like to watch the sunrise before I turn in for the night.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ “Always am.” he sighs dramatically, lounging further back in his chair. “How can anyone not be? Tamriel is filled with the beautiful.”

do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “Now we’re at the interesting questions.” Tandreth kicks his feet up on the table. “Of course I do. Love at first sight, hate at last sight - isn’t that how it tends to go?”

who ended your last relationship ➔ It catches him off guard - he’s leaning his chair back on two legs, and nearly falls over. The front feet of the chair connect with the floor loudly as he settles himself. “The law.” he answers simply. “And gold.”

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ The next question quickly repairs his high spirits. “Dozens, I’m sure. Don’t mistake me for cruel - I’ve never been dishonest about what I am. I can’t prevent others from lying to themselves.”

are you afraid of commitments ➔ He rolls his eyes. “You sound like Raansi.” he mutters. “I’ve spent the last fifty years in Skyrim, I think that’s commitment enough.”

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Tandreth opens his mouth then frowns. “... you know, I haven’t.” he realizes aloud, and is clearly troubled by it. “Maybe I should give that great dragonborn ox a hug. I’ve gotten good at dodging her hammer, you know.”

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “I like to collect the letters.” he grins from ear to ear. “They don’t stay secret for long, if I can help it.”

have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ Those red eyes of his drop to his nails, where he makes a display of picking at his cuticles. “Don’t be foolish.”

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ “Lust is simpler. There’s less tears involved, much more fun for all parties. I don’t need someone simpering over me to feel like a whole person.” he answers, perhaps a tad defensively.

lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Iced tea offers much more variety in flavor. That’s a drink for Hammerfell or Elsweyr, not this frozen tundra.”

cats or dogs ➔ His mouth twists. “I don’t keep pets. Humans live short enough lives, animals are asking for heartbreak.”

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “I have a very large circle of acquaintances and paramours. Does that count?”

wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “A wild night out, of course. It helps one feel alive.”

day or night ➔ “As much as I hate the cold, night. Have you seen a full moon over the snow on a clear night? As bright as day, and clear as crystal.” There’s a dreamy expression on his face.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ “Several times. Not all for troublesome reasons, I assure you.”

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “I am the pinnacle of grace.” Tandreth looks almost offended to be asked.

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “There was this necklace I tried to steal from a sleeping beast of a woman, and I nearly had my nose broken for the trouble.” You think it’s a joke, but the grave quality to his tone suggests that Tandreth takes any threat to his nose very seriously.

wanted to disappear ➔ “Wanted to? I can.” Perhaps he is dodging the questions.

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ “They’re intertwined. Part of a smile is in the eyes, you know - and they’re at their best when smiling.”

shorter or taller ➔ “Taller.” he answers first, then wrinkles his nose - his reflexive response has brought up something uncomfortable. “I don’t mind either way.” he adds hastily. “I’ve been very happy with people of all sizes.”

intelligence or attractive ➔ “You must think me vain indeed.” He tilts his chin upward. “But aye, I’ll say it - beauty. Not all can find tomes to pore over or tutors from the imperial province. Beauty isn’t just in the face, or the form, it’s an energy all its own.” He gestures vaguely with his hands. “A school of magic, perhaps. Difficult to define. It’s why I love it so dearly.”

hook-up or relationship ➔ “I’m a hard man to love.” he says with a dramatic shrug and an affected sheepish smile. “But I don’t leave my bedmates wanting.”

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ Tandreth exhales shortly. “I liked the other questions.” he mumbles. “Presently? Only my sister’s left of it, and we’re not on speaking terms.”

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ His smile is entirely without humor, a grim thing that ages him by decades. “Don’t worry, dearest. I live my life to the fullest.”

have you ever run away from home ➔ “I think every young lad does, at some point.” He’s picking at his nails again.

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “By my family? No. But there’s a few cities I’m not allowed to set foot in - do you have the time to listen? ... no? Pity.”

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “What intrigue!” Tandreth’s good humor returns. “I’d have to have them to bear some secret distaste. The people I hate in my circle I make no secret of.”

do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “I’ll stretch the definition of friend to play along with your questions. No. You don’t live as long as I have by trusting anyone but yourself.”

who is your best friend ➔ For a moment you think he’s about to say ‘no one’, and you’re correct - but the pause before he says so is notable indeed.

who knows everything about you ➔ “My sister, I suspect. We’re twins, you know - she’s an hour older. Will never let me forget it.” He snorts. “You’d think she had decades on me, the way she carries on. She knows everything - so she might was well know everything about me.” You sense he’s a little bitter.

He offers to take you to a play in town after your work day is complete. You respectfully decline, and he respects your professionalism - but he still winks on his way out.

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Harringrove for Australia: okayshitbird

hi there everyone! ♥ the amazingly magnificent and so insanely sweet @okayshitbird​ requested this fic from me for #HarringroveforAustralia! for anyone thinking “wow you’re incredibly late with this”... you’d be right! but I tried and it’s finished now and isn’t that all that matters?? ~♥

prompt: Billy has to meet Steve’s parents, w/ fluff and enough angst to make the fluff hit hard

tags: mentions of non-graphic sex after the fact (I don’t know how else to tag that 😬), humor, fluff, angst, romance, Dumb Boys TM

You can catch it at AO3 right here  if you want!

Word Count: 18,910 (way over word limit you say?? sorry can’t hear you, woops...)

thanks hun, and thanks again to @tracy7307 for being SUCH an amazing doll and putting HfA together for all of us!!

alright i’m gonna go pretend like I have the attention span to deal with my responsibilities, bye babes.

Stay safe! ♥

-----

More Than a Crush

It’s a gorgeously warm summer evening. The chirping of the evening birds mixes with the hum of the bugs creating a far more pleasant chorus than anyone could ever expect, especially someone from a place so different than this. The sound of the world outside is what Billy thinks the sun would sound like. The feeling around him is what he thinks happiness feels like. True happiness. The pure feeling of being content. There’s a short list of things in Billy’s life that have ever felt as gorgeous as this moment.

He’s really not sure why Steve insists on ruining it.

“My parents want to meet you.”

It’s Steve’s voice, saying it plainly, as if he’s talking about the weather. There’s immediate silence, Billy’s fingers digging into the warm-to-the-touch flesh of Steve’s arms as he’s holding him.

“Excuse me?” Billy asks, Steve’s statement hitting Billy sharp in his chest because what the fuck.

“My parents-”

“It’s been a good day, right?” Billy cuts in, because he’s not sure he can hear that again and stay calm. “We’re having a good time?”

They pause again. Steve just blinks from his position on Billy’s chest.

“Yes?” There’s obvious trepidation in Steve’s voice. “Are you having a good-?”

Billy cuts him off. He’s antsy.

“We got lunch, we smoked a little bit, we watched those birds… we fucked. Twice.”

Steve rolls his eyes like he’s trying to make a point of the action, but nothing hides the smirk on his face.

“It’s been a good day.” Billy says again.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “It’s been a good-”

“So why are you screwing it up?”

Steve’s face pulls into something that looks appalled, rearing back to punch Billy’s shoulder lightly.

“Shut up!” Steve is indignant. “I’m not screwing with anything!”

Steve’s face is so genuinely irritated that Billy feels like the one screwing things up right now, and he definitely doesn’t appreciate the feeling.

“You should be screwing me-” Billy says with notes of resentment he’s sure he’d never be able to hide.

Steve shoves at Billy’s shoulder again before leaning down to bite lightly at it. Billy squirms involuntarily at the feeling, his body running a bit hot at the feel of Steve’s teeth. It always does that.

“Yeah yeah, shut up.” Steve mumbles against Billy’s shoulder, soft lips grazing the tanned skin as he flops his head down on the pillow next to Billy. “Look, I’m just saying, my parents told me they wanted to meet you.”

“Why do your parents even know about me?” Billy’s voice is a lot softer now as Steve traces little circles around his chest. It’s not voluntary. It’s those damn doe eyes and those damn soft touches that knead his heart into something more malleable; something more gentle.

It lasts for about a second, because he has to slap the hand of his stupid boyfriend who decides he wants to start pulling at Billy’s curly chest hair. Steve chuckles.

“Because I tell them about you.”

Billy sighs. “That’s my question, dipshit. Why are you telling them about me?”

Steve props himself back up on his elbows. His eyes are earnest. It feels like Steve’s hands have reached into Billy’s chest to play with his heart instead. Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to someone looking at him with so much… care in their eyes. So much admiring love. It’s so much that Billy couldn’t even put a finger on what it was for months. He just felt this gut feeling bubbling up in him, even lashed out the first few times out of confusion, but now it just makes him feel weak at the knees. Weak all over. Billy’s not used to feeling weak.

But here he is, falling into that now-familiar weakness as he looks into Steve’s eyes that search him like he’s Paradise. Like he’s got all the answers within him.

“Because…” Steve starts again, voice silky smooth and hitting Billy’s heart all over again. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

It’s… earnest.

So earnest it makes Billy sick to his stomach.

Billy lightly slaps the top of Steve’s head.

“Shut up, Bambi.” Billy can’t find an ounce of malice to inject into his voice, but it’s not for lack of trying. He hates all this mushy stuff. At least… he wants to hate it. “You’re gonna ruin everything.”

“Am not! My parents always meet my friends.”

“I-th…” Billy pauses. “They do?”

Steve nods. “They’ve known Tommy since we were toddlers and they met Carol a few years ago.”

Billy must get some kind of wistful look in his eye- on his face -because Steve nips it real quick.

“It’s not as sweet as you might think.” Steve pipes in quickly, groaning a bit as he lays his forehead on Billy’s chest. “They do it for their… reputation or whatever. They just wanna make sure you’re not ruining my image. They probably hear shit from their friends.”

“Am I ruining your image, babe?” Billy asks, holding the sides of Steve’s head gingerly to pull him up towards his face. He runs his tongue along the shell of Steve’s ear, revelling in the breath released before he twists his tongue around to stick it at least somewhere near the inside of Steve’s ear.

Hey, Billy’s the first to admit he’s a brat.

He gets pushed away, a disgusted sound coming from the boy on top of him. Billy chuckles, liking the feeling of Steve’s weight on top of him as his chest vibrates from his laughs.

“Cut it out!” Steve groans, scooting away minutely. “You’re not ruining anything. They’re just stupid. And they wanna meet you.”

“Okay, well…” Billy’s not sure what else there is to say. He finds no other words fit in his mouth. He gives in. “Okay.”

The air between them turns still and Billy watches Steve’s shoulders stiffen as he looks up, eyes impossibly wide.

“Okay?” There’s so much hope in his voice.

Billy sighs, his chest tight from more than just Steve laying on him. He’s being constricted by every expectation, but he’s not moving any time soon. There’s no way he’s moving away from Steve.

Billy nods.

“Yeah, okay. If your parents wanna meet me… fine. Alright.”

And now the pressure in Billy’s chest is mostly Steve, who has decided to squeeze the life out of Billy in a crushing hug.

If the sound that comes out of Billy could be labelled as a “squeak” or even “unmanly”, he would never in his life admit to it.

“Alright, alright!” He shoves at Steve’s shoulder until the boy lets up. “What are we gonna do? Dinner at the Harringtons? Do I need to wear my slacks?”

Billy wiggles playfully under Steve and winks at him for good measure. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Uh… not exactly.”

It’s not what Billy expected to hear. His heart skips with nerves.

“Well, what are we doing?” Billy couldn’t explain the racing of his heart if he tried. “Your dad doesn’t seem like the type to take me hunting to protect your honor.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no… uh…. Well…”

“Well what? Spit it out, Bambi.”

Steve bites his lip and it takes all of Billy not to get distracted so he can hear Steve say: “We’re gonna need to go shopping.”

~~*~~

Billy hates shopping.

He hates the bright signs, he hates the fake smiles… he hates capitalism. Really, there’s nothing redeeming about going shopping. Not even Steve Harrington can help his hatred of shopping.

“Billy...” Steve sounds like he’s about to chastise Billy and it’s really not helping.

“Shut up.” Billy hisses, near snapping, but he holds himself back enough to take a breath. “Why do we have to be here? Why can’t I just borrow something?”

“Because you’ve already ripped enough of my clothes trying to fit into them.” Steve says, face blank as he turns to walk into the Polo store. Billy’s mad about it, but he follows after a few steps.

“It’s not that bad.” Billy mumbles, sauntering as much as he can until he walks through the doors and effectively feels himself shrink down. He hates the Polo store. He’s come here a couple of times before, only with Steve. His family isn’t rich enough for this and, truthfully, he can’t imagine going anywhere that would warrant these clothes anyway. All these pastels and collared short sleeves… it’s semi-idiotic to Billy. Not to mention those stupid little shorts…

And… yeah, don’t get him wrong, Steve looks great in all of this stuff. There’s nothing like Steve’s ass in some preppy pants, sure, but that doesn’t mean Billy has to wear them just to appreciate them.

“What about this?” Steve asks, pointing out a baby blue shirt that makes Billy gag.

“Are you kidding?”

“I think it’d bring out your eyes!” Steve says, sifting through the sizes. Billy can’t think of a single thing to do with himself except stand there and watch his preppy boyfriend sort through preppy clothes to dress him in like a doll.

“I think it looks like I’m going to brunch on my parent’s yacht.” Billy pulls a face as Steve chuckles, with some kind of pity.

“That’s kind of what we’re going for, here, babe.” Steve says, keeping hold of the shirt as he searches for more colors. Or something. Billy’s really just being pushed by the wind, here.

And he wants to throw more of a fit. He kind of wants to be a brat about it. He wants to be that little kid inside of him that’s kicking and screaming to leave because he feels uncomfortable and out of place and exhausted… but…

But he knows he can’t because this actually means something. This is meeting Steve’s family for the first time and yeah, they’re not telling them about their relationship or anything, but it’s still important to get this right. He doesn’t wanna give Steve any grief because his parents think Billy is an asshole, and he definitely doesn’t want to have to hide in public any more than they already do. They hide enough, he doesn’t want it getting worse.

It’s just…

“It looks like the Easter Bunny ralphed in here.”

“You’re not wrong.” Steve says on a chuckle before shoving a few shirts into Billy’s chest. “Alright, try these on.”

Billy pulls a face.

“Uh… real funny, princess, but no.”

Billy has only admitted it out loud a handful of times, but Steve looks cute when he gets all defiant like that with his hands on his hips.

“You’re trying them on.” Steve orders. Billy won’t lie, it gets him a little hot watching Steve order him around. “You’re not going to this with a ripped shirt.”

“Like you wouldn’t love that.” Billy says on a scoff, but his voice is quiet. The more he talks back the more sour it tastes on his tongue.

“You know I’d love to rip them off you myself but you have to-”

“I don’t want to go into that stuffy dressing room.” Billy raises his voice. He’s pouting like El. Like a brat. He feels it on his lips without even thinking about it but honestly, he’s not sure how he can be rightly blamed for this. He’s so deeply uncomfortable that he’s slipped into default mode, which happens to coincide with “bratty mode”. So sue him.

Steve’s eyebrows are knitted with irritation. He looks like he wants to do more than just sue him.

“Look,” Steve starts darkly, hitting Billy with a look that immediately shuts him up. “You’re talking to the guy who went through a major growth spurt the same summer that his mother decided she needed to go to every stupid country club function. I was in that stuffy dressing room every week. You can handle like, one hour.”

Billy doesn’t want to say he feels sheepish… but he’s feeling pretty sheepish. He watches Steve pant a little bit from the energy he’s exerted. It’s kind of cute, even though Billy’s heart feels sore for having to be told off.

Because he knows this means a lot. Steve knows this is killing Billy and he wouldn’t make Billy sit through something so draining if it didn’t mean a lot and… and Billy’s been kind of an asshole. He’ll be the first to admit… he’s the only one allowed to admit, thank you… and…

Billy shrinks about 3 sizes. He eyes Steve through thick lashes.

“One hour?” He asks, voice small. Steve is the only one to ever get him this way.

Steve gives a hopeful smile and nods, holding the shirts out yet again. He looks triumphant. Billy lets it slide.

“That’s about as long as I wanna be here, too.” Steve admits, raising an eyebrow to get Billy to accept the shirts.

He does with a sigh.

Billy heads into the dressing room with an irritated flair, aiming for melodrama. He’s standing in the dressing room and feels physically pained every time he puts on a new pastel polo. Which isn’t to say he’s unable to pull off these looks, because he can wear a garbage bag and still be one of the most fuckable people in Hawkins, it’s just… all this pastel and these stupid collared shirts. If anyone were to see him like this, he’d have to beat them up. There’d be no option.

He purposefully ignores the tags, knowing Steve is going to insist on buying everything no matter what he says. He still remembers the time that Steve insisted on buying Billy a new pair of fancy shoes, saying he had just been given some “emergency money” that actually equated to “you just caught your dad cheating for the 3rd time this year, please don’t talk about it to anyone” money before his parents left for yet another extravagant business trip.

Billy felt some kind of pride in “taking money” from an asshole like that.

Now Billy is going to have to meet that asshole...

But still, he doesn’t like money being spent on him. It always leaves a weird type of pain in his chest, knowing he can’t reciprocate all these gifts to his boyfriend who very clearly is acquainted with the finer things of life. He can’t spoil Steve as much as he wants to. Not that he’d ever in his life admit to wanting to… but still. He knows. He knows how badly he wants to give the world to Steve and how incapable of doing so he is, but that doesn’t change a whole lot. Steve seems happy with what they have.

But will he always be?

“Billy! How long does it take to put a shirt on?”

Billy jumps, stepping out of the dressing room with a scowl on his face that looks far more like a pout.

“You look so good!” Steve nearly coos and Billy is about to throw something at him.

“Shut up.” His face burns and if he’s blushing he’ll punch someone for pointing it out.

And as Billy tries on the handful of shirts that Steve shoved his way, he starts to feel like he’s in some kind of cheesy movie montage. He pouts his way through it, walking out each time and giving his best unimpressed look, spinning when Steve tells him to spin before going back in to change his shirt.

He walks out in a particularly vomit-inducing polo with pale pink and blue horizontal stripes, spinning slowly with his arms out at his sides, before turning quickly to look over his shoulder with a single eyebrow raised. He figures hamming it up is the best way to give himself some entertainment.

Steve laughs.

“You’re a stunner!”

Billy winks in response and saunters back into the dressing room, turning around to face Steve, still eyeing him sexily before saying: “I hate them all.” and closing the curtain with a swish.

And if he smirks at the loud, frustrated groan Steve gives… well he wouldn’t necessarily call it sadistic...

They take another walk through the store, and Billy refuses to drag his feet. He may hate it here but he’s not a child, thank you.

Then, the unthinkable happens: something catches his eye. In a good way.

“These.”

Steve seems eager to see what Billy’s talking about, turning quickly. His face cracks into a smile before it’s replaced by a (probably forced) scowl, because there’s no fooling Billy. He knows the boy was about to laugh.

“No… no Billy.”

“Yes.”

“Billy they… they have skulls on them.”

They do. They’re a bright, almost Pepto-Bismol looking pink with tiny skull-and-crossbone images embroidered on them. They kind of make Billy’s stomach ache because of how heinous they are but they’re also the best things Billy has seen in this hell of a store and he thinks they match his own “image”, so… he’ll take them.

“You bet babe.” Billy adds a wink for good measure, picking up the shorts in a couple of sizes before sauntering over to the dressing room. “It’s this or I’m going in just a jockstrap. You know I mean it.”

Steve takes a breath, makes like he’s gonna speak, but Billy turns and gives him a look that lets him know that whatever he’s about to say isn’t going to effectively reach Billy’s ears.

Steve sighs, but there’s a laugh on his lips and its twin can be found in his eyes. That’s one of Billy’s favorite things about this stupidly good looking boy.

When Billy gets to the dressing room, two shirts are being thrown in after him.

“You have to wear a shirt.”

Billy sticks his tongue out.

Steve leans forward to steal a kiss, lightly and playfully biting Billy’s tongue before separating and closing the curtain.

Billy’s mind feels so fuzzy, he barely registers the clothes he’s putting on.

~~*~~

The day has finally come and never in his life has Billy felt like this much of a dork.

Something about this really does feel like torture. Even though he knows that right now he’s only surrounded by people who love him wholeheartedly, this still feels like a form of sadism. Billy suddenly thinks he might understand what those little toy poodles go through.

Because right now everyone is… cooing at him. Joyce has stood Billy in the hallway (where Jonathan said the lighting is probably best) and is currently attempting to work Jonathan’s camera to take pictures. Jonathan is right next to her, trying to show her the buttons to press and where to look when she wants to take a picture. Jim is standing behind them, deep chuckles clearly bubbling up in his chest and a smirk he can’t keep hidden smeared all over his face. Every now and then he makes eye contact with Billy and tries a little harder to keep his laughter down. Billy tries to find something to appreciate about it.

El is bouncing around in the back, giggling and pulling Will over to whisper to him. Will just shrugs, face red and laughter hidden in the corners of his smile. Billy knows he can’t get mad at them.

Jonathan though…

“Oh here, you just take it, honey.” Joyce concedes, handing the camera back over to her son with exasperation in her voice. Jonathan scrambles for the camera, hanging it around his neck before turning to Billy with a smirk on his face- a smirk that says: you’re never living this down. It’s in his raised eyebrow and all.

Billy’s gonna kill the boy.

“Say cheese.” Jonathan says with the smarmiest grin possible.

“I’ll kill you.” Billy says through gritted teeth, keeping his tone as sweet as possible. Jonathan laughs before taking the shot.

“Okay, okay, now I think we should get one over here!” Joyce is bouncing, tapping Jonathan’s shoulder excitedly. “The wallpaper is nice over here.”

Jonathan is cackling now, mixing with the low rumbles of Hop’s laughter as they walk down the hallway. Will and El move out of the way, heading to the kitchen for something.

Billy’s teeth are still clenched tight.

“I’d really rather not.” Billy says with as little anger in his voice as he can muster.

“I know, I’m sorry, dear, just a few more pictures! It’s just, I have pictures of all the other kids all dressed up and you look so nice!” Joyce brings a hand up to replace a curl that’s slipped out of where Billy has attempted to grease them back. Everything she does is so maternal- it all has such a loving touch that it softens Billy instantly. “Just a couple more pictures? Is that okay, honey?”

It’s just them in the hallway now, the chatter of the other people in the house sounding distant enough that the irritation in Billy’s chest simmers down to just about nothing. It’s just him and this woman who somehow always makes him think about the good memories of his mother. Not even the tangible ones, but rather the fuzzy ones that crop up more as feelings than as pictures. It’s something he’s not sure he knows how to truly appreciate. It’s something he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to again. It’s warm. It makes this whole place seem a little more like home.

It also makes it a lot harder to say no.

Because there Joyce is, looking at him like he’s one of her children. Like he’s her son all dressed up for picture day. He’s not fully sure what to do with himself. Especially because she’s asking his permission. So few authority figures ever do that.

He sighs.

“Alright.” He says, giving her a tired smile when her eyes light up at his response.

He follows after her into the living room, exhausted just from existing in these stupid clothes, having to look at all of these stupid smiles laughing at him like he’s a clown. He feels like a clown.

They’d probably insist it’s out of love and care. He’d definitely beg to differ.

But he’s still standing there, chin tilted up and hands clasped behind his back, doing his best to puff his chest and broaden his shoulders to look as manly as possible… even though he’s dressed like a damn Easter egg.

“C’mon, son, give us a smile!” It’s Hop, humor dancing in his eyes. “Let us see those teeth!”

Billy’s teeth are still gritted, mirth and pain definitely visible in his eyes.

“I swear to God.” He mutters under his breath before allowing the corners of his mouth to tilt up into a smile.

“C’mon a little wider.” Jonathan says through a smirk.

“Just take the picture.” Billy says through his smile, followed by the click of the camera.

Joyce fusses for a bit, moving over to the wall where all the kids have their pictures hung and trying to figure out the best place for Billy’s to go when Jonathan eventually produces it. Jonathan, still with that amused smirk on his face, wanders over to Billy.

“Hope you know how blackmail worthy these are.” Jonathan says with a glint in his eye. Billy makes sure to shoot daggers back.

“You better sleep with that camera under your pillow tonight, bud.” Billy says with sugar in his voice. He elbows Jonathan, who elbows him back, to which Billy responds with a harder hit.

The two are tussling about like a couple of kids before there’s a knock at the door.

Everyone stops at the sound, but when the bubble pops in the next second they’re all moving to answer it.

“I’ve got it!” Billy calls over the sound of them rushing to the door, taking long strides to push past them and get them away from the knob. “God, you’re a bunch of animals.” He chastises as he swings the door open.

On the other side of the door is Steve all dressed up in matching Easter colors. He’s looking down at his shoes, kicking a bit at the doorway in a nervous kind of gesture the second that Billy opens the door, and in the next he’s looking up with wide eyes.

He’s nervous why is he so nervous now I’m even more nervous oh God...

Billy squirms a bit where he stands.

Steve blinks hard. Billy doesn’t appreciate the silence, or the gathering of everyone behind his back that he can sense.

“Well? You got something to say, Bambi?” Billy’s foot is tapping incessantly. He can’t help it. He cracks all the knuckles on his left hand just by using his fingers. He’s nervous... and he swears he can feel everyone’s collective breath on his back.

Steve shakes himself out of his stupor.

“You look so good.” Steve nearly breathes it out. It kills Billy.

There are more than a few coos behind him, followed by a few amused chuckles. Billy’s face is currently burning red hot, but it’s not distracting enough to keep him from turning around and glaring at his family.

They’re all crowded together, doing their best to look at the scene in front of them without getting too close. When they get caught, they scatter.

Billy turns back to Steve, face still bright and hot. He absolutely hates the feeling, so much so that he can’t even think about wiping the scowl off his face.

“Yeah, whatever. You do too.” Billy feels sophomoric. Like a young girl who got asked to prom by a Senior guy. Like he’s waiting for his corsage or whatever. He feels so foolish.

“Thanks.” Steve says, eyeing Billy up and down. “You slicked your hair back.”

Billy reaches up for it self-consciously. He feels that curl that fell out earlier and brushes it back.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Why?” Steve asks, a little smile on his lips.

Billy’s not sure why he’s so irritated by the question, but he wants to believe the red on his face that he���s deeply sure is out of nervousness is actually red out of anger.

“I tried to look presentable. This is about impressing your parents, isn’t it?”

Billy’s trying not to snap, but it’s hard not to after being so strung up all week. It’s all he’s been able to think about is standing out in a field of flowers with a bunch of stuffy rich people.

Steve nods. His eyes turn softer, even though Billy’s close to barking.

A tiny shoulder is pressing into Billy’s arm then, shoving him out of the way with surprising strength.

“Hi Steve!” El says cheerfully, beaming her little smile up at the boy.

“Hi kiddo.” Steve says, smiling back just as bright. Billy shifts in place.

