#drawing this whole thing just so i can shade his nip and give it shine im so normal

[plagalkey]

F1 AU cooldown

[hardcore-evil-regal]

When On Ember Island

Summary:

For the prompt: Ember Island

Whilst enjoying the beach, Aang convinces Toph to come into the water with him and things escalate from there.

You can keep reading here, on AO3 or FF.net

Author’s Note:

The last prompt for Taang Week and I have decided to go out with a bang - literally.

You have been forewarned, SMUT!!!

If that's not your thing, I suggest you turn around now.

Also Toph and Aang are young adults in this, like 20's - I'm not a pervert dude!

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The sun is shining down on them, its warmth possessing just a touch of a bite to it if one were to remain exposed to it for too long. It’s heat contrasts with the soothing coolness of the water, waves lapping at the sand.

“Come out and enjoy the water,” Aang calls to his girlfriend who is currently relaxing under the shade of an umbrella.

“I’m good thanks Twinkletoes,” she states, eyes closed as she attempts to take a nap.��

Her eyes have barely been closed a few moments before she feels herself being splashed by drops of sea water.

“Aang!” she yells, placing a foot down against the sand.

“Please?” he asks her undeterred and still continuing to drip water all over her. “Pretty please?”

She finally breaks after several more “pretty pleases”, but only on the condition that he doesn’t let her go.

“Wait,” she pauses, rummaging through her bag before turning back to him. “Help me put this on.”

He looks at the little bottle of lotion and pours a small amount into his hand, giving it a sniff. It smells faintly of vanilla and he decides that it’s quite a pleasant scent in fact.

“What’s this for?” he asks as she turns around, presenting him with her back.

“It’s to prevent the sun from burning my skin,” she tells him as she pours some of the lotion into her hand and begins rubbing it over her arm. 

Following her lead, he spreads the lotion of his palms before rubbing them gently over the exposed skin of her back. He loves her creamy, smooth, porcelain like skin, but unfortunately for Toph her pale complexion also means that she burns the easiest out of their group. 

Once Toph is properly lotioned up, he scoops her into his arms and makes a mad dash across the hot sand and into the water. The cool relief of the water soothes the burn of the hot sand against his feet, and he wades out deeper with each step, enjoying the sensation of the water relieving his sun heated skin. A shiver runs through her as he wades out deeper into the water, waves lapping at his shoulders as she wraps her legs tighter around his waist.

“Don’t you dare drop me!” she threatens, fingers clutching tightly to his shoulders as she presses herself tightly to his chest. 

A laugh bubbles out of his lips as he tightens his arms around her waist. 

“I promised didn’t I?” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

She presses her forehead against his, jade eyes boring into his own despite that fact that she can’t see him. 

“You better keep that promise,” she whispers “or I spirits help me Aang I will-”

He cuts her off with a kiss, lips pressing hard against hers, silencing her threats.

“You know you look really cute when you get all mad and riled up,” he tells her, pressing another kiss to her lips. 

Maybe if she wasn’t so swept up in the kiss she probably would have a reaction to his words. The waves are lapping against them, and the only thing that she can sense whilst surrounded by the water, is him. She can smell the lingering scent of sandalwood that always seems to cling to his skin. She can hear the way his breath comes in deep panting breaths as their lips slowly part. She can taste the sea salt on his lips and just a hint of the lychees he’d been eating earlier. She can feel the way his arms tighten about her waist and they way his heart pounds against his chest.

Her senses are overrun by him and all she can think, feel, and want is him. 

Her fingers slip over the smooth skin of his scalp as she kisses him harder, lips moving passionately against his. She trusts him with her life, undoubtedly, but allowing him to be responsible for her, vulnerable without her earth sight brings a whole new level of intimacy. Allowing herself to be vulnerable with those that she trusts is something that she has struggled with after having to hide her true self from her parents for so long. With Aang however, he makes her feel safe in a way that no one else can. Even when she is vulnerable with him and lays herself bare to him, he never makes her feel weak or like she is any less capable despite having her insecurities. If anything, he loves her more for those rare shared moments of vulnerability because for him it means that she trusts him implicitly, feeling safe enough with him to open up.

“Aang,” his name falls softly from her lips  as she tilts her head to capture his lips. “I love you,” she breathes against his lips. 

He loves the way she says his name. He loves the way she tells him she loves him, the way she always seems to be just a little out of breath whenever she says those words. He loves the way she always pulls him into a kiss after, as if needing to confirm the fact that she means those words wholeheartedly. He loves the way she trembles under his touch, the way she presses against him and melts in his arms. 

“I love you Toph,” he whispers as he trails his lips down her throat.

Pausing at her pulse point, he lets his lips linger drawing a soft moan from the back of her throat as he scrapes his teeth over tender skin before soothing it with his tongue. Her thighs tighten around his waist, trembling just the slightest bit as she feels his arousal pressing against her centre. A low groan escapes him, fingers reflexively tightening their grasp on her hips. She kisses him hard, tongue swiping across his bottom lip before he parts his lips in welcome, her tongue flickering against his as she tastes him. Instinctively, his hips buck up against her as she bites down on his lower lip before soothing it with a kiss. A strained noise escapes the back of her throat and the sound goes straight to cock, making him twitch in his swim trunks. 

“Spirits, I want you so badly right now,” he growls against her throat, teeth nipping at the exposed skin of her chest. 

Her hand clutches the back of his head, fingertips pressing hard against his scalp as his lips encircle her nipple through the thin fabric of her swimsuit. A soft ‘oh’ falls from her lips as she arches into his touch, desperately seeking more. Blunt nails scratch down his back as he slips a hand into the back of her bikini bottoms, squeezing the firm flesh of her rear. She sucks lightly on his earlobe as a small hand scratches lightly at his chest, trailing down towards the waistband of his swim shorts. His breath stutters as she massages his aching arousal through the fabric of his trunks, his hips thrusting against her touch. Resting his forehead against her shoulder, he can smell the sweet vanilla fragrance of the lotion on her skin and he can’t stop himself from biting down on where her neck and shoulder meet, laving the bite with his tongue afterwards. A quiet gasp escapes her lips at the action, her hips tilting against his own seeking friction to relieve the growing ache between her thighs.

“I think we should go up to the beach house and continue this,” she pants against his lips, pressing her hips into his own to punctuate her words.

He groans against her lips, fingers fisting in her hair as he pulls her into a bruising kiss before slowly wading out of the water with her in his arms. Thankfully the beach is secluded and there is no one around to see his tented swim shorts.

Making the short journey back to the beach house is quite possibly one of the longest walks of Aang’s life. His heart is racing, arousal coursing through him and he can’t quite help himself from pressing Toph up against one of the trees by the path, wedging his leg between her own, lips capturing hers as she whimpers into the kiss. The sound makes his cock stir and it takes all of his self control not to just take her then and there. Despite how turned on he is, he knows that fucking Toph against a tree will inevitably end in painful scratches and scrapes and he’d hate to be the reason why her lovely, creamy, porcelain skin got hurt. 

When they finally make it up to the beach house it’s probably been only a few minutes but Aang is drawing nearer and nearer to his limit of self control. The moment the door shuts behind them he has Toph with her back pressed to the door as he kisses her passionately, tongues sliding against each other as he holds onto her hips in a bruising grip. She loves this other side of him that comes out during their more intense love making sessions. The almost primal and commanding persona that becomes him does things to her that she can’t explain.

Eager fingers tug at her top, the strapless band ending up on the floor as they slowly walk their way towards the bedroom. Aang palms a breast in each hand, his grip teetering on the edge towards bruising. She arches into his touch, fingers clenching his waist as she pants against his neck, teeth biting at his pulse point. 

“I need you, now,” she says, voice breathy and laced with need. 

He chuckles against her lips and before she knows it her back is on the mattress and Aang is kneeling between her legs peeling her swim shorts off her. She can feel his lips travelling up from her knee towards her thigh, his warm breath ghosting over where she is ready and aching for him.

“Spirits, you're so wet,” he groans as his hands grip her thighs, spreading her open for him. 

“Aang I swear if you don’t-” her words are lost in a strangled sound from her throat as his lips wrap around her clit, sucking gently.

There is a steady pressure building inside her and she can feel herself growing ever closer to her peak as he slips a finger inside her, working it in tandem with his lips. A high pitched sound spills from her lips as she feels herself on the precipice. Aang keeps a strong arm over her hips, pinning her in place as she climaxes, her hips jerking against him as he continues to work his mouth and fingers, drawing out her pleasure. 

As she comes down from her high, she is acutely aware of Aang’s hard length pressing into her stomach as he presses kisses along the column of her throat. Reaching a small hand down, she takes his length in hand slowly pumping her wrist. His eyes close in pleasure and she can’t resist taking advantage of the fact as she crawls down the bed to take his length in her mouth. Grey eyes fly open at the sudden wet heat surrounding his member and he is overwhelmed by the sight of Toph swallowing his cock down her throat. After several moments he fists a hand in her dark hair, pulling her back up towards him, her lips bruised and slick.

“As much as I love when you do that,” he tells her, hand still tightly gripping her hair. “I need to be inside of you.”

Those dark and shining lips smirk at him and the temptation is too great for him to resist tugging her down for a searing kiss.  

“I want to take you from behind,” he growls against her throat leaving another mark behind. 

An excited smile lifts her lips as she climbs off him to position herself standing next to the edge of the bed, her forearms resting on the mattress. He presses kisses down the length of her spine as he positions himself behind her. 

The breath leaves her lungs as he enters her in one slow deep stroke, his hips snug against her ass. He stills inside her, enjoying the tight wet heat surrounding him and allowing her a moment to adjust to his length inside her. 

“Aang,” his name leaves her lips in a breathy plea and he takes that as his cue to move.

Strong hands hold her hips in place as he sets a punishing pace, her fingers clutching at the bedsheets to keep herself from slipping forwards. He thrusts into her from tip to base, drawing needy cries from her as he reaches around her hips to rub at her clit. The way her walls tighten around him tell him that she’s close. Snapping his hips faster, his fingers rub at her sensitive nub eagerly. He feels it the moment she climaxes, her walls fluttering around his length as her back arches, lips parted in a silent cry. With a few more strokes, his own climax hits him like a bolt of lightning and he feels both drained and exhilarated as he slowly grows still inside her, pressing sweet kisses to the base of her spine.

