#gotta pick him up to the palm of my hand like he’s a berry ..

[hyunpic]

[passivenovember]

(sharing again because I'm so proud of this one)

When Billy Falls in Love

--

Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.

Max stays angry red. 

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here-- 

“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag. 

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows. 

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close. 

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar. 

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him? 

About his bones and blood. 

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.

“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--” 

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull. 

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

--

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue. 

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking. 

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black. 

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back. 

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness. 

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him, 

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock. 

Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong. 

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.

So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies. 

If it kills him. 

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers. 

Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”

“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington?  What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away. 

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky. 

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks. 

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks. 

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.

That Steve would survive losing this. 

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

--

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt. 

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard. 

He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door. 

Eddie doesn’t move. 

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up. 

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him. 

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy. 

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?” 

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him. 

He smells like peaches. 

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch. 

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare. 

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”

“--Right--”

“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”

Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image. 

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

Billy stops. Waits. 

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning. 

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And. 

Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does. 

He really does.

Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now. 

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then. 

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy. 

The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him. 

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,340 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Hershel's Farm Warnings: Language, domestic violence, fear and anxiety A/N: Here with some Protective!Daryl for ya'll! Summary: When Daryl finds the reader outside in the rain in the middle of the night, he gives her a dry place to sleep, but the next day it causes problems with her asshole of a boyfriend.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl couldn’t sleep. He’d tossed and turned restlessly in his tent and finally decided to get up and do a perimeter check just for some goddamned thing to do to pass the time. A heavy rain was falling and it bothered him not being able to hear anything over the deluge.

He shouldered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, grabbing his flashlight from its place next to his cot. He slipped out of his tent and started through the maze of tents. That’s when he saw you. It looked like you were sincerely hoping he wouldn’t, like you were trying to blend into the tree trunk you were leaning against, sheltering as much as you could beneath the oak, obviously somewhat wet from the rain and shivering slightly.

Daryl’s brow drew down over his eyes and he headed straight for you. “What the hell are ya doin’ out here alone in the dark in the middle of a damn thunderstorm?”

You didn’t answer but you did raise your eyes to his, hugging your arms more tightly around yourself. He watched another shiver wrack through you. The archer frowned. “Why ain’t ya in with your guy?” he asked, jutting a thumb in the direction of the tent you shared with your boyfriend. Daryl didn’t like him at all... Frankly he thought the guy was a controlling piece of shit, and he had a hunch that he might be worse even than that.

You avoided his eyes again. “We, uhh—had a fight,” you murmured. Daryl could easily read the embarrassment and shame on your face.

“That don’t explain why you’re out here in the rain,” Daryl drawled.

You continued to avoid his eyes and didn’t answer. He could think of a couple reasons why you’d be out here instead of inside the dry tent, and neither of them were good. Either he’d kicked you out or you’d left because you were afraid of him, afraid of what would happen if you stayed. Either way, there was no way in hell Daryl was gonna let you spend the night outside in the cold autumn rain.

“Ya ain’t stayin’ out here in the rain. C’mon,” he said, nudging his head back in the direction of his own tent. He turned to lead the way and glanced back over his shoulder to see you hesitating to follow him. “If ya stay out here all night, all soakin’ wet like ya are, yer gonna catch yer death. C’mon.”

This time you followed him, still shivering.

Daryl held the tent flap open for you and you stepped inside, your arms still wrapped tightly around yourself. He followed and zipped the flap closed on the rain and night. When he turned you were standing awkwardly in the middle of the tent. Daryl set his crossbow down and clicked on the lantern next to his cot. He replaced the flashlight and pulled off his jacket. He held it out to you.

You gave him a questioning look.

“I can see ya shiverin’. Take it. Can’t have ya gettin’ pneumonia. We’ve already gone through too many of Hershel’s antibiotics.”

You accepted it from him. “Thanks,” you said.

He watched you pull it on, anxiously chewing his bottom lip as the fabric swallowed up your frame. He sat down on the floor across from you and pulled his knife out and his sharpening stone, just for something to do. He needed to busy his hands, because with you in that small space with him he was suddenly feeling nervous. “Make yourself at home,” he said, nodding toward his cot on the opposite wall.