“Steve!” Joyce calls from inside the house. Steve and El turn to look at her, but Billy is staring at the stupidly nice shoes on his feet.

Nervous nervous way too nervous why am I so nervous please don’t ask him in...

“Won’t you come inside? I’ve got lemonade!”

Pictures she wants pictures don’t ask for pictures...

“I’d love to get a good picture of you both, too-”

Billy cuts in. He doesn’t feel too bad about it.

“We’re running late, already.” Billy says, loudly, to try to send a hint to this room full of people who can never seem to take one.

Billy still has his back facing the house, so he can’t see Joyce’s face. He figures it’s better this way, otherwise they’d be dragged into another photo session and Billy really cannot handle that right now. Not when his heart is trying to pack it’s bags and run away to the fucking city. He just looks up at Steve, shooting the boy his biggest, cry for help, ”please-have-my-back-here-babe” face that he can.

Steve takes the hint and gives a little nod.

“Yeah, we really are kind of late. My parents don’t like me being late to this stuff.” Steve shrugs. There’s more words on his tongue, Billy can see it. Steve kind of word-vomits when he starts talking about his parents and all the ways he seems to think he disappoints them. It makes Billy’s chest hurt more often than not. It ends in Billy kissing the guilt away more often than not.

“Oh of course! No worries then, dear!” There’s not a lot of disappointment in Joyce’s voice. Billy lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He leans himself against the doorway, facing the other side of the threshold’s frame.

“You can’t drive us?” El asks, looking up with puppy dog eyes that could pull at anyone’s heart.

“Nah, can’t today, kiddo. We have to be somewhere.” Steve says. It makes Billy think something so stupid he wouldn’t even admit it to himself.

Kids kids kids kids…

He pushes the thought away to briefly wonder why Jonathan can’t take them. Figures it’s something with Nancy. He’s not dressed yet and the kids seem antsy to be somewhere. He’s fine with his mind on that, on anything away from where he’s about to be headed.

“It’s okay, El, we can just take my bike.” Will says, suddenly showing up at the side of them.

The four of them push through the door, giving their respective goodbyes before Billy and Steve climb into Steve’s car and El crowds Will on the back of his bike. They make the bike look a little small, but they’ve done this before. It still makes Billy laugh a bit. Seeing the two giggle a little when Will loses his balance for a second lightens Billy’s heart.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks, like they didn’t rush out to the car to get going. Like they aren’t really late and like Steve didn’t really mean what he said about his parents, even though Billy knows he did.

Billy nods.

“Yeah, let’s just… do it.”

Steve nods for a little too long. He can’t get the keys in the ignition without fumbling a bit. They drive and Billy can’t even think about how much he dislikes the song currently playing.

He’s fidgeting still.

Nervous nervous so nervous why am I so nervous what the fuck is wrong with me-

“You nervous?” Steve asks around a bubble in his throat. He clears it with a cough after he speaks.

Billy snorts unattractively and pushes back his hair, even though the curl isn’t loose anymore. He reaches for the top of his button down, unbuttoning and rebuttoning because he needs to do something.

“No.” he lies through his teeth.

Steve gives a little sigh.

“Yeah, me too.”

It confuses Billy for a second.

“What?”

“I’m nervous, too.” Steve says, voice a little shaky. Billy doesn’t know what to say. He feels appreciation bubble up inside of him that he tries to mask with irritation.

“I’m no-” His voice catches and immediately he’s mad about it. “I’m not.”

It sounds so stupid now that it’s out in the air. He looks out the window, like it’ll help the heat blooming on his face. He unbuttons the second button too.

Then there’s a hand taking hold of his left one. Billy looks at it, watches Steve’s thumb rub at the skin between his index and thumb. He looks up at Steve, who’s still got his eyes on the road.

“Thanks for… agreeing. I know it’s shit. Trust me, I don’t want to be going here either. But… it means a lot. And no matter what, I’m still your boyfriend, alright? I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Billy’s eyes prick with tears. He’s not even sure why they’re there, but he blames it on how high strung he’s been all week. How pulled taut he’s felt since Steve brought this whole thing up. He’s just boiling over, that’s all.

Steve looks over at him, eyes getting soft and worry resting in his brow.

“Billy?”

“Just drive, you idiot.” Billy mumbles, turning back to the window while grabbing firm hold of Steve’s hand.

~~*~~

Billy is beyond uncomfortable.

Truly beyond uncomfortable. He’s itching in his button down, which Steve insisted looked better than the dark blue polo and would be much cooler to wear than the dark color in the bright sun, but Billy barely heard him. After a certain point (and that damn kiss) Billy just trusted Steve’s judgement.

But now he’s itching. He’s still unbuttoning the top button on his shirt, fingers twitching to unbutton the next one (or two) along with the first, but knows Steve would just close them up like he’s been doing with the top one.

“You’re not my mom.” Billy had muttered, squinting in the sun of the bright summer day.

“No but I’m your boyfriend.” Steve had said quietly, fixing the button again and making Billy’s heart palpitate.

And now they’re standing in a damn garden, big, bright, white, fancy, canopy tents propped up and scattered around the park, a little ways away from each other so you have to wander into the bright sun to get to the next one. There’s fancy tables with fancy trays of fancy food that Billy finds absolutely ridiculous.

Steve’s parents have been talking to people for the past twenty minutes. Steve made eye contact with them and waved once they arrived, but both of them just gave vaguely pleasant smiles while still schmoozing whoever it was that was more important than their son and his friend. That they themselves requested to meet.

Assholes.

“Whatever.” Steve had muttered under his breath before veering towards a waiter carrying around what Billy assumed was a tray of mimosas. Billy, for as nervous as he was and still is, didn’t exactly want to start drinking before he even spoke to the two. Y’know, good first impressions and all that. He hadn’t known before what it felt like to care this much, but he doesn’t exactly hate it.

Steve has downed about 3 mimosas, the two of them standing a ways away from his parents so that they can jump in when they’re free.

They still have to wait about five minutes before it’s their “turn”.

“Hi mom, hi dad.” Steve says, something plastic about his movements. It’s weird for Billy to watch.

“Hello there, Steve.” His dad says in a pleasant enough way. He doesn’t set off enough alarm bells in Billy’s head for him to get upset.

“Hello dear.” Steve’s mom says pleasantly in turn, leaning forward to give Steve a sideways kiss on his cheek, keeping her lips from making contact so she doesn’t smear him with lipstick. Steve purses his lips a bit as well.

“This must be your friend!” His mother says it like she just noticed him standing there. She offers a delicate hand, palm down, showing off her perfectly manicured nails. It seems like she’s asking Billy to kiss it or something. He reaches for it and decides it best to give her the satisfaction. He’s been trying to parse out how thick he wants to lay all his charm on. He finally decided “real thick” was the best option.

He leans down and gives the back of her palm a light kiss, immediately noticing that her hands don’t really give away her age like some other mothers Billy has come into contact with. Billy isn’t able to tell what age she may be. Steve insinuated once that his parents had him young- younger than was advised for them both- and now Billy thinks that probably makes sense.

When he comes back up, she’s giving him that look that makes his stomach churn. The look that every mother in his life has ever given him, save from his own and now Joyce. The look that comes off as if she thinks she’s the first to give it, but that Billy has seen since he was about 14 and his voice dropped.

Billy turns his attention to the father. He gives the firmest handshake he can, just on the edge of bruising the man’s skin. He’s a lot taller than Billy, hair perfectly groomed back with just the right amount of gray in it to make him seem wisened. He’s real young too- so young Billy thinks he may have dyed his hair a little gray to get that “salt and pepper” look that’s probably on trend or something. It makes Billy internally roll his eyes.

The man’s not exactly stocky, but he’s not trim either. Probably eats his fair share of expensive meats and works out a couple of days a week just to say he does. Maybe to fuck his personal trainer. Billy’s extrapolating now, but he doesn’t think he’s reaching very far.

“Nice to meet you.” Mr. Harrington says like he’s not at all displeased by this interaction. Billy takes it as a win. “I’m Charles Harrington.”

“Nice to meet you too, sir.” Billy’s mouth doesn’t want to form around the title, but he gives it anyway. Laying it on thick, and all. “Billy Hargrove.”

“He is quite a handsome one, isn’t he?” Steve’s mom asks, grabbing Steve’s arm to wrap her own around it. It’s like she’s talking with one of her socialite friends and thinks she’s out of ear shot.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yes, and he can hear you.” Steve mutters. Billy watches as her face doesn’t move a muscle but her hand claws slightly into her son’s arm.

“It’s always so nice to meet one of Steve’s little friends.” She starts again, eyes crinkled into a smile that’s not entirely disingenuous.

It’s not evil. Billy’s seen his fair share of evil women. She just seems a little less than satisfied with whatever situation she’s in. Billy does know that Mr. Harrington is a serial cheater, but he hasn’t heard anything about the mother. She’s still young and an attractive enough woman as far as Billy can tell. She could probably get one of these rich bastards to fuck her in one of the dozens of rooms at the country club.

Either way, it’s not really his business, and he doesn’t really want to think about his boyfriend’s mom getting railed while she’s gazing hazily at him like he’s the one that would do it for her. Either that or like he’s the man she probably reads about in her horny novels.

Steve has something poisonous on his lips, probably something like “he’s not little”. Be it with a dirty undertone or not, Billy guesses it doesn’t really matter.

He’s still fidgeting a bit, but he keeps his charming composure up.

“And it’s nice to finally meet the Harringtons. I’ll say, you’re definitely far from matronly, Mrs. Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know if he should do the typical, cliche thing and say she looks like Steve’s sister. Considering she had him pretty young, it might strike the wrong chord.

Whatever, he said what he did with enough sugar to make her blush.

“Oh, Billy.” She tuts, rolling her eyes a bit and placing a hand on one of her cheeks, clearly becoming a bit flush. Billy takes a bit more pride in it than normal. He is here to schmooze, after all. “I bet you drive all the girls just crazy, don’t you?”

Billy’s been in this situation for about two minutes and already he has to feel out if he should act like a smarmy slut or like a proper gentleman.

He figures in-between is the best bet. Doesn’t want them catching on or anything...

“There’s definitely a few girls.” He says, hands clasped behind his back so he can hide his fidgeting. “But they don’t seem to get that I’m a wine and dine kind of guy.”

Billy has had what probably equates to about 2 glasses of wine in his whole life. He figures the tiny details don’t exactly matter.

He’s laid the charm on thick enough to get Mrs. Harrington giggling again, and said it with just enough charm to get Mr. Harrington to chuckle the smallest bit as well. It’s an oddly good feeling.

“We’ve got a regular casanova on our hands.” Mr. Harrington says with something that sounds like acceptance in his voice. “Good thing, too. I feel like we don’t get a lot of your kind in Hawkins.”

Billy gives them a smile and shifts his eyes to Steve, who looks a mix of nervous and amused. If only these two knew that more often than not he’s riding their son in the front seat of his Camaro, or fucking him up against the hood, or laying out in a field shotgunning a joint. If only they knew he sucked their son dry in the locker room after basketball practice back when they were still convinced they hated each other.

Casanova indeed. Real wine and dine.

“And your shorts!” Steve’s mother pipes up brightly. “So colorful! I love the little spots embroidered on them.”

“Actually, they’re skulls.” It’s Steve who admits to it, an irritated look on his face that’s somehow also laced with smugness. He’s clearly trying to get under their skin as much as they’re under his.

They both turn to Steve, before looking back down at Billy’s pants. The two lean in a little bit.

“That they are, huh?” Mr. Harrington says, sounding semi-impressed. “Well, would you look at that! A sense of fashion, as well!”

Steve rolls his eyes. Billy makes eye contact with him so he can share this semi-triumphant moment.

Steve seems about to say something, but his father cuts him off.

“So tell us, Billy-” Mr. Harrington seems hard pressed saying the name “Billy”, and it gives Billy some weird, perverse joy. “What does your father do?”

Billy’s immediately winded by the question, throat held tight by the thoughts that race through his mind in an instant.

In his stupor, Billy’s vaguely aware of Steve puffing up in defense.

“I already, told you, dad, he-”

Billy waves him away.

“It’s fine.” He mutters, before looking Mr. Harrington squarely in the eye. “My dad is the Chief of Police.”

It feels weird- alien on his tongue and in his head. It sets stress loose from its reign, running wildly through his body. It causes his blood to rush too fast, too loud through his veins.

“Oh! Chief-” Mrs. Harrington says, before her mind catches up with her ears. “Uhm… Chief…” Her voice is getting quiet, eyes hooded in confusion as she turns to her husband. “Chief… Hargro…” She’s clearly grasping for straws here. “Chief Hopper? Right?”

She’s speaking in a rather loud whisper, but only to her husband. Mr. Harrington shrugs a bit.

“Yes, ma’am.” Billy speaks up, when he’s finally able to. “My dad is Chief Hopper.”

“Ahh…” Mrs. Harrington breathes, still a little confused and looking slightly unconvinced. She’s giving him a smile as she processes the information before it hits her. Billy sees the realization light up in her eyes. “Oh, the adopted one.”

That whisper is quieter, more secretive… more careful that others won’t hear.

It strikes a chord in his chest. Billy wants to be mad about it. He wants to close himself off from whatever feelings it gives him. He wants to build up some armor… but it just makes his heart sink. He didn’t think that would be the response people would give.

Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s something upset living on his mouth, making it twitch.

Mrs. Harrington gives a careful look to her husband, before turning back to Billy with a pleasant smile. It’s a little hard to find anything false in it, but he can definitely see it. It makes him briefly wonder how much of their life has been hidden behind polite smiles just this side of false.

“That’s very interesting, Billy!” She says, like he’s a toddler that just told her about how he picked up frog collecting- like he’s a child. It’s condescending. It should make Billy angry.

It sinks his heart further.

“It’s not interesting, mom, it’s normal.” Steve hisses under his breath, eyebrows low over his eyes. Billy feels stupid, standing around, letting them talk about him right in front of him.

“Well, yes.” She sniffs haughtily, straightening her back ever so slightly. “Of course it is, it’s…”

Mr. Harrington cuts in. “Chief Hopper is a good man. He does a lot for this town.”

His voice is like that of a robot’s, inflectionless and calculated. Billy doesn’t need to be told about Jim, but he’d be interested to hear Mr. Harrington say more. As far as Billy knows, Hop hates these two.

Mrs. Harrington takes a light breath in, about to say something when her gaze is suddenly locked on something far away, and she’s tapping her husband’s arm incessantly.

“Charles, the Wilson’s just arrived.”

She gives her husband a look that he returns, and then they’re turning to the boys with matching smiles that make them look like they belong on a billboard advertising new homes.

“It was just so lovely finally meeting you, Billy.” Mrs. Harrington says, eyelashes fluttering.

“But we do have some business to attend to.” Mr. Harrington chimes in, allowing his wife to take his arm. They stand together like a shiny puzzle, obviously matching but not worn enough to really fit. “But enjoy yourselves, boys.”

“Yes!” Says Mrs. Harrington again, pleasantly, even though they begin to walk away. They’re floating away gracefully while still talking to the two. “I suggest the deviled eggs over on that table there. Mrs. Carlton finally made them again and I swear they’re to die for.”

They wave politely before rushing off, sending tittering words of hello to everyone they pass by.

Billy watches after them, stunned a bit at their presence and unsure of what to make of everything that just happened. He opts for turning his attention to Steve, who somehow has another mimosa in his hand.

“God.” Steve mutters before downing half in one gulp. “Well, say goodbye to them for the rest of the day.”

Billy’s shocked at the admittance.

“Seriously?”

Steve shrugs with an eye roll as he downs the rest of his drink. He gulps around his answer.

“Probably. Business usually means buttering up a few people for the rest of the party.” Steve sighs. “Trust me, I’ve been left alone at enough of these to know.”

He sets his glass on a passing waiter’s tray.

“So… I did good?” Billy asks, wondering how Steve picks up drinks so easily from those passing trays and wondering still if maybe he can do it or if he needs Steve to do it for him.

Steve is a little ways away, a little distracted if his eyes are anything to go by. Billy pinches his arm back to the present.

“Oh! Yeah, you were perfect. I think you pleased them enough to make them ignore us for the rest of the day.”

Billy feels proud about that.

“So we can go?”

He knows it’s hopeful thinking, but he lets his chest lighten for a second. Steve’s chuckle brings him back to reality.

“Not if you care about me, we can’t. My mom will have a tantrum if we leave before four.”

“Four?” Billy asks incredulously, eyeing more drinks as they walk by.

“Yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s some stupid, unspoken rule.”

Billy sighs, watching all the rich, pretty people around them as they socialize. He’s still itching in his shirt, but a little less so, knowing the worst part is over. It has to be over. He did his job of impressing the parents and now he just has to… be eye candy or whatever. Whatever these rich people want.

“Let’s just hope I don’t run into anyone who wants to talk about how much I’ve grown.” Steve mutters. “C’mon, I wanna find those deviled eggs.”