Her dark hair sticks to her forehead as she rests on the bed slowly catching her breath and regaining the strength in her legs. She can feel Aang soften inside her before he withdraws, her thighs damp as a result of their collective orgasms. His heart thumps strong and steady, if a little fast as he curls up behind her on the bed. 

“That was…” He trails off pressing a sweet kiss to her lips as she looks at him over her shoulder, one hand drawing him towards her.

“Maybe I should go swimming with you more often,” she suggests teasingly.

He hums against her shoulder, wrapping a strong arm around her waist.

“If that’s what happens when we go swimming, we are definitely taking more vacations on Ember Island.”

She laughs at his words, enjoying the way he tangles his legs with hers. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Are you saying that you’re not enjoying our vacation on Ember Island Miss Beifong?” He asks her with mock horror.

She elbows him in the ribs and snorts at his teasing. 

“Perhaps I need to convince you further then,” he suggests as he roles them over and pins her beneath him, his hard length  rubbing against her centre.

“Again?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“When on Ember Island, my love,” he whispers before kissing her, chasing any further questions from her mind. 

x

x

A/N

Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. I told you it was going to be a big finish ;D

Taang Week has been so much fun but also SO MUCH EFFORT!! Like writing and releasing a new fic every day for a week!! I did not know I was capable of that and I must admit I probably have so much sleep to catch up on now.

I know Taang Week is over now but I have enjoyed writing these two so much and would love to keep practicing writing them. If y'all have any prompts for some Taang fics that you'd like, feel free to drop it in a comment or send me an ask on tumblr (@hardcore-evil-regal).

All my love my fellow Taang fans!! Please send some love back via kudos and comments <3

[jojo-daydreams]

Smut of number 15 and 10 with Giorno

ummmm i for some reason went crazy ahh went stupid ahh with this one ?????????????? and made it really long ??????

i hope it turned out at least ok & i hope you like it anon!!

15 - “Are you sure? Once we start, I might not be able to stop.”

10 - “I like it when you say my name like that.” (i’m not gonna be taking prompts from this list for much longer btw! just as a heads up!)

N/S // F/W BELOW THE CUT

—————————————————–

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably. The plane hadn’t even taken off yet, but you could already feel your anxiety levels rising. You’d always had a fear of flying, specifically the part where the plane fucking left good solid terra firma, although the whole experience was rather unpleasant, and you did your very best to avoid planes, but with your boyfriend being the Don of Passione, you found yourself going on lots of ‘business trips’ with him. Which was wonderful, he always lavished you with affection and gifts and spent plenty of time with you despite having work to do, but it also meant you had to go on planes more often than you wanted to- which is to say, you had to go on them at all.

Up until now you’d both been able to get away with boats and cars pretty often, but not this time unfortunately.

You look around, wiggling your shoulders a bit to try and relieve the tension you can feel building in them. The plane is entirely empty. Passione has a few private jets to use for work, so Giorno had offered to have the two of you take one of those instead of flying with the general public. You don’t know if that made you feel much better, but at least you know you won’t be stuck near a crying child. Which was a pretty big plus, really.

Hearing the door to the front of the plane open, your eyes snap forward, met with the sight of Giorno gently closing the door behind him as he offers you a small calming smile, walking towards to to sit beside you.

“We’ll be taking off in a few minutes.” He sits down, grabbing you hand to hold between both of his, his tone soft and concern shining in his eyes, “How are you doing?”

You offer him a weak smile in return, not wanting to worry him more than he already was.

“Oh you know, just peachy, can’t wait.” You say with a self-deprecating laugh.

He starts to reply, but he’s cut off by the plane lurching forward as it starts to move, readying to take off.

You squeeze his hands tightly, your other hand shooting forward to grip his leg like a vice as you close your eyes, trying not to panic and closing your eyes.

You can feel Giorno moving around a bit, and the sound of the armrest clicking up, then Giorno gently unlatches your hands from him and pulls you sideways onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and exhaling slowly as he lets you grab the front of his shirt, burying your face into his shoulder. And that is how you stay for the entire duration of the take off, and then for at least 15 minutes after the plane reaches its cruising altitude.

Giorno presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. You can hear the guilt in his voice when he speaks.

“I’m so sorry amore, I hate to be the cause of such distress for you, truly.”

“It’s fine, taking off is the worst part, I’m sure I’ll calm down a bit soon. Anyways, it’s not your fault, it’s the plane’s fault.” You reply. And it’s the truth, Giorno was the only good thing about this whole situation.

Giorno hums in acknowledgment, one of the hands that had been resting around your hips moving to slide up your back a bit, blunt fingernails scratching through the thin material of your top. He leans his head forward a bit, his lips resting against you neck, warm breath ghosting over your skin, causing you to shudder.

“What if I distracted you from the plane?”

You freeze for a moment. You’re not wholly opposed to the idea, but something about it does feel sort of … wrong. And you choose not to dwell on how that wrongness makes your skin feel just a bit hotter already.

“Well…” You pause, trying to think beyond the way Giorno has started to nip at the base of your neck, the hand not holding your back dropping down to rest on your leg, thumb drawing lazy circles that keep moving closer and closer to your inner thigh. All in all, he’s making a good case for himself so far.

“Alright, I suppose it might help a bit.”

Giorno smiles into your neck sweetly, then bites down hard and sucks on the skin there, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

He gives the now sore spot an apology kiss before pulling back to look at you, eyes dark, his desire apparent.

“Are you sure?” he says, voice husky, “Once we start, I might not be able to stop.”

You smile, taking a deep breath before shifting on his lap to straddle his hips proper.

“I’m sure. You can be pretty distracting to me when you want to be.”

His eyes flash at your tone, and in the next moment he’s got one hand on your ass, gripping hard, practically kneading, and the other in the back of your hair, gripping nearly as hard as his other hand is as he pulls you forward for a rough, deep kiss that lasts until you both pull back to catch your breath.

He grips your hips with both hands now, grinding your body against his with a rhythm you easily agree too. You can feel his hard cock straining against his pants already, and a thrill shoots through at the power you have over him, how he’s so turned on already. Your hands are splayed across his chest, and you continue rutting against him, you curl your fingers down, nails scratching over the skin his shirt always leaves exposed, his responding groan sending a jolt straight to your core.

With your cooperation he slides your shirt off, hands coming up to cup your breasts, nudging you to lean back gently so he can get a better view of your bra-clad chest as it heaved with your heavy breathing. You’d worn a cute bra today, it was a black one, with a beautiful floral print on it, and just a bit of lace around the edges, surprisingly comfortable too. Inclining his head after enjoying the view long enough, Giorno pulls you back to him, burying his face into your chest to leave a kiss in your cleavage. He trails kisses all over your chest, sucking in a few spots, lips and tongue lingering on the edges of your bra, his other hand dragging his thumb over your covered nipple.

You let out a breathless chuckle. He’d always had a special fondness for your tits, and as a result he bought you many beautiful and expensive bras as gifts, his humble request in return was that you wear them.

“Taking your time there again, I see.” you tease.

Giorno stops for a moment, tilting his head to rest his cheek against your chest as he replies earnestly.

“You have beautiful breasts, tesoro, they deserve to be given extra attention, something I am all too happy to do.”

You flush at the praise before moving back, sliding out of his hands and off his lap as quick as you can, dropping to your knees between his legs and looking up at him. Giorno seems a bit confused as to why you moved so suddenly, but he makes no attempts to stop you. Looking up at him through your lashes, you drink in Giorno’s appearance. His hair is a bit disheveled, strands starting to break free from their coils and braid. His face is flushed, lips a well-kissed shade of red, pupils blown wide. You note, with a bit of amusement, that his chest is rather pleasing to look at as well, especially right now, while you can still see the raised red lines from where you’d been dragging your nails earlier. Finally, you reach up, grabbing his cock through his pants and giving it a firm stroke, Giorno rewarding you with a broken gasp and his upper body jerks forward as the pleasure catches him by surprise.

“Thank you, but you’re very beautiful too, Giorno.” you’re practically purring at him as you tentatively stroke him again, “I think you deserve extra attention as well.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, voice rough when he speaks.

“I thought I was supposed to be distracting you.” he says, sounding a bit guilty.

You flash him a smile as you start to undo the buttons to his pants, turning to press a kiss to his inner thigh.

“Believe me when I say I am wholly focused on this right now.” you reply, helping him slide his pants and underwear down far enough for his cock to spring free. He’s fully hard now, and you can see a bit of precum leaking from the tip.

You lean forward, holding the base with one hand and steadying yourself on his thigh with the other, and take the tip into your mouth, giving it an experimental suck before moving to immediately take as much of him into your mouth as you can and coating it with as much spit as you can. Giorno sucks a harsh breath through his teeth, one hand gripping the armrest tightly, and the other drops to his leg, where he intertwines his fingers with the hand you’re using to stay steady as best he can.

If you could smile right now, you’d be grinning from ear to ear. Giorno was always going out of his way to be a selfless lover, so times like these, where he let you make him feel good, were always something you cherished. And also, truthfully, nothing made you feel as hot and powerful as bringing the Don to his knees for you.

Moving your head up and down a few more times, you pulled back all the way, releasing him with a sigh, savoring the small whine that followed.

You shuffle forward a bit on your knees at the same time as you adjust your bra, pulling it up to rest a bit higher on your breast, leaving a decently sized gap between the front of it and your cleavage. It’s not a particularly comfortable way to wear it, but it doesn’t actually hurt and it suits your purposes for now. You can see Giorno fidgeting slightly in anticipation, and now you do smile at him and you gently ease his cock under the front band of your bra and between your breast. Once you have him situated comfortably for you, you press a kiss to the tip of his cock, causing it to jerk slightly.

“Are you ok, is this comfortable?” You ask, wanting to make sure it isn’t too tight for him.

“Y-yeah.” his voice cracks a bit, and he swallows loudly to clear his throat, “Its fine, please.” he says, the last part is a breathless plea.