You sat down on the edge a little gingerly and watched as he drew the blade of his knife across the stone.

He kept his eyes fixed on what he was doing but his deep voice broke through the pattering of the rain on the tent. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged deeper into his jacket. It still held the warmth of his body and it smelled like him—musky leather, campfire smoke, and the outside air. “I don’t know,” you admitted.

The sharp noise of his blade punctuated the silence. “He kick ya out or… did ya need to get out?” This time his eyes flickered up to your face.

He watched you gulp, but you held his eyes. The warm lantern light threw the angles of your face into sharp relief. Your eyelashes cast long shadows on your cheeks.

Daryl’s light blue eyes moved back down to his hands. “S’alright. Ya ain’t gotta say.”

You bit at the inside of your cheek and couldn’t help another shiver that ran up your back. The archer looked up at you again immediately, concern furrowing his brow. He set his knife aside and climbed to his feet.

He unzipped the flap of the tent and stepped out. He met your questioning gaze with a nod. “I’ll be right back.”

This left you alone in his tent for a short time, just the hammering of the rain to keep you company. Your eyes wandered around the contents. It was a little unkempt, with clothes piled haphazardly in one corner and the edges of the canvas floor cluttered with tools and random items. There were half-finished crossbow bolts piled on a box that was serving as a side table, but something beneath them caught your eye. You gently brushed aside the wooden shafts and carefully lifted what had drawn your attention. It was delicate and brittle but you recognized it immediately as you carefully laid it out flat on your palm.

One day in the summer you had been collecting firewood for the group, eager to do something useful and needing some space for a while. You’d come upon a vine bursting with crimson flowers and as you’d stood and admired it, such a simple but beautiful thing, you’d watched hummingbirds flitting between the blossoms.

Wanting to know the name of the plant, you’d plucked a bloom and brought it back to the archer to identify. He’d taken hardly a glance at it before telling you its name. “Coral honeysuckle,” he drawled. “Ya can crush the berries and use ‘em on bee stings.”

“Coral honeysuckle,” you repeated. “There were tons of hummingbirds on it.”

He nodded. “Mhm. They like the nectar,” he said, holding the flower back out to you.

“Keep it,” you said with a smile, “as payment for your identification services.”

Daryl’s heart jumped at the smile on your face and he twirled the bloom between his fingers as he watched you retreat back toward the group.

This looked like the very same flower you had picked. He’d obviously pressed it underneath something to preserve it. The vibrant red petals were only slightly muted in color. He’d kept it all these months? You puzzled over this as you replaced it where you’d found it and arranged the crossbow bolts over it again. It was hard to ignore the warm feeling growing right between your lungs, threatening to spill outward.

A few minutes later, Daryl came into the tent again. There were raindrops on his shirt and caught in his hair. He had a small mug clutched in his hands and you could see spirals of steam rising from the surface. He extended it toward you and you accepted it, puzzled as you looked inside.

“Tea?” you asked, looking back up as Daryl settled onto the floor again.

He nudged his nose up at you in a nod. “Mhm. I dunno if it’s any good. I think it’s some ginger-lemon thing Maggie brought to help with Lori’s nausea. But it’s hot. And you’re still cold,” he said. He felt nervous under the bewildered gaze you were giving him.

This man had just gone out into a thunderstorm to heat water for you and bring you tea simply because he’d seen you shiver. Not to mention that you were wrapped in his coat and he was sheltering you from the storm when your own boyfriend had—his voice broke your train of thought.

“I told ya. Can’t have ya gettin’ sick.” Daryl picked up his knife again and went back to sharpening it.

It was silent for some time as you sipped at the tea and watched the archer work on his knives diligently. You didn’t know that he could feel your eyes on him and it was driving him crazy. His body seemed to respond to you like you were a drug and he was an addict. He did his best to keep it under control. After all, you were technically spoken for, even if the guy was a complete douchebag at best.

But finally you spoke, setting the empty mug aside and sitting farther back on his cot, pulling your boots off and folding your legs under you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, grabbing the next knife that needed sharpening from its sheath.

“What do you think of—of my boyfriend?” you asked. Your cheeks immediately flushed. You felt stupid even asking the question. You already knew the answer and you knew where this conversation would lead. You knew what you needed to do, but you were afraid to do it. Did you really think someone else saying what you thought out loud was going to somehow give you the courage to go through with what needed to happen?