Billy follows like a puppy.

~~~

It’s…. strange… watching Steve float around from table to table, effectively deflecting people he doesn’t wish to talk to in such a polite and collected way.

Billy was prepared to take the brunt of the conversations, but to his surprise Steve does most of the talking. He schmoozes almost as perfectly as his parents did, giving the same plastic smiles Billy has been watching him give all day, allowing the women to pat his shoulder or grab his arm or tell him how “strong” he is now; how “old” and “mature” and “handsome” he’s gotten.

Something a little sick fills Billy’s stomach, but it’s pushed away by the butterflies… probably more accurately described as something akin to “moths”. Or lightning bugs. Or maybe those big, thick, black flies that buzz louder than they ought to. Yeah, those.

It’s just that every second that passes leaves him out of place. Pushes him further and further to the left of where he should be. Women are laughing and talking with Steve, and Billy really is just the arm candy. He gives them smiles as polite as he can muster. Sometimes they eye him up and down (always getting caught on his bright shorts), and ask who he is, where he’s from… what his father does.

“He’s the Chief of Police, ma’am.”

“Oh!” They say, eyes wide and smiles fallen, before picking them back up and insisting Chief Hopper is a “very kind man” before sauntering away with some excuse of finding a friend, or a drink. Or their husband. Sometimes they have something a little more knowing in their eyes; sometimes their eyes get wide with memories and they look at Billy with blushing faces that aren’t because of his own good looks. Billy’s not an idiot- he’s heard about Hop’s affinity for “getting around” before El came into his life, and he kind of figures that must be what they’re so embarrassed about now. It makes Billy chuckle.

He doesn’t like watching these women touching Steve, though. He’s glad when they turn leering gazes onto him rather than reach out to grab at Steve’s arm.

“Oh, so you’re Billy Hargrove.” One woman, a Mrs. Sadler, says with a weird glint in her eye and irritation spread thin over her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.” Billy says with as smug of a look as he can muster, trying his best not to look as awkward as he feels. “Does my uh- reputation precede me?”

He hates that he falters, but he says it with enough charm that she laughs a shrill sort of thing.

“Oh, yes. You really caught my Addison’s eye when you first moved to town. My lord, you are all she would talk about for at least two weeks.”

Ah, Addie Sadler; the quiet little sophomore girl who stared at Billy every day at lunch from across the cafeteria before getting dared to lay a kiss on Billy at a party. Ever since then she hasn’t so much as made eye contact with him. He’s kind of happy about it- her stares used to weird him out.

“Now I can certainly see why.”

The woman reaches a hand out to touch Billy, but somehow Steve talks their way out of the situation, grabbing hold of Billy first and saying he needs some company to find his parents to “ask them something” but “thanks for the well wishes on college, Mrs. Sadler” and “say hi to Addison and Jacob for me”.

Billy’s so thankful for his boyfriend he could kiss him. Lord does he want to kiss him. Billy’s been trying to scope out the place for the past hour to find a corner they can hide away in.

They end up at the next tent over, where Billy recognizes enough people to know they’ve already talked to them and thus, shouldn’t be bothered.

“Thanks.”

“Course.” Steve says, love in his voice even if he can’t show it physically.

Billy’s itching again, absolutely itching. He feels like there’s ants crawling all up inside of his pretty, new, collared shirt.

He eyes another tray of fruity drinks that passes by them and taps Steve’s shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to get a drink all day, how the fuck do you stop one of those guys?”

Steve laughs.

“You just reach out and grab a glass. Here, what do you want?”

Billy looks around, weighing his options. He’s never tried champagne, but he’s not the biggest fan of orange juice. He thinks there’s someone walking around with sangria but he really doesn’t care for the taste of wine.

Then he sees a couple of men huddled in a corner together, laughing heartily, drinking some beers.

Billy points.

“They’ve got beer, where’d they get beer?”

Steve eyes them curiously. “Oh, you have to ask someone for that. I can- uhh- waiter!”

One of the waiters stops suddenly in his tracks, tilting his head to indicate his attention.

“Can I get a couple of beers, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

He asks about different brands Billy’s never heard of. He assumes they’re probably craft beers. Steve looks to Billy, who probably looks more than a little shocked. He’s never had any kind of craft beer before. They’re expensive, and he just gets what he can from the drug stores. He shrugs.

“Whatever you recommend is fine.” Steve answers, slipping money into the man’s hand and giving another plastic smile before turning to Billy with a simple look. “See?”

“Well la dee da, Mr. Country Club.” Billy says, giving a little bit of a smile back. Steve shoves Billy’s shoulder.

“Shut up. I had to go to enough of these I’ve lost track, I had to learn some things to keep myself sane.”

“It’s just… weird.” Billy admits, leaning against a table behind him that luckily isn’t littered with tiny foods or abandoned glasses of wine. “Seeing you in your… ‘natural habitat’ or whatever.” Billy uses air quotes for good measure, because truthfully, the words don’t seem right.

Steve snorts.

“Yeah, sure, so natural.” He says almost huffily, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just know enough to get by at these things. I hate them. I bet only about 3 people of the dozens here actually give a shit about if I’m going to college or not.”

“That why you’re lying and telling everyone you are?” Billy asks, the smirk on his face masking the worry he feels. Steve sighs.

“Yeah, because they don’t care. Not really.” Steve grabs a tiny biscuit or something as a waiter walks by with it. “They just wanna hear me talk. Seem polite to keep up appearances or whatever.” Steve shoves the food in his mouth with a shrug. “Plus they all got their kids into college. They paid them all off. My parents would kill me if I told people they didn’t pay my way.”

Billy tries to think of something to say, but the waiter is back with the two beers.

“Thank you.” Steve says politely after swallowing. The man bows his head a bit before scurrying off.

“Here ya go, babe.” Steve mumbles the last bit. “I’ll hold the other till you want it.”

“Thanks.” He mumbles back, thinking about how if he’s this uncomfortable now how he can’t imagine what he’d feel like as a kid.

They stand around and talk, Billy taking note of how anxious Steve seems to be now that he can’t pick up another fruity drink being paraded around.

“I think you should slow your roll on the drinks, babe.” Billy says, lips at the tip of the bottle. “Not unless you want me driving your fancy car home.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. I guess.” He sounds bitter. His eyes are shifty, looking at everyone around him, waiting for the next person who’s gonna come after them to start asking questions.

Billy reaches a hand out, time feeling a little sticky in the summer heat as he decides where to put his hand. What he wants to do is grab Steve’s hand and put his other on Steve’s chest, over his heart, and pull him in tight and kiss his nose and be soppy. It’s soppiness that heals Steve faster than anything. Soppiness that gets him all melted and calm.

What he does is grab Steve’s shoulder and squeeze, shake his shoulder a tad till Steve is looking him in the eye. He injects as much love into his gaze as he can, knowing that’s the only place he can really get away with it.

Steve seems to appreciate it. He takes a deep breath and breathes out slowly, albeit a little unevenly.

“Sorry.” Steve says like he’s ashamed. Billy pinches Steve’s shoulder.

“Stop that. This place is shit, I know you think so too.”

Steve nods. “I just… I know I’m different here.” Steve swallows because he’s nervous. “It’s gross but I- I can’t help it. It just comes out. I grew up here, I-”

Steve is reaching up to run his hands through his hair, mussing it up until Billy pinches his shoulder again and slaps his hand away.

“Shut up, you idiot.” Billy’s stern, but not harsh. Steve looks him in the eye again. “The only thing that’s different is you’re not happy. I haven’t seen that famous Harrington smile of yours all day.”

Steve chuckles a bit, but it’s not good enough. Billy reaches out to poke Steve’s side, eliciting a laugh and a noise of indignation.

But there’s the smile.

“Hey, warn a guy.” Billy chastises with a smirk on his face. “You’re gonna blind someone with those.”

Steve laughs, and shoves at Billy’s shoulder again. It’s the only contact they can get without attracting unwanted attention. But it’s not much different from their everyday lives anyway, careful of every touch they give so as not to get anyone suspecting anything. They just enjoy what they can when they get it.

They’re standing there, chuckling lightly with each other, eyes sparkling and bright, when-

When they’re interrupted by the roar of an engine, followed by the shrill sound of La Cucaracha blasting through the air, causing more than a couple of women to shriek and jump.

Everyone in the party turns to the parking lot, where a pale yellow, 1953 Coupe DeVille is currently driving past.

Billy’s heart jumps a bit at seeing the car. He can appreciate a nice car when he sees one.

“Now that guy, knows how to ride in style.” Billy says, arms crossed, looking at the car in appreciation.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks to his boyfriend, to see his face has fallen in shock.

“Grammy.” He whispers under his breath, so low Billy almost doesn’t hear it.

“Huh?”

Steve blinks.

“It’s… it’s Grammy.” He shakes his head a bit, blinking heavier, coming out of whatever weird memory he’s in. “Uh, my grandma. It’s my grandma.”

Billy’s about as surprised as Steve looks. He signed up for two parents, not a family reunion.

“Your grandma? Drives that?”

Billy hasn’t seen his grandmothers in a while, but he can safely say they never drove anything like… like that.

Steve just nods.

“Yeah… uh. God, they didn’t tell me she was coming, why didn’t they tell me she was coming?” Steve sounds more on the side of shocked than angry.

Billy looks around to find Steve’s parents standing amid a small crowd, looking at the parking lot in what Billy could only describe as “shameful horror”.

He laughs.

“Somethin’ tells me they didn’t know.”

Steve looks over to them, shaking a bit. Billy wants to help. He places a hand on the small of the boy’s back, knowing no one’s paying anything else but the coupe much attention. He leaves it there for a second or two and takes it away just as quickly, but it’s the thought that counts.

Suddenly, Steve’s parents turn towards them, and then they’re gliding towards them with a purpose.

Billy isn’t sure what exactly to do with himself. He feels stupid for thinking it, but he thought he was done. He really thought he was done, but now he’s fidgeting again. Itching in his shirt, itching in his skin, itching itching itching.

“Steven.” Mr. Harrington says by some way of greeting. It’s far more authoritative than before. It almost doesn’t feel like the same man. Steve just nods his response.

“I know.”

There’s a pause. Then:

“Well, we’ll just… we’ll just have to... “ It’s Steve’s mother. She’s obviously shaking with nerves before she turns to Billy with a collected smile. “Billy, I’m so sorry, I’m afraid we’re going to have to… steal Steve away. For just a bit.”

Billy nods, but doesn’t get much of a chance to say anything before Steve’s mother links her arm with her son and the two drag Steve away, leaving Billy there to watch.

Steve shoots an apologetic look back at him.

Billy waves.

He downs the rest of his beer before he realizes that Steve left the second bottle there on the table for him. Billy picks it up and looks for a way to kill time.

He feels immediately untethered. It only takes a few feet between him and Steve for Billy to feel the line connecting them snap, and along with it his sanity in this place. In an instant he feels like a child, lost without his parent. He feels idiotic, bobbing out at sea, an untethered boat floating away from the dock, pushed into vulnerability.

Nervous nervous fucking hell why am I so nervous goddamnit I… I…

He needs to sit.

He mentally debates between staying close enough to Steve just to be able to see him and have comfort, or getting as far away as possible so as not to attract attention to himself from Grandmother Harrington. Or… whatever side she’s from.

He figures the latter is probably better. Maybe if he hides away, acts busy, looks somewhere else… he won’t have to meet her.

Another tent another tent another tent…

Billy wanders out of the tent he’s under and towards another one, before getting caught up in the sun and the comfort it gives him for a second. He lets it burn comfort into his skin.

Standing in the middle of a perfectly manicured field, staring at the patches of well-gardened flowers with something boiling and vile in his chest. Something so deeply uncomfortable and unnatural. Something almost rotten. He thinks of the time and the effort spent on making just these flowers look presentable enough for these rich people. He thinks about the poor men who sit out here and work at maintaining all these stupid plants that these people never come out to appreciate because they don’t go anywhere near the damn sun. Like they’ll melt. Maybe they will.

…

He thinks about how pretty that flower is. That one. With the reddish-purpleish petals. Lots and lots and lots of thin petals. He thinks about Steve. About how the only reason he’s here is because of Steve. About how that’s what makes all of this worth it… Steve.

He feels something bubble up again in his chest. It overpowers the other stuff. It makes him a little less sick.

As he reaches out to pick it, all he can think about are Steve’s eyes. Steve’s skin. How good this flower will look in the pocket of Steve’s stupid little button down.

“What are you doing?”

Billy startles.

As he turns his head to find the voice, he doesn’t expect to have to look down to see a face.

It’s a little girl. Her curls are perfect and pinned away from her face with shiny little things that Billy thinks Max would gag at, no matter her age. Her dress is a pastel blue and just the slightest bit too fancy for what Billy thinks this event is supposed to be. Billy’s still not even sure what this event is supposed to be, truly, but this girl looks like she’s going to church. She has earrings Billy thinks may be her mother’s and a bossy little scowl that’s definitely all her own.

“I said, what are you doing?”

Billy’s still got his hands around the stem of the flower. He plucks it from the bush. The girl gasps.

“You’re not supposed to do that.” She says, matter of factly. Her hands are on her hips. Billy raises his best oh-yeah? eyebrow, paired with a what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it? smirk.

“And who said that?”

“My mother.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I used to try to pick ‘em and my mother said no.”

Billy snickers. “Maybe you should stop listening to your mother, kid.”

Her eyebrows curl in on themselves. “Hey! I’m not a kid. I’m eleven.”

Billy laughs something a little fuller. “Sounds like a kid to me.”

“I’m eleven.” Her hands curl into fists on her hips. “And you’re not supposed to do that.”

She looks pointedly at the flower in Billy’s hand. He follows her gaze to look at it too.

He wants to give it to Steve. He wants to lay it on his ear, tipped under his hair. He wants to tuck it into his shirt pocket.

He can’t do that out in public. Billy twists the flower in thought, mesmerized for a second by the petals spinning in a dizzying pattern. He’s taken out of it in an instant. He decides what to do just as quickly.

“Not even if it’s for you?”

Her eyes light up immediately, glued to the flower like it’s a promise ring or something. Her smile sneaks its way out and something about it makes Billy feel warm. Like when he makes El laugh, or when he makes Max smile and punch him, or when he makes Joyce giggle that happy little giggle where she has to cover her whole face with her hand. He doesn’t know this girl at all, but something about her smile after seeing her scowl at him like that makes him feel like he’s accomplished something. He smirks in some kind of strange triumph.

She takes the flower and holds it close to her, inspecting the petals like she’s doing a quality check.

“I guess that’s okay.” She says into her flower, shrugging little shoulders. Billy laughs a bit, looking back at the flowers and wishing again for a second that he could have given it to Steve instead.

There’s a moment of silence, Billy getting lost in his thoughts of Steve and kids and family and if Steve is done yet-

“Are you famous?”

It’s the girl. Billy looks back down at her.

“Huh?”

“Are you famous?” She enunciates like he’s dumb for being confused. Like what she just asked wasn’t supposed to catch him off guard.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs her shoulders again, looking down at her flower with a face scrunched up by the sun. “The only time I see boys with hair as long as yours is when they’re famous.”

“Really?” Billy asks on a scoff. He knows his hair is a little over the top here, but he couldn’t even count on his fingers how many people he saw with mullets back in California; with hair longer than his back in California. There were countless people that had hair that could rival your local hair band. Then again, there are probably no ‘local hair bands’ out in Hawkins.

“Indiana’s pretty boring, huh?” Billy asks.

She shrugs again, picking at something on her flower like she’s bored. “I guess. I dunno.”

Billy scoffs and looks back at the flowers. He briefly wonders what it’s like for the kids who grew up here… who spend their whole lives here. The poor kids who get stuck here. They’re probably the ones who sit around in the parking lot of that drug store on the corner of Hyde.

“What’s your name?” Comes the little voice again. Billy becomes vaguely aware of the awful slow rock in the background. It sounds like something by Paul Simon.

“Billy Hargrove.” Billy licks his teeth around it.

“Ha!” She nearly shrieks. Billy doesn’t get as startled with this one. “So you are famous!”

“I’m not.” He’s definitive about it, but her determined face doesn’t let up.

“Are too.” Her hands are on her hips again, the flower still held gently in her left hand. “My brother used to talk about you all the time. He doesn’t shut up.”

“Really?” That perks Billy’s ears up. His mind flips through all of the faces at his school like a flipbook. “Who’s your brother?”

“Connor.”

“Huh…” There’s only one Connor that Billy can think of: Connor Blake. He sticks his nose up at everyone. Billy can’t say he’s less than curious about whatever that prick would have to say about him. “What’d he say?”

She shrugs again, looking towards the tents with her face still scrunched up in the sun. “Weird stuff. Stuff about your eyes and your muscles and your hair. He’s weird.”

That makes something electric light in Billy’s chest. There’s a full blown cackle brewing in him, but he just lets out a cool chuckle. Connor is a more than decent looking guy. He has a nice nose, for whatever that’s worth, even if his lips are a little non-existent. He’s always come off as the ‘holier-than-thou’ type. Not like Billy is much of one to talk, but still. Something about the boy and his high horse never seemed to lend to any particular gayness in Billy’s eyes. Obviously he pegged him wrong.

“Maybe you’re just not old enough to get it.” Billy says over a smirk.

The girl shrugs again. At this point Billy’s sure her shoulders are going to get caught in those earrings. “I dunno, I’m pretty old. I’m eleven y’know.”

Billy rolls his eyes but there’s still a smirk on his face, albeit a tired one. “Yeah, I know. Where’s your brother now? Did he come?”

Her curls flip around themselves as she shakes her head. “No, he never comes to these because my parents say he gets to pick, but I’m still too young to pick if I wanna go or not.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But I’m eleven. I should get to pick.”

“Yeah, you should.” Billy really does agree.

“Can you tell my mother that?” She’s looking up at him now, nose all wrinkled up.

“Sorry kid, I think you have to do that for yourself.”

“Olivia!” Comes a shrill voice that Billy wishes wasn’t getting closer. “Stop bothering this young man and come say hi to Mr. and Mrs. Whitman.”

“Mom!” The girl yells back. “Billy says I’m old enough to pick if I wanna come here or not.”

“Billy?” The woman asks, getting closer. Billy turns to greet her. “Billy…” She says quietly, doing her best to place the name right up until she sees his face. “Oh! Well hello there.”

Billy gives a tight, close-lipped smile. The woman fixes her hair where it’s already perfectly piled on top of her head.

“Why, you’re Billy Hargrove, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes yes… everyone’s talking about how Jim Hopper’s son is here today.”

Billy’s confused at that, wondering what everyone’s deal is about him being adopted. His mouth twists up a bit, involuntarily.

“Jim Hopper?” The girl asks. She looks about as confused as Billy feels. “The policeman? He came to our school once. He’s kinda fat to be your da-”

“Olivia!” The woman clicks her tongue, swiping purposelessly at the air in her daughters direction.

“It’s true.” The girl mutters, looking down at her flower and spinning it. Her mother clicks her tongue.

“Oh please.” Her mouth twists in distaste. “And didn’t I tell you not to pick flowers?”

“Billy picked it for me!” The girl says indignantly, crinkling her nose up in defiance now. There’s a very obvious difference.

The mother’s demeanor changes instantly, face smoothing over in understanding as she turns approving eyes in Billy’s direction.

“Oh! Really? Well then, that’s fine.” Her voice is dripping in liquid sugar. She looks like she wants to reach a hand out to touch him, but her daughter is piping up again.

“Hey!” She yells, catching the attention of both of them. Billy’s not religious, but he might want to bless this child. “That’s not fair! Why can he pick flowers but I can’t?”

Her mother looks exhausted. It makes Billy chuckle.

“Because, sweetheart,” She says, the sweetness entirely fake now. It makes Billy taste something bitter. “You’re a lady and he’s a gentleman.”

“And gentlemen get to pick flowers?”

“Yes. For the ladies.”

The girl, Olivia, gives her mother a look like her mother is trying to pull one over on her. She looks down at the flower, and then up to Billy, who gives an unimpressed look matching his unimpressed, single-shouldered shrug.

The girl turns back to her mother.

“That’s dumb.” Olivia states, very matter-of-factly, before walk-skipping away, dress flouncing around her.

Her mother looks beyond exhausted.

“Olivia!” She tuts again, calling after her in her shrill voice before turning back to Billy.

“I’m so sorry about her, Billy. I have to go get her. But it was so nice to meet you!”

And with that, she flutters away, skirt flipping around her calves as she takes tiny steps in her tiny heels along the grass.

Billy chuckles a bit. He eyes the flowers for a second before walking away, deciding against picking another one in favor of finding some kind of food to eat.

He winds up in front of a very large tray of the world’s tiniest sandwiches. He’s immediately irritated by them. He can’t pick one up in a way that feels… manly. He has to pick them up with just his fingertips or else he squishes them.

But they’re made of some kind of surprisingly hearty turkey along with some fancy tasting cheese and a little bit of crispy ultra-green lettuce and the softest white bread Billy’s ever seen… so…

He picks 3 up in one swipe and places them on the nearest empty plate he can find.

They’re disgustingly good. Like, unnaturally good. By his 5th one he wonders if maybe it’s their size that makes them taste so good. They really shouldn’t taste this good.

He nearly forgets his beer in his tiny-sandwich-stupor. He takes a swig as he grabs more tiny sandwiches. He checks his wristwatch (that Steve insisted he wear) as he shoves a sandwich in his mouth.

It’s been about 20 minutes since Steve left to go talk with his grandma.

Billy settles in, slouching over the table a bit.

A woman comes up to politely chat him up, making like she’s bored or like she was sent here on an order or something equally unbelievable. Billy just as politely turns her down.

He checks his watch. About 25 minutes since Steve left.

He takes a pull off his bottle. Turns down another woman coming by feigning extreme interest in the beer Billy’s drinking. She ends up walking away dejectedly with just a couple of sandwiches on her tiny plate.

29 minutes.

He’s on probably his tenth sandwich when a man comes up with a weird glint in his eye. He’s persistent, he’s tall, and worst of all, he’s drunk off his rocker. He leans a hand on the table, right next to where Billy’s leaning on his elbows. Billy leans back in his chair.

The man has a proposition on his tongue, hidden by the slimiest grin Billy’s ever faced.

“Hey there.” His voice is gravely. It grates on Billy’s ears. “I haven’t seen you at one of these before.”

Billy shakes his head and chews on the inside of his cheek.

“Nope. I’m a friend of someone.”

“Ah, you’re the adopted kid.” Billy’s not sure why that’s such a hot-button topic around here. He’s sure that he doesn’t like it, though.

“Yup.”

“Y’know,” the man slurs in what he must think is a hushed tone, leaning down a little further. Billy does all he can not to lean back any further away from the man’s physical advances. “I heard our Chief Jimmy Hopper is a pervert.”

It sets Billy’s skin on fire and absolutely boils his blood. He’s a kettle over the highest heat.

The man starts to laugh a real heavy, guttural laugh. Billy’s seeing red. He takes a deep breath and absent-mindedly plays with one of the fancy napkins on the table.

“You’ve got about 5 seconds to get away from me before that nose of yours gets broken.” Billy keeps his voice strong and flat and as intimidating as possible.

Billy watches in his periphery as the man moves back.

“You… what?”

Billy looks him straight in the eye.

“I didn’t stutter. Get away from me now or you’re gonna end up walking away with a broken nose.”

The man blinks hard twice before his face shifts into anger.

“Is that a threat, son?”

“It’s a promise, sir.” Billy’s face is screwed up in anger, surely red as a brick. His eyes shift over to the man’s wife on the other side of the tent. He knows it’s his wife, because she’s one of the women that came up to Billy and Steve earlier in the day. This man was with her. “Or I could always tell your wife you’re the real pervert.”

“Oh come off it-”

“It’s Marci, right?” Billy asks, leaning over so he can see past the man. He takes a deep breath to make like he’s going to call out-

“Okay, okay!” The man stops him, grabbing his forgotten glass of some dark drink off the table and taking a swig of it before leaving, muttering darkly to himself.

Billy’s disgusted. He checks his watch.

34 minutes.

Billy’s fuming. He shoves a few more sandwiches in his face and gives a mad eye to a woman who approaches him. She gives a kind, nervous smile before grabbing a piece of fruit off the plate and walking away a little quicker than she came, no words exchanged.

38 minutes.

Billy’s tapping his fingers on the table, watching everyone schmooze and laugh their twinkling little laughs and he’s gonna go mad.

A young girl walks up to him. He recognizes her from school.

She opens her mouth to speak, eyelashes fluttering so hard she could cause a hurricane, but Billy cuts her off before she gets a chance.

“No thanks, dollface.”

She looks like she’s been slapped for a second before she recovers and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

“But I haven’t even said anything, yet.” Her voice is as mousy as her features. Billy’s so irritated he can barely see straight.

“Yeah, well you’ve got that look in your eye-”

“What look?”

“And I know you’ve got a boyfriend.”

She swallows and straightens her back out a little bit, shifting on her feet haughtily.

“Well, I could just as well not have one.”

Billy’s stare is poison. He makes sure of it.

“Yeah, and I could just as well tell Trevor that you stuffed your bra just to come over here and talk to me.”

She balks.

Billy doesn’t exactly like saying it. He doesn’t do that shit anymore and he doesn’t like to let people rile him up like this. The words feel gross and heavy on his tongue. He’s just fed up and everyone is bothering him and he feels like he’s been on display since he’s been here and… and… and these stupid tiny sandwiches and-

“Well, those shorts look idiotic on you.” She spits out at him with tight lips, like it’s an insult he actually cares about. She turns quickly on her heels and swishes away purposefully. Billy doesn’t find any atom of his body that cares.

He’s sitting there staring at the sweaty condensation that’s collected on the bottom of his beer bottle, then at the intricate pattern on the fancy napkin, then at the fancy tray holding the sandwiches, then at the face of his borrowed watch.

He’s on the last sandwich on the middle of the tiered tray when he hears someone clear their throat. He rounds on them like a bull, mouth prepping to tell them off… when he sees that soft, chocolate brown hair that (irritatingly) comforts him instantly.

“Whatcha doing, stud?” Steve’s hands are shoved in his pockets and one annoyingly nice eyebrow is raised.

Billy grumbles.

“Eating.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. These sandwiches are stupid by the way.” Billy picks a few up in one hand and flops them down on his plate. “They’re so small. Why are they so small? I hate them.”

“Uh huh. That why you’re eating them all?”

Billy gives Steve a dirty look, and makes it even harsher when he sees the boy smiling at his expense.

“Yes. The sooner I eat them all the sooner I don’t have to look at them anymore.”

Steve laughs and Billy responds to it with a growl.

“You’ve been gone almost an hour.” Billy mumbles, thumbing at the napkin in front of him again.

“You’ve been counting?”

Billy shrugs. He’s not sure what to say, so he figures saying nothing at all is best. He glances at Steve for a second, before deciding he doesn’t wanna see the boy’s smug face.

“And this what you’ve been doing while I was gone? Eating all the sandwiches?” Steve reaches out for one on the bottom tray. Billy watches with rapt attention and wants, impossibly, to grab the boy’s hand and hold it in his own. He feels a little sick to his stomach at the thought, but decides to blame it on how quickly he’s been eating.

“I also picked you a flower.” It’s out of Billy’s mouth before he can think about it.

Steve outright laughs at that, and if Billy’s face turns the same color as that sangria everyone’s drinking, he’ll kill the person who points it out. He slouches down a little further, tearing slightly at the napkin.

“You did what?”

“I picked a fucking flower for you, alright?” Billy hisses, looking his boyfriend straight in the eye this time. He’s even more mad at what he sees, which is the softest expression to ever grace this boy’s stupidly pretty face. God he wants to deck him. If he wasn’t so in love with those dumb doe eyes and that idiotic pink mouth… and his soft heart… he would really deck him.

Steve’s smile is melting Billy into a puddle.

“Really?” Steve asks on a whisper. It makes Billy itch in his skin. He looks back down at the napkin he’s slowly tearing to pieces. “Well, where is it, then?”

Billy nods his head in the direction he saw the girl last. “I gave it to a girl.”

“You gave it to a girl?”

Billy smirks at the jealousy he hears in Steve’s voice. He feels even better when he looks up and swears he sees green on the boy’s face.

“Little Olivia Blake.” He says with a smug grin. Steve visibly relaxes before laughing in on himself. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just funny you picked her.” Steve says, grabbing a few grapes from the top tier of the tray. “They’re close family friends. Her parents always joked that if they ever had a daughter, they would marry her off to me.” Steve rolls his eyes at the statement, but he’s got a fond smile on his face that twists Billy’s stomach up.

“Why would they say that?”

“They’re nutty. They own a big department store a couple of towns over, but they like to live here because it’s quiet or something. I dunno. My parents used to joke that it’d be a ‘good move’ to merge our families together. We’ve got a running gag that Olivia and I are ‘betrothed’.” Steve pops a couple of grapes in his mouth. “She gets a real kick out of it.”

“Hm.” Billy grunts, spinning his beer bottle around on itself where it sits on the table, making the tablecloth wet underneath it. A thought hits him with a smirk. “Hey, did you know Connor Blake wants to fuck me?”

“What? Connor Blake? What makes you say that?”

“Your little fiance told me he used to talk about my muscles all the time.”