When you start moving up and down, fucking him with your tits, his head drops back and he squeezes your hands tightly, his voice nearly breaking again as he moans your name, thighs and stomach muscles flexing as he tries to stay as still as possible for you, beads of sweat starting to form on his neck.

“I like it when you say my name like that.” you say, your tone making it seem like you’re praising him. Which is pretty much what you are doing, watching him come undone like this for you has your underwear practically drenched, but you push that to the back of your mind for now.

After bouncing up and down for a bit more, you can tell he’s getting close by the way he’s biting his lip and clenching his jaw, alternating between watching you intently and closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Deciding you’ve teased him long enough, you dip your head, taking into your mouth as much of him as you can while still sliding the rest of his cock between your breasts.

“Fuck, I’m close, I, fuck, ooh-“ he moans, and that’s all the warning your get before he lurches forward, cock twitching as ropes of cum shoot into your mouth. You wait a brief moment, and then swallow it down around him, the feeling of you sucking on his oversensitive cock drawing a soft whimper from him. You let him out of your mouth with a pop, but stay put, allowing him enjoy the afterglow of his orgasm for bit. The hand that is holding yours never let go, and now you can feel him gently rubbing his thumb over the back of you hand as your intertwined hands rest on his still twitching thigh.

By the time the two of you are cleaned up and dressed and presentable again, it’s nearly time to land- which is thankfully not as terrible an ordeal for you as taking off is.

Giorno kisses you gently, and when he pulls back his expression is sheepish, almost apologetic.

“Thank you amore, I feel a bit bad… I was supposed to be taking care of you.”

You brush off his apology with a smile, “It worked out anyway, this has definitely been the best experience I’ve had on a plane.”

He smiles softly at your words, leaning against you slightly.

“Well, I suppose I do have the ride home to pay you back.” He muses.

You smile. Then you frown.

“Oh fuck I… forgot we’d have to fly back.”

[patricianandclerk]

Our Own Eden

"A cottage?” Aziraphale asked softly. “Really?”

“Really, really,” Crowley said, shifting his grip on the wheel and giving Aziraphale a smile. “It’s bought and paid for, I have a catalogue for you to pick out furniture... And you know what, angel? You know what the best part is?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Middle of nowhere. Five miles of disused farmland on all sides.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and then he shifted in his seat, turning to face forward. His cheeks flushed brightly pink, and the car smelt of fresh flowers and new grass. “Oh.”

The problem with being an ethereal being (or an occult one, take your pick) is that one doesn’t really fit in a corporeal body. This manifests in different ways. For angels and demons, they often burst out of the physical bodies they’re allotted by their departments: gold flakes shine from beneath the skin, or scales burst through where flesh should be; creeping, crawling things slip out from ears and nostrils, or you exude such a delightful cloud of fresh lavender that every allergen-sensitive human within half a mile of you bursts out into hives and anaphylaxis. 

For Crowley, a lot of his inhumanity was inhuman - he had a funny, snakey spine, a long tongue, yellow eyes, scaley feet. For Aziraphale... Well, he looked normal. He looked very normal indeed, aggressively normal, actually. It was his presence that was the funny thing. It was probably the garden that had done it - Eden, all that time ago.

The last time Crowley had held his hand, flowers had bloomed in their wake as they’d walked through St James’ Park. When Crowley last kissed him at the Ritz, the vase of three roses on their table had shattered when the pretty blooms laid down their roots and formed a bush. And when Crowley, on a picnic, had suggestively slid his hand over Aziraphale’s thigh...

Well.

He’d had to miracle up a machete to hack their way out of the six-foot tall wheat sheafs that had sprung up on every side of them.

But this time? This time, Crowley was ready. He’d bought the cottage. He’d planted the seeds. He’d set out his greenhouse, and he’d planted the young trees. For the past few weeks, he’d been hard at work, sprinkling wildflower seeds and fruit seeds and vegetable seeds, all around...

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, and he leaned his head against Crowley, letting Crowley wrap his arm around the angel. The lavender-scented air freshener became much more lavender-shaped, and grew two leaves. “You’re going to deflower me.”

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, “I am going to do anything but.”

--

Aziraphale watched, fidgeting, as Crowley laid out a picnic blanket. From the car, then, he set out some thick pillows for Aziraphale to lay back on, some more blankets, in case they got cold, some wine, a picnic basket… He wished he could control it. It would get easier, he supposed, but when Crowley touched him his whole spirit seemed to thrum to meet him, and instead of meeting Crowley, it met— Well, everything else. It was so embarrassing…

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, and he could scarcely help the way his heart swelled, how warm he felt, the anticipation tingling beneath his skin. He wanted, oh, how he wanted. He had wanted Crowley since the Beginning, but this want, this was new, edged with a sharp set of corners, for Crowley to touch him, hold him, devour him… Crowley grinned up at Aziraphale, and then he knelt on the blanket, gesturing for Aziraphale to come forward.

Aziraphale knelt down. He could have—

He could be more involved. He could reach for Crowley’s clothes as much as Crowley was reaching for his, could kiss him, could perhaps even pin Crowley beneath him – his skin thrilled at the thought – but it was… Difficult. He felt nervous. It was— It was always so much easier, when he let Crowley take control, let Crowley be in charge.

Later. There’d be time, later, for Aziraphale to initiate things, for him to drive, but for now—

Crowley kissed him, and Aziraphale sighed into his mouth, his hands trembling before they alighted gently on Crowley’s skinny hips. Crowley’s mouth was warm and soft, his lips smacking quietly against Aziraphale’s own, and then he tilted Aziraphale’s head back and let his tongue slide against Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale yelped. He knew it was happening, knew, but he just couldn’t bear to stop, not when Crowley’s lips yielded so perfectly before his own, drawing Aziraphale closer to him, drawing closer, in turn, to Aziraphale.

“What sort of effort should I— should I make?” Aziraphale asked against Crowley’s mouth as they broke apart, and Crowley chuckled, setting his sunglasses aside.

“Well, what effort do you want to make, angel? Penis? Vagina? Cloaca?”

“What’s a— A what?”

Crowley laughed, and he kissed the side of Aziraphale’s neck: for a few moments, Aziraphale’s mind was a hot, white blank. He heard, at the edge of his focus, the rubbery, shooting sound of a sapling coming out of the ground far faster than it ought.

“Why don’t we try one first, and then the other?” Crowley asked, his breath hot in Aziraphale’s ear, and Aziraphale shuddered.

“What do you have?”

“Right now? A penis. Hand-crafted, sixteenth-century, gothic arches, one owner from new.”

“You’re not funny, Crowley.”

“Aren’t I?” Crowley’s fingers brushed against the side of Aziraphale’s jaw, and Aziraphale looked past him at the grass around them. It was definitely looking… Colourful. Flowers had burst up from the ground in a circle around them, and near them, a young apple tree had sprung up where there’d been no tree before. “Why don’t you start you off with a cunt, Aziraphale? I watch you eat all the time – you can watch me.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale said, and Crowley smiled at him. He radiated such confidence, and yet Aziraphale could feel his heart thumping out a samba beneath his handsome black shirt, and he didn’t miss the way Crowley’s hands trembled as they began to unbutton Aziraphale’s clothes. He was awfully, mercilessly slow about it, gently caressing every line of Aziraphale’s skin as he pushed off his suit jacket, his waistcoat, his blouse, his undershirt, his trousers, his fucking spats…

Aziraphale shivered as Crowley unclothed him entirely, left his clothes neatly folded on a conjured chair beneath the growing shade of the apple tree, and pushed Aziraphale gently onto his back, reclining on all the pillows.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this, angel?” Crowley asked, pressing kisses down Aziraphale’s chest. “You know how long I’ve wanted you spread out beneath me? Like a feast…” He bit at Aziraphale’s belly, nipping at the soft skin, and Aziraphale gasped, his legs falling open entirely without meaning to. “Oh, smell that…” Crowley’s pupils dilated quite visibly, thickening until they were almost like discs, and his tongue, forked at its end and most dextrous, slipped out of his mouth and tasted the air. “You know what that is, angel?”

“Mm-mm,” Aziraphale hummed his negative, scarcely trusting his mouth to make proper words, and Crowley’s lips shifted into a dastardly smirk.

“That’s you, angel. Getting wet and dewy for me, aren’t you?”

“Oh— Oh, Crowley—”

“That’sss it, angel,” Crowley hissed, pressing his fingers into Aziraphale’s thighs and grabbing at him, squeezing the flesh there. “Want the big, bad demon to fuck you in the dirt?”

“I want him to make love to me,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, “in a meadow of our own making. Our own Eden, Crowley, that’s all I ever wanted—”

“Bless, angel,” Crowley swore, and cupped his cheeks to kiss him again. He was hot between Aziraphale’s legs, and Aziraphale could scarcely bear the hot tingling on his skin, that ran between his thighs like water, the flesh hot and aching. He could feel Crowley between his legs, not coming close enough to brush against him, and oh, oh, Aziraphale felt—

Empty. Not in an obvious way, but he could feel himself open, feel the wetness of his own flesh, feel a place where Crowley could slip in, closer, closer—

Crowley dragged away, kissing and biting down the spread of Aziraphale’s chest, and then he slipped between Aziraphale’s legs and licked him, and Aziraphale’s cry echoed over their garden, making bulbs and seeds burst out of their casements and rush up to brush the sky.

--

Aziraphale tasted a thousand times better than Heaven ever could, and Crowley wound his arms around the angel’s thighs, putting himself to his task with enthusiasm and noise. He swept his tongue sloppily either side of Aziraphale’s outer lips, feeling the pink flesh twitch and jump under his mouth, and Aziraphale was making so much noise that he thrilled – and this was just the start! He hadn’t even started properly yet, and Aziraphale was gasping, choking…

Crowley closed his mouth around Aziraphale’s clit and sucked, delighting in the way the angel arched right off the blanket, and he inhaled, took in the scent of Aziraphale (ozone and wing oil and fresh tea and books and want and velvet and clotted cream) and the scent of the garden around them (lavender and bedelias and lilies and poppies and daisies and new grass and new everything) mingling together.