Daryl’s hands froze and he looked up at you, his eyes narrowed and fixated on your face for a long moment. He averted them back down and resumed his work again just as suddenly as he had stopped. “Don’t matter what I think.”

“It matters to me,” you said quietly.

The silence between you was suddenly thick, like a stagnant room full of humidity, the air heavy. The raindrops on the tent seemed to surround you and insulate you from everything else, from the rest of the world. The atmosphere was almost intoxicating, disorienting.

Eventually, Daryl’s blue eyes lifted again and fell on your face. He sighed heavily. “Ya really want to know what I think?” You nodded. “I think ya deserve better.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your eyebrows lifted in surprise. You’d expected Daryl to call him an asshole. You hadn’t expected that stated so explicitly. And you really didn’t expect him to go on.

“Either he threw ya out of your own damn tent into a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, or ya had to get out because being outside in a thunderstorm in the dark was a better option than bein’ in there with him. What kinda man is that?” He scowled for a moment as he thought about how much he wanted to drag the guy out of your tent, give him a few good punches, and leave his ass in the rain. He turned back to his knives.

You were silent, consumed by your thoughts, but eventually you yawned and Daryl looked up immediately. He systematically put away his tools and then he grabbed some balled up clothes to use as a pillow. He also grabbed his poncho. His eyes lifted and met yours. “Ya take the cot. I’m good down here,” he said.

“Oh, you don’t have to—I’ll go—”

Daryl let out a scoff. “What are ya gonna do? Go sleep out under that tree?” He shook his head and settled down on the floor, leaning back onto the makeshift pillow and draping his arm over his eyes. “Wasn’t a question anyhow. Just get the lantern when you’re settled in.”

You couldn’t help smiling at him on the floor where he was stretched out under his poncho, a knife right beside him. You watched his ribs rise and fall with his breathing a few times and the butterflies in your stomach made you realize that you were most definitely in trouble… in more ways than one.

You clicked off the lantern and laid down on his cot, still wrapped in his coat. You slept peacefully until morning.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You woke early as the orange glow of the sun struck the tent walls and you shot up straight at the sound of Daryl stirring.

He nudged his nose up at you in a greeting and you gave him a small smile. His heart jumped at the sight of you in his jacket, on his cot, that sleepy smile and your tousled hair. He tried to ignore how many times he’d fantasized about this very scene, but with a slightly different context where that was right where you were always supposed to be.

“Hey,” you greeted him.

He stood and shouldered his bow. “I’m gonna go hunt. Ya ain’t gotta get up yet. Sun’s barely up.”

You bent and started pulling your boots on. “It’s alright. I’m already up.” You slipped his jacket off and laid it on his cot. “Thanks,” you murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear and trying to smooth the strands a little self-consciously. “For everything last night.”

He shrugged and chewed his bottom lip a little anxiously. “S’nothin’.” For some reason this made you smile and he thought your cheeks grew a little pink.

“You always downplay everything you do. You shouldn’t,” you said kindly, standing up. “It was way more than nothing.”

Daryl gulped and simply opened the tent flap and stepped out. You followed him and gave him another small smile as he nodded at you one more time and then headed for the woods.

You decided to do some of the morning chores since you were already up and set about gathering more and restacking the fire wood and doing some preparation for breakfast. You grabbed the water canisters and headed toward the well to fill them. You were filling the second container when you heard footsteps in the grass behind you. You turned to see your boyfriend striding straight toward you. Your stomach churned.

“Morning, Y/N,” he said, coming to lean against the side of the well. His affect was flat and you were immediately on edge.

You avoided his eyes and didn’t say anything, just continued your work.

He reached over suddenly and pressed the pump handle down hard to stop the flow of water and your eyes shot up to his face. His expression was dark.

“You know, it’s weird. I got up while it was still dark and went out to look for you. Even went up to the house, but,” he shrugged, “you were nowhere to be seen.”

You stared back at him, your heart starting to rush a little in your chest.

“And I just wondered to myself, ‘Where could my girl have gone?’” He moved toward you, drawing himself up to his full height.