Billy looks up at Steve through his lashes with a sly grin to see Steve’s face flushed red. There’s a second or two of silence between them, something light and electric in the air before they melt into helpless giggles, both dropping their heads and shaking them in disbelief. It’s a good couple of minutes of laughter between the two, and it’s the happiest Billy has felt all day.

When it’s over, Steve finally sits down.

“So uh… your grandma?” Billy asks, half his napkin torn into ribbons.

Steve nods like it’s an answer, before he seems to remember his words.

“Yeah, she wants to meet you. My mom accidentally let it slip that one of my friends is here. I think she’s kind of drunk.”

Billy’s heart takes off running, beating wildly like a bird in a cage. Most of his napkin is in shreds now. He watches Steve for a bit and notices that the boy seems just as nervous as he is… fumbling with his fingers and biting at his lip.

“So… I have to go over there?” Billy asks. Steve shakes his head.

“No, she said she’d come find us. She had to talk to someone else first.” Steve’s tapping his fingers on the table and it’s rapping on Billy’s head at the same tempo.

“Is there uh… anything I need to know about her? Before I meet her?”

Steve sighs a very tired sigh, but at least his tapping stops.

“Yeah I mean… she’s a little… crazy?” Steve says, biting at the corner of his bottom lip and rolling a grape around on a napkin. His posture is hunched and small. His eyes flicker on everything near his hands and back again. He’s nervous. It’s freaking Billy out.

He doesn’t say anything other than that. Billy figures he has to take the non-existent bait.

“Her car is pretty killer.” He says, sitting up from where he himself was slouched and leaning over the table, both arms folded as support in front of him.

Steve snorts.

“Yeah well, funny you say that…” Steve says, popping the grape in his mouth when he seems to be done uselessly playing with it. “She bought it after my grandpa passed away.”

He pauses again, for a little too long. Billy’s jumping to fill the silence with something.

“That’s not weird.”

Steve snorts again, grabbing more tiny fruits off the tray.

“ Well there was this big rumor that she killed him for his money so… she thought it was funny and wanted to play into it or something.” He eats a little piece of cantaloupe and Billy tries very hard to understand what any of Steve’s words mean. “I mean obviously she didn’t do it but, she thought other people didn’t need to know that.”

Billy’s mad at the pause now, moving to sit forward still, waiting impatiently for the end of the story.

Steve just shakes his head at his fruit with some weirdly disapproving face.

“You’re serious?”

Steve laughs a tired laugh.

“Yeah. I told you, she’s nutty. She’s also like, super into going to church. She started getting extra involved because her neighbor accused her of being friends with Satan or something? She’s really old fashioned though and has all these awful thoughts about poor people and she likes to rile people up for no reason. And she’s not very… motherly.”

Steve’s a little out of breath. Billy wants nothing more than to hold his hand.

“What side of the family is she from?”

“My mom’s side.” Steve’s a little quieter now, heavily mesmerized with the fruit in front of him. “My mom hates her. I can tell.”

Billy knows Steve’s relationship with his parents isn’t exactly cherries and ice cream, but… seeing your parents get so upset is emotionally draining. He’s felt something like that before. He used to get blamed when members of the family would reach out to Neil. It was stupid and it made Billy grow to resent any time the phone ringed.

He reaches his hand out, linking just his pinky with Steve’s restlessly tapping one. It’s a small gesture, hidden well between the tray of food and the centerpiece on the table.

Steve’s body visibly melts out of its stressed out state. When he looks up at Billy, it’s with that appreciation in his eyes that makes Billy want to kiss him harshly to get him to stop. Billy has to look away, but he grabs on tighter with his pinky and hopes with his heart to make this the least painful experience possible.

“Steven!”

Steve jumps.

He jumps nearly out of his skin and hits his knee on the table in response. He scrambles out of his seat, knocking a couple of grapes off the top tier of the tray when his hand hits it in his hurry to unlink himself with Billy, even that slightest bit.

“Steven did you have to wander off so far away?” She accuses, voice a little young on Billy’s ears for what he would expect of a grandmother. Billy feels glued to his chair, a little out of breath from the sudden fracture of the moment he was just in. Steve’s back is covering the woman from Billy’s view.

“Sorry. Hi Grammy.”

Billy hears her tut. “Stop that, we already said hello to each other. Don’t waste our time.”

“Sorry.” Steve mumbles, fingers fidgeting restlessly where he has them hidden behind his back.

Billy watches a hand grip Steve’s right arm, nails manicured just as perfectly as Mrs. Harrington’s were, but a deep red that come to a bit more of a point than Steve’s mother’s. She has rings on all fingers, each different sizes with different shiny stones embedded in them. She grips rather tight, and Billy watches Steve lean down to give one of those weird side kisses everyone has seemed to do today when they recognize someone. It’s over quick enough that Billy doesn’t get a good look at her face.

“Where’s your friend, Steven? I came over here for him, didn’t I?”

Billy’s heart jumpstarts like a car.

“Oh, yeah, Grammy, this is my friend Billy.”

Steve opens his posture up to Billy sitting behind him. He figures this is the time he should stand up.

As he does, he finds himself standing in front of a short woman. She’s got her hair smoothly styled in something Billy thinks would look fashionable for the 1950’s or 60’s rather than the 80’s. Her earrings dangle and sparkle almost blindingly, even though they’re nearly hidden from the rays of the sun. Her makeup is fairly minimal and her eyes are youthful but knowing, piercing Billy’s mind in a way that makes him feel stuck and helpless. Like she’s a black widow preying on him and his weaknesses.

She has a fur wrapped around her. Billy assumes it’s mink because that’s all he knows about furs. Her bag is rather large and unmistakably fashionable. Billy doesn’t want to stare for too long, but he swears something is moving from inside of it.

“Billy, this is my Grammy Genevieve.”

She reaches one of her manicured hands out. Billy accepts it, her hand a lot younger looking than Billy was expecting, but still showing age in a way that Mrs. Harrinton’s didn’t. When Billy leans down and gives it a kiss, it’s on instinct rather than decision.

He straightens back out to find her eyeing him curiously. Billy holds her gaze, fearful this is some test he needs to pass. Her grip gets tighter and tighter.

A few moments go by before he’s released from her grip and being given an approving look.

“Well isn’t he just as handsome as the day is long?”

Steve gives a grateful smile for a second before training his face back into something blank. When she moves to sit, both Billy and Steve go to hold the chair out.

Steve’s hand gets hit.

“Stop, let your handsome little friend here do it.”

Steve sits down with a muted nod, but he keeps his back held straight.

After Billy sits down, in a whirlwind of thoughts that he can’t pin down, he comes back to reality to find Steve’s grandma mumbling into her bag.

“What is it? What do you need?” She asks, reaching a hand in to… stroke something? It looks like she’s stroking something. “Do you need food? Water?”

Billy looks to Steve with a look he’s trying his best to keep away from ‘bewildered’, but he shouldn’t be blamed if it gets there. Steve’s still got his back rod straight, but his eyes are tired and he’s idly playing with a grape again.

“Stop fidgeting.” She chastises, again hitting the top of Steve’s hand. Steve quickly shoots his hand into his lap, nodding.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just do it.”

Steve nods, but Billy notices another apology on his lips. Billy matches Steve’s posture, back up straight, but he’s abusing the inside of his lip in his nervousness. Something about this woman freaks him out a little more than he thinks she ought to.

“Steven, get me some water, will you?”

Steve nods and steps away, leaving Billy there with the woman and her moving bag that Billy really can’t take his eyes off of. It looks like it’s breathing and Billy’s waiting for a snake to slither out or something.

“So, William.” Grandma Genevieve starts, still stroking the inside of her bag like it’s a normal gesture. She doesn’t continue what she’s saying until Billy looks up at her, making him realize she’s referring to him. Billy hasn’t been called William in… he’s not even sure he could count how long it’s been. “How are you in school?”

Horrible. My teachers hate me. They give me bad grades for no reason. I have to get my dad to rough them up to treat me fairly-

“Fine.” He lies, tongue heavy in his mouth. “Thanks.” He tacks on quickly when her eyes don’t let up.

She seems satisfied with the thank you, but she’s not letting up.

“Are you going to college when you graduate?”

No because there’s no point. Why would I? They’re just going to drain all the money I don’t have and it’s not like I have enough potential to actually make it there, let alone make it through-

“I don’t graduate until next year.” Billy offers.

“That’s not what I asked.” She stands firm, fixing him with a look that makes him want to apologize, too.

“Uhm-”

“Don’t stutter. Speak clearly.”

“No.” He says quickly and honestly. He can’t lie with her looking at him like that. He feels like he’s been cornered.

She lifts a single eyebrow, the look in her eyes entirely disapproving.

“Hmph.” She says, looking down into her purse like he isn’t worth looking at. It makes his chest boil with something less than anger; something that makes him want to apologize again. “That’s a little foolish. What do you plan on doing?”

Billy doesn’t even fully register the insult of being called foolish.

“I don’t need college to go into a trade.”

“What trade?” She asks, voice dripping with what Billy thinks must be venom. He’s more than half expecting that snake to come out soon.

“Auto Body work. Mechanic work.” Billy speaks in stuccatto. He really can’t help it. “I like cars.”

She looks back up at him, eyeing him up and down in the most brutal evaluation Billy thinks he’s ever been given. He feels frightened in a way that feels entirely new.

It’s a few moments of that- a few too many moments.

“Hmph.” She huffs out again. “I see.”

She’s still pinning him down with a stare, but after a few more seconds of silent judgement, it’s over. Her gaze is a little softer at the end, but it may be a trick of the light. Billy’s just glad it’s over.

Steve is speaking before Billy even notices his presence.

“Here you go, Grammy.”

“Thank you, Steven.” She says, taking hold of the clear bowl holding water inside of it. She places it in front of her and moves her bag closer to the edge of her lap, just resting on her knees.

Steve sits and sighs a bit, getting Billy’s attention. His eyes are apologetic and his mouth twists up in a way that lets Billy know he’s asking if he’s okay. Billy nods, eyebrows furrowing a little to prove it. His heart is beating wildly, but he’s sure Steve can probably tell.

In the corner of his eye, something flesh colored and… rat like slowly rises out of the woman’s purse.

He snaps his head towards it, nearly jumping.

It’s… it’s a cat. It’s a naked cat.

It leans forward, slowly and gracefully, to lick up the water in front of it.

“There you go, Cleo.” The woman mumbles, stroking the cat’s head once again. It gives a croaky meow as a response in between it’s licks.

Billy can’t stop staring. He’s never in his life seen a naked cat before. It has wrinkles and folds that go on forever.

Why does she carry this thing in her bag-?

“So William,” The woman says diplomatically, again not continuing until Billy gives her his undivided attention. “Are you the reason my grandson looks like a beatnik?”

“Grammy-”

“Enough, Steven, I wasn’t speaking to you.”

Steve hangs his head, looking to the left of him, possibly staring out at the flowers.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.”

“Your hair is outrageously long for a young man.” She states plainly, still stroking her cat’s head.

A little fire starts in Billy’s chest.

“I didn’t tell Steve to grow his hair out. If he did it by himself, that’s his business.”

Steve’s head whips around so quickly Billy’s sure his neck must be sore, but Billy doesn’t break eye contact with the woman.

She’s eyeing him harshly again, mouth twisted up like she’s tasted something bitter. They stare at each other for a few moments, but there’s a lot less fear in Billy’s chest now. He’s right and he knows it. He shouldn’t have to sugar coat things for this woman who obviously doesn’t sugar coat things back.

The distaste on her lips twists into a smirk, Billy’s sure of it. He doesn’t get too hopeful though. She looks back down at her cat.

“Hmph. Alright.”

She doesn’t say anything after that. Billy’s not sure why, but he feels pretty safely like he’s won something indescribable.

He’s overwhelmed with the need to take a piss.

“Steve.” Billy says clearly, looking at his boyfriend who’s eyeing him owlishly- like he’s shocked.

“Yeah?” Steve answers, shoulders shaking a bit.

“Can you show me where the bathroom is?” He’s sure to be as concise as possible in front of this woman.

“Yeah. Uhm, excuse us, Grammy.”

She waves a manicured hand in the air.

“You’re free to go.” She says dismissively before mumbling to her cat.

The two boys, for as cool as they typically are, jump out of their chairs a little less than smoothly.

They don’t speak until they get to the building that houses the bathroom.

“Holy shit, Billy, how did you do that?”

They’re out of breath, both from rushing to the building and from the tense exchange they just shared.

“Do what?”

“Get her to like you?”

“She likes me?” Billy tries his hardest not to sound so shocked, but it’s difficult.

“I think so.” Steve admits, looking back at the tents even though they’re much too far away from them to see her from here. “What did you talk about while I was gone?”

Billy catches his breath.

“College. What I’m gonna do after school.”

Billy doesn’t even have to say what she said for Steve to look sorry.

“God. I’m sorry about her.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, she’s so… she’s so harsh.”

“It’s fine, Steve.”

“It’s not, I can’t even imagine what she said-”

“Steve.” Billy grabs Steve’s hands, which are reaching up to rake through his hair again. “Shut up. Stop worrying. It’s fine.”

Steve’s eyes are wide and nervous, his hands shaking slightly, his lips worked over by his teeth.

He melts.

“Yeah… yeah okay.”

“I love you.” Billy mumbles it out before he even thinks about it. They’ve said it a few times before, but every time feels like shots of electricity shooting up through Billy’s bones. It makes Steve start to shake a bit again.

But his eyes soften, the skin around his forehead relaxes, he looks a little more peaceful and that’s what Billy wants.

“I love you too.” Steve whispers.

They separate quickly, even though they’re far away from anyone that could see them. Better safe than sorry.

They take their time to be quiet for a second while they’re both in the bathroom, letting the water of the sink drown out the silence between them. Billy’s mind is swimming with so many things they don’t slot correctly in his mind. He’s trying desperately to make sense of anything through his still-present nerves.

As they’re walking out, he just says the first thing on his mind.

“So are you really gonna marry that little eleven year old?”

It slips out of his mouth like a piece of gum when he tries and fails to blow a bubble. It feels stupid. It’s all he could think to say.

Steve shoves his hands in his pockets but doesn’t say anything for a second. Billy turns to see his mouth moving around a smug little smirk.

“Are you gonna fuck Connor Blake?” Steve asks by way of response. It hits Billy’s chest.

“What? No.” Billy’s adamant, annoyed that he didn’t get an answer. “Why would you ask that?”

Steve shrugs with a chuckle. “I dunno, I thought we were asking stupid questions.”

Billy chest unwinds. He laughs. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Just asking.”

Steve shakes his head, but Billy doesn’t look up to see it.

“How’d you even meet her?”

Billy shrugs. “She came up to me when I was picking a flower for you.”

Steve grabs Billy’s arm to get him to stop. They’re close to the tents now, but the gesture isn’t too suspicious.

“Are you serious about that? Did you actually pick a flower for me?”

Billy’s face blooms red as blood rushes to it. “Yeah, I told you.” He wants to fidget. His shirt feels too tight again.

Steve smiles.

“You’re a sap.”

“Shut up.” Billy hisses, ripping his arm away. His face won’t stop blushing. “I just… I love you.”

Billy’s mumbling now, his head down. Steve clicks his tongue.

“Awww…” Steve coos quietly, and Billy doesn’t need to look at him to see the irritating smirk on his face. He looks up anyway, just to glare at him.

“Whatever. You know I love you. How many times do I have to say it?”

Steve’s smug and Billy swears he could slap that look off his face if he didn’t care about him so much.

“I dunno. A few times a day would be nice.”

Billy rolls his eyes. He’s gonna say something, but suddenly there’s a synth song overtaking the previous synth song. Steve gasps.

“I love this song!” He hits Billy’s arm.

“All this music is awful-”

“Shut up!” Steve hits Billy’s arm again. “This song is good!”

Billy listens a little closer to the rhythm of the synth. It sounds like “Is This Love” by Survivor. Joyce likes to listen to this song with Hop sometimes when it comes on the radio. It’s kind of gross, honestly.

“Aw,” Steve coos again, watching the pretty little fancy couples on the make-shift dance floor in between two of the tents, out in the sun. “I wish we could dance. Is that stupid? That’s stupid. Sorry-”

Billy rolls his eyes as his boyfriend babbles next to him. He does a quick scan of what they can see, and decides something without much thought. Maybe it’s the singing that picks up that pushes Billy’s heart.

~I’ve heard talk of blind devotion…~

“Go ask Olivia.”

Steve turns with confused but earnest eyes.

“Huh?”

“Go ask Olivia to dance.”

“But why-?”

“Just go. You’ll see why.”

~Faithful to the bitter end…~

Steve still looks confused, but Billy shoves into his shoulder to get him going.

“Go! Trust me.”

Steve eyes him still, but he goes to find Olivia, who’s off sulking in a chair in the corner of one of the canopy-tents.

Billy watches Steve walk away fondly before taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He takes a few breaths as he walks towards his target, psyching himself up, striking up his confidence…

“Grandma Genevieve?” Billy asks, making sure his voice is clear and free of any shakes. She’s sitting alone, thankfully.

She looks up with her piercing eyes, an eyebrow raised. That’s all she gives him.

“May I have this dance?”

Her clear eyes pierce him for a second, the song striking Billy in the chest, making him feel vulnerable.

She looks down at the cat still in her lap, before looking back up at Billy.

“Please?” He asks, not taking his eyes off of hers, even if he wants to know where Steve is and how far he’s gotten at convincing the other girl to follow him to the dance floor.

There’s another beat of silence, another line of the song hitting Billy hard, before she gives a smirk that lets him know maybe she really does like him.

She takes his hand and stands, before slipping her bag off her shoulder and shoving it into the chest of a free-handed waiter walking by.

“Watch my child Cleo for me.” She states plainly, like it’s not a request. The young waiter’s eyes go wide as the cat peeks it’s head out and croaks a meow in his face. “If anything happens to her, you’ll be fired by the end of the day.”

She says it with a smile before Billy escorts her to the dance floor.

He turns his head and immediately sees Steve walking next to him, being pulled onto the dance floor by Olivia.

~I need to prove to myself this is more than a crush…~

The two boys lock eyes, Steve laughing a bit, Billy smiling easily.

~Can you convince me it’s not just a physical rush…~

Billy grabs Grandma Genevieve’s hands in his, interlocking their fingers, and begins stepping side to side. He watches her face for a second, and sees, surprisingly, something that looks like uncertainty. She’s watching their feet like she’s unsure of what they’re doing.

Billy chuckles a bit. She squeezes his hands so tight they hurt a little bit, and she sends him a glare to match. She must have heard him chuckling.

“Don’t laugh at me.” She chastises, before looking back down at their feet.

Billy keeps stepping side to side along to the beat as he looks up to find Steve, who’s dancing right behind his grandmother and facing Billy. They lock eyes over their partners. They’re swaying almost in time with each other. It’s like they’re dancing with each other.

~Is this love that I’m feeling? Is this love…~

Billy gives a little kissy face in Steve’s direction. Steve rolls his eyes and looks back down at his own partner, who’s currently standing on his feet with her own little ones as they dance.

Billy looks back down at Grandma Genevieve, who’s very clearly struggling.

“You’re doing well.” Billy tries to assure her. Her face twists up.

“I haven’t danced with anyone in a long time.” She admits quietly. Billy’s shocked to hear it.

“Well, there’s not much to it.”

He leads the way, stepping the two of them back and forth to the beat. She seems to relax a bit at the words and it hits Billy’s chest with pride.

There’s a very girlish giggle that snaps Billy back up to Steve, who’s swaying a little more forcefully now with his eleven year old partner in tow. He looks up at Billy and their eyes lock again.

They’re connected in an instant. The distance doesn’t matter.

~Now look me straight in the eye ‘cause tonight is the night…~

Billy’s heart is beating so rapidly he’s worried Grandma Genevieve will hear. Steve is looking at him like he loves him. Like he really loves every bit and piece of him. Like he’ll never have to say it, never have to be asked again, it’s just a known fact of the world now. Steve Harrington is in love with Billy Hargrove and nothing is going to change that fact. It clings them together, to the point that Billy feels like he could be pressed to Steve’s chest right now, even though there’s several feet of distance between them.

~We’ve got to ask each other if the moment is right…~

Billy could melt onto the floor right now in a puddle. He feels ridiculous but he’s fine with that. He’s never been so into someone and he’s fine with that, too. He’s fine if he gets to see Steve’s eyes before he falls flat on his face in love. He’s fine if he gets to see that gorgeous smile forever and ever.

The chorus picks up again, singing loudly as Olivia swings Steve away, spinning them into an uncontrollable circle of smiles and giggles.

~Is this love that I’m feeling?~

The song sings as Steve and Olivia spin in a tornado of pastel colors, storming around the dance floor like a couple of children.

Grandma Genevieve laughs. It catches Billy off guard and makes him tear his face away from Steve and all his beauty.

“Do you wanna spin too?” He asks.

“Spin me and I rip that curly hair of yours out.” She promises, gripping his hands tight again.

The threat of it makes Billy laugh.

They dance out the rest of the song, but after it Grandma Genevieve is tired and Olivia’s mother is chastising her for causing a ruckus.

Billy sits down with Steve’s grandmother for a second, watching Steve intently as he speaks with Olivia.

He laughs as he sees the girl grab the flower Billy picked and give it to Steve, waving the boy down to her level so she can kiss his cheek and run away with a giggling, red face.

Steve watches her, laughing, before looking down at the flower with a kind of intent that Billy can see from yards away.

Grandma Genevieve is still worrying over her cat by the time Steve makes his way over.

“Hi Billy. Hi Grammy.”

“Steven, you made a fool of yourself.” She says immediately, without even looking up at him.

It smacks Billy hard in the chest, and he can only imagine what it must do to Steve. The two boys watch her, shocked at the harsh words.

She looks up at him, a rare smile wide on her face.

“It was rather charming.” She admits. Steve releases a breath, about to say something, before his grandma hits him lightly. “But don’t do it again.”

“Yes, Grammy.” Steve says obediently, with a small, disobedient smile on his face. Billy chuckles a bit at it.

“Well, it’s been a lovely afternoon, but I need to get going.” The woman stands up, accepting Steve’s help as he reaches a hand out to her. Billy stands as she does, and moves next to Steve.

The look she gives the two almost makes him nervous again; it’s harsh and judging and almost dissatisfied.

“Steven.”

“Yes, Grammy?”

She shifts a hard look over at Billy. He does his absolute best to keep her eye contact and stand as straight as possible. It makes him uncomfortable, even with all of the practice he got of standing at attention in his youth.

Her eyes shift back to Steve.

“I like this boy.” She says plainly, and something about it immediately lifts the heaviest weight off of Billy’s chest. “He’s honest and he’s practical and he’s brave. And he’s definitely handsome.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Billy sighs out a bit. She waves a hand dismissively at him, telling him it was unnecessary before she turns back to Steve.

“Tell your mother I need that paperwork in the next 3 days, got it?” She pats Steve’s arm harshly and pulls him in for a light kiss on the cheek before turning to leave without getting a response. Billy’s not sure what she means, but he’s not even going to think about asking.

The two boys stay right where they are, rod straight, watching her walk away. It’s not until she’s a few yards out that they let out a collective breath.

“She likes you.” Steve says with amazement.

“Yeah… Guess so.”

There’s silence between them for a second, some Journey song playing in the background. A slight flash of purple hits Billy’s periphery.

“Hey by the way,” Steve starts, voice playfully wistful. “Thanks for the flower.”

Steve’s got a sly grin on his face. Billy looks over at the purpleish-reddish petals twirling delicately on top of the stem in Steve’s fingertips. The smile he gives in response is involuntary.

“You’re welcome, babe.” He says quietly, chest alight with love and love and a little bit of love and maybe a dash of love... just for good measure.

And if Billy smiles every time he hears “Is This Love” by Survivor from now on… well he doesn’t see a need to explain why.

[fierypen37]

The Oasis: Chapter 17

Chapter 17

 They whiled away the afternoon snuggled on the couch watching movies. Her choice was a rom-com about a hard-ass businesswoman accidentally falling in love with her assistant. Jon felt for the poor bastard loving his lady from afar. It was easy to daydream and project the two of them into the roles. It suited his romantic streak. Daenerys really was a badass businesswoman after all. He’d pine for her in silence. Her tea would always be hot. Her appointments would always be on time. Jon would be her shadow, her right hand as she conquered the world. Watching them fall in love made him absurdly happy. Watching the firelight dance on her features and shine in her hair, he had never felt more content.

Now, in the kitchen, they nibbled on lush strawberries crusted with chocolate. Mesmerized, he watched Daenerys take a bite, red juice dribbling down her chin. Fuck. He could watch her fold laundry or file taxes and it would make him hard. Jon looked away to distract himself. What else could he think about? Her favorite color was green, like tree leaves in summer and the sea near her home on Dragonstone. She always double-tied her shoelaces. She liked wine and hated beer. She had neat table manners, except with dessert. She snored. And she probably needed glasses from the way she squinted at the warming instructions on the prepackaged tea. Well shit. Now his dick and his chest were aching with longing.

“You ok?” her voice was soft. Jon blinked. Sitting on the counter, tousled, in her dark purple nightgown, swinging her feet as she nibbled on another berry. It was really unfair how cute she was. And too sexy to be real. Daenerys was beautiful. Inside and out. How the fuck would she ever pick him? Awkward. Working class. Too serious. A mess of hang-ups and neuroses. There was a list of men a mile long who would be lucky to polish her shoes or fetch her tea.      

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re staring at that wall like it personally offended you.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess I never noticed the crack around the support beam. I’ll have to tell Mrs. Stark to check the foundation.”

“Good to know. You’re a handy man to have around, Mr. Snow,” Daenerys said with a grin. Jon sidled closer to sample a berry. The soft richness of the chocolate exploded on his tongue chased by the berry’s bright sweetness.

“Damn, that’s delicious,” he said. Daenerys smile widened. There was a strawberry seed stuck in one of her perfect teeth. She wrapped her leg around him, drawing him closer.

“Let me taste,” she said, bending to kiss him. Yeah, so good. Soft lips, the faint lingering sweetness of chocolate, the stroke of her tongue. Jon hummed happily into her mouth, hands sliding up the strong grip of her thighs. Velvet-soft skin and so warm. Her hair fell forward around them both like a living veil. Jon cupped her hips, growling as her fingernails delicately scraped his scalp. Daenerys drew his lower lip into her mouth, nibbling gently. The sensation sent blood surging south.

“Yeah, you taste good,” she said with a languid lick below his ear. Jon bit his lip to keep from whimpering. Flirty, dominant Daenerys was a whole new level of sexy. The kiss spun on, Daenerys teased and coaxed him into a fever pitch. Trapped against the counter, his cock twitched, eager for the slick heat of her. Her arms and legs hugged him close, her mouth mapping new paths to pleasure as she kissed and nibbled on his neck.

“Dany,” he breathed, desperate and needy. Daenerys did that thing to his ear with her tongue. Gods, he fucking loved that. Something in him snapped. Jon yanked her hips toward the edge of the counter.

“Lie back.” His accent thickened, his voice was hoarse and rough. Pupils blown wide, lips wet and pink, she looked utterly delectable. Gods, he wanted to devour her. His mouth filled with saliva. She sank back on her elbows on the polished counter, legs spread to welcome him. Jon nudged her thighs wider, breathing deep of her sweet musky smell. Mmm, her nether lips were already glistening from just a kiss. A soft lap opened her. He would never slake his longing for her. As he worked her clit, slowly, patiently, he listened to the music of her whimpers and sighs and incensed breathing. So good. With a sharp cry, she came against his face, awash with lube.

“Jon,” she whimpered, her hands fisted in hanks of his hair. Jon smiled against her pussy, nuzzling her nether lips tenderly. He would exploit his intimate knowledge of her body until she was clawing and begging for his cock. Jon teased her clit with his tongue, feeling her shudder.

“Jon, Jon,” her voice was sharp, cold. Jon looked up at her face, confused. All the lovely color had drained away, now she look pale, scared.

“There’s someone at the door.”

Fuck! Jon whirled around, positioning her directly behind him. The doorknob jiggled.

“Get the gun. Now!”

Daenerys slid off the counter and bounded for the stairs. Jon yanked a knife from the block on the island. Fear doused him like cold water. How was he such a fucking idiot? She was on the run for her life and here he was going down on her in the kitchen without a care in the world with Barry’s gun upstairs. Gods, he could get them both killed—

“Jon? Are you here?” Arya’s voice deflated all his tension. His little sister shouldered her way through the door, laden with plastic bags of takeaway. Outside, he heard the din of the rain, and saw her black truck parked on the circle drive.

“You’ll never believe it, but this fucking cattle truck was jack-knifed on the highway. And somehow the cows got loose and--”

“Arya? Seven fucking hells, you scared me!” Jon said, setting the knife down and moving around the island to help her.

“Dany, false alarm, it’s just Arya!” he called upstairs. Arya glared at him beneath her fringe of wet dark brown hair.

“I called you about a million times. Check your phone!” His phone. Wedged between the couch cushions somewhere. Gods, he was a fucking idiot. Jon glanced toward the stairs. Daenerys would be well within her rights to tell him to fuck all the way off and find a real bodyguard to protect her.

Arya’s grey eyes wandered over the scattered foodstuffs, the faint flickering of firelight, Jon standing awkwardly behind the island. He was decent, at least. That zing of adrenaline had killed any arousal. A catlike grin stretched on Arya’s face.

“You were fucking, weren’t you? Gods, Jon! I knew it! I knew you two were fucking!” Jon lunged for Arya, intent on wrestling her to the ground to shut her up. She danced around the island with ease, giggling.

“Shut up! Gods, Arya. Yes, if you must know, we’re intimate. But shut up about it, yeah?” he said. Arya set down her burden. The potent spice and oil wafting from it made his stomach gurgle. Dothraki barbeque.