“Good effort, angel,” Crowley said, putting his hands either side and playing gently over the outer parts of him, massaging either side of his cunt and feeling him, watching the way a little attention on his outer lips made his inner ones twitch and jump. Aziraphale was dusted with white-blond hair here, too, neatly trimmed.

Crowley squeezed, just slightly, and he watched Aziraphale sigh, his head tipping back.

“Oh,” he said blissfully, slurring his words just slightly, “your tongue, Crowley…”

“My tongue?” Crowley asked, playing his wet thumb over Aziraphale’s clit and watching it jump, watching his muscles clench around bare air. “What about it, sweetheart?”

“I should like to sample more of it,” Aziraphale mumbled. “If you please.”

“Oh, and I do please, angel,” Crowley said, and dipped his head down again, pressing sloppy kisses around Aziraphale’s cunt, delighting in the way his thighs twitched and spasmed, spreading even further apart, and then Crowley slid his tongue in.

The apple tree beside them shot upward, throwing out its branches, and Crowley could feel the sharp, sudden movement of plants growing at maddening paces on every side, could feel the ground shifting and quaking beneath them as it was disturbed by sprawling roots, and he closed his eyes, fucking Aziraphale with his tongue.

He took it slowly.

No harm in drawing it out a bit – not teasing, not being too cruel to his angel, not bringing him to the edge and then grabbing him back, but just letting him inch closer, little by little… It was wonderful, seeing the tension coiling in Aziraphale’s thighs, seeing them get tenser and tenser, feeing him coil up so tight, and this cunt—

“Might not let you have a cock, angel,” Crowley murmured, pressing his face right up against Aziraphale and not caring of the wetness on his chin, on his cheeks. “This is just too perfect.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said urgently, and one of his hands, which had been tightened in the blanket, came to grab at his hair instead. “Oh, Crowley, please, I do— What’s it like?”

“What’s it like?” Crowley asked, and interrupted himself to suck Aziraphale’s clit again, sliding two fingers into him and pressing down just a little bit, just to give him a taste of what it would feel like, when Crowley slid inside him. And Crowley… He was excited. He’d tried sex, a little, right at the Beginning, with other demons down in the Pit, but he’d never really kept up with it, never been interested like they were, and this was Aziraphale, this was him— “Mmm, it’s like— It’s like you’re a bowstring, angel, drawn tighter and tighter, and when you get to the edge, it’s like the bowstring’s let loose.”

Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley suckled at him messily, laving his tongue around Aziraphale’s clit and feeling the tension build up on the air, felt Aziraphale’s want fill the atmosphere with desperate tension. He was hot now, too, and he was hard in his trousers, hard, and desperate, but he wanted to see Aziraphale come first, just once—

There were flowers on every side, now, every flower under the sun, and more than that were the plants: thousands of bulbs had given way to bushes and shrubs, roots and tubers, hedges, vines, and the trees…

Crowley sucked, crooking his fingers up, and the noise Aziraphale made—

It was ecstasy, just hearing it, a choked up, hoarse moan that came from low in Aziraphale’s throat and echoed over the fields they were slap-bang in the middle of. Crowley heard a smash as one of the panes in his greenhouse shattered, an olive tree forcing its way up through the glass, and the earth shook, flowers blooming and shooting up on every side.

He could barely hold himself back, letting Aziraphale ride it through, sobbing, gasping in his wonderful, wonderful noises as Crowley mouthed at his clit; Crowley was unbuttoning his trousers even as he took him through it.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, breathless, “oh, Crowley—”

“I need to,” Crowley moaned against his thigh, “I need to, angel, can I, can I…?”

“Please—”

Crowley scrambled on top of Aziraphale, feeling the way Aziraphale grabbed clumsily at him, his fingers weak, his body loose and easy, lining himself up and sliding in. Aziraphale was hot and wet on every side, and as Crowley choked out a desperate, yowling moan against Aziraphale���s neck, smearing the skin with the wetness still lingering to his chin, the heavens opened, and the skies thundered as water poured down in steel sheets.

--

“Oh,” Aziraphale moaned as Crowley thrust within him, wrapping his arms around the demon to pull him closer, and he felt the air grow a little cooler as rain came down heavy and hard, but they were under a natural umbrella, now: the apple tree had sprawled into a great canopy over their heads, its boughs thick and heavy, as if it had been there a hundred years already. “Oh, Crow— Crowley, that storm— it isn’t m— me, oh—”

“No, angel, sss’me, can’t help it, you’re so perfect,” Crowley all but growled, dragging his teeth down the side of Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale sobbed out a noise, wrapping his legs more tightly around Crowley’s, trying to pull him in closer. “Feel good? Not hurting you?”

“It’s splendid,” Aziraphale assured him, and unheeding of the mess, pulled Crowley to kiss him again, tasting himself on Crowley’s infernal tongue. It was exquisite, too, the sensation of him: Crowley’s prick within him, the hot pulse of him, so hot and flush, a wonderful filling…

And when Crowley came, the hot spatter of it, the way his whole body drew up so deliciously tightly—

They were both breathing heavily, although strictly, they didn’t need to.

“You want me to get you off again?” Crowley asked, and the way he was lying on Aziraphale’s body, sprawled over him, so relaxed— It was quite nice. Heavy, but warm, like a weighted blanket.

“I think— I think one was alright for now,” Aziraphale mumbled, feeling the burn of his skin all over, so pink and flush as he was, and Crowley pulled back. The sensation when he slipped out was— Well, frankly, rather odd, and he certainly felt the loss of him.

“Well, look upon your work, Aziraphale,” Crowley said smugly, kneeling between Aziraphale’s legs and absently massaging Aziraphale’s trembling thighs. “Do you see that it is good?”

“I hardly think there’s any call for that sort of irony,” Aziraphale muttered, but he let Crowley pull him to sit up, looking out over the sprawling garden. When they’d started, it had been flat, green plains on all sides, but for the hedgerows, and now…

The grass was a few feet high in patches, and all manner of flowers bloomed in a technicolour carpet of wondrous petals; an orchard had sprung up, too, and Aziraphale saw that the trees were weighted down with oranges, lemons, pomegranates, pears, currants, figs… Bushes, too, with blackberries and blueberries, with gooseberries, and oh, pineapples, and then, more than that, were the vines and crawling plants… Crowley’s poor greenhouse had lost a few panes to an olive tree that was most unusually tall, and the cottage, which had been painted in a neat white-wash, was now covered over in green ivy and pink rambling roses.

Above them, its leaves still dripping with the rain that had stopped as suddenly as it had started, was the apple tree, and just above them, red as rubies and hanging tantalisingly close to where they lay down together, was an apple.

Crowley reached up, lazily, and it dropped into its waiting palm.

Aziraphale looked down at it, seeing the way it shone in the summer light, its crisp, burnished skin, and he could smell it, too, perfectly ripe…

“Our own Eden, you said,” Crowley murmured, and Aziraphale looked at him, at his yellow eyes, his smirking lips. “Want a bite?”

“Tempter,” Aziraphale murmured, still feeling dazed and bleary. “Yes, please.”

And Crowley gave it to him.

---

Very much inspired by Lie Back And Think Of Dinner by jessthereckless!

 My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

[aboysbestfriendishismum]

Chapter 50 - Xanadu, Donna Summer and Dave Gahan in leather pants (Part One)

The chapter is finally here and it wouldn’t if it wasn’t for my lovely friend and fellow writer and probably future wife in Rome @stars-open-among-the-lilies

THANK YOU BABY, I OWE YOU FROM HERE TO ETERNITY <3

***

In the previous chapter: as Meg suggested, Angie calls Susan and explains her problem, asking about the San Diego gig. Angie finds out Mookie Blaylock are now called Pearl Jam. Susan assures her she’s gonna call someone from Alice in Chains to come and pick her up and of all of them she calls Jerry Cantrell. Jerry goes where Angie is and doesn’t recognize her immediately since she has a new hairstyle, which by the way he doesn’t like. He takes her to the hotel where all the guys are staying, the whole gang is happy and surprised, the winners of the infamous bet are particularly happy. Angie asks about Eddie because he’s not with the others, Jerry walks her to the nearby beach where he’s surfing with his friend Craig. Angie and Eddie finally meet and from their behaviour towards each other Jerry has a sort of epiphany and figures out they’re more than friends. He leaves, hurt, while Ed and Angie can’t take their eyes off each other. Craig finally meets Angie and makes fun of Eddie in front of her, suggesting his friend should have the girl crash at his place since the whole mistake was his fault. Eddie accepts, of course, and the two of them leave for Eddie’s house, while Craig goes home by himself giving them some alone time.

***

“Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare…” the good half of my conscience repeats as I sit in the car and Eddie works on fixing the board to the baggage rack.

“Nipples, nipples, nipples…” retorts the sick part as I bring  myself to take another quick look through the car window to enjoy the view of the surfer, who’s rolled down his wetsuit down to his waist, thus wearing only the bottom part of it.

Needless to say which of the two parts of me is taking over right now. If I don’t chill right now, I’ll end up answering his next question by yelling Nipples! at his face. It’s not like those were the only things to look at, I mean, there’s absolutely no lack of interesting details here, from his abs to the other muscles that… well, you know, look very well distributed, with small droplets of water trickling down from his wet hair, from the small moles on his chest to that narrow almost invisible path of hair that starts from the belly button and goes down down… Maybe I should have taken a refreshening dip in the ocean too.

“We’ll leave in a minute, ok? I’m almost done. Sorry again for all the troubles I caused” Eddie draws my attention and as I turn around I instantly thank god for my shades that are strategically hiding my most likely googly eyes, as I watch him leaning back against the car hood to take his wetsuit off completely. What did I do so wrong, or so right, to deserve this?

“Nip… No problem, I mean, where the fuck is the problem? Two extra days in San Diego, room and board and concert included, I’m the unluckiest person in the world!” I half shout across the window.

“No doubts about room and concert, don’t know about the board, it’ll probably disappoint you, I’ve got basically nothing at home” he chuckles embarrassed for his empty fridge, whereas he doesn’t show any trace of shyness as he pulls down the wetsuit, partially dragging down the shorts he’s wearing underneath within too, then slowly pulling them back up.

“Well, at least you’ve got a phone to order a pizza for delivery, right?” and to call for the ambulance I’ll soon need if he goes on like that.