You stared up at him, gulping at the nervous tightness in your throat. “Seeing as you threw me out, I figured you wouldn’t care or come looking,” you said, reaching over and lifting the well handle again to start the flow of water, a little surprised at your own boldness to talk back to him in the way you did.

He immediately slammed the handle back down. “Well, I did. And imagine my surprise this morning when I saw you coming out of Daryl’s tent.”

You gulped.

“As soon as you found an excuse you just went running straight to that dumb redneck, didn’t you? Huh? How long have you been sneaking around behind my back? Did you have a good fuck last night?” He was right in your face now and you recoiled.

“It wasn’t—It wasn’t like that. I didn’t! It was storming. All he did was get me out of the rain. He—he slept on the floor. I just slept on his cot! That’s it,” you said, urgently grabbing the water and trying to rush back toward the tents and the group, sensing sincere danger not far away.

But your progress was stopped when he grabbed your arm and spun you back around. You dropped one of the water containers which spilled its contents onto the ground. “You really think I’m gonna believe that? How stupid do you think I am?” There was rage burning in his eyes. “We have a fight and you think you can go fuck whoever the hell you want? Do I have to remind you who you belong to?!” He was yelling at you now and you tried to pry his hand from your arm. His fingers were digging in painfully.

“I’ve never cheated on you! I wouldn’t—please!”

He sneered. “Why the hell should I believe that?! Huh? You’re mine! I don’t want to see you talking to another man. Hell, if I even catch you looking at that redneck again, you’ll pay for it.”

His grip on your arm felt like it was tightening by the second. “I swear nothing happened! You’re hurting me! Let go!” you pleaded, feeling your eyes going wide with fear.

He growled at you through his teeth. “I can do whatever the hell I want. I’ll break your arm if I want to,” he said viciously, starting to twist your arm behind your back painfully. You couldn’t help crying out, but that was the wrong thing to do, and you knew it.

The next moment you felt a blow across your jaw and tasted blood in your mouth. You fell to the ground, splayed in the dust, narrowly missing cracking your head against the cobbled stone of the well. Your vision was black. You could only hear a high-pitched ringing in your ears.

The blackness dissolved slowly and you climbed desperately to your feet, but another blow landed across your cheek and you fell hard against the stone well this time, your back colliding painfully with the jagged edges of rock. You had an arm up to shield yourself as you tried to orient yourself again, waiting for your vision to clear.

You were waiting for the next blow to come, steeling yourself as best you could, but it never landed. The next thing you knew Daryl had barreled out of nowhere and he had your boyfriend on the ground beneath him, landing blow after blow into his face and body. “You piece of shit! Ya think hittin’ her makes you a fuckin’ man?! I’ll kill you if you ever lay a goddamn hand on her again!”

You watched in stunned horror. The rest of your group members were tearing across the field toward the commotion. They’d heard the yelling and your surprised scream and raced to get to you. Rick and Lori were in the lead and suddenly they were there. Lori grabbed you and helped you to your feet, her face white as a sheet as she looked at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and supporting you in your daze, leading you slightly back and away from the melee. When you glanced back over at Daryl you saw that he now had his crossbow aimed right at your boyfriend’s head. His chest and shoulders were heaving and every muscle in his arms were tensed. Rick was trying to talk him down.

“Daryl. Daryl, this isn’t the way. Let’s just calm down and we’ll decide together how to deal with him,” Rick was saying softly. “Just put your bow down and we’ll deal with him.”

The muscle in Daryl’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “This bastard deserves to die,” he growled.

“I know. I know… I see what he did. But we’ll talk about this and decide on it together. Alright? Let’s just calm down for a minute.”

It took everything he had, every bit of willpower not to pull that trigger and end the bastard right there. And if you hadn’t been watching, he might have done it. But he didn’t want you to be afraid of him too. Daryl lowered his bow and Rick pulled him off your boyfriend, who was cowering on the ground with blood pouring down his face from an obviously broken nose. His eyes were already swelling shut.

Rick grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. “You are comin’ with me,” Rick growled, dragging him away toward the barn.

Daryl ducked his head, his chest still heaving with exertion, and spared a glance in your direction. Your bottom lip was split and you had a hand pressed over the left side of your face, concealing the already blooming bruises from that asshole’s fist landing on your jaw and cheekbone. His heart ached, his stomach twisted, and he turned and stalked off after Rick.