“‘Intimate,’ he says. Prig. I can’t wait to tell Gendry. He owes me ten crowns.” Jon cast an aggrieved glance up. Gods save him from little sisters.

“You want me to beg, I’ll beg. Please shut up. She’s been through enough.”

Arya sobered, dragging her fingers through her wet hair.

“Yeah, it’s a tough go. You’re mad for her, aren’t you?” The question brought him up short. Jon swallowed hard.

“I am,” he said quietly. Arya whistled low.

“Does she feel the same?” Jon closed his eyes. Daenerys with the sun shining through her hair, smiling in his bed. Holding her hand in the tense cab ride from the city. The way her mouth formed his name as they made love. Did she?

Gods, he wanted it so bad.

“I . . . I don’t know.”

Arya shrugged, boosting herself up to sit on the counter.

“Have you asked?”

A soft clearing of throat saved him from answering. Daenerys glided down the stairs, dressed now in black leggings and a goldish sweater, the neckline loose enough to bare one shoulder. Barefoot, with her hair a wavy silken waterfall. She looked like something out of the fashion magazines Sansa poured over.

“Hey, sorry if I scared you. I’d phoned Jon I was coming over. I brought food!” Arya said with a charming smile. Daenerys returned the gesture with equal warmth.

“No worries, Jon and I had a movie on. We must have fallen asleep. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with an easy handshake, “Arya, right? Jon’s told me about you.” Arya cast him a sly glance. A touch smug. It said, ‘She’s got your number, Snow.’ And damn if that wasn’t the gods’ honest truth.

“Good things, I hope.”

“Mostly that you’re a bit of a wild card, and could kick his ass seven ways to the sept,” Daenerys said with shy glance his way. Jon slid his hand into hers, hyper-aware of his little sister’s knowing gaze. Daenerys gave his hand a comforting little squeeze. Arya laughed, preening a little.

“That’s definitely true. Gendry—my boyfriend slash manager slash promoter—he says we could get a title shot if my next few fights go well.” Jon’s jaw dropped.

“You’re fighting again? Does your mum know?” he asked. Arya shrugged, her patented gesture when things got a little too uncomfortable—or if her mother came up in conversation. Arya’s desire and skill in the arena were a source of contention between her and her mother. All of her decisions were a source of contention with the formidable Mrs. Stark.

“She doesn’t want to hear about it. I mailed her an invite to my next fight. I hope to see her there. If not, I have a lot of people in my corner.”

Silence fell for a long, uncomfortable beat.  

“Thank you for braving this weather to bring us food,” Daenerys said after a moment, waving a hand to encompass the heavy rain.

Arya snorted, sliding down from the counter to rummage in the fridge for a beer. Deftly popping the cap off on the counter edge, she handed one to Daenerys before taking another for herself. Jon arched a brow at Arya. She grinned in answer, and Jon released Daenerys long enough to nudge behind Arya to snag a bottle of water for himself. No more fucking around. He was on watch. It earned an approving nod from his sister.

“It’s fine. Just a bit of rain. You should see the roads in winter. Sometimes even the snow plows get buried.”

“I’m a city girl. I don’t even have my permit,” Daenerys said as she sipped her beer.

“The north is the best place to learn to drive. Sheep outnumber people five to one,” Arya joked.

“Maybe I’ll learn then,” Daenerys said. She moved toward the bulging plastic sack of food, sniffing appreciatively.

Talk flowed easily as they heaped delicious roasted meat on their plates, redolent with spice. Traditional Dothraki stuff was mostly game, but the spice blend was perfect for beef. Arya told them about her training, her apartment, Gendry. Jon had met him once. Big bloke, a former fighter himself. The pole-axed look he gave Arya told Jon enough. Gendry was made for her.

“Mmm, you have Dothraki barbeque up here?”

“There’s a Dothraki transplant in Winterfell, Quono Riderman. His food is the best,” Jon said.

“I love Dothraki food. I was horse-mad as a kid. Mother hired a riding teacher Irri. She was a stickler for tradition. We’d always go to this authentic Dothraki restaurant after lessons,” Daenerys said. He was aware of Daenerys watching him as he tucked in.

“I’m surprised you can handle it,” Daenerys teased him, laughter in her eyes. A northerner to his core, he had a Westerosi palate. Arya and Daenerys added hot sauce to theirs, while Jon sweated. The meat was good, but gods. His mouth was on fire.

“It tastes great. The salad helps with the spice,” Jon said, trying not to cough. The greens and vegetables were crisp, and the vinegary dressing was cooling. The melty ice cream for dessert was even better, a coffee and chocolate swirl thing that was Arya’s favorite.

“So I hear there’s some bad blokes after you. Tell me about it,” Arya asked as they tidied the dishes. He watched worriedly as Daenerys paused, hands wrist-deep in soapy hot water.

“They call themselves the Harpy Triumvirate. Individuals from the three great cities of the Bay of Dragons: Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen. I run an anti-trafficking organization called Breaking Chains. They’ve been sending me death threats for years. Only this week they’ve backed up the talk with violence.” The words were cold, clinical. Jon could hear the lawyer paring down the terror and death into impartial facts. Arya whistled low.

“That sucks,” she said. The understatement drew a crooked smile from Daenerys. She glanced at him, a soft, shining look.

“It does suck. But Jon saved me. That day and every day since.” Arya’s grin glowed with pride.

“He’s a good bloke to have around in a sticky spot,” she said.

“He is,” Daenerys said. Seven hells, he was blushing. There was nothing he could say without sounding like a fatuous asshole, so Jon took a long draught from his water bottle.

“Daenerys, I’d be happy to show you a couple things. Just in case.”

Daenerys’ face lit up.

“I would love that.” Both looked to him. Jon lifted his hands.

“I volunteer to finish washing up,” he said. Daenerys chuckled, kissing his cheek in passing. The glancing touch sent little tingles through him. He fancied the spot glowed. Their amiable chatter made him deeply happy. Arya was easy to get along with, but she was also very protective of him. Seeing her get on so well with Daenerys set him at ease. It had been the same subtle feeling when he met and approved of Gendry. Jon washed the dishes, tidied the leftovers, wiped down the countertops and set the kettle aside for tea. An ear turned toward the den heard the murmur of their conversation, punctuated liberally with giggling. With women, giggling was usually a good sign.

Jon tiptoed to the den and peeked in. Arya stood behind Daenerys, one muscular arm locked around her neck, the other pinioning her hands behind her. Gods, Arya’s been training hard. She looks like she’s gained a stone in muscle.

“Ok, so if a fucker’s got you from behind, more than likely he’s gonna feel pretty confident. This hand--” Arya jiggled the one holding Dany’s wrists, “—will more than likely be relaxed, ‘cause he’s got an arm around your throat. So first snap back with your hips, create a little space.” Brow forked in concentration; Dany tried. Biting back a smile, Jon leaned against the doorjamb. It made him crazy to think of Dany having to use Arya’s self-defense techniques, but the demo was important.

“Like that?” she asked.

Arya smile grew broader.

“Yeah yeah, once you do that you break the hold of his hands, you can duck under the arm—yeah like that and rip his junk off.”

“Leave the fucker writhing in pain as you run off,” Jon interjected. Arya had Daenerys repeat the move and its variations on both her and Jon over and over again. After forty-five minutes of training, his shoulders and chest felt a little sore, but he counted it worth it. Daenerys winced as she stood after Arya demonstrating some sort of Yi Tish balance-block move. Arya helped her up, nodding in sympathy.

“My first coach Syrio said every bruise is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.”

“He sounds like a wise man,” Daenerys said. By consensus, they agreed more training would wait. They collapsed back on the couch. Arya sobered.

“Syrio’s a tough old bastard. He told me there is only one god, and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: Not today.”

                                                               ~

 Daenerys and Jon stood on the porch waving to Arya as she drove off into the dusk. The rain had let up slightly, but grey clouds brooded overhead. Daenerys nestled closer to Jon’s side. Even in summer, the evening chill was biting. Jon followed her back inside and together they wordlessly began tidying the remnants of their meal. Despite the late lunch, Arya rummaged through the fridge and insisted on a bit of supper. Robb and Margaery’s choice of lobster was excellent, as was the turtle soup sopped up with oven-warmed bread dripping with butter. Calories didn’t count on the lam.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” she asked.

Arya had pointed out rather succinctly that given the odds against them, Jon was outnumbered and outmanned. Winterfell with its high walls, cameras, and hired security were a far better option. Anxiety coiled taut in her belly. A sidelong glance found his brow knitted, a frown flattening the lush curve of his mouth. Jon had been explicit: he wouldn’t risk his family for her sake. Arya had been quick to wave off any concern. The youngest two Bran and Rickon were south for the weekend with their mother visiting Mrs. Stark’s family in the River district. Mr. Stark was in the Storm district on business, Sansa was at uni.

Daenerys buried her hands in the dishwater to hide them shaking. Of course he wouldn’t want her in Winterfell. Even with most of his family away, Arya was still there, who he obviously adored. He had only known her for a week. He owed her nothing. The silence was unbearable.

“Would you say something?” she said sharply. Jon glanced at her, his scowl deepening.

“What?” he asked.

“’What?’” Daenerys repeated, “If you don’t want me to go to Winterfell, just say so. I can find my own way.”  

The words emerged sharper and nastier than she intended, but the thought of being unwanted pricked her deepest insecurities. Her father had wanted another son, Vis had wanted to live without the burden of a little sister, Daario wanted Jeyne. Daenerys chewed on her lower lip, struggling to breathe down the shrieking panic. Jon had become a safe place, a peaceful paradise. Without him, she felt cast adrift, rudderless. Something in his posture stiffened. His dark eyes flashed.

“You want to leave?” he said quietly. No. No, never.

“You’ve done enough. I can--”

“‘Done enough?’ Yeah, nearly gotten you killed, right? Or do you mean fucking you? Was that ‘enough?’” Daenerys flinched as if he’d struck her and shook her head, marching in the direction of the stairs. She would pack up a few things and hike to the nearest petrol station. A phone call to Vis or Jory would be enough.

“Stop, Jon. Now you’re just being nasty.” Jon followed her, dark and thunderous as the stormclouds outside. The bedroom was a wreck, sheets and blankets strewn on the floor from their earlier lovemaking. Tears clogged her throat.

“No, no. Here we are again. Spell it out for me,” Jon said.

“Why are you acting like this? You’re the one who didn’t want me to go to Winterfell!” Daenerys said, her voice climbing to a near shout. Jon matched her in ferocity and volume, squaring off across the bed from her.

“I didn’t know my family was away! If I had, I would have taken you there first!” Daenerys blinked, confused.

“But--”

Jon sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her and raked a hand through his hair.

“Do you realize how fucking stupid I feel about this afternoon?” he said. Daenerys circled the bed to sit beside him. His expression was tortured.

“What if it wasn’t Arya at the door? I could have gotten you killed! You deserve a battalion of guards to keep you safe. If you don’t want a fuck-up for a bodyguard, I get it. If things are too intense and confusing and you’re looking for an easy out, I get it. But don’t ever think it’s because I don’t want you around. That never gonna happen. Get me?” Daenerys choked back a sob. One tear eked free, and Jon smoothed it away with his thumb. The tenderness of the gesture broke her heart.

“I trust you, Jon. I trust you. And I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” I love you. How she wished she was brave enough to say those words.

“We’ll go to Winterfell in the morning. Together,” she said, taking his hand and pressing kisses on the back.

“Together,” Jon said, drawing her close for a kiss.

Perhaps it was the thought of separation, or the fact that privacy would be scarce in Winterfell, but passion boiled quick and sweet. Sensation blurred. Mm, Jon’s dark, worshipful gaze, long, drinking kisses, undressing her as if she was something fragile and precious. She let her touch speak for her, writing words of love on his body. They moved together, a gentle, timeless eternity. Climax washed over her in deep spasms. Jon followed her soon after, panting her name against her neck. They drowsed in the tub together, fell asleep in each other’s arms.

A beam of sunlight woke her. She squinted at the aperture of the curtains, and the sun-dappled blur of greenery beyond. Behind her, Jon snuffled in his sleep. The arm draped around her twitched. Daenerys kissed him awake.

“Good morning,” she whispered. Jon cracked open one eye.

“‘Mornin,’” he rumbled.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll make tea.”

“M’kay,” he said, already drifting off.

She slid from bed, stretching. Gods, with Jon she slept better than she ever had. Braiding her hair and dressing in clean clothes made her feel ready to greet the day. The burner phone buzzed on the nightstand. She snagged it, creeping into the hallway so as not to disturb Jon. Good, she needed to talk to Vis.

“Hello, Daenerys.” The smooth voice was unfamiliar. Fear sang through her.

“Who is this?” she whispered.

“Where are my manners? My name is Ramsay Bolton. Now, you naughty girl, look at your boytoy.”

“What—Where--?”

“Look.” Daenerys looked at Jon, asleep in bed, a red laser dot floating on his forehead. Oh gods.

“Now listen very carefully.”          

[n0-eyedtaissa]

There’s Something In The Woods (Betty Cooper X Jughead Jones)

A/N: This was originally inspired by this blurb request that I received from @hughstheforcelou awhile back, and they encouraged me to expand on this idea, so shout out to them! 

Summary: On a cross-country road trip without a clear destination, both Betty and Jughead are reveling in the romanticism of being with each other on the open road. Things get a little mysterious one night when Betty spies a figure, some strange creature, lurking in the distance. 

This is based off of this song, from this themed playlist, which I highly recommend listening to as you read! 

Word Count: 5,442

Read on AO3 here!

_______________________________________________________________________

Scene from a highway in a desert, 1989 (First Draft)

I let the car drift some, eye your uncomfortable pose and profile; the postures of long drives, shifting numb and sore parts when you can no longer sit them.

It was the summer of freedom. Real, true, unabashed freedom…it was all they had ever wanted. There would be no more overbearing mothers or fathers seeking sinners, no reputation to proceed either one of them. No Southside, no boundaries; the King finally relinquished his crown. The day after their high school graduation, Betty and Jughead pack their essentials into duffle bags that get thrown into the trunk of the old Chevelle. The two of them wouldn’t have bothered to attend the ceremonies, but there was no way Cheryl Blossom would let anyone miss her big valedictorian speech. The first day was the most exciting. There was a certain kind of welcomed melancholy that creeped up over their shoulders the farther away they got from Riverdale. It seemed like no matter where they would go, there’d always be a part of them that was tethered to the suburbs. They stop to stretch their legs, to grab a bite to eat and visit some cheap roadside attraction. Betty sits on the hood of the car and poses as Jughead takes pictures with his polaroid camera, her sunglasses are perched on the tip of her nose and it makes something ache deep in his chest. There’s a diner somewhere about an hour away, the two of them electing to skip any more 50’s-themed diners.

“Where you kids headed?” The old blue-haired waitress asks absentmindedly as she scribbles down their lunch orders. 

“Nowhere in particular” Jughead reveals, sending a wry grin at the witty woman. Betty sips silently on her sweet tea and revels in the romanticism of the open road. Oh, to be eighteen and in love…

“How will you know when you get there?” Betty looks at the woman’s plated name tag, Sandra Jean, and smiles warmly up at her. The two of them both have to stop and think about it, how far could they actually run?

Foot on the dash, foot on the dash, x hours or so from some somewhere now, only half aware when I change lanes half accidentally.

Betty’s hair flows golden in the hot wind, insistent upon rolling all the windows down as she sings along to the Alanis songs that Jughead put on one of the many mix cds he made for the trip. He tries to recline as best as possible in the confines of the old car, his skinny knees pulled up near his chest as he rested his sock-covered feet against the dashboard. He pulls out a beat-up copy of Kerouac’s On the Road and Betty chuckles to herself, how apropos. 

“Read to me, Jug” She doesn’t ask, but it’s not quite a demand either. Jughead hates to admit it to himself, but he would probably do whatever Betty told him to do. Oh, to be eighteen and in love. 

“They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're thinking about where to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there — and all the time they'll get there anyway, you see.” Jughead’s voice is low and even as he reads, squinting his eyes against the bright reflection off the yellow-white paper despite his sunglasses. He thought that maybe this would be his story…he’d get home and sit down at his computer and type epochs about his summer on the road with his true love; the grit of it all, the beautiful and the ugly coming together as he waxes poetic about nights spent creating false identities as they made small talk with whatever resident alcoholics hung out around the dingy bar. They scored cheap drugs from locals and fucked on the itchy sheets of motels that looked straight out of a horror film. He’d tell Betty he loved her with his hand between her legs and then the two of them would pass out cold, having another full day of driving ahead of them. 

The two of them wake up still bleary from the previous night’s activities and stand silently side by side as they brush their teeth in the cold, still bathroom. The economy of love in close quarters, a learned thing. Betty’s legs are pale and long as they poke out from underneath Jughead’s old t-shirt. She brought her own pajamas, but still always said that she liked his clothes better. It’s much later than either one of them had anticipated; Jughead guessed that the exhaustion had finally started to catch up to them. He tried not to be bitter about the setback in his perfectly planned schedule as he splashed cold water onto his oily face, noting the fine bit of stubble on his cheeks and the purple circles deepening under his eyes.

Betty and Jughead get dressed in silence and check out of the sleepy motel, filling up on complimentary cups of burnt coffee and stale muffins. It’s his turn to drive. Betty dozes off,trying to shrink herself small enough to fit comfortably into the stale, cracked leather seats. He drives and she sleeps. She sleeps and he can’t help but sneak a glance at her, taking his eyes off the mostly empty road. The sun is warm and high in the sky, casting dark shadows over Betty’s peaceful face. The car veers over with a sudden jolt and Jughead swears as he grabs at the steering wheel.

But hurtling uncertain into the inferno of forever of here, which it does to me, the desert. It has effect, makes me mark things needlessly.

“Jug, do you see that?” Betty taps a pearl-painted nail against the smudged glass window. It’s hot against her skin as she presses her face closer, needing to get a better look to make sense of what it was exactly that she was seeing. There’s a figure in the distance. Too tall to be human, but there was no animal Betty knew of to be that tall…

“Wh-What?” Jughead mutters, shielding his eyes from the setting sun as he tries to locate whatever Betty saw looming in the sparse trees and shrubs. There’s a layer of kicked-up red dust over all the windows that further obscures his vision and Jughead flicks on the windshield wipes to no avail.  “Shit”

“Right there, don’t you see it?” Betty wants to roll the old window down and smear away the red dirt with her sweaty hands. The detective inside of her is screaming at Jughead to get closer, but the rational, more mature side is telling her to stay as far away as possible. There were no monsters in the real world, she tried to persuade herself, trying to leave behind her adolescent mentality that everything begins and ends in her shitty little hometown. Just as she tries to shove the thoughts away, the figure moves.

It’s dark and it is tall, with a wing-span that unfurls and reaches wider than Betty can spread her freckled arms. She can’t tell if it has feathers or if it’s fur, only that the creature is blanketed in a sort of darkness that makes it easier to camouflage itself. 

Betty blinks and the figure is gone, like it never existed in the first place. “Where am I looking, Betts? You really hyped this thing up” Jughead chuckles. He notices the change in Betty’s demeanor and his expression falters. “What’s wrong?” 

“Never mind, Jug…just keep driving.”

When the old Chevelle rolls through the sparse dried-up patch of forest where Betty fist saw the figure, she thought she might have imagined it; there was no trace of whatever beastly creature she was telling herself that she saw. But when the old yellowed headlights cast their dusty beams through the tree line, she sees it: The red, infernal glow of two large, round eyes.

These words that hiss and makes snake sounds. But it feels holy almost, though I don’t say so.

Betty doesn’t forget the creature for the rest of the day or the one after that. It weighs heavy on her mind and she can’t help but shake the feeling that another encounter with the winged thing would soon ensue. She swallows the bile that was threatening to creep up her throat and washes it down with another shot of the bottom-shelf tequila her boyfriend kept handing over to her. Jughead had left Betty to sit and stew alone in the corner of the bar, watching him as he bent over the pool table in a not-so-friendly competition with some locals who were starting to get rowdy after losing one too many times to someone who was simply passing through town. Jughead felt right at home among the ranks of the old, bitter men who reeks like sour beer and stale smoke. A small, immature part of him wanted to go back to the car and retrieve his well-worn Serpent jacket; show them who really was in charge that night.

Betty’s blue eyes are bloodshot and glazed over as she knocks back the warm dregs of her beer. The bartender was a girl who didn’t look to be much older than either one of them, so she gave Betty a sympathetic smile and a pint on the house as she watched the pool table knowingly. “Good Luck, sister golden-hair” The long haired girl smirks at Betty, retrieving her pack of cigarettes to duck outside behind the bar. Betty follows her, like any good detective would, not willing to lose her only confidant just yet. 

“Excuse me, do you happen to know if there’s a hotel somewhere close by?” Betty asks with her tight-lipped, homegrown smile as she battled her urge to wave away the bartender’s cigarette smoke. “Preferably somewhere with vacancies” She adds quickly and watches as the young bartender rolls her eyes and chuckles. 

“What, your boyfriend’s not doin’ too hot in there anymore?” The girl steps closer into the light and suddenly Betty can see, really see, her face: She’s pretty in a sad kind of way, with stringy ash blonde hair that looked like she cut it herself, sad brown eyes that looked like they’d seen too much too soon, and a small scar by her top lip. Betty can’t help but think of this girl as another version of herself, from a parallel universe a million small towns over. 

“Something like that,” She reveals, the venom palpable in her voice as she thought of Jughead’s dumb idea to stop for drinks, even though he was so insistent on reaching their next destination by nightfall. This was day four of their ten-day trip and they had already called behind on their plan. Jughead waved off the notion a little too quickly, dismissing Betty’s worries with his hand. We’ll just extend the trip, Betts, more time for us before Yale. Betty was already dodging phone calls from her mother, not wanting to deal with her incessant interrogation anymore. She could only dodge Alice for so long, and since Betty had just gotten her college fund money back, she didn’t want to chance her mother having another one of her nuclear meltdowns. 

The bartender raised her eyebrows, “Come on, sister golden hair, let’s get a pot of coffee on for lover-boy…” There’s a certain kind of kinship between the two women as they walk back into the dark and sweaty bar. 

Betty slides the cracked ceramic mug down to Jughead, who was moping as he perched on one of the wood barstools. “You okay?” She asks tentatively, his tipsiness clouding his expression and rendering him harder to read than usual. 

His head hangs low, stringy hair drifting into his eyes. “Only down about two hundred bucks, but other than that? Peachy…” He tosses his hand about with a mix of arrogance and fake nonchalance.

“Jug…” Betty chastises, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. 

“Spare me the lecture, Alice, I’m more than aware” Jughead stops short, taking a gulp of the lukewarm coffee. Betty throws up her hands in defense, sitting down next to him with another one of her tight-lipped smiles. She can feel the bitter sting of her fingernails digging into the scarred-up skin of her palms, a nagging feeling.

An immortal unknowing: sacred and ancestral and real and only felt here when the sun falls. Only felt here, now, where the otherworldly haunts of coming dusk descending from immeasurable spaces, to more immeasurable spaces

He shouldn’t have been driving. Betty told him that; told him to have a glass of water, told him to have another cup of coffee, told him to go outside and sober up because he was acting like a real jackass and it was still a long drive to their trip’s destination. Staying at a hotel was a nice thought, but Jughead preferred to gamble their earned money away playing pool, as if he hadn’t been getting his ass handed to him by Sweet Pea for the last two years. 

He said he was fine. 

Then highway was surrounded by thick, dense woods that made it dark, made the trees look like inkblots, dark and obscured, as the old Chevelle rattled along. Betty had her seatbelt on, her long, pale legs extended onto the dashboard, toes leaving half-moons of warmth on the cool glass of the windshield. He seemed fine, he was always fine. Alanis was playing on the radio and Betty hummed along softly. Jughead laughed and tried out his best falsetto, not paying attention to the seemingly barren road up ahead. 

“Jug watch out!” Betty can remember calling out to the boy, going to grab at the steering wheel herself in order to swerve out of the way, to avoid hitting that thing, that same winged creature who’s image had been singed into memory since their last encounter. Inhumanly tall, with big eyes that bore red when the headlights got close enough to bring the figure into view, yet again. It’s not a man — Betty knows that for certain, though some details had gotten a little fuzzy. Wings…it also had wings, long and wide. It was’t a man and it wasn’t an animal wither, so what was it? It was big and it was scary, and judging by the way the creature seemed to have been looming in wait for Betty, it was probably pretty mean. 

The creature’s startled. Blurry vision. The sound of tires squealing. Metal on metal. 

When Betty finally opens her eyes, it’s slow, dazed, like she’s not quite sure if she was awake or dreaming. She’s alone, she knows that for sure, can feel the hollow sting of fear and loneliness as she surveys the damage. There’s a screaming pain in her temple, and when she goes to inspect for damages, she pulls her fingers away from her face to find that they’re covered in sticky, dried crimson. She can feel the blood caked in her hair, can smell the metallic iron mixing with the exhaust fumes that were still billowing up from under the car’s windshield. There’s broken glass in Betty’s thigh as she tries to sit up and she cranes her neck to survey the scene. The windshield is broken, a body-shaped hole in the center that was dripping with old, coagulated blood. The metal of the dashboard is crunched and dented from when the car swerved and careened into one of the big inkblot trees. Every muscle in betty’s body is screaming as she pushes herself up, trying to kick out the glass of the windshield with one of her dirty, blood-stained keds. She army crawls on her elbows through the shards of glass as she gets up and over the dashboard, grunting as she tries to find her footing as she stumbles in the upturned earth. Jughead’s favorite beanie is hanging ominously from a tree branch and there’s smears of blood on the newly turned leaves. 

An ancient, endless desert sprawl; anarchic, forever, interrupted only by this highway running west. Some wound maybe, or a bandage, depending on how you look at it.

He went that way, he had to be. He was looking for help.Betty recites the mantra as she takes off through the forest, the bristles of branches tangled in her hair and getting caught on her tattered and blood-soaked clothing. She’s not sure how she’s still going but she is. Her feet come down hard in the moist dirt; there’s so much adrenaline running through her veins that she can’t even feel the pain in her head anymore. Her breathing is rough and jagged, like she couldn’t get enough air to her longs no matter how hard she tried. But she could see the horizon line now, the world now coming to life with whispers of the sun’s dusty yellow glow. There’s sunlight streaming through the brush and the old trees with gnarled roots like old fingers come to catch Betty in their grasp. When she’s back to the highway, she runs until she sees a cat, trying her best to flag them down with her rapid arm-movements. No one is stopping for you because they think you’re fucking crazy. Betty collects herself, tries to breathe easier and ground herself. Jughead was alive and he was getting help. 

An old truck stops for a moment, concerned, a grey-haired older man reaches his head out of the window to ask if she’s all right. “There’s something in the woods…It got him” Betty sobs, her bottom lip quivering as she wrapped her arms protectively around her torso.

“There’s something in the woods” the man agrees and Betty doesn’t know if he’s trying to play into her decisions or if he knows more than he’s letting on.  

A guide through wider spaces than the baggage of unclaimed except in concrete; a place you might claim one day, some day.You and I, for us, when we get to wherever it is we are going

The man introduces himself to Betty as Maxwell and that was it. Under any other sort of circumstances, Betty liked to think that she would have made a joke to the old man, an attempt to ease the tension. “Now is that your first name or your last name?” She would have said. And it makes Betty laugh, not really laugh, but as much as she could muster up. It’s a dry, humorless sound that comes from the back of her throat and suddenly Betty is feeling raw in every sense of the word. Maxwell offers to take her into town towards the hospital and asserts that it’s “No trouble at all”; Betty’s too shell-shocked  to think twice about the older man’s offer. She doesn’t question his motives, she isn’t building her escape plan as she’s being driven farther and farther away from the scene of the accident. The rust-colored truck pulls up in front of the General Hospital and Betty swiftly realizes that not all people are as sinister as they are in Riverdale. 

Betty lets herself be helped out of the truck, her knees going wobbly and her vision going blurry as she’s guided through the double doors and met with the bright lights that cast a  sickly green glow over the waiting room. She can feel her knees give out as her weight is dropped back into a wheelchair, an older female nurse pushing her into an examination room while barking questions at a helpless looking Maxwell.

“I found her by the side of the road about ten miles from here, she was mutterin’ something about the woods and after takin’ a look at her I assumed there’d been some kinda accident so I offered her a ride to the hospital. Didn’t say a word the whole way here”