Eddie nods as he takes off one leg of the wetsuit and awkwardly jumps on one foot, just like any other person would do, like I’d do, totally unconcerned or unaware, or both, of his overwhelming beauty and the effects it’s having on me.

“After we make things right with tickets and everything I’m gonna take you on a turistic tour, how would you like that?” he suggests, finally free from the wetsuit that is now in his hands and is promptly thrown in the trunk. From here I can see him grabbing a towel and dabbing his body and his hair with it and in a second I find myself with conclusive evidence to refute all theories about karma, reincarnation and past lives, bullshit I never believed in anyway. Because if it’s true that the soul migrates from one body do another to ascend on a higher plane of consciousness, how can it be that the lowest level is occupied by rocks and other so called inanimate objects? There are people out there living lives that are much more insignificant than Eddie’s towel’s right now. Eddie’s towel looks like the perfect end point once we’re free from our karmic debt, the best way to transcend existence. My spiritual thoughts, that are actually very earthly, stop when Eddie joins me in the car taking the driver’s seat, unlaced Chuck Taylors at his feet and towel temporarily resting on his knees as he’s putting on a grey Dead Kennedys t-shirt. “You don’t want to?”

“Huh? No, yes! Yeah, sure, I want to. I just, I don’t want you to change your plans anyway…”

“No plans to change really, I didn’t make plans for today” he reassures me as he towels off his hair some more.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure. But thank god you’re here and now I’ve got one: you are my plan” he half pinches my cheek and throws the towel on the backseat, right before starting the car and leaving.

“Whose car is this?”

“It’s my friend Jamie’s car, he’s lent it to me as long as I’m here, since I left my truck in Seattle”

“You left your surfboard in Seattle too, didn’t you? This doesn’t look like yours” I ask and he turns around and looks at me surprised, as if it sounded strange to him that I could remember such a thing.

“Yep, that’s Jamie’s too” he answers as he flicks down the visor to shield himself from the sun, that’s not in his eyes anymore, but is now shining on his curls revealing the lighter and slightly drier tips. I’ve never seen him so beautiful and that’s got nothing to do with the fact he was almost naked five minutes ago. He’s beautiful, of a glowing and delicate beauty, but lively, warm and somewhat wild and fiery. Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen him under California sun before.

“If you borrowed the wetsuit from him as well you got the whole Jamie set haha” the fuck am I laughing for?

“No, that’s mine, I had left it here. Also because Jamie’s 6'2’’, I’d lose his wetsuit at the first wave” he explains giggling but I honestly think there’s nothing to laugh about that image, I mean… C'MON, ANGIE, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!

“I ni… ehm, I see hehe” what have I just said?! You’re acting like you never saw a good looking guy before. Like you never saw Eddie. I mean, you’ve been friends for a while now, you even slept together, you’ve known for a while he’s hot for fuck’s sake!

“Didn’t you notice anything?” he inquires minutes later and I look at him like some husbands look at their wives who’ve just come back from the hairdresser’s and can’t see any difference. But I’m the one who changed hairstyle and I can’t see anything different in him now, except for being even hotter than usual but I seriously doubt this is what Eddie’s trying to tell me.

“Uhm… no. What?” Eddie takes his hands off the wheel and flails them around as if he was pointing at something really evident, but I still can’t understand. I try to guess: “Is it something in the car?”

Eddie shakes his head and turns up the stereo volume.

As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset, I am in paradise…

“AH! The song! Is it my tape?”

“Did you think they were casually playing Kinks on the radio?”

“It could be… You like it then!”

“Sure I do, I think I already told you”

“Yes, I mean you really like it”

“And what would the difference be?”

“That you like it so much you keep it in the car. And you didn’t even know we’d meet”

“Hehe no, it wasn’t a planned out move to impress you” he admits as we stop at traffic lights, keeping his eyes on the coast on his right. Impress me? For what?

Eddie parks his car along the coastal avenue, takes his surf board first then his wetsuit from the trunk and leads the way towards the beach. We follow a trail that dissolves in the sand and as I look down to observe once again how unsuitable my shoes are and considering taking them off, I’m almost run over by a couple of girls jogging on the beach, who immediately apologize, still running on without missing a beat. The trail starts again right behind a line of benches placed around to form an L shape under a short sycomore tree with a very wide crown. Eddie’s house is very close along the way, hidden behind other trees, some variety of pines I don’t know, a few steps from the ocean and from the coast, which I picture crawling with surfers and beachgoers during the summer, but at the same time is partially isolated, almost disguised, hidden behind this tipical sea vegetation. His house is really just like I expected it to be, maybe a little smaller, a one storey sea green house, surrounded by an unvarnished wooden fence, a not very tall hedge on the front, five steps leading to the porch and the entrance.

“Please, after you, my princess” Eddie invites me in and I focus back and see his hands are busy with wetsuit, board and keys and he’s keeping the gate open for me with his foot and I realize I should have helped him maybe? It’s too late now though… I quickly get in and walk up the stairs, while Eddie places his board down on the ground in the yard and hangs the wetsuit on the porch. His house may be hidden out but you can see the beach and the ocean very clearly from here.

“Nice view!” I exclaim as I place my hands on the porch railing and take a deep breath of the salty air of the Pacific, which is dry and light though.

“Yeah. And it’s even nicer now.” I turn around and see Eddie leaning against the door frame, hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring at the ground with a half smile on his face. He looks up soon after “Come on, get in”

“Hello…” I say as if there was someone else beside the two of us and I immediately feel stupid for that.

“We’re alone, Angie, no one else’s here.” Eddie smiles and tosses his keys on a round metal table beside the couch. As he does, he notices two pairs of boxers towering over a pile of apparently dirty laundry stacked right on the sofa and grabs them, leaving to another room. He comes back with an empty basket, quickly filling it up as he awkwardly apologizes “Fuck. Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t expecting any guests”

I don’t care that much, I’m more focused on examining the inside of the house. Blue is the dominant color, on the two sofas, the pillows, the living room forniture, the fridge, a couple of abstract paintings hanging on the walls, even the kettle on the small stove and the cover of the sports magazine on the other square small table between the couch and the tv set. Ok, Eddie having a tv seems quite strange, but sure he needs something to watch baseball and basketball, right? Not to mention infomercials. Maybe he should move the tv into his bedroom.

“No problem, really. And I can’t see any mess. It’s a really nice house”

“Thank you. It’ll be mine until the end of the month, since I’m here I thought I could make use of it a little longer, after all I already paid for it” he remarks, walking out of the room once again with the laundry basket in his hands.

“Good idea” I walk into the kitchenette and notice the chairs around the big table are not all the same, two are made of wood painted in black, the other two are folding chairs, still black, like camping chairs.

“Wanna take a shower?” he innocently asks turning back up in the living room, once again shirtless and with another towel around his neck.

“Mmh?”

“I should take one too”

“Huh” it looks like I lost my ability to speak and started expressing myself through guttural and vowel-like sounds only.

“You can go first if you want, I’ll take one after you” he points out fiving me a perplexed look.

Sure, after.

“Oh no, don’t worry, you can go first, I don’t need a shower”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go and take your shower, I’ll just freshen up a little after you’re done”

“Look, I can wait”

“I can wait too! And well, actually I have another favor to ask you”

“Sure, what is it?”

“I should make a phone call, actually two. First call to Meg to tell her I’m fine and second call to my friend Dina”

“The girl who studies in L.A.?”

“Yep! I told her I’d have come here to California to see some friends play one of these days and we agreed to arrange a meeting on the phone”

“Ok, no problem. The phone must be somewhere behind the couch pillows”

“I’ll be quick, I promise”

“Take your time, Angie. Oh give it to me, I’m gonna go put it in my bedroom,” he’s about to go but then walks back to me and gestures for me to give him my backpack “and of course just make yourself at home: watch tv, drink something, read a book, rest a little… You can do whatever you want, ok?”

“Ok, thank you. But I’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight, it’s quite big and looks comfortable” I suggest as I point at the corner sofa against the wall.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’m going now” Eddie leans down right over that sofa, slips his hand between the pillows and takes out the phone, placing it on the coffee table before leaving the room.

By the way, I’m doing better and better, I didn’t even risked to say nipples this time.

****************************************************************************************************************************

As I thought, finding a parking spot at the airport has proven to be an impossible mission. After I’ve let Angie get out of the car, I tried to stop in front of the terminal’s entrance, but soon after I’ve been invited to move from there. I’ve found a parking space on a side road near the Coast Guard – it takes twenty minutes on foot from there to the airport, and I’ve been walking for the past ten minutes. Or, better to say, I’ve been running. What’s twenty fuckin’ minutes when I still have two days ahead of me to spend with her? Two fuckin’ days. I laugh by myself like the perfect moron I am. On the one hand I knew that she would have come here, well, let’s just say that I hoped so, but on the other hand I didn’t want to have such high expectations in case she wouldn’t have. And yet she did and, thanks to me telling her the wrong dates, we have one more day to spend together. Well played, Eddie! Had I done it on purpose, it wouldn’t have come out in such a brilliant way. While I’m walking down North Harbor I look right and left to see if by any chance Angie’s among the people that are heading on the opposite direction, even though I have told her to wait for me at the entrance, if once she had finished she wouldn’t have seen me outside. And probably she’s following my instructions, because I don’t see her, and with her new hair color it couldn’t be that difficult to recognize her even in the middle of a crowd. I like her hair – it’s like she has finally let something out that, until now, she had kept hidden… her most intimate and truest colors. And then it’s known that changing hairstyle more or less drastically often mirrors also a general change, the will to pull the plug on a past situation and start anew and, considering the unpleasant events of recent times, I think it’s an excellent sign. And, besides all that, this hairstyle really suits her. She’s gorgeous, free, on holiday, far from the duties and constrictions of everyday. The whole concept of seeing her outside the usual surroundings really intrigues me. I wait my turn to cross the street while thinking that this seems like too good an opportunity to pass up – I must do something about it, I’ve already lost too much time. I have to tell her how I really feel about her once and for all, no matter what happens after. If she rejected me I’d feel bad, but then she would go back to Seattle and after twenty days or so I’d come back too, and once back to our everyday lives maybe it would be easier to go on as if nothing has happened. Maybe.