You avoided the looks of pity and shock that the rest of the group was giving you and did your best to hold in your tears of pain and humiliation. You focused on Lori as best you could.

“Oh my God. Come here, honey. Let me look at you,” Lori said, moving in front of you and pulling your hand away from your face. Next, she noticed that your back was bleeding in a few places where you’d hit the stones and you winced as you tried to straighten up completely. Spots of crimson were staining your shirt. “Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry. Come on. Let’s go clean you up. Come on.” She wrapped an arm around your shoulders again.

You felt like you were going into shock. You were disoriented. Lori led you up to the farmhouse and called out to Maggie and Hershel as you entered. They both rushed into the front room.

“Oh my God. What happened?” Maggie asked urgently, her eyes going round with horror.

Lori gave her a look and Maggie seemed to understand. There had been suspicions going around the group that perhaps your boyfriend was laying his hands on you occasionally, and they all seemed to now be confirmed.

Lori led you to sit down on a chair in the dining room. The vet-turned-doctor examined your face and determined that, luckily, no bones were out of place, but that you likely had a fractured cheekbone and a concussion, not the mention the injuries to your back and your split lip.

Lori guided you to the bathroom and started the bath tub filling with warm water. “Alright. Climb in there and I’ll be back in to help clean up your back, alright?” she said gently. She left and shut the door softly behind her.

You obediently stripped your clothes off, in a daze still, and stepped into the tub, wrapping your arms around your knees, holding them tightly to your chest. Lori knocked a moment later and you murmured a “come in.” She had a washcloth in one hand and sank down on the edge of the tub, immediately dipping it into the hot water and dabbing at the wounds on your back. The abrasions weren’t too deep, but it looked like most of your back would be badly bruised.

You were grateful she didn’t say anything. You’d seen the expression on her face and that was enough. She sighed heavily and climbed to her feet. “Come on out when you’re ready. Hershel says you can stay in the guest room tonight. We want to keep an eye on you because of that concussion, okay?”

You nodded and rested your chin on your knees. It was right then when the tears finally started pouring down your cheeks and you gasped in a shuddering breath. “Y/N. I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Lori said, rushing right back over and kneeling beside the tub, smoothing a hand over your hair.

“I don’t even recognize who I am anymore,” you said, rushing to wipe the tears that broke free from your eyes. “I think after everything fell apart, I just thought if I didn’t have something to cling onto from before that I—I don’t know—that I wouldn’t make it. But then he just… changed. And it didn’t happen all at once and I think that’s why I didn’t just—it was gradual. I almost didn’t notice it and then all of a sudden he just wasn’t himself anymore.” You hastily wiped at your tears again. “I feel so stupid and embarrassed and ashamed,” you admitted, unable to look at her.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. And you have nothin’ to feel ashamed about. And it’s all over now, alright? It’s over.”

You gasped in a shaky breath. “If Daryl hadn’t—”

“I know,” she shushed you. “I know. But he did. It’s all gonna be okay now, alright? Get cleaned up and I’ll be right outside in case you need anything.”

You gave her a grateful look and nodded. You sat in the hot water until it started to cool, your mind mostly blank. The adrenaline had worn off now and you were feeling every bit of pain. Your head felt like it was going to split open and you winced at the sight of your swollen and bruised face in the mirror. You pulled your clothes back on and ventured into the hallway. Lori was standing there with some clean clothes for you and she led you to the guest room and set them on the bed.

“Get changed into those clean clothes and then you need to rest. Hershel’s orders. He wants you in bed. We need to be careful because of that concussion.”

You thanked her again and nodded. You discarded your bloodstained shirt and dirty jeans on a chair in the corner and pulled on the new outfit before climbing under the covers. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing out again and you squeezed your eyes shut against the pounding in your face and head.

Outside, the group was gathered to discuss what to do with your boyfriend. Daryl couldn’t stand still and was pacing angrily in front of the house. He looked up as Lori came out and the screen door slammed with a snap.

“How is she?” Rick asked, his face dark with concern.