Betty can feel someone above her dabbing at her blood-caked hair, she can smell the bitter rubbing alcohol and it makes her nose tickle. “Betty Cooper… I’m, Elizabeth…” She’s lethargic as the nurse shines a thin beamed light in her eyes. She swallows thickly, the sedatives kicking in through the IV that Betty didn’t even know that she had. She pulls at her arm and the nurse comes to swat away her hand. “Riverdale, my boyfriend and I were taking a road trip” Betty trails off and the nurse has to shake her back to consciousness. 

“Was there a young man with her when you found her?” The Nurse throws an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Maxwell and he quietly shakes his head no. “Sweetheart, where’s your boyfriend now?” The nurses was trying to stay calm on behalf of Betty and the clear trauma that she had been through, but there were so many questions she had. First and foremost though, she needed to know if there were any more victims. 

“There was an accident, when I woke up he was gone…that thing, I think it got him”

Single landmark in memorial now, and the landscape that always passes but never passes, does finally.

Betty is confined to the hospital for three days, and the Doctor calls her mother despite all of her protests. Alice is too busy breaking some big story, but she promises to make her way to the nameless little town by the end of the week. There’s a small search party for Jughead, but nothing good comes out of it. There’s no body found at the scene of the accident, nor in the surrounding area. He’s gone and no one has an explanation for it. They think the poor kid must’ve been taken by some sick son of a bitch, and Betty wanted to agree but there was no way for her to explain that the perpetrator wasn’t a who, but a what. She knew what she saw in the woods; she could draw it on paper better than she could explain it with words.

Betty is severely concussed, and it takes five staples in her forehead to put her back together. Despite her bruised ribcage and some bumps and scratches, she’s fairly well-off, and the Nurse tells her that she should be thankful for good samaritans because she could’ve been in much worse shape. There's a part of her that doesn’t want to wait for her mother, she knows that they recovered as much as possible from the scene of the accident, all of hers and Jughead’s things that they packed for their trip. It was funny, how long ago it all seemed. She knows there’s an envelope of money in the pocket of the pair of red shorts that she packed away in duffle bag. There’s two hundred dollars less than she started out with, but Betty was trying not to be angry about that now; she saw no sense in harboring anger from her little spat with Jughead, all she wanted to know was where he was and if he was okay. There was a naive part of Betty that truly thought that Jughead was alive and well, and that any time now he would be waltzing into the sterile hospital room, a burger in his hand and a chip on his shoulder. But there was no way…she saw the wreckage of the car, and the blood, how it dripped from the dark leaves of the inkblot trees and dried in sticky puddles in the rocky dirt. Until there was a body, though, she could hold on to that glimmer of hope, no matter how naive  it was. 

If only she could find a car, Betty could be out of here. She didn’t need Alice, and it was clear that her mother was in no hurry to drop her workload to make the five day drive. The nurse said that by tomorrow, Betty could be cleared to go home, or at least to start making the trek back. Her head aches with every rhythmic beep of the monitors that were all monitoring her vitals, make it obnoxiously apparent that she was alive and it was looking like Jughead wasn’t. A tear runs down her face as Betty reminisces on all the plans they made, how they were going to build a life together that was outside of Riverdale’s soul-crushing confines. 

There’s a business card on the side table with a phone number on it, and suddenly Betty gets an idea. Her fingers are clumsy as she reaches for the corded phone, she dials the numbers and holds the cold plastic up to her ear as she awaits an answer. The line clicks and someone picks up. “Maxwell? Hi, this is Betty Cooper, the uh, girl you saved. I just wanted to really take the time to say thank you in person, do you think you could meet me for breakfast tomorrow?”

The man graciously agrees and says that he knows a place. Betty’s all cleared to go by her doctors; she should wait for her mother to get to the hospital but that could be days from now. She lugs the duffle bags of things salvaged as she walks out of the hospital’s creaky double doors, immediately getting hit with a wave of sticky heat. Maxwell is waiting out front in his rust-colored truck and he hops out of the cab to help Betty with her bags, opening the door to the passenger’s side and make sure she was safe and secured inside. They pull up to a diner with a name that sounds like it could be someone’s grandmother’s, and Maxwell insists that Betty has to try the blueberry pancakes because they’re “the best thing on the whole damn menu”. A teenage waitress with a barbell through her eyebrow takes their order and soon Betty and Maxwell are making friendly, idle conversation. It was true that Betty did want to thank him for picking her up and taking her to the hospital, but there was also some ulterior motives behind it. So when she sets down her sticky fork, Betty gets nervous before lacing her fingers together and taking a deep breath. 

“Do you happen to know of anywhere I could get a cheap car?” She hoped that she wasn’t coming across as rude, or that her appreciation was insincere. She didn’t even know why she thought that the old man would be able to help her out, but she had a feeling. “Before the accident, my boyfriend and I were on a bit of a cross-country road trip and….I think I need to finish it on his behalf. I don’t think I can move on without him unless I finish it and my mom?” Betty blows a puff of air between her teeth, “She’s more concerned with work and it’s clear that she’s in no rush to come and get me, so I need to finish the trip. For me and for Jughead, can you help me?”

Maxwell nods his head and throws a handful of crumpled up bills on the table of the diner. He drives Betty to a small ranch not too far away, and heads towards a covered overhang. Gesturing to Betty, the two get out of the car and move closer to whatever was being concealed under the blue pop-up tarps. There’s a blue Cadillac who’s paint has dulled and oxidized with time, but Betty knows a classic car when she sees one. She gets that familiar itch in the tips of her fingers, wanting nothing more than to pop open the car’s hood and poke around like she used to with her dad at the auto shop. 

“If you can start it, it’s yours” Maxwell says, and the fun suddenly began for Betty as she reached for the toolbox she saw propped up idly. A few hours and some elbow grease and the car is as good as new. Betty did most of the work, but what strength she couldn’t muster up was assisted by Maxwell, who was impressed at the resilience and skillfulness of his new young friend. He refuses to take any of her money, so Betty stashes the crumpled envelope in his toolbox where Maxwell would be sure to find it eventually. He won’t let her start her journey so late in the evening, having been made aware of the horrors that came from her trip, and offers up the sofa bed for her, at least until morning. 

Betty wakes up with a gasp and is immediately panicked when she can’t recognize her surroundings. She sits up with speed that makes her dizzy, and when her hand comes to touch as the sutures in her head, it’s a sobering reminder of what she had been through the last few days. The clock reads 4:30 am and the red neon glow the numbers give off is Betty's only source of light. Quietly, she tiptoes through the expanse of the strange house, picking up her things and packing them away into her bags before grabbing the car keys that sat cold on the granite of the kitchen counter. Inch by inch Betty turns the front door knob until she can slip out of the ranch house silently. Shutting what was left of hers and Jughead’s belongings in the back seat, she starts the car and puts it in reverse. 

The open road felt a little scarier than it did before. Betty white-knuckled the steering wheel with her hands at ten and two as she drove away from Maxwell’s ranch, the diner, and the General Hospital that did so much help for her. She remembers that she’s about ten miles away from where she came out of the woods the night of the accident. She wishes that she remembered where the car was. There was a part of her that wanted to sit out there amongst the wreckage until Jughead or someone else came and found her, but that would be of no use to her. 

She pulls the car off the road and onto the shoulder before she gets out, ruffling away through Jughead’s things to find something for her to leave behind, to memorialize him in some way so that he could never be forgotten about. She finds his dog-eared copy of On The Road and wishes nothing more than to be able to hear his smooth, even voice as he read to her during the times where it was her turn to drive. She opens the book to the first page and scribbles “Jughead Jones wuz here” just like he used to all those years ago. She places the book on top of a moss-covered tree stump and weights it down with a small stack of smooth, flat rocks. 

So I crack my window just so, and almost close my eyes and almost let go of the steering wheel, but don’t. It feels impossible to crash the car while we're in it.

Betty’s eyes are bleary with tears as she drives away from the last place that she ever saw the one person in the world that she would move mountains for. She swiped under her eyes with the backs of her veiny hands and takes a deep breath. Alanis is playing again on the radio and the notion of it is bittersweet at best. 

She continues down the road but something catches her attention. It’s a shadow that she can see looming over her, a few hundred yards ahead there was something perched in the middle of the road. Betty can feel her stomach turn as she takes in the creature’s appearance yet again. It’s inhumanely tall frame, it’s feather-like covering, it’s wings that spread farther than Betty could open her own arms. Its red eyes reflected sinisterly in the headlights, and suddenly Betty knew exactly what she had to do. She thinks about Jughead, and the blood. The body-sized hole in the totaled car’s windshield. His favorite old beanie that was hanging limply from the inkblot trees and their bloodied leaves. 

Betty cracks her knuckles, her breathing even as she goes in through the nose and out through the mouth. When she gets closer to the creature, she notices it perk up, as if it had been waiting for her in order to finish what they had started. Eerily calm, almost stoic in nature, she presses her foot down on the gas pedal, and accelerates. 

[drabbleitout]

The Last Line : Waterdriving

@writeblrsummerfest​‘s posted this amazing prompt today & I’m late. The prompt was:

Write or draw something about your character’s dealing with the summer heat!

Königsberg was alive in the warm weather. The wide streets were lined with a number of tents where goods were sold, most civilians from the countryside. The Northern Patrol walked the settlement in their summer whites, chatting and laughing with the civilians. Vitale smiled, glad to see the coldness separating soldier and civilians through the winter melt away just the same.

It was warm, the sun high, reminding her so much of Rome.

"Vitale!" She turned finding Zev and a few of the ranks down the road. He waved for her attention, other hand holding the bridle of a horse. "Come on! Come with us!" Kuebrich was with him, Quinn as well, turning at the ruckus. They all had some random assembly of training uniforms on. Most in their high boots and bunched trousers, all in their sleeveless tanks.

"Where are you going?" She called, jogging through the crowd towards them. Zev waited for her, nodding her along to follow the rest of them.

"Down to the coast! Want to go? We're going waterdriving!" 

The boy was already pink at the cheeks, clear he had been out in the summer sun already. "You like horses, right?"

"Of course."

"And you like the ocean?"

"Yeah!"

"Great! Let's go!" He grabbed her wrist, pulling her along after the train of recruits. She couldn't help but feel elated. Since arriving in Konigsberg, she felt disconnected, from Anglians, from officers, from Becker's soldiers. She had thought, as an assistant to an Earl as harsh as Becker, no one would want anything to do with her. "Hey, guys, Vitale's going too."

There were nearly twenty in all, most Becker's men. Some carried thin wooden shields, others lead or rode horses. When they turned back to look at her, it was mostly smiles.

"Vitale, don't feel pressured to go along," Kuebrich called back, sympathetic in tone. "You don't have to listen to him."

"Oh, I'd like to go. If it's alright, I don't want to impose."

"No such thing," Quinn chuckled, adjusting the shield on his arm to pat her back. "We're glad to have you."

"Yeah! Now the numbers are even!"

—

Becker waded through the clogs of crowds. Summer markets brought strangers to Königsberg, and with it his arming sword remained a constant on his hip. The market square was a center of shouting and haggling. Merchants leaned from their makeshift stalls, bellowing out the perks of their goods. Becker grimaced as he passed those too loud for his liking. Those from villages all throughout the Regime flocked to the capital as if they could impress the leaders for more supplies all through the year. Becker despised all of them.

In the back alleys, crammed between stacks of wooden lofts, was the lone door he was looking for. The steps creaked loudly, soft for his liking making him cautious of approaching the door. Straining to reach, he knocked once. Nothing. Daring closer, he knocked again.

Even in the shade of the alley, it was hot. He hated the heat, how uncomfortable and taxing it made everything. At least in the cold layers could be exchanged. But not here. He knocked a third time, irritated when Rune didn't answer. Where else could she be?

A familiar marching cadence worked its way up from the bustle of the crowd. Becker leaned back from the steps watching a parade of horses pass the alley. Hanari, Wyatt, Quinn, and Kuebrich among them. Rune happily mixed up with them. He watched them march out of sight, none dressed properly for training, no need for horses inside the walls. There was no telling what they were up to.

Grumbling about the heat, Becker tracked off after them, slogging through the crowd.

—

Kuebrich rode his way to the front of the line, flashing papers to the guards. They regarded the line of them with lifted brows, but waved them on through. On the other side of the walls, they could hear the ocean roar. Everyone piled up onto a horse, two to a steed, racing down the slope towards the sandy foot of the cliffs. Rune rode with Zev, amazed by their energy. They were different than on a battlefield or at rollcall. Youthful, bright, and wild.

Even Kuebrich who dared to race Wyatt.

Königsberg was a fleck on the cliffs above, leaving only the group of them on the dark sand and rushing waves. The air was cool, a constant breeze from the water. White crests broke out in the shallows, against a sand bar creating a wide strip of ankle-deep pools.

"Who wants to race?" Hanari called boldly, graceful as a cat as he dismounted Quinn's horse.

"I'll take you." Zev announced, and only after taking the bet, turned to Rune. "You can ride a horse, right? Will you ride and pull me?"

"I can, but what do you mean?" She glanced over finding Quinn handing Hanari the shield, and one end of a long slack of rope.

"Waterdriving, one person races the horse, the other person surfs on a board, in the shallows, pulled behind."

"Is that really a good idea?"

"Please, Vitale?" Zev pressed his palms together, managing to pout his big, brown eyes. "I can't let Hanari beat me again. He'll never let me live it down."

"Are you coming or not?" Hanari barked.

"Please?"

"Oh, alright." She threw her hands out causing him to laugh and leap down. He showed her how to tie the rope around the saddlehorn. His horse was a bay quarter horse, mild mannered to have to deal with Zev's energy. It seemed accustomed to the summer sport, lining up beside Quinn and his much heavier steed.

"You know the rules, first one to the overhang wins." Kuebrich lifted an arm high overhead, "No shoving, no rushing into one another, and so help me, Zev, if you try throwing rocks again—"

"Just say go." The boy grumbled. With a sigh Kuebrich straightened.

"Ready? Riders on your mark!" Rune leaned forwards in the saddle, watching Kuebrich's arm, "Go!"

Both horses shot forwards, Rune leaning her weight in the stirrups as the quarter horse strove for traction in the wet sand. Quinn's horse was slower to take off, deep voice booming a YAH as they drove. Checking over a shoulder she found Zev upright on his shield, gripping the rope with both hands, skating across the water. The sand ahead looked like glass, reflecting the blue sky above. Gulls fumbled and flapped out of their way, crying out in protest.

The sun was hot, the ocean spray was cool, and Quinn was catching up.

She nudged the horse on, glancing over to the burly rider who grinned through his squint. He pulled ahead, Hanari crouched, one hand skimming the water. Like everything he did, he made it look effortless.

"C'mon boy, arri! Almost there!"

"Hey!" Zev yelped, a tug snapping on the rope. She glanced back watching Hanari tilt, sending a spray of water into Zev's face. She pulled them away, avoiding a deep pool and their range of spray. Quinn laughed loudly, calling a taunt. She egged the horse on again, low in the saddle beginning to pull ahead. Zev swung out wide, avoiding a rock and hooking dangerously close to Hanari.

He didn't so much as flinch.

Rune glanced back, worried the boy was going to try something stupid. At this speed, a fall could break bone, or a neck. But in turning forwards, she saw what the boy had planned. There was a fallen boulder up ahead, cutting the shallows in two. It was a dare, turning into a game of guts.

She pressed on, deciding to cut it as close as possible to the boulder. How competitive Zev was, there was no way he was going to chicken out. He was liable of getting himself killed over a game. And what would Becker say? Getting one of his veteran scouts killed? Pressing herself up, she shifted her weight into one stirrup, holding her balance as she gripped the rope. As the boulder drew closer she threw her weight off the side, legs sweeping under the horse's belly for the other stirrup.

The throw of her weight yanked on the rope, sending Zev out in a wide arch out towards the water and away from the rock. Their horse just barely missed it, close enough to have taken off her leg in the stirrup. Pulling herself back up she strained to hold onto the horn, now in the lead having not swung out as far as Quinn. Hanari was in drier sand, dragging them down.

"What was that?!" Zev cheered, falling back behind the horse with a cheer. "That was amazing!"

She could barely breathe, heart thundering in her ears, smiling hard enough to hurt her face. They crossed beneath the cliff undercut well ahead Quinn and Hanari. Slowing them in a turn she started getting her hearing back. Zev leapt off his shield rushing her as she dismounted. He threw his arms around her, bouncing and cheering.

"Ha! In your face! We won this year!"

"Yeah, thanks to Vitale." Quinn chuckled, passing her a wink. "Real fancy riding there, sir. Is that how they do in Rome?"

"Only the best." She laughed, Zev jostling her more.

"Yeah, that's the only reason you won," Hanari teased. "I want to see you do that, Zev. Can you ride a horse like that?"

"Says you, you cheat!" Zev barked.

"Alright, you two. Zev and Vitale won, fair and square, Hanari. Now let's get out of the way so the next round can go." They gathered up their things, riding back towards the group. There were more cheers, more slaps on the back as they congratulated her.

The excitement broke off, everyone looking up the hill. She turned stiffening at the sight of Becker. He stood with his arms crossed, sure he wore that same frown he always did.

"Kuebrich, did you get clearance to come out here?" Hanari hissed, the only one daring to speak.

"I-it's ok," Vitale forced on a smile, "I'll talk to him. I'm sure it's fine." Her feet felt suddenly heavy as she forced herself up the hill. Squaring her shoulders she drew up into a salute. "Earl Becker—"

"That was impressive maneuvering," it wasn't what she expected to hear from him. "I had no idea you knew how to ride like that."

"Oh, uh, yes… sometimes." She stole a peek at him, not angry, not frowning, scanning over the ocean as if in deep thought.

"Hm, perhaps we should start bringing your horse on marches."

"I, well, I don't have a horse." he dropped his stare to her, brow wrinkling.

"You don't have your own horse?"

"No, sir." For a moment still he watched her, struggling to make sense of it.

"Well then, we should change that, shouldn't we?" There was almost a smirk, nodding down to the water. "Just be sure they don't get themselves killed." Patting her on the shoulder he turned to go, "Show them how it's done, Officer Vitale."

[stanskzseungmin]

LFL ~ Heaven and Hell

DivineBeing! Felix x DivineBeing! Reader

Fantasy! AU

Word Count: 3555

Genre: Angst 

A/N: Feathery light inspirations from the story of Hades and Persephone if you squint hard enough 

A/N: Not Proofread. #WeDyingLikeMen

~

~

Have you ever heard the story of how the world came to be? How about the story of how the world ended? This story is merely one of thousands.

Several divine beings that fill the pantheon. They all had their own unique power. Some control seasons, some controlled weather, some controlled elements. Some could speak to animals. Some can control life and death itself. Together they formed the world, shaped the continents, raised the mountains, filled the oceans and let life thrive. Each divine being tended to their own share of the earth.

There is a divine being that everyone love, praise and worship with all their hearts and every fiber of their being, Felix. Felix, the divine being of fire. He had an ethereal appearance: youthful, dewy, clear sunkissed tan skin with freckles that gave him a boyish beautiful appearance. Despite what you think, this divine being isn’t filled with hatred and anger. His heart is warm and benevolent. His love for man burned so true, he gave them the gift of life, his fire. For warmth throughout the cold nights, for light to illuminate the darkness and for life to cook.

But life is about balance. Where there’s fire, there’s ice. Where there’s love, there’s hate. Whereas there’s beautiful warm and loved Felix, there’s beautiful, cold and hated you. You were as pale as a sheet with skin white as snow. Your white skin is accented with a brilliant pale blue. When positioned perfectly and the sun’s rays refracted off of your skin at the perfect angle, you would shine and shimmer as beautiful as the moonlit reflected snow after a light snowfall. You brought winter to the world. Cold harsh winds and unforgiving snow storms. Your heart was as cold as ice while Felix’s was as warm as fire.

You were overwhelmed with anger and envy. You hated the people as passionately as they hated you. You hated how people admired the fire being and showered him with love. Were you not enough? Did they not appreciate the periods of hibernation the animals go through? Perhaps they would enjoy it if man hibernated? Were they so blind that their eyes can not perceive the beauty of snow?

Apparently so. Man lived their life in harvest and enjoying the beautiful skies and the cool breeze. Man gathered by Felix’s fire and celebrated with songs and stories. In a fit of envy and spite, you wanted to rid the world of Felix’s warmth. And thus, the Ice Age began. Temperatures fell, the skies darken and every animal known to man huddled and retreated to hibernation. Life in itself withered as wasted away as an unforgiving blizzard overtook the earth. 

And still. Man huddled by Felix’s fire. You could feel your cold heart hardened even more. As the unforgiving winds and cold temperatures continue to batter and beat man, they begged for the sun to rise. They knelt and prayed hoping for their deity to respond. He has heard their plight. He watched the world shrivel and withered away. He watched you try to freeze over the world they all collectively nurtured. 

But Felix wasn’t a spiteful being.

With tight lips and a held back tongue, Felix granted the people’s wishes. He heard their pleas and begs. Over time, years for man, mere moments for deities, the darkest cold nights ended and the sun finally rose. The bright yellow rays pierced through the dark clouds as warmth settled over the earth like a warm blanket. The snow melted, the rivers and lakes thawed and the herd and animals had returned.

Once again, man celebrated. They praised the fire being. They offer him gifts as thanks for blessing them once again. They laughed. They danced. They sang. You were only enraged more. Your cold heart is now as hard as stone. You watched the world celebrating, Felix watched you. Felix always had a large heart. Even though this momentous occasion is focused on him, he worried for you. However, you were so cold and distant and unapproachable. Felix feared his fire would harm your cold, so he watched you from afar.

But everyone has their limits. Everyone.

You bit your cheek as you felt your heart break. Even now, the people wouldn’t dare look at you. So you were to cause a second one. Again the earth froze over and clouds overtook the sky. The temperatures dropped far below zero and even oceans froze. Man began to fall like flies, along with the animals, along with every plant life. Maybe it’s better to be feared than loved because now, man saw you and only you. No longer did they beg for their fire deity for salvation. They begged you for forgiveness and mercy. You smile as your heart swelled with pride.

“I don’t suppose you would stop if I asked politely?” a voice broke through your thoughts.

A warm breeze passed through your haven. The footsteps in the snow seemed to glow orange as they spread out and melt. You frowned at the piercing heat surrounding your space as the fire deity walked ever so closer to you. He made sure to keep his heat suppressed in courtesy of your safe space, but heat always warmed up the cold.

“Felix,” you greeted spitefully.

“Y/N,” he replied with a frown, but his voice hinted at no hostility. He disapproved, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he was upset.

“What business would the deity of fire have within the domain of the frost deity?” you inquired staring down the male before you.

“I wanted to ask why are you doing this? Disrupting the balance of life the pantheon has worked eons to perfect?”

“Does it matter? They all smile upon you and I’m despised. They all think I’m cold and ruthless, might as well live up to it,” you smirked.

“I don’t think you’re as cold they make you to be,” Felix smiled.

“What?” you were interrupted with Felix’s outstretched hand. 

“Let us begin again, I’m Felix.”

You eyed his hand warily. An unease bubbled within your chest. Never before in your long life has anyone offered themselves to you. Even your fellow deities ghosted you. They too are uncomfortable with your cold.

“Y/N,” you whispered taking his hand.

“Well, Y/N. Would you fancy a stroll with me?” Felix smiled, pulling your hand towards his lips and kissing your cool flesh delicately. Your hand tingled with warmth from the contact as you carefully settled within the warmth of his hand.

This became routine for you both. An evening stroll at the border of your haven. You remained under the light snowfall while Felix remained on the other side with the clear cool skies.

“I think I understand now,” Felix brought up one day.

“What is it?” you whispered facing him.

“You are not at all what man makes you to be. Just because you are frost, doesn’t mean your heart matches your icy exterior,” Felix stopped momentarily to turn and face you. 

“The same can not be said about you,” you started. Felix waited patiently, deeply looking into your eyes. “Your heart is as bright and warm as your fiery exterior. Humanity loved you so and in return, you loved them as well.”

Your eyes trailed off to the side as a wave of loneliness overtook your form. “You’re a good person, Felix...”

“And you as well,” Felix smiled.

“No… I’m not...” you trailed off looking to the side.

“Yes you are,” Felix’s fingers lifted up your chin to face him. “All our strolls have been lovely.” Felix smiled brightly as you felt a warmth bloom within you. His hands find his way to yours and delicately grasped them rubbing small circles. Felix stepped forward, his front half barely peeking over the border. You see delicately snowflakes fall and get caught on his fringes and land on his nose. You both can’t help the smiles on both your faces as you both leaned closer and your lips met in a delicate kiss.

“Let me into your heart, Y/N. Don’t shut me out,” Felix smiled with raw emotions in his eyes.

Soon your strolls extended past the borders and he welcomed you within his warm beautiful haven. As promised you let him in. You told him all your maladies and emotions. You were a sobbing mess and tears continued to stream out in waterfalls. You hiccuped and gasp as you tried to continue on, but Felix was patient. He delicately grasped your hands and caressed them as he listened to your confession.

“It’s… so cold. The loneliness I feel is often unbearable. I am not loved by man, they only see you and the others. Sometimes I feel it would be better off if I didn’t exis-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You know that is not true.” Felix scolded you. “Not all man share the same mind. While there are those who adore me, there will always be those who long and yearn for a beautiful white night.”

“You can’t say that for certain.”

“I can and I’ll show you,” Felix reassured causing you to look at him with a doubtful expression. “Do you trust me?” Felix outstretched a hand. You reluctantly took his.

Since then the seasons were born. Six months a year, summer would grace the earth with bright sunny days as you granted a cool breeze to compliment Felix’s warmth. The other six months were winter as dark clouds cover the sky as light snow covered the earth. Your hands flew up to your mouth as you sobbed. You were touched by Felix’s actions. He allowed his heat to subside and allowed you to shine. He shared his pedestal and allowed you to stand by him side by side. At first it was beautiful, seeing the earth covered in your white blanket as Felix’s rays of sunshine glimmered off the settled snow. Even man was in awe with the beautiful sight.

Felix’s arm wrapped around your shoulders comfortably as he pulled your body into his and planting a small kiss on your temple.

“Thank you,” you sobbed. “Thank you so much.”

“You don’t need to thank me. This was all you, this was your creation,” Felix smiled wholeheartedly, prompting you to cry more. Felix cupped your cheeks delicately as he wiped your tears away.

“This was our creation,” you sniffled, smiling brightly.

“Yes, yes it was,” Felix smiled brightly, showcasing his pearly white teeth. His eyes formed into small crescents as he leaned his forehead against yours. Your noses rubbed lovingly against each other as your breaths intermingled. Finally, the gap was closed as your lips met. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you closer to him wrapping his arms around your waist, it felt as if sparks flew. You let Felix in and your cold heart has been melted. His warmth chased your cold nights away and your loneliness was a mere fragment of the past.

And thus,

Spring was born as a result of your love.

Your kiss and embraced was so beautiful that the snow melted, but the chilly air remained. The sun shone passionately as the melted snow seeped into the earth. As your love for each other bloomed and blossomed, so did the Earth. The grassed became more vibrant as specks of color began growing as well. Soon the Earth was covered in lavish flower fields and a gentle chilly breeze came and went. The sun was shining, the birds are singing, the bees are buzzing. Everything was beautiful.

But all good things must come to an end.

As beautiful winter may be, six months is too damn long. Beauty is nothing compared to death and starvation. Six months of endless cold. Six months of animal migration and hibernation and frozen rivers. Six months of dying plants and crops. No harvest. No hunting. Man were getting restless and man wanted winter out. 

Time and time again, man has begged Felix to grant them his warmth. They begged and pleaded for longer days and shorter nights so they wouldn’t have to submit to the cold as long. With your thawed heart, you’re able to experience so much more than loneliness and envy, you are able to learn and understand empathy as well as grow to love man as well. However, as your heart thawed with Felix’s warmth, his froze with your cold.

Life was all about balance. Felix believed that wholeheartedly he thought man would understand and appreciate balance. He shared this balance with his love, his everything. Equal share of heat and cold. Felix was beyond livid. Flames of rage burned within him.

And thus, Autumn was born.