I get to the airport and I see her sort of right where I left her but sitting on the sidewalk, her shades pulled up on her head, her chin resting on the backpack she's holding and an irresistible pouty face. She must be mad because I kept her waiting. I know how to make up for that...

“Hey, I'm here! Sorry, parking is so fucking expensive here and I'm broke, I parked like at the fuckin' end of the world.” I jog towards her and she just stares at me without talking, still that sweet little pout on her face. God, this is a big one, I'll have to use all my weapons “Have you been waiting for long?”

“No, I was inside with the girl at the desk until five minutes ago, trying to find a solution but... nothing doing” she sighs and I understand she's not mad at me.

“What do you mean?” I ask as I sit next to her.

“I can't change the return ticket”

“What does it mean you can't? Why not? I did so many times from Chicago, when my boss kept changing my shift at the last minute”

“Chicago?” she asks, her face still sad but also puzzled after my statement.

“That's where I was born, most of my family on my mom's side and friends live there. I lived there for years too”

“I thought you came from San Diego”

“I moved here when I was a baby with my parents... well, yeah, you know, with my mom and that guy, together with my little brothers. I lived here until my senior year in high school, then went back to Chicago. And then came back here once again, something like sid... seven years ago, more or less”

“So who do you root for more, Cubs or Padres?” a quick smile and worries go away from her face for a moment.

“What do you think?”

“Well you're a loser in both cases but I think it's the Cubs. You look like you've got a flair for tragedy” she twists the knife but I gladly let her.

“At least we won something”

“Not in the last 82 years” she retorts with some nerve and I want to punish her so badly. With an unexpected kiss maybe.

“We'll go back to win one day... we just have to wait for 2015, don't we? Against Miami, right?” my movie reference melts her sneering grin into sweet laughter.

“Hahaha yeah, when Miami will actually have a team”

“Anyway I can't see why you can't change the date of your flight”

“'Cause I bought the flight with a special ultra-cheap offer and I didn't pay attention to all the conditions and terms. Basically I could have changed date and destination until seven days before, only the date three days before. And it's not even refundable”

“Aw come on, fuck, just for one day! Couldn't the employee at the desk just turn a blind eye this time?” I angrily reply .

“Actually I had to change the destination too...” she explains taking off her shades from her head.

“Why?”

“Well because... you know, since I was leaving I thought I could take a few more days off and... well, I thought I could go and visit my mother... and my father” Angie fumbles with her sunglasses, opening and closing the temples repeatedly.

“Destination Boise then?”

“Yes, exactly!” she answers before I finish talking.

“And you bought another ticket from Boise to Seattle I guess”

“Non refundable as well” she adds dejected, bringing one end of her glasses to her mouth and chewing on it. And this is the umpteenth image of her I'd love to take a picture of, so I can freeze it in time and carry it with me always and not forget it. Anyway forgetting about anything about her would appear quite unlikely.

“Quite a mess”

“Basically I wanted to spare some money but I actually ended up spending a fucking lot”

“So you had to book another flight”

“No”

“Huh so you did find a solution in the end?” I ask confused.

“No, I didn't, but I didn't buy another ticket either, I can't afford it” she shakes her head, the end of her sunglasses still between her lips.

“I can lend you something”

“You?” she gives me a skeptical look and I insinctively look down at myself without a reason.

“Yes, why?”

“The same person who parked two miles away from here not to pay for a parking place?”

“Oh well, 'cause that'd have been an unnecessary expense. But you have to go back to Seattle” but do you really have to go back? You could as well stay.

“Yes, I have to”

“So? What will you do?” you can stay here with me and then follow us for what's left of the tour until we'll go back home to Seattle together. Together in all senses maybe, as a couple, why not.

“There's only one way to go back to Seattle”

**

“You're crazy”

“What else could I do?” although she's wearing sunglasses, I know she's rolling her eyes now as we leave the bus station.

“It's a one day long drive, even more. I know because I did. Well, by car and not by bus but it's basically the same. Except I was kinda angry and pushed a lot on the gas so it probably took me a few hours less”

“In return, you got lost afterwards in Seattle”

“Hehe yeah... anyway, don't try and change the subject, San Diego-Seattle by bus is like a hammer blow. You even have to change”

“Well, only in L.A., from there on it's all straight through”

“All straight through, on a bus, an uncomfortable and confined space. And you're even claustrophobic!” I go on as I walk beside her along sunny North Harbor Drive.

“Thank you, Ed, you really know how to be comforting. An airplane is a confined space too but the bus costs one third of the flight so...”

“But the flight lasts one third than the bus drive”

“I'm used to long journeys, it's not a problem” she shrugs and starts pulling her still long hair back into a ponytail with a scrunchie.

“I can't forget it's all my fault. To make up for that I'm gonna take you out for lunch, then we can tour San Diego”

“Didn't we tour already? You basically had to drive all through the town because of me”

“But that was a necessity, you didn't see anything nice”

“That's not true! I saw... well, first of all I saw your house”

“Ha!”

“Well, I saw the coast, the beach, the ocean, I took a lot of pictures. Oh and the Simon&Simon bridge!”

“The what of who?!”

“The bridge! As we went back to the car from the airport...” she points at the place where the bridge is supposed to be from here as the crow flies, behind the buildings “I took pictures of that too”

“Coronado Bridge”

“Yes! The one you see during the opening credits of Simon&Simon, the tv series”

“Hehe yeah. But I didn't take you to Coronado. Actually there's not that much to see there apart from luxury hotels and naval stations” I think out loud as I open the car door for her and let her in.

“Where are you taking me then?” she asks as I get in the car too and her enthusiasm is so genuine I'd take her to the moon and back. We go get something to eat instead.

**

“Subway?” she asks with an amused smirk as we park in front of it “A true symbol of San Diego”

“Jack in the box is kinda far from here, I'm gonna take you there tomorrow” I reply as she snaps a picture of the restaurant's facade.

“Admit it, you actually wanted to show me the Padres stadium” she jokes pointing at the entrance of Petco Park at the end of the road.

“No, I really wanted to take you to a luxury fish restaurant in Little Italy but, you know, I'm a broke slacker musician who can't afford a parking place, so...” I joke as we get in.

“I didn't offend you, did I? I was just kid-”

“No no, I was kidding too” I slip my arm around her shoulders as we walk up towards the counter to order our food.

As we devour our burgers, a veggie one for me and fish for her, she tells me about college, about the new Soundgarden songs Chris played to her and that seem to be great, about Hannigan who drives everyone crazy at work changing his mind about the mini mart  set up once every ten minutes, about the croissants she bought at the French bakery in Pike Place where she went back and ate on the observation deck, without me. I'm in San Diego, at home, but I can't help having a fit of nostalgia for what has by now become my new home and for Angie herself. She's right here, sitting in front of me, closer than she's ever been, but I miss her, still, terribly.

“So... Pearl Jam, huh?”

“Yeah”

“Where does that come from? How did you come out with that name?” she inquires as she steals from my tray one of the French fries she swore she didn't want to when we ordered.

“Well, there's not only one reason and it was a gradual thing, I mean, we slowly got there”

“How?”

“We liked Pearl, Stone really liked it and sounded good to me too, also for some coincidences, but not just for that”

“What coincidences?”

“It's my great-grandmother's name”

“Really?”

“Yep”

“And she made jam?” she adds laughing and taking a sip of her coke.

“Hehehe no, at least, I don't think so”

“It's also a very cool album by Janis Joplin”

“True. And in surfing slang it's when you bury the nose of your board in the wave and either fall down or get sucked up by the motion of the wave, over and back down, spinning like you're in a washing machine””

“Hahahaha really? I was thinking it was because Earl The Pearl Monroe”

“Also”

“From a Nets player to a Knicks player, such imagination”

“And then there's the literal meaning, that I find quite interesting. Do you know where pearls come from?”

“A foreign substance like sand enters enters the oyster and to protect itself from irritation the oyster produces mineral layers to isolate it. More or less”

“Exactly. It's basically turning pain into something beautiful, an emotional/creative conflict turning a grain of sand into a precious gem”

“That's a really powerful image. And delicate at the same time”

“Something precious and delicate, born from grief”

“That's a good metaphor for art”

“Yes, that's so true” I love talking to her, I love the fact she totally gets me and what I mean every time and being able to talk about anything with her, from stupid falls when surfing to art, from the manic arrangement of gum packets at the mini mart to Cubs' bad luck, and none of these conversations sounds more corny and banal than the others. Every single subject is particular and interesting with her, every word sounds more charming and true if she says it. Food tastes better when I share it with Angie and Subway too looks nicer, the chairs are more comfy, the lamps are brighter and the peppers drawn on the counter look greener. Even Mr Big on the radio sound less boring than usual.

“Eric Martin, what a voice” she remarks as if she could read my mind.

“Yeah, uhm, not bad, not really my thing, but he's good”

“And what about Jam?”

“What?”

“I know the reasons behind Pearl now but where does Jam come from?”

“From a show by Neil Young with Crazy Horse”

“When? Where?!”

“At Los Angeles Sports Arena, last week, we all went”

“And why didn't you tell me before?? That's cool but why Jam?”

“'Cause every fuckin' single song ended up in an endless jam. And we didn't mind, I mean, it was great. As we were driving back from the concert, while we were discussing it, Jeff came out with 'what do you think about Pearl Jam' and everybody liked the idea.

“You mean Stone liked it and he gave you the permission to like it too”

“That's right, I see you know how it goes”

**

After lunch we get back in the car, even though this time the trip is short. “Are you takin’ me to a park so I can jog and digest Subway’s sandwich?” she asks me when she reads the sign that indicates Balboa Park. 

“No, I’m takin’ ya to a park because it’s one of the most beautiful places of the city and you’ll have somethin’ decent to take pictures of” 

Basically, we visit all the museums, from the anthropological one to the Timken Museum of Art: I love seeing her eyes literally shine both when she admires a painting by Guercino and while we’re visiting the exhibition about mythological creatures. I also take her to the botanical garden, where she gives me further evidence of her deep knowledge of plants, and we both agree about avoiding the zoo, because animals in captivity make both of us feel sad. After the exhausting tour I finally convince her to buy some ice cream that we end up eating sitting on a bench in front of the California Bell Tower. Angie asks me to keep her cone while she takes a picture of the building. 

“Thanks” she quickly puts away her camera and takes back her ice cream. 

“No problem. So, what do you think of everything you’ve seen?” I ask her in the exact moment the park’s streetlamps light up one after the other. 

“It was so cool! And full of really unique buildings, each one of a different style: Baroque, Romanesque, Gothic… there’s basically everything. And the vegetation is incredible” 

“… Buildings that, by the way, you already knew” I mention in a casual way, already looking forward to her reaction when she’ll finally understand where I’m going with this. 

“No, I told ya that’s the first time I come here” she goes on, biting a piece of waffle. 

“I know, but you knew them all the same, trust me” 

“What do you mean?” 

“That you already saw them, although not in person” 

“And where?” 

“Probably in the same place you’ve seen the Coronado Bridge” 

“Huh?” 

“Upon a screen” I explain, drawing a square with my fingers in mid-air. 

“Wait a minute… are you really sayin’ that this park has been the set for something?” 

“More or less” 

“What do you mean ‘more or less’?? It’s simple, yes or no!” Angie becomes more and more curious and I love to keep her on pins and needles. 

“Yes – well, let’s just say that they shot here some scenes for a movie. A really important movie” 

“A movie” 

“… that you’ve watched, I know it for sure” 

“Oh, fuck! Which movie?” 

“Guess it” 

“C’mon, just spit it out!” she begs me, shifting closer and closer to me on the bench. 

“To tell the truth, I’m quite surprised that you haven’t already guessed it yourself”

 “Black-and-white or Technicolor?” 

“Black and white” 

“Hmm… It’s difficult to guess, right away… gimme a hint” Angie finally realizes she has ignored her ice cream for too long and tries to save the little drops of cream that are running down her hand. Obviously with her tongue. So now it’s her who’s having me on pins and needles. 

“Xanadu” I give up and give her her precious hint. 

“Like Olivia Newton John’s song?” she asks, not understanding the connection- 

“Eheh no, like someone’s estate” 

“FUCK, NO” she jumps on her feet and stares again at the California Tower. 

“Sure it is” 

“KANE’S ESTATE!” 

“Well done, the answer’s correct” I finish to eat my ice cream and give her a warm applause. 

“CITIZEN KANE! They shot it here?” she finally calms herself and sits down again. 

“Not all of it, just the newscast scene, you remember it? There are some exterior shootings of Xanadu. Well, they did ‘em here” 

“News on the march…” 

“The tower, the equestrian statue of El Cid, the art museum and the anthropological one, the Prado theater and the botanical garden with the pond too” I list all the places, counting them on my fingers. 

“You took me here on purpose” 

“I was thinking about doing it ever since you mentioned Citizen Kane the evening of our RKCNDY’s gig. In San Diego everybody knows that they shot here some of its scenes. I remember that, when you talked to me about it, I immediately thought that, well, if someday you had come in San Diego, I absolutely would have taken you t-” I try to explain her how the idea came to me without coming out as a psycho that gets fixated on stupid details, when suddenly I get swept away by a hug, unexpected yet pleasant. Angie’s not someone who gives many hugs, she’s not physical with her displays of affection – let’s just say that I saw her displaying her affection with something that wasn’t a pat or a slap for only a couple of times, and that has never happened with me. 

“You gave me a fantastic present” she mumbles in the crook of my neck, while her camera’s zoom is drilling my sternum, but I absolutely don’t intend to push her away. 

“Eheh, no problem, it’s just a silly little thing” 

“It’s not a silly little thing” 

“San Diego’s no Hollywood, but we defend ourselves. If you had stayed here a couple of days more, I would have taken you to the Universal Studios” 

“Do you wanna see me dead?” she slightly moves away from me to look me in the eyes, but still keeping me in her arms, and this moment would be perfect for a kiss. If only I weren’t a wanker. 

“Nope – at least, not before tomorrow’s gig. But especially not before tonight” 

“Well, am I allowed to know what’s going to happen tonight?” Angie finally lets me go and studies my face, trying to elicit some information. 

“Hmmm, I can give you some hints” I answer, standing up – the bench has made my ass like a waffle. 

“Ok, I’m listening” 

“We’re goin’ to a club” 

“A club, ok. Which one?” 

“A really ugly club, I must say”   

“Ok, so the bet consists in going to a shitty place?” 

“Exactly, but it’s a shitty place that requires appropriate clothing. That’s why we should swing by Value Village before dinner” I extend a hand to her, as an invitation to stand up. 

“Value Village? We have to wear something vintage? Oh my God, is it a themed club??” 

“In a way…”

*************************************************************************************************************************

“What’s going on, Stone? Already tired?” says our Dancing Queen, no longer seventeen, when I signal her that I’m about to leave her alone on the dancefloor, preferring the bar to her.

“Nope, you should know that for me Saturday Night Fever’s soundtrack is the lowest point in the entire career of the Bee Gees guys!” I retort, referring to the song that the DJ has just put on after basically butchering Boogie Wonderland.

Eddie wasn’t kidding at all when he proposed us to come here: the Yates club is seriously the worst San Diego disco, or better still, it’s probably the ugliest club in the U.S. and I’m saying this just because I haven’t visited the rest of the world yet; starting with the entrance in a dark and chilling alley, where you’re forced to stay in line on a creaky spiral staircase for what seems like an eternity and where your expectations grow like crazy because outside there are lots of people waiting to get in, but then the inside sucks even more than the outside: it’s a hole where only one strobe light out of three actually works and the most lit area is the one surrounding the bar. The disco ball in the middle of the so-called dancefloor lacks a few mirrors, the ceiling is so low that if you jump on a table to dance and you’re not as short as Angie you risk to head-butt every spotlight in sight, the go-go dancers dance way worse than me (and I could easily be their son), the DJ puts the music on using CDs that constantly skip and, when they don’t it’s his mission in life to create infinite pauses in between tracks. Buuut I must admit that there’s also a positive thing: the bar is supercheap – as it should be, Jesus. On the other hand Angie’s having a lot of fun, with her giant earrings, the glasses with their red, heart-shaped lenses and an optical shirt with the most flared sleeves I’ve ever seen. And, after all, I’m having fun too, but I truly believe that I’m gonna enjoy myself even more when all the Macho Men who have lost the bet finally show up. The first of them – G.I. Dave – has come with me and Angie, and now I find him again at the bar, in the company of Jerry the Cowboy.

“Hey Stone, what are you dressed as? No, wait, you’re just like any other day” Jerry jokes, tipping his hat in the exact moment he sees me.

“Shut up, I know you’ve been having your eyes on this leopard-print vest for years, just forget it!”

It all ends up with us buying each other drinks and I can’t ignore the furtive glances that Cantrell throws in Angie’s direction, now that she’s dancing with a guy dressed in leather with a motorcycle helmet on his head. I know he’s one of the gang, but only when he spins for the second time I realize it’s McCready. Anyway, I find it unbelievable that Angie could be embarrassed for a fake slow-dance she had with Cornell in front of a couple of friends during her birthday party, but at the same time not showing the tiniest hint of shyness when she has to dance in a disco full of people. I have to admit she dances really well, but I think the vodka shots she had with us in Krusen’s room have largely contributed to this dissolution of her inhibitions. Dave and I go to have a seat on the puke-colored booths at the edge of the dancefloor, leaving Jerry intent on moping about Angie, and we meet Layne – dressed like any other day, who has decided not to yield himself to the rules of this ‘70s evening offered by this awful place – and Sean, who’s basically dressed in his usual way, with jeans and a checkered shirt opened on his chest, that however has a helmet on his head that signals his will to be the construction worker. But we didn’t know that the best had yet to come, and it has been gently provided after a couple of minutes by the trio that has appeared at the entrance of the club: on the left Eddie flaunts a light-blue suit consisting of a vest and flared trousers, with a flowered shirt underneath it and light ankle boots that unfortunately lack platforms, seeing as he seems at his usual height; on the right we have Mike Starr, with suede trousers, boots, a naked chest slightly covered by an imprecise quantity of necklaces, black eyeliner around his eyes and a colorful hairband – I can’t grasp its color because these fuckin’ disco lights make it seem like it’s rainbow-patterned; but the real treat is him, my soulmate, my Jeffrey that, besides having picked up a pair of leather trousers – maybe from the same questionable store where Starr did his shopping – has also dusted off a precious relic… his historic pink tank-top with San Francisco written in purple letters that almost got us killed that time we opened for Sahmain, when we were still playing in Green River. Is it possible to show up at a punk rock gig dressed like that? Yes, if your name’s Jeff Ament and you have massive balls.

He was also wearing dance shoes and, if my sight doesn’t trick me, I think he’s wearing them even now.

“Oh my God, Jeff! I didn’t think this tank-top still existed! I believed Danzig’s fans shredded it” I welcome him doubled over laughing when the magical trio finally approaches me and the others.

“You thought I had lost it for good, but no, it has come out untouched… unlike my face. But you wouldn’t know it, you and Bruce cut and ran!” the bass player retorts, still with a chip on his shoulder for that old story.

“Jeff, I know you love me, but take a look at me. What else could I have done? Protect you with my sarcasm?”

“What are you two talkin’ about?” asks Eddie, looking around himself in a less disgusted way than all of us, because he already knows this place but, most of all, because he’s looking for someone.

“We’re talkin’ about a nice, little story of our Green River times – there are a lot of ‘em that deserve to be passed down through the generations” I explain him while making room for Jeff on the most uncomfortable booth of the entire California.

“Neither Mark Arm is a body builder, but he took my defense anyway”

“… and he got beat up as much as you, I was just provident”

“But why did you dress up? Didn’t you bet she would have come actually?” Dave asks a fair question to Starr, who answers with a raised eyebrow.

“Dressed up? What do you mean?” he adds in a confused way and we all burst out laughing in his face “Well? Anybody cares to explain?”

“He thought – well, we all thought – you were the Native American of the Village People” Jeff shreds some light on the little mystery.