You have heard man’s pleas and cries of suffering and starvation. You wanted to relieve their pain by alleviating your winter gift, but Felix wasn’t having it. He wouldn’t allow man look down on you any longer. You deserved your spot in the world as much as he did. As you took away your cold, the cold could not completely dissipate. It needs warmth to completely expel it. The fire deity completely refused. The earth remained chilly throughout this season, but it was warm enough where harvest flourished. Agriculture was set and ready, but it wasn’t warm enough to support the other life. Trees began losing their vibrant green hues. They fade to various shades and tints of vibrant reds, oranges, yellow before finally dropping to the cold ground leaving trees naked and bare.

“Felix, my love. Please, bless the Earth with you warmth,” you pleaded as your hand gently rested on his chest.

“Absolutely not!” he roared, flames erupted from his skin. You yelped as the burning heat enveloped your fingertips. Your cool fingertips burned and throbbed as you saw light steam. “I refuse to let you rid the world of winter. You are a deity, you deserve this! Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, love, but the peopl-”

“To hell with the people!” Felix threw his hands up, flames erupted his skin as his eyes glowed a menacing red. You whimpered at his fiery display as your body glowed blue in self defense. Your irises glowed blue as frost covered your skin to prevent the heat from directly harming you. “I won’t forgive them for the things they’ve said about you.”

You gulped walking towards him cautiously. You slowly outstretched a frosted hand and delicately caressed his burning cheek. A slight hissing came from the contact as perspiration appeared between the flesh of your hand and his cheek and a light steam flutter through the air. 

“My love, you’ve always spoke of balance. Can you not see the balance? Life flourishes during the spring. Warmth blesses the Earth during the summer as harvests are almost at his prime. Then Autumn comes with my cool chill. Harvests are ready to be gathered to prepare for the winter and finally winter, where animal life are able to hibernate and thrive,” you spoke carefully to not prod his fire. 

“But then, we aren’t equal,” Felix sniffled, feeling pain for you. “Three months for you, but nine for me? It just isn’t fair.”

“Felix, love. Do you recall what you said to me back then? Why are you disturbing the balance that the pantheon has spent eons to perfect? This is the perfect balance we all strived for,” you smiled as your other hand found his other cheeks. “I finally understand now. You’ve taught me this. We are not doing this for ourselves or each other. Just because we’re deities doesn’t mean we command man. We serve man.”

“I- Of course,” Felix sighed in defeat.

“So you understand?” you whispered cautiously.

“Yes, thank you, love. I’m sorry I frightened you,” you shook your head as you both shared a kiss.

Taking your words to heart, he watched over man during the summer months. You were currently occupied at the southern pole of the Earth ensuring the summer months do not harm the life at the Earth’s extremities. Felix smiled fondly at the farmers below plowing land and sowing seeds.

“I do not look forward to the upcoming months,” Felix frowned at one of the farmer’s statements.

“I agree, the cold is insufferable. Why can’t the great Felix just warm up the Earth year long?” the other farmer contributed.

“That sounds amazing. The frost deity Y/N is not needed. All the deity bring is death and suffering.”

Felix balled his hands in rage. As his flames of hatred and anger burned, his benevolent heart froze. He could never bring himself to forgive man for their cruel words. Your words held truth, the Earth was in perfect balance, but why aren’t man appreciative of this balance. Why did man still despised the beautiful you that captured his entire being and soul? 

We don’t command man, we serve man.

He held you true to your words.

If man wanted him to heat up the world, then he shall. The lovely summers are now grueling. Water sources evaporated quickly as temperatures spiked up and continued to rise. Life was suffering under the grueling heat. Felix could only smirk at their suffering. It was him inflicting punishment on man who had done you wrong.

You felt strange draft on your back. The penguin chick within your hands flailed and struggled and you set it down carefully, the animal quickly crawled and shuffled to the water, disappearing under the surface. Something wasn’t right. You were at the extreme southern pole of the Earth. Snow and blizzards surrounded you, but why did the air feel… warmer?

“Felix, my love. Explain yourself,” you demanded storming into his haven.

“My love,” Felix stood to greet you with a bright smile on his face. You brought your hand up to stop his advancement.

“Love, why are you raising the temperatures? Man is suffering.”

“This is what man wanted,” Felix stated calmly pulling you closer to his body by your waist and softly planting a kiss on your lips.

“But, love-” 

“Shhh,” Felix shushed you by pressing a finger to your lips and planting another soft kiss.

“Promise me,love. Promise me that this is what man truly wanted.”

“I promise, my love. You are absolutely correct. We serve man. They pleaded for warmer temperatures so I granted it to them.”

You bit your lip in concern. Felix had no reason to lie to you, but you found his temperature to be too extreme. The heat and the cold comes hand in hand, when it’s out of balance. There are terrible consequences. From once man pleaded for warmth, they now pleased for cooling. So you complied. Autumn is more breezy and is generally cooler, while winter now dropped far below freezing. However, despite this,life still suffered.

“Felix, my love. Things are going far off balance,” you pleaded to the fire deity. “Please lower your temperatures. We’re reaching the extremities. Life can not sustain this.”

“But, love. This is what the people wanted. We serve man remember?” Felix smiled with naivete. 

    “But man. Can’t you see they’re suffering? There are droughts and their crops can’t prosper. Man are starving,” you pressed trying to convince your lover.

    His answer shattered your heart completely.

    “I don’t care about man,” Felix chuckled dryly. "They've lost all my respect when they've disrespected you and the balance we created. This is just their punishment for their sins."

Tears fell down your cheeks as you shook your head in disbelief. Felix was no longer the man you fell in love with. His heart has completely froze over and you can not do a thing to undo it. After all, things always happens both ways. Your heart thawed with his heat, his heart froze with your cold. It was all your fault. You left Felix that day completely shutting him out as you prayed for the day that his fiery heat will thaw his heart.

But that day never came.

Felix's love for you still burned strong and true. He was so madly in love with you. He blamed man for tearing you away from him. The combined might of Felix's passionate feelings towards you, his heartbreak of you leaving and his rage for man was too much for the Earth to bear. 

Not only did the oceans, rivers and lakes rapidly evaporate, the polar ice caps all melted and contributed to the rising sea levels. The extreme heat is slowly turning the Earth to desert. Soil erosion was happening too rapidly and could no longer support man's agricultural needs.

You tried to cover the Earth in your cold temperatures in hopes of offsetting Felix's raging flames, but that disrupted the fragile balance even more. His hot air collided with your cool air causing the two to swirl and chase each other at dangerous speeds. Storms and natural disasters now wracked the earth. The rapid warming is melting the North and South poles. The rising sea levels are now swallowing lands up. The oceans are filled with countless hurricanes and the land with countless tornadoes.

And all man could do is cry and weep.

And as we reach the end of this story.

Lee Felix, the fire deity, and Y/N, the ice deity: a match made in heaven that ignited hell on Earth.

[lokispettigerr]

Out Of Place: Switch!Loki x Switch!Female Reader (NSFW) SMUT

Summary: Odin hired you as a maid because your parents were caught for crimes in Asgard. Though your parents claimed they stole to take care of your siblings, you were always left to do that-- you continued to do so even now with your current predicament. While you are a maid, you clean, cook, and run errands, but most importantly you catch the eye of the Prince of Asgard. Word Count: 5400

Warnings: a little blood, smut, switch!Loki, switch!reader A/N: The fic was written as an idea from this picture in a comment made by  @rainthekittycatsblog Taglist in the reblog from now on <3

The water from my jug spilled down on the crawling ivy and the heat of the sun on my back caused a droplet of sweat to roll lazily down the side of my face. Strings of my hair were coming out of my long braid and I puffed them away from my face. My jug soon ran empty, the water slowing to a few rainbow prismed droplets. I turned, clutching the cool jug tightly in my grasp and squinted against the too bright rays of the sun.

It was one of the hottest days in Asgard. As I looked out towards the golden, glowing city from high up on the westward balcony of the castle, I saw Asgardians milling about, fanning themselves, or dashing indoors to escape the sweltering heat. Two young boys scuffled in the streets until one pushed the other into a flowing fountain. The first boy pulling the second boy under and I chuckled at the humorous sight, shaking my head. My laughter surprised me. Ever since the arrest of my parents I hadn’t been able to smile or laugh much-- I didn’t find comfort in my favorite things. No, I continued to work as the maid hired by the All-father-- as recompense for my parents thievery. Odin didn’t even fix the problem. He didn’t help the poor. They continued to squabble in the streets, their hands constantly dashing out for free food or spare silver. The beggar children were often hired as pickpockets, running into the wealthy to trip them up and steal their change purses. I was a pickpocket as a child. As the oldest in my family my parents taught me how to stumble about, whine and manipulate the wealthy, ignorant people lounging about in the streets. They taught me how to move like trickling water or a shadow to sneak change away from those who were looking the other way. As a child, grimy, hungry, lanky, I often looked up at the glistening castle, wondering why anyone wanted to live in such a place. It harshly glowed causing my eyes to burn and it was far too big, it seemed lonesome. I would much rather be free to roam the streets. I loved chasing around the strays-- cats and dogs, hens and goats. I was a stray myself, my parents often times not showing up for days on end. I was always left to take care of my younger siblings during those times. I didn’t mind. Even now as the castle maid I would trail back to the shack I once called home with any goods the Queen allowed me to take from the castle. I would give all I earned to my siblings. I would cook for them, clothe them and wash them. Then, after all was complete, I would tuck them in, telling them stories of the sea that surrounded the city and the mesmerizing, haunting creatures within. “Dearest,” Queen Frigga approached, her robes fanning out as she walked, “once you straighten the Prince’s chambers you are free to go.” My back straightened and I grimaced. I hated cleaning the Prince’s chambers. He always made me so uncomfortable. He would lounge about, reading, eating an apple with a smile constantly on his lips. He always seemed to find something funny and I often wondered if it was me. Sometimes, he would sneak around the corner while I was scrubbing out some mark on the floor only to find a shining boot in front of my eyes. I would slowly trail my eyes up the boot to the leg it belonged to, up towards the Prince’s breathtaking face. My heart would flutter and my stomach would flip and he would purr, “once you’re done here, the linens on the bed need changing.” Then his gaze would shift from my face, trailing down my neck to the gape in the neckline of my dress. I would quickly tug the neckline to cover my cleavage, ashamed and embarrassed, clearing my throat and trying to straighten myself with some sense of dignity, “Y-yes my Prince, of course.” When he walked away my breath would come out in a gush. I didn’t mean to always hold my breath when he came around, but he had that effect on me. I could never quite place why. I always left completely drained. I walked towards his chambers, my pace slowing dramatically to prolong my forthcoming discomfort. The Prince’s chambers were connected to Queen Frigga’s by a long, outdoor bridge. All afternoon my shadow had been nearby, in one way or another, but as I walked I noticed it disappear and a cool breeze stirred the air around me. I looked up to see a giant thunder cloud snuffing out the hot sun and rain began to fall from the sky-- fat, cool droplets pelting me.

Of course this would happen. This Asgardian summer was constantly sneaking in thunderstorms-- a nice reprieve, except for when you were caught in it. At this rate, the white dress I was wearing would be completely drenched by the time I arrived at my loathsome destination.

I cursed at the weather. Of course, it wasn’t ladylike to curse, but some things remained with strays all their lives.

Though I was beginning to feel chilled, nothing could make me run to the doors of Loki’s chambers. Lightning could strike next to me and yet I still would slowly meander along. Physical pain wasn’t as much of a discomfort as being around the Prince.

Finally, I made it to the giant wooden doors, their golden oak seemed cheery in the gloom during the storm. It seemed as odd and out of place as the Prince within-- as odd and out of place as a poor, destitute maid roaming the castle.

The doors groaned when I pushed against them, straining to get them open.

I darted through the small space between the doors I had created. It appeared that Loki was out, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The door shut behind me with a loud bang and I leaned back against it, closing my eyes, tilting my chin up towards the ceiling as I was struck with a wave of exhaustion.

I was almost finished, I just needed to clean up his chambers and I could be on my way…Trailing back home, alone, cold, shivering in the rain.

I inhaled through my teeth, shivering and hugged myself hoping to hold any heat I could. I stepped forward, my laced boots echoing in the massive room, the marble floors making my boots click as I walked.

My baby hairs that framed my face in a halo began to curl from the downpour, and I passed a mirror on my way to change Loki’s bed sheets. My reflection startled me; though my eyes were bright, practically glowing, my skin seemed paler than usual. My lips were crimson from the chill I caught, blood filling them so they stayed warm. I looked like a siren that had just come from the sea. My dress clung to my breasts and the chill made my nipples stand erect. I was breathtakingly beautiful. My reflection was haunting. I looked as if I could easily lure a man to his death at sea, cradle him in my arms while I sang him lullabies only the sirens sang as he choked on salt water.

My reflection frightened me, and I backed away slowly, unable to look away from the glow in my eyes. I was brought out of my hypnosis with the sound of a sharp shatter-- the sound of something fragile breaking. When I had backed away from the mirror I had accidentally knocked over a seer’s globe.

Loki would be so angry with me. I had seen the wrath of the Prince once before and it was something I never wanted to witness again. Though at the time, he hadn’t been directing his rage at me, I remember vividly how afraid I had become. I quivered all the way home and had dreamt about it-- probably for years after.

“Oh, no, no, no,” I muttered under my breath, falling to my knees to pick up the broken shards of the crystal globe.

Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks with what would surely follow. I couldn’t bear to have Loki’s angelic face yelling at me. I couldn’t. How would I survive? I would shatter like the glass globe that lay broken on the floor. I bit my lip, wondering what I would do...How I would explain this?

I made my dress into a makeshift dustpan and began to sweep my hand along the marble floor to get all the shards gathered together.

“Ah!” I screeched while I was sweeping the crystal shards. I had slit my hand open. Cradling my hand to my chest, my eyes scanned the room.

Loki sat down the hallway at a window seat. He had been watching me the whole time and I hadn’t even noticed. Stupid, stupid girl! I wanted to beat my head on the floor. How could I have been so trusting of myself? So naive?

He lounged, his back flush against the wall and his legs were spread out in front of him, crossed one ankle over the other. A book was poised in his lap, open; it appeared as if he had read it halfway through. And his bird of prey eyes were on me. He looked at me through his dark lashes. No smile graced his lips-- something unusual.

“I- I am so sorry Sire!” I blurted out. He didn’t respond. His face never changed, he continued to study me. Though my hand was dripping blood, I continued to pick up the pieces of the broken globe from the floor. What else was I to do? “You’re bleeding.” I jumped at Loki’s voice which suddenly was very close. I hadn’t heard him get up or approach me. He had been as silent as any skilled hunter waiting for its prey.

Of course, I was bleeding. Everywhere! “It’s nothing.” I kept my head bowed, not wanting to meet his peculiar gaze. “I’ll clean it up before I leave. It’ll be as if I’ve never even been here.” Loki knelt beside me, something unexpected. I shifted back, falling gracelessly on my ass. He chuckled, but seeing my eyes wide with embarrassment, he covered his lips with his finger, stifling his amusement. “Let me see,” he demanded. I wasn’t forthcoming and when I didn’t freely oblige by giving him my wounded hand he added, “please.” His eyes softening. My brows knitted together in confusion. Why was he not yelling at me or whispering a heart-stopping threat? Why had he not thrown me out into the pouring rain while I ran away crying? I timidly held my hand out for him to inspect, my arm shaking. He turned my hand this way and that. Without a word he got up and walked away, around the corner and out of view only to reappear with a bandage. Loki began to wrap my hand up; he was surprisingly gentle. All the while a smirk was playing on his lips, making his eyes gleam. Without thinking I asked, “where did you learn to do that?” I covered my mouth with my free hand. Common folk like myself couldn’t just conversationally speak to the prince. “I have had many wounds...My mother taught me long ago.” His eyes clouded with memories while he spoke. I wanted to touch him, this vulnerable side of him, but I held myself back. He recovered quickly, finishing up the bandage, but he never let go of my hand. Instead, he moved to stand behind me. I shifted uncertain, my heart racing. “It’s alright, just give me your other hand.” Loki’s soothing voice washed over me. His chest was flush against my back as we knelt together and his hand came around me from beside the curve of my waist, palm up, expectant. I quirked my eyebrow and before Loki grabbed my hand he pulled me closer to him, something long poking into my lower back. I placed my hand in is open palm, it was rough with callouses here and there, with shiny white scars in some places, one shaped like a little crescent moon on the base of his thumb. Something in me wanted to study his hands, tracing the lines and scars with my fingertips; to feel how his fingers felt laced in my own; what it would feel like to press his scarred hands to my lips. “Loki?” “Shhhh, just wait.” His head rested on my shoulder, the halo of my hair that had curled from the rain was probably stroking and tickling his smooth face, his prominent jawline and sharp cheekbones, maybe even tangling with his hair. I felt a searing warmth radiating from his palms almost too hot for me to stand, and before my eyes the shards of glass began to quake, jumping and shaking on the floor. They lifted slowly into the air, rising up before my eyes, sparkling as the light hit them, casting rainbows on the Prince and I and began to knit together, perfectly. The crystal glowed as it melded back together into one piece and I had to squint my eyes against the dazzling light. Finally, it fell slowly to our open hands. We grasped the humming crystal, and if it weren’t for his hands beneath mine I would have dropped it again from the shock of what had just happened and the heat coming it. “Allow me.” He took the crystal seer’s ball from my hands and cradled it, setting it back where it belonged.   “My Prince, I--” He cut me off with a wave of his hand, “All is well.” I nodded swiftly and turned to pick up some of his clothes from the floor, but his hand darted out in front of mine, grabbing it and stopping me. “My Prince?” My eyes widened as I wondered why he had stopped me. Had he changed his mind after all? “Loki,” he corrected me with a smile. “Please,” he continued, “you don’t need to worry yourself with any of this, you’re soaking wet, shivering.” “But--” I started, defiant. His hand came up, brushing one of the curls from my cheek to tuck it behind my ear and I couldn’t think anymore. I didn’t even remember what my rebuttal to him was. “My Prince?” I shook my head, stopping myself. “Loki,” I amended, testing his name out on my lips. I liked the feel of it; the way my tongue caressed the roof of my mouth when I said it. His finger went to my lips, shushing me, and my eyes went wide with surprise and wonder. He pulled my lower lip exposing my teeth as his hand fell away from my face. I inhaled quickly, “well, I- I must be going.” I turned on my heel away from him and began to walk towards the heavy doors, blood rushing to my cheeks, my heart racing in my chest. However, Loki beat me to the door. He suddenly appeared against it, blocking my exit-- the only way to safety and my freedom. Or was it imprisonment? I turned away from the door and him blocking it. I was immediately struck with a wave of confusion. Not only was Loki standing in front of the door, but he was also approaching me from where the clothes lay on the floor-- where we had both just knelt, and where he had just touched his finger to my crimson lips. “How… did you…” I asked befuddled. He chuckled at my apparent confusion, liking the way it tasted, and clicked his tongue at me. “Surely, you didn’t think I would allow you to just traipse out of my chambers after coming here like that.” “I-I,” I looked down at my heaving breasts, the nipples pointing towards Loki, craving his touch-- showing through the thin, white fabric of my dress. Just then, the Loki that had been blocking my way at the door grabbed me around the waist, from behind. Though it wasn’t the real flesh and body Loki, it felt like him. It was warm, solid, its fingers with the same scars-- the same callouses. “Do I frighten you, pet?” the real Loki said, his eyes going from his second self to my scared expression. At the thought of this, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. His second self pushed me into his arms and I huffed as if I had run into a solid granite wall. I tilted my chin up, looking him directly in the eye, compelled to tell him the truth. “Yes,” my voice rang out like a loud bell, clearly. Shadows flooded his eyes, putting out the fires in them. “Good, you should be as frightened as a lamb going to the slaughter. There, there...” He patted my plaited hair, smoothing it down soothingly. Though I was frightened, and some part of me felt that I was in grave danger, my cool hand slowly went up to cup Loki’s sharp jaw. He looked at me, his eyes widening with shock at my action. His eyes darted back and forth between my lips and my eyes and he slowly craned his neck down leaning into me as his lips crashed onto mine. Two waves with foam and froth, mystery and passion crashing together-- crashing into me. I pulled away from him suddenly, not knowing what had come over me. Wait! He had kissed me first, hadn’t he? Even as I pulled away, his lips followed me and he continued to kiss me, “Loki--” I breathed between kisses against his petal lips. “Why?” He pulled back, confusion on his face and shook his head, “why, what, pet?” “Why me?” “I’m not certain I follow, how do you mean?” “I-” my voice broke and I could feel my emotions rising, my throat tightening faced with the truth. “I’m nothing-- nothing special, no one but the daughter of two thieves who were never parents.” “No.” that singular word fell from his lips like midnight silk. He pulled me to stand where I first had been when I had entered the room-- facing the mirror, a dangerous and precarious place. I had been so frightened of the woman I saw there. He had seen it all then, without me noticing. “Do you not see yourself? It isn’t just your breathtaking beauty…” he paused, searching for words to say, if there were words for what he felt, “your eyes burn like cinders that could light up the night brighter than any sun, your lips are crimson like the fresh blood that is spilled on the battlefield or like a forbidden rose that should have never been created because people would kill to pluck it. You look like some-- some creature that preys on men; even the strongest could not withstand you. “Tell me, darling, have you not seen yourself? Have you not heard your voice when you speak?” Loki removed the tie from around the end of my braid and pulled his fingers through my still damp hair. It spilled exotically over my shoulders, draping my face in intrigue and mystery. I straightened my shoulders, tilting my face to the side, examining my reflection. The siren stared back at me. If I stared too long she might drown me. I smiled, bashfully looking away. I was simply being foolish. Loki’s dark voice interrupted my thoughts. “Once, I had skipped my sword lessons. I was fourteen at the time and I had decided to take to the streets. I wanted to get as far away as I could. The sun was hot that day, much like earlier. I didn’t plan for it--” he chuckled, looking down. “I wandered there, looking for new passages, winding up lost. That is until a dirty, boney, swan of a girl turned the corner-- pockets full of stolen silver, bursting at the seams. “She, of course, ran into me and her silver spilled everywhere. She shoved me down, screaming and shaking her fists. “Now look what you've done, how will I feed my family now?

“I remember sitting there, in the dirt, looking up at her. Though she was angry tears spilled from her eyes to roll down her perfect cheeks. She fell to her knees in front of me, her hair falling into her face. Her hands hit the dirt, palms up-- a sign of defeat. She could easily pick up the silver, but she was exhausted. It was evident. Well, I- I began to pick it up for her. She watched me, astonished. I think she was afraid I was going to keep it for myself at first… Or maybe alert the authorities? Either way, she watched me, “you’re bleeding badly,” she had whispered to me. “Her voice was not something I ever forgot. It was something that evoked flowers that only bloom at night, come alive in my mind. She picked up my hand,  please forgive me,” she said and she kissed it, though there was blood. It got on her lips but she didn’t seem to care.” He shrugged. “She never got her silvers back-- who knows how long it took her to gather it all. She ran out into the twilight. I vowed I would see her again one day. I had to know her. She was the most peculiar girl I had ever met. “So, Y/N do you not remember the boy who you pushed to the dirt that night? Do you not remember kissing the blood from the palm of my hand? Tasting the coppery taste of it as it seeped onto your tongue?” “It was you…” I said astounded. “It was me,” he smiled and turned me away from the mirror to kiss me. This time I didn’t pull away.

I was compelled, his lips, his talented tongue, coerced me and provoked me to slide my hands to rest at his clothing line. While his lips opened my mouth and his tongue mingled with mine, my hands were busy removing his clothing. He pushed his body against me, moaning. Once all of his clothes were removed, he turned me quickly, surprising me and I gasped.   We were still in front of the mirror and he pulled the neckline of my dress off my shoulder. Loki’s head bowed next to my ear, his eyes looking at my reflection hungrily, ravaging each inch of my skin that he freed. I bit my lip, hesitantly, and pulled my arms around my chest, afraid to have him see me naked. I felt so exposed.

Magnificently, Loki sensed this and moved my hair aside to expose my neck and began planting soft, wet kisses there, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin and my nerves to awaken. In my arousal, one hand fell to my side and one wrapped behind the back of his head, holding him to my neck while my fingers laced into his silky, black hair. My head fell back and stretched, giving him ease of access to my soft skin. His fingers trailed against my skin lightly and he freed my other shoulder, my dress falling down past my breasts to rest at the curve of my hips. It was cool in the room and my nipples hardened more, goosebumps spreading along my chest. “Oh, I want you. I can’t possibly stop myself. I have wanted this for so long. A million ways I have dreamt about this moment only to wake to find that reality without you is hopeless,” he murmured. “Please, please do it. Loki, my prince, please,” I begged, my wet folds ached with longing. “Norns, yes, yes. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried... I tried.” His hands groped at the dress resting lazily at my hips and he forcefully shoved it down. The fabric pooled around my ankles, tickling them. His hands flew to my breast, not a moment to spare. This was fate-- this was destiny. All my life, I had searched the streets, I had stolen and lost and been alone and empty. All along, he was everything I had been missing. Loki pulled my hips back and his hard cock entered me. “So tight for me, Y/N,” he grunted as he began to push further into me, “and so wet.” The ridges along my walls grabbed at the soft skin of his cock, pulling at him. I gasped at the feeling of him inside me. He was the missing piece, and he fit me perfectly. “Oh, you feel so good around me, grab onto the dresser edge there in front of you, pet, so I can pound my cock into your dripping cunt.” My head was swimming with the excitement and from my quick, ragged breaths. I bent over, my hands resting on the cool wood of the dresser, fingers splayed. I could feel the head of his dick rubbing and grabbing at my g-spot sending pins and needles of pleasure throughout my system. It was all too much-- I began to pant, wanting more, craving every inch of him-- wanting him to fill my senses as we became one being. “I tried… ughhoh…” thrust, “to stay,” thrust, “away...ahh ahh. Can’t,” his voice was a melodic tune full of seduction and yearning. I looked at my reflection, only inches from my face. My eyes were burning with lust and desire. Power made the hue on my skin glow. Was it my own power? Or was this something that his divine energy was invoking within me? Was this my reflection, truly? Or was this his reflection showing through me? We were reflected in one another, surely. Loki’s hands wrapped around my throat. “Yes, yes!” He squeezed, his fingers tightening around me. “Oh, yes, yes,” I whispered, “dominate me.” My teeth were gritted and I began to feel lighter like I was floating. Did I like this dominion Loki had over me? Was I content with this subservience? Hadn’t I been subservient-- nothing, my whole life? I looked in the mirror, at his hands wrapped around my throat, his body dwarfing mine as his hips pumped his cock into me. I saw complete lust swimming in his eyes, downcast looking at me, drinking me in. Did I not want this now that I stared at my reflection and saw my true potential? My bewitching reflection smirked, the corner of its crimson lips turning up. I turned facing Loki, his cock sliding out of me, and his eyes went wide with shock as my own hand closed around his throat my teeth snapping audibly-- his shock was soon replaced with sheer adoration. “Go ahead then, pet,” he dared enticingly. I forced him back, clutching his throat in my cool grasp, and he smiled, his jaw sharpening as he tilted his head up in euphoria and acceptance. When the back of his knees hit his bed I slid my hand down to his muscular, lean pecs and pushed him so he laid facing the ceiling-- his eyes never left my body once. They continued to go between watching my face and my reactions to trailing down the curves of my breasts, my waist, my hips, and below to my cloven womanhood. He licked his lips, breathing out in anticipation of what was to come as I climbed up on the bed to join him. My limbs moved with grace, much like a spider as it spins a web of confinement around its unsuspecting meal. To assert my dominion over Loki I climbed onto him, a leg poised on each side of his hips. I took his length between my fingers, smirking as he sighed with longing. I swirled the head of his glistening cock around my clit and my soaking lips and his precum coated me. His eyes rolled back in his head, his long, silky eyelashes fluttering. “Oh yes, more, more.” At intervals, he would lift his head up to watch me rolling or rubbing the head of his cock on my dripping, warm folds. I drove Loki mad with longing for me, he couldn’t stand only watching me any longer, he needed to be in me. His hips were bucking and he was raring to go, to be let loose, to be allowed to come in.    I chuckled, enjoying my the effect I had on him. I wanted to tease him more. I wanted control. I only allowed the tip of his cock access to my burning, dripping core. Frustrated and wanting more, a moan escaped his lips and his hips thrust up, he had hoped to deepen within me, but I only moved myself up higher. I bent my head down, my lips touching his ear. “Not yet, my prince.” I rolled my hips around in small circles, my tight pussy teasing him and pulling his cock with it.   Loki’s body convulsed with his elation, “Norns, I need you!” I held domination over him. He was mine, completely, and had been all along. His breathing had sped up and I could feel his heart racing under the tips of my fingers. I opened my eyes wide with excitement and prepared myself for the race that I was getting ready to put him through. I would ride him to the edge and beyond and together we would reach the end. As if Loki sensed my readiness he placed his hands on my hips, his fingers wrapping around to the top of my ass and he grabbed at me-- surely leaving marks from his fingers. I hissed at his rough play, nipping at his throat, but he put me in my place quickly as he moved too fast for me to keep up with him and bit me back. I submitted, my mind going blank temporarily to his ease of authority. Loki took this as a sign to turn us over. Impressively his long, hard cock remained within me. Though he was on top of me now, I wasn’t finished with him yet. He began to pound into my core, grabbing at the back of my legs and lifting my lower body up off the mattress. He was gritting his teeth, his eyes ablaze, thunder rolling outside. “You’re mine, all mine, I own you now.” His orgasm was close to reaching its point of release and I could feel his length and girth expand within me filling with his semen. He fell down over me, his arms still wrapped underneath my legs spreading them up and apart. I fought him, bucking my hips. He pulled back his head so he could look into my eyes-- look at me bite my lip erotically, wanting to bite him and taste his salty skin on my tongue. Just then the rays of the sun cut through a thunder cloud, and though it was raining heavily outside, it was unusually bright… Something out of place. The sun struck my eyes, brightening the already glowing irises, and I knew I could finish him with only a look. He was mesmerized, his mind enraptured by me and his eyes responded to my own gaze-- matching them, finally he closed his eyes, his body convulsing, his dick throbbing fiercely as he pumped his thick cum into my body. The sight of Loki in full ecstasy and the feeling of his juices mingling with mine sent my head backward and a moan escaped my lips.

I called out his name gutturally, animalistically and an orgasm rolled through me, my walls tightening and clenching quelling his throbbing dick, forcing it to move in time with my convulsing folds. Loki rolled to the side of me, both of us breathing heavily. I turned my head towards him, my hair splayed over the fluffy down pillow, a smirk settling in my eyes. My hand went to his hair and I twirled a lock of it around my finger. “What do you think?” I smiled at him. Loki’s face was somber. “All along I have been searching for you, Y/N. You were what was missing…” he trailed off, his eyes wide with the heavy realization. I chuckled, tickling the soft skin on his chest. “Funny, Loki, I was just thinking the same thing.”

***If you would like to be added to the general Loki and/or Tom taglist PLEASE send an ask in my askbox.  As always please leave me some of your lovely feedback!  So excited for it.  Discussion Questions: 1. Why do you think reader sees herself as a siren in the mirror? 2. Do you think that reader came to be a maid because of Odin, or after reading the fic, do you think it is possible that Loki may have influenced this decision. If so explain how might that have happened. Also, do you think he may have had some influence over Frigga directing reader to his chambers in the same way? 3. We see reader and Loki both switch in this fic, who do you think has more power over the other? Explain.  4. Reader wonders if Loki’s own god-like power is shining through her, what do you think of this? 5. In a moment of passion, Loki mentions that he tried to stay away from reader. Why might this be? 6. Why might Loki have made reader uncomfortable before with the above question in mind? ***Tell me what you think of our questions! Have fun with this!!! I sure did. I am so excited to hear your thoughts. 

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Non disclosure agreements

Summary: Shawn asks his girlfriend to sign and NDA which leads to a fight.

Warnings: slight fluff, mostly angst

Word count: ~ 2k

Arms wrapped around my waist tightly and I let out a quiet squeal in excitement. I recognized his touch and instinctively leaned back into his chest until there’s no space left between us.

He rests his chin atop my shoulder, lips pressing against my skin right below my left ear. Swaying left to right, he mhm’s lowly into the crook of my neck and I close my eyes in content.

“I could stay like this forever.” Shawn’s warm breath tickles me into slightly craning my neck to his side, smiling widely with eyes still closed. Whenever this man is close to me, this smile is eternally stained upon my lips.

“You don’t hear me complaining.” I say sweetly, moving my hands to overlap his, gently rubbing them across his cold hands.

“This is a future memory.” Shawn whispers and I open my eyes, seeing where he’s going with this.

“If you’re about to quote Stefan Salvatore right now, I swear..” I begin my good-natured threat and Shawn chuckles. His laughter is the summer rain and the birdsong too, and every time I hear it, no matter the weather, the sun brightened. it was an honest rumbling of his soul, as pure and untouched as he is.

“It’s where your boyfriend whispered to you that he loved you. I love you.” He finished his statement with a soft proclamation of love and I melt into him, turning around in his embrace. Cupping his cheeks, gingerly moving my palms across his soft skin, my eyes flicker to his lips.

I lick my lips, biting the lower one until he loses his resolve and pushes his own against mine for a proper kiss. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below my ear, his thumb caressing my cheek as our breaths mingled. I run my fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us until I could feel the beating of his heart against my chest.

Parting became a necessity as my lungs turned desperate for a breath of fresh air. Reluctantly, I pull back and he groans lowly at the loss of contact.

Breathing heavily, I smile at the sound fondly.

“We can’t all be singers with an impressive lung capacity.” I tease, pecking his chin before remembering to check on dinner still inside the over.

“No matter how many times you kiss me, it’s never enough.” Shawn leans against the counter, pinching my cheek. I swat his hand away, narrowing my eyes at him with an index finger pointed at him.

“No pinching!” I order, knowing he loved to do so just to mess with me. Growing up with chubby cheeks meant people often grabbed at them without asking and I hated it more than anything. Shawn picked up on that quickly and whenever he’s bored, pinching my cheeks is his main entertainment.

“Okay, fine.” He puts his hands up in mock surrender, biting his lower lip to suppress a smile unsuccessfully as his bright teeth show mid gesture.

“I thought we could talk before dinner.” Shawn adds, moving toward the dinner table, his smile a little less brighter and more worried.

“What’s up honey bunch?” I throw the mitten on the counter, taking a seat next to him. The smile on my face didn’t relent, my fingers playing with the buttons of his sweater.

“Well, I brought something for you to go over and sign. Andrew finally had it drawn up after finding out about us.” Shawn avoided eye contact, his words being fast and almost slurred together.

“What do you mean?” I retract my hands and fold them in my lap, furrowing my eyebrows at my boyfriend.

“Just an NDA.” Shawn clears his throat, reaching inside his gym bag to retrieve a stack of papers he then laid on the desk in front of me.

“You want me to sign a what now?” My voice goes higher unintentionally. I’ve never been able to hide my emotions, tonight wasn’t an exception.

"A non disclosure agreement. I swear it's not a big deal." Shawn says it so simply, the words rolling over his tongue effortlessly. He could tell his choice of words only made me more upset. As result, his reaches out, taking my hand into his.

I allow him to hold it for a moment, still processing what he’s asked of me.

Nine months being official and he never asked anything like this before and now he brings it up? I want to be calm about this. I want to roll with it and not overreact, but the reason behind an NDA, the implications this request had for me truly shortened my fuse.

Forcefully taking my hand back, laying them both on the table, palm flat against the surface, I turn to my boyfriend.

“Is this what our relationship comes to for you? An agreement?” The frustration is palpable with each word I utter, every single one of them acting as a sharp knife ready to draw blood should it become necessary.

“God, no. Of course not. I love you. I just...it’s not a big deal. It’s normal.” Shawn says in defense, still abnormally calm but he was serious. He truly wanted me to sign these papers and move on from it.

“How is this not a big deal?!” I stand up, no longer being collected as before. I know that when tension is high I should inject love instead of anger, give him an olive branch instead of enmity, but sometimes it just isn't that easy.

“Shawn, this”, I grab the papers and wave them in front of his face before smacking them back on the table.

”This means you are legally binding my trust. It means you don’t trust me to keep your secrets, OUR secrets, unless there are legal repercussions if anything becomes public knowledge!” My cold fury burnt with dangerous intensity. He never worried about occasional fireworks or showers of red hot sparks, it was these bitterly cold, slow burning rages that threatened to engulf our relationship.

“It’s not meant as that. It’s something everyone I know has signed.” Shawn lets out a long sigh, trying to keep his tone soft and understanding, remaining in his seat to cool the situation.

“Did Brian sign this? Huh? Did your other friends? Did Hailey Baldwin?” I push and push, knowingly saying words that were bound to hit their mark eventually. And they did.

“NO! And that was a mistake I won’t make twice.” Shawn jumps to his feet, raising his voice at me for the first time since we met. He slams his fist on the contract with his eyes darkening.

“So you don’t trust me?” I take a deep breath.

When the frustration builds and I think I might explode, I take a deep breath. I want to shout, have a tantrum and beat my hands on the ground like a child. I want to vent, let it out, but I don't want to say words I don't mean, be hurtful. It's just so easy to be cruel in that moment and then the damage is done. So many times I've wanted to unsay things, take it back. I'm learning how to deal with it, but slowly.

“I do.” Shawn says through gritted teeth, a curl falling in his eyes.

“So why force this on me?” My voice is shaky and venomous words no longer cross my lips.

“If you trust me...If you love me...Why drag the law in this relationship? Because it doesn’t feel like you trust me. This contract feels like you’re putting a time mark on us. Like, we’ll be over in time and you’re just making sure once we part there’s nothing coming to haunt you from the past.” I hate how weak and vulnerable I sound right now. I hate how my eyes water and how he doesn’t seem to care.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N. But this is a must. It’s not an end to us and it’s not me being distrustful. It’s about my label needing reassurance. It’s what they want from me.” He explains, softening once more and I shake my head in denial. Denial about the situation and the lack of fight on his behalf. He didn’t even try to assure them we’re the real deal. He didn’t fight them on it. He betrayed MY trust. Simple as that.

“How could you think this wouldn’t hurt me?” My vision blurs and I wipe away the tears that spill over furiously.

“Shawn, you’re the star. You’re the one that’s supposed to fight and stand up for yourself and those in your life. You didn’t even fight them on it, but you’re willing to break my heart.” My tears are surprisingly cold, the hurt inside my chest growing exponentially as the conversation continues.

“You’re my girlfriend. I didn’t expect you to make such a big deal about something so insignificant. You’re mine and I’m aware we belong together, so I can’t understand why this is such a big deal. Sign it and be done with it. We’ll throw it in a drawer somewhere and forget all about it.” Shawn’s words packed a powerful punch. Carefully spoken, without drama, his words had an air of finality to them and no matter how hard I railed against them, nothing would change his mind.

“You don’t own me, I don’t belong to you.” A small laugh escapes my lips in disbelief.

“If it wasn’t such a big deal, you wouldn’t be here pushing me to sign something I’m obviously uncomfortable with.” I take off the apron around my neck and let it rest on the table.

“When we started this relationship, I fell in love with a man. I fell in love with Shawn, the cute guy with an uncanny ability to make my heart soar, not Shawn Mendes the pop star with fans and tours and endless amount of cash. I love you for you, never once asking a single cent or any sort of help from you. And I kept your secrets the past nine months without any contracts. I’d keep them even if we had broken up. I’ll keep them even now. But I’m done.” I walk toward the door, tripping on his guitar case. I chuckle to myself, shaking my head.

“You’re not being serious, are you?!” Shawn rushes after me, finally realizing what I told him.

Putting on my coat, I nod.

“You took the love you offered and locked it back inside that cage you call a body. I was never going to do what Hailey did to you...ever. But now you'll never know, never find out what we could have been, and neither will I.”

I turn to the door, hearing him scramble to catch up with me. He trips on the case himself, falling to the floor.

Turning to see if he’s alright on instinct, I find him on his knees with his chin trembling.

“Please stay. We can talk more about this. You don’t have to sign tonight.” Shawn pleads, but his words only made everything worse.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” I ask, closing my eyes for a single moment to draw in a deep breath, remembering his scent that lingered in the apartment. Opening the door, I take one last look at the man I believed would be the one, adding one last thing:

“Don’t forget to turn off the oven.”

Part 2

Tags: @esoltis280 @accalialionheart @xalayx @ourlittleshawnie

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

The summertime of our lives, 2/?

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 2/?.

Pairings: Ninetoo x Rose.

A/N: Written for @doctorroseprompts summer bingo. Five summer-themed words: Beach, flower, heat, kiss, travel (BINGO!). Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” - William Shakespeare.

CHAPTER 2:

“So, you’ve requisitioned your dad’s yacht for me?” They were back in the small house and she had wrapped him in a warm blanket. It was summer but it wasn’t exceedingly hot outside, especially this close to the sea. Plus, in small towns like this, there were always curious getting up early to wander around for gossips. A half-naked new man with a respected heiress was perfect, particularly since they weren’t married. He never cared for gossips before. He didn’t have any time to give to those. But now he was human and it was really annoying to be the centre of those talks. He had heard too many of them in London. He hoped not to live the same thing here. “Don’t call him dad, please.” Rose put two cups of hot tea and a box of sugar on the table and sat down on the opposite side of his. It was a small table, barely enough room for two, but this proximity would bring them closer. London was too large, too big and it kept digging a distance between them in a universe where they didn’t belong. Jackie was the only one to fit in nicely. “Why not? You were born from a father named Pete Tyler. Different universe but same man.” “We don’t get along that well.” The Doctor put a sugar cube in his cup and stirred the drink. Rose looked away. The view she had from the window was more interesting than that talk about Peter Tyler, a father she had lost in her original universe. She would have given anything to spend more time with him… but that time was given to her with an alternate version of him. A version that was very different from the one she met in 1987. “For mum, it was easy. He got used to her very quickly. He was already married to her. No matter the version, mum is… mum.” The Doctor snorted. He had no difficulty in picturing that. “But me… I never existed in this universe. Never had any room. He saved me because I was mum’s most precious thing in life. He adopted me, helped me to success in what I wanted. We try to keep up appearances but we’ve never been close. We are cold, awkward.” There was a silence and she realised he had moved from his chair when he wrapped her into one of his comforting embraces. She didn’t resist, she hid her face in his naked shoulder. She sniffled, wiped away the tears from her face, from his bare skin. He never said a word, waited for her to be done. “And then, Tony came.” She didn’t hate on her little brother. It was all the contrary. When she was younger, she had wished for all of this. She had wanted a father and siblings. She had been raised as an only child, been used to have all of her mother’s attention. The, the Doctor came and it had had no importance anymore. Until she was stranded here. And sometimes, she felt very alone, very abandoned. She couldn’t go to her mother for she feared to be considered as selfish for needing attention, to be told to be happy because she had everything she had ever dreamt of. The Doctor highly doubted that Jackie would ever think so badly of her daughter. The woman was terrible and ready to anything to protect her Rose. He had seen it immediately when he came into their lives. This universe might have put some distance between them but their bond could never be broken. They just needed a proper and serious talk. As now wasn’t the time, the Doctor did the only thing he could. Something she had done for him before. “Now you’ve got me and I’m never gonna leave you. You’re stuck with me.” He didn’t have to look down at her to know it had brought a smile to her lips. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair still had that salty smell from their night bath in the sea. She hadn’t showered yet. Neither did he. They had just dried themselves off and gone to bed. They hadn’t been there for a full day and it already had considerably pulled them closer to each other and pushed them to open up more easily. A more exotic destination probably wouldn’t have had this effect. “So, that yacht?” “My captain needed a ship.” “Not quite the type of ship I’m used to pilot.” “They’re announcing a peak of heat wave in the next few days. We should enjoy the time we have to go on that yacht, don’t you think?” The Doctor grinned. Yes, that indeed was the kind of plans he could like. They drank their tea and rushed to the bathroom where they fought about the little room they had to move in. The Doctor mumbled something about humans and their inability to create bigger on the inside rooms to which Rose retorted that he was also human before throwing a sponge bath at him, sponge bath he avoided just in time. He responded with a toothbrush and the fight continued until the bathroom was flooded and the Doctor had to retreat in their bedroom. He opened his suitcase and pulled on his usual jeans with a T-shirt branded with one stupid quote. The only proper shirt shirts you could find in this universe apparently. “I have something better for you.” She grabbed her suitcase and threw it on the bed. She opened it and looked through her clothes and underwear. The Doctor felt his ear turn red. Rose and him never went intimate. There had been kisses and small touches but they hadn’t gone that far. His confusion, adaptation and questions had prevented them from getting this close. So seeing laced panties and other elaborate underwear in her suitcase was making him rather uncomfortable. He turned his head away and slightly cleared his throat, causing Rose to have a quiet laugh. All impressive that he pretended to be, he could still be embarrassed by the smallest things. “Here.” “You can’t be serious.” She was holding out to him the most hideous outfit he had ever seen – and he had seen a lot of them in his life – and he wouldn’t accept to wear this one in this life. In the sixth incarnation, he maybe would have accepted. The criminal outfit consisted in a bright red shirt with big white flowers in the Hawaiian style. The sorts were in the same style. There was no way he would put that on. “You can’t go around in jeans with the upcoming heatwave. It’s not suitable for the weather.” “I can cope.” “When you were a Time Lord, you could,” she corrected him softly. “What do you mean?” “Human biology, Doctor.” She placed her hand over his only heart. He still had troubles admitting it to himself and she always had to remind him of this unusual condition. Of course it wasn’t pleasing him at all and he would be sulking for a while but he would eventually enjoy this. He refused to wear the outfit and they didn’t talk about it, not even when they walked along the beach as the sun was rising higher in the sky. Just a walk before they went to the boat that would take them to the yacht. They had to buy food on their way to the port bt the Doctor was too busy burying his toes in the sand. He hadn’t really cared about this the previous day but now, after taking off his boot to be sure, he could tell that the sand was different from their original universe and that it reminded him of a planet he couldn’t remember the name of. Rose could only watch him, half amused, half annoyed. 900 years old kiddo. “Doctor?” She was trying to get his attention back on her but he was too focused on analysing the sand and looking for the name of the planet this ground was reminding him of. She sighed and decided to do the same thing as usual when he was like this: she wandered off. He would have to look for her. Just like in the old times. She went to the local shop and bought everything they needed for their picnic. She was coming out of the shop when she saw Alec’s car passing by. She waved at him, not knowing if he had seen her, and continued her route. She was loading the bags of food in the small motorised boat that would take them – if the Doctor found her – to the yacht when they would be ready. She threw her backpack close to the commands. She was gonna jump on board when she heard footsteps behind her. Formal shoes and boots. One of them was her Doctor. “I found something that’s yours.” “I’m no something.” Rose turned around to face two familiar grumpy faces. One of them was a beardy Scottish in suit, the other was a Northerner in jeans. The latter had his hands handcuffed in his back and really wasn’t pleased with it – though it wasn’t the first time it happened. The situation was pretty funny to her and she had a hard time not laughing. It would have infuriated the Doctor even more. “You’ve brought me back, now can you take these off?” “I’ve never seen someone so annoying before him. How can you handle this guy?” “It takes time, but he can be lovely.” “Never in a million years.” That was typical from the Doctor to react like this. Especially this version of him. He had always been a grumpy guy. The fault of a past tormenting him. A past that was now as heavy as ever as he was definitely cut from his roots, as he was part of a species that never existed in any world before him. He was going through an identity crisis. Just like she did years before. He was looking for himself, for who he was and it could take more time than they all thought due to this special condition. “What has he done?” There was an again in her voice that made the Doctor snort and Alec raise an eyebrow. The man was a troublemaker who needed a close watch. The detective trusted Rose but he had a hard time trusting her fiancé or whatever he was to her. He wasn’t clear and he couldn’t let such a danger around Rose. Not after what she had been through. He pulled a silver tube out of his pocket and showed it to Rose. “Isn’t he too old to annoy people with a laser thing?” “This is not a toy!” protested the Doctor. Alec pointed the device on him and pressed the button to prove his point with the blue light. The Doctor pretended he wasn’t affected. His precious sonic screwdriver in the hands of a clod. This guy had no idea what this blue tip could do. On human, or not human beings. He was only scanning the area with the sonic but this stupid detective had changed the settings with his dumb fingers. “If that’s not a laser, I don’t know what it is.” The Doctor was relieved when the sonic was taken away from him. He caught Rose’s worried look on him. So did Alec. It raised more questions to the detective’s mind. He told Rose that he had wanted to be nice and let her know about her boyfriend’s behaviour but his insolence and disrespect had made him change his mind. He would take him to the police station instead. The Doctor refused but Rose shushed him with one glance. He better shut up if he didn’t want any more troubles. The blonde tried to convince her friend that he shouldn’t do that. It was useless now. The decision was taken and she could only steal the sonic discreetly from his pocket. Another habit she had gotten from the Doctor.

x

Rose hadn’t lied when she said that a heatwave was gonna hit the country soon. Before, he wouldn’t have minded but before, he was a Time Lord. Now, he was human and he had no control over his body reactions. This white cell wasn’t helping him either. There was no window. Just four walls and a door with a hatch. Suffocating. It was very badly ventilated and the heat mixed with the smells of the previous occupiers of the room was unbearable. His shirt was totally soaked with how much he was sweating. His jeans were sticking to his skin but he refused to admit that Rose was right, that he should have put on that horrible outfit. He was pacing around. It wasn’t the first time he was locked in a cell and he could always find a way out of there. And he had a TARDIS to get away from the troubles he had gotten into. “Oi! Anybody there?” He wouldn’t beg that detective to open the door, to release him. He wouldn’t give him that pleasure. He already had had too much of it when he had locked him in there. At least, the Doctor had had the satisfaction of seeing the confusion on his face when he found no sonic in his pockets, when he couldn’t find the device on the Doctor either. Clever Rose. She had gotten it back and the grumpy detective was angry. The Doctor wiped away the sweat on his forehead. When had this cell become such an oven? He had a damn headache. He glanced at his watch, remembered that it had taken from him. He thought. His mind wasn’t very clear. How could it be possible? Now his eyes were staring at the ceiling and he heard the far echo of a door being opened. And the face of the detective coming into his field of vision. “Shitface,” he croaked. The joke made him laugh but he was the only one. He had heard Alec Hardy’s colleague calling him that and he couldn’t disagree. But he was the only one to laugh at joke. The detective didn’t seem to find it funny though he obviously knew that it was the nickname he was given around here. He shouted something to someone outside the cell. The Doctor laughed. This guy was so ridiculous. He closed his eyes a couple seconds. This light was increasing his headache. How he ended up sitting on that bench, his shoulder leant against the closest corner, with the detective sitting not far, he couldn’t tell. There was a whole moment of blackness between the moment the detective came in and now. The room was silent, the door was still open and there was a fresh breeze stroking his skin. It was delightful, unhoped for. The Doctor sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a bottle of water beside him. He drank from it greedily. “The station apologises for the disagreement. There was a malfunction in the ventilation. They should have taken you out of here when it started.” Except no one had moved to obey a direct order from him. Even if he had been here for years, they still liked to annoy him. They voluntarily forgot that there was a man locked down in this cell until Alec stepped back in the station and went to see him. The responsible would be punished severely. This could have had serious consequences. But thankfully, the man known as Maxence Spitz was okay. Just dehydrated. “You’re a troublemaker,” continued the detective. The Doctor snorted, “I’d be one if I was looking for troubles, but troubles find me wherever I am.” “You gotta understand that Rose…” “Rose what?” interrupted the part-Time Lord, swiftly turning his head to glare at his rival. “What do you have to say about my Rose?” “You weren’t there when she needed you the most.” The tone was sarcastic, abrupt. A tone he himself used. “I was.” That was a stab straight in the Doctor’s heart. If they hadn’t been in a police station, if it hadn’t been an obvious proof that he was looking for troubles, he would have knocked that damn man out for speaking like this. As if it had been any of his fault. The blame was on the pretty boy. Him had come in the picture long after to pick up the pieces left. “That was complicated.” Because the man Alec Hardy was talking to didn’t exist when Rose had been trapped in this world. He was born years later. If it had only been for him, he would have fractured the whole thing to have his Rose back, but the pretty boy seemed to have a consciousness that was working for once. “She first came here around two years ago. She was with her mother,” the Doctor grimaced, “and her little brother. She pretexted they were here for holidays but it wasn’t the season. It was for something else. Jackie and Tony went back to London and she stayed. For months. Here, in that small house you’ve rented.” “How have you met?” “I had a call one night. I was the only one left at the station so I went there. She was standing on the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach. I stood beside her. There was so much sadness in her at that moment.” The detective marked a pause there, remembering that night. It was his first meeting with the woman and her sadness reached him. He was always telling Miller to not get too involved and he had broken that rule that night. “I don’t know if she really wanted to jump. She was suffering from a severe depression and no one knew how to relieve her from her pain. I brought her back to the house, made tea and stayed with her. I made sure she never was alone.” “And you’ve done that job with pleasure,” bitterly completed the Doctor. “I called her family, ordered officers to watch over her. And yes, I did invite her a couple times.” “How did that go?” Alec ignored the sarcasm, “It’s easy to fall in love with Rose Tyler and nearly impossible to win her favours. She was too busy looking for something else, for someone else.” “Who could that be?” “You. She was looking for you.” Alec continued his tale, telling him how he helped her to get better, how she often travelled back to Broadchurch when London was too hard for her, when her researches were leading nowhere. He was her only friend in this world and he had taken great care of her while she was alone. The Doctor was ungrateful with his behaviour. “Thank you.” This was awful for him to thank that guy. “For making sure she was okay when I couldn’t.” The detective grumbled something and finally announced that he was free to go now. The Doctor didn’t need to be told twice. He emptied the bottle of water and followed Alec out of the cell. His belongings were given back to him and he met with Rose in the entrance hall. His first reflex was to wrap her in a tight embrace and drop a tender kiss on her lips. He wished he had known sooner. They left the station together, hand in hand. They were barely in the car that he spoke finally. “We shouldn’t go back to London.” “Why that?” “We’re not happy there. We should travel more, discover this world together.” “Yeah? Where does that idea come from?” “You know, pacing around a tiny cell. I hate closed spaces.” “But transports are confined spaces with lots of people.” “Yeah, always forget that, me.” He fell silent again and contemplated the landscape through the window of the car. It had been a stupid idea. He regretted even saying it out loud. He didn’t have the TARDIS anymore. He needed to use the public transports, had to pay with money he didn’t have. They were condemned to stay in London forever. What a dull life. “Funny you mentioned this need of traveling.” The Doctor turned his head toward her, waiting for what was coming next. “There’s something I had to show you.” She didn’t add more and he was forced to wait until they were back to their small house. Even then, she kept her mysterious smile on and left him to wonder what she had in store for him. Must be something really big for her to keep this secret from him, for her to leave him pondering…

A suivre

The summertime of our lives © | 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

×××

← Last || Next →

English version:

AO3 ||TS.