“The Native guy? Don’t think so! And it would be cultural appropriation, I’d never do it” Mike adds, making all of us immediately stop laughing because, from a guy like him that is 95% half-drunk or stoned, you don’t expect a criticism about oppression and pillaging by members of the dominant culture.

“You’re right, Mike, I didn’t think you-” Layne’s about to start a conversation, but he gets interrupted by the Pimp-err!, by the impatient Prince Charming.

“But talkin’ about the bet… where’s Angie?”

“She’s over there, near the bar, where there’s all those green and blue lights that seem floating seaweed”

“Wait… you mean over there, where there’s that girl who’s dancing on the table?” he asks me, and I’m already looking forward to the thud his jaw���s about to do on this cheap floor.

“No, Angie is the girl who’s dancing on the table”

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

Okay I loved the OTP questions and I know you are going to deliver them perfectly Anna, so I couldn't stop myself from requesting five of them: 11, 15, 16, 17, 19. (I literally wanted to request all of them but I'm sure you'll get a ton of messages so eventually all are going to be answered with your wonderful ideas and I can't wait to read them!!) Sorry for requesting so maaany!!🙈

Anything for you, Vera dearest! A bit of sin, a bit of angst, and some babies - everything you love! Hope you like them. Sorry mobile readers, I had to put this under a cut, it gets a bit long!

11. Who loves the smell of their partner’s perfume?

“Jug- ahh, we’re… we’re going to be late,” Betty breathes tilting her head to give Jughead more access to the graceful slope of her neck. He chuckles against her skin, running the tip of his nose against her smooth skin, inhaling her scent deeply. She’s utterly intoxicating.

“It’s your fault for putting this perfume on,” he murmurs into her neck, voice low and gravelly with his arousal. “How am I supposed to resist when you just smell so good?” he hums, peppering light, teasing kisses across her collarbone.

Betty’s legs weaken, and she’s thankful that he has a strong, steadying arm locked around her waist else she’d be a puddle at his feet in a matter of minutes. She can feel heat pooling between her thighs and she tilts her hips to get his leg to press between them. Jughead grins at the action, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin of her pulse point before latching his lips there and sucking.

Betty lets out a sinfully loud whimper, pressing closer to him as he works to form a blossoming bruise against her flawless complexion.

“People are gonna see…” she complains halfheartedly as he sucks harder.

“Good,” he growls possessively, fingers tightening at her hips, eyes darkening to that deep shade of azure that is certain to soak her panties every time. “If you smell this good, I wonder what you taste like…” he muses with a heart-stopping smirk plastered over his features, sinking to his knees, eyes on hers all the while.

“Oh my-” Betty doesn’t manage to complete her sentence, voice failing her as his head disappears beneath her dress.

 15 answered here!

16. Who is more excited to be a parent?

“Jug?” Betty calls as she closes their front door, slipping her shoes from her tired feet and breathing a sigh of relief. The house is unusually quiet, the rhythmic tapping of Jughead’s keyboard usually filling the air every time Betty returns home from the paper. “Juggie, are you home?” she asks again, listening for his reply.

There’s a distinct bump from the floor above, Betty tilting her head upwards with a knitted brow. She heads for the stairs, one hand coming to support her lower back as she begins the climb. Her centre of gravity is entirely off these days, the heavy weight around her middle completely throwing her for a loop.

“Your child is gigantic,” she’d lamented as they came out of the doctor’s office, hands laced tightly together. “Even the technician had a shocked look on her face when she saw him in there,” she finished, casting a sly smirk at Jughead from the corner of her eye. Jughead grinned back, free hand coming up to rub the swell of Betty’s stomach affectionately. His blue eyes were shining.

“She,” he began, emphasising the word. They were still in disagreement about what they thought the gender was going to be, Jughead adamant they were having a girl while Betty had an inkling it was a boy. “Is just a good eater, all Jones’ are,” he quipped cheekily, earning himself a laugh and a shake of her head from Betty.

Betty pauses at the top of the stairs, catching her breath momentarily before continuing down the hall in search of her husband. “Jughead, are you up here?”

“In here!” his muffled response comes from behind the nursery door. Betty waddles towards it, gasping in disbelief as she pushes it open.

The previously bare room had been completely transformed. The once white walls were now a soft yellow, a sticker mural of flying birds pressed against the one to the left. A soft, plush rug had been thrown in the centre of the floor, a white painted rocking chair pushed in one corner by the farthest window, crocheted blanket draped over the back. The rest of the furniture was white, too - changing table, chest of drawers, and toy crate scattered about the room. Jughead was currently bent over a sky blue crib, pushing it beneath the mural. Inside was a selection of toys, including a pale pink bunny like the one Betty had told him she’d had as a child.

Hormonal tears spring to her eyes as a wide grin spreads across her face. Jughead looks up at her shyly, eagerly awaiting her reaction.

“Juggie,” she breaths, eyes running over every detail again and again. “It’s perfect.” His own smile widens as he walks over to her, placing a hand either side of her bump and pressing a delicate kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I just wanted everything to be ready,” he admits, cheeks taking on a dusty glow. “I can’t wait.”

17. What are their end goals for one another?

“You’re throwing everything away, Betty!” Jughead yells, trying not to raise his voice too much but she’s just being so frustrating. She shakes her head, teeth digging into her lower lip as she closes her eyes against her words.

“I’m not, I know I’m not,” she repeats over and over again and Jughead has to resist the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. He takes a steadying breath.

“These are Ivy League schools. You can’t turn them down to come to Boston just because it’s where I’m going,” he tells her, gesturing to the open acceptance letters on the table. Betty’s cheeks heat up as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’m not just following you, Jughead. Boston has a really good journalism programme and I can get good financial aid-” she begins, reeling off her rehearsed argument before he cuts her off.

“Don’t do that, Betts. Don’t give me your spiel about costs and courses. I know why you’re doing it and I won’t let you. I won’t be the reason for you not living up to your potential,” he fires back at her. Her eyes harden, darkening in their shade of green as she locks her gaze onto his with surprising, intangible force, the intensity snapping Jughead’s mouth shut.

“And what if this is what I want? What if I can’t stomach the idea of being parted from you for the next four years of our lives?” The idea sinks in, settling heavily in Jughead’s stomach. “What if I’m so sure that you are it for me that that is the only important factor in making my decision? Have you thought about that? Because I have. And I know that if I’m going to regret anything it would be taking myself away from you.” Betty closes the distance between them, gripping his cheeks between her soft palms in an action that’s always been so comforting for Jughead.

“I want us to go to college together. I want to get an apartment, and throw stupid dinner parties for your artsy friends and my colleagues from the paper. I want to hold you close in our bed every night and know you’ll be there when I wake up. I want to learn, and live, and grow with you by my side every single day. I want us to graduate, and get jobs, and live our lives.” She swallows, blinking back the tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be so great, Jughead. And I want to watch as you flourish. And we’ll get a house, and a dog, and go to street cook outs, and join a damn country club!” He lets out a watery laugh, fingers clutching desperately at her waist. “And we’ll have kids and grow old together. And that is all I ask for. A forever, with you. Starting right here. Okay?” she asks, eyes searching his desperately. Jughead presses his lips to hers in a gentle kiss, one full of promise.

“Okay.”

19. How do they decide on who does what chores?

“You play dirty, Betty Cooper,” Jughead accuses, narrowing his eyes at her across the room. Betty flushes, drawing her lower lip between her teeth and biting down on the plush flesh in the most distracting way.

“I thought dirty was how you liked it, Juggie,” she replies, widening her big green eyes in false innocence. Her words sent fire through his veins, leaving him trying desperately to hold in a groan.

When Betty had suggested clearing out the garage so they could turn it into an at home office, Jughead had protested vehemently. It had become an utter mess over the years, the place where a clutter of keepsakes went to die, and the last thing Jughead had wanted to do was tackle clearing it out.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she’d said, her eyes taking on a dangerous glint that instantly has him wary.

“I’m listening.” Betty had leant on the kitchen counter, pushing her arms together in a way that gave Jughead a very appealing view down her shirt. His eyes flicked down briefly, tongue coming out to wet his chapped lips, before returning to meet her gaze.

“If you can go the whole day without touching me, I won’t make you help me clean the garage,” she said with a confident smirk. Jughead bounced his head back in surprise at her proposal, regarding her steady eyes. A day, surely he could do this.

“You’re on,” he agreed with an easy smile, reaching out to shake her hand. She took it, dropping it quickly to signal the game had started. Her smirk never wavered and suddenly Jughead felt as if he’d just fallen into a trap.

Her sweater is the first to go.

“Hot in here, don’t you think?” she asks casually, throwing the fabric to the side with a flick of her wrist. Jughead shifts in his spot in the arm chair adjacent to her.

“Really? I was just thinking it was unusually chilly for this time of year,” he replies through slightly gritted teeth. She just hums, going back to her book. He looks up as she stands, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Bathroom,” she calls over her shoulder in explanation. He nods, turning back to his laptop. When she comes back her jeans have disappeared.

“Betts…” he says slowly, eyes raking up the long expanse of smooth, tanned skin now exposed to him. He always did love her legs.

“The faucet splashed me. They were soaked,” she informs him, colouring the word sinfully. His eyes glance involuntarily at her blush coloured panties, throat going dry. She walks about, dusting shelves and rearranging knickknacks absently. Returning from the kitchen, Jughead looks up to see that her shirt has joined the ranks of nonexistent, firm breasts nestled in pink lace presented in front of him like the best wrapped gift. She catches him staring.

“I was putting a whites wash on,” she shrugs casually. Her eyes slide past his frozen body, resting on something behind him. “Oh, did you drop this?” she asks lightly, walking past him, skin almost brushing skin, before bending down to pick up the pen that is resting on the ground.

Jughead clenches his jaw at the sight before him; Betty’s perfectly round ass greeting him like forbidden fruit. His eyes drink her in thirstily, watching the way the lace of her underwear bunches as it travels between her thighs, the fabric slightly damp…

Betty gasps as strong, warm fingers grip her hips, her own hands coming up to steady herself on the counter as she feels his bulge press purposefully against her centre. They both let out a moan in unison.

“I surrender.”