“Alright, considering,” Lori said, slipping her hands in her back pockets. “Concussion. Bruised and swollen. Abrasions over half her back. Hershel thinks her cheekbone is fractured.” She caught Daryl’s eyes and gave him a knowing look.

“Oh my God,” Andrea said, exchanging a look with Carol, whose eyes turned down toward the grass.

Daryl swore under his breath and resumed his pacing.

“Well, what do we do?” T-dog asked. “We can’t just keep going on like everything is normal with him in camp. He’s got to go.”

“The question is how,” Dale said.

“That bastard ain’t even deserve to still be drawin’ breath,” Daryl drawled. He looked at Rick.

Rick sighed heavily. “Yeah…”

“I mean, I agree with Daryl, man. I don’t want that guy around any of us,” Shane said.

“What if we just take him out and leave him? Drive him way out and drop him off somewhere,” Rick mused.

Shane scoffed. “We might as well shoot him in the head right now. He’d never make it out there alone. That’s as good as killing him.”

Rick nodded. “I know, but it feels a little less like the blood is on our hands then... He has a chance.”

“He don’t even deserve a chance. I’m fine with his blood on our hands,” Daryl spat. “If I hadn’t been over there huntin’ he coulda killed her.”

Rick sighed again, the weight of the decision obviously weighing on him, and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah… Let’s just take the day to think it over. We can decide tonight. And Y/N can have a say.”

The group nodded in agreement and dispersed. Lori went back in to check on you.

She knocked lightly on the door and you murmured for her to come in. “How are you feeling?” she asked you.

“I’m fine,” you said, lying about how much pain you were in.

She nodded. “We’re all going to figure out what to do about him,” she said. “You should think about what you want to happen. He can’t stay here, but as far as what that means—”

“Okay,” you interrupted her. You rolled over and looked at her in the doorway. “Is Daryl—?”

She smiled a little and nodded. “You want me to get him? He’s probably still pacing on the front porch.

You nodded. “If you could.”

“Of course.” Lori left and in a moment the archer appeared in the doorway.

You were in bed, your back to the door, but you turned and looked over your shoulder at the sound of his footsteps. Daryl’s stomach twisted at the swelling and red welts on your face. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” You pulled yourself up in a seated position and Daryl came around and sank down on the chair pulled up at the side of the bed. “I just wanted to say thank you,” you said, unable to meet his eyes and instead running the edge of the sheet through your fingers, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen. “And I’m sorry that you got pulled into this mess…” you trailed off.

“I ain’t,” he said forcefully. “I’m glad I got to beat the shit out that guy. I just wish I’d done it sooner.”

You looked up at him and the glistening tears in your eyes made the colors in your irises stand out. His stomach flipped again at the sight of your injuries. “I feel so stupid. I never should have stayed with him.”

Daryl shook his head. “Ain’t that simple.”

You were grateful for his understanding. Daryl watched you struggling with some thought until you finally spoke it. “What if he gets out?” you asked, fear obvious in your eyes.

“He ain’t getting’ out. I tied his ass up myself,” Daryl reassured you. “But I’ll sit watch outside all night. Nothin’ is gonna happen to ya. It’s over.” The archer stood but your hand shot out and gently landed on his arm. He froze at the feeling of electricity that crackled from your fingers.

“Will you sit with me for a little while?” you asked. “Just—until I can fall asleep.”

He nudged his nose up in a nod and sank back down, feeling nervous and chewing on his bottom lip. Daryl watched as you settled back down in bed, pulling the covers up over yourself and shutting your eyes, your long eyelashes fanning out against your cheeks. The feelings welling up in him were getting more and more difficult to deny, and he knew now wasn’t the time—not yet. You needed to get through this first. But Daryl wanted to show you how you did deserve to be treated, even as he dared not hope that he’d have the chance, that you’d feel the same thing for him that he felt for you. He wanted to protect you, take care of you. He wanted to show you how strong you actually were, even as he thought of how much you reminded him of that flower you’d brought him; vibrant, sweet, soft, delicate, but always climbing toward the light. And he was determined to help you see it.

[kittehkwrites]

Self-care day

Warnings: fluff

Having a selfcare day was a necessity

It was the time in which you took for yourself to destress. You were able to just laze around, mostly carrying out your washday routine, and then eat whatever whilst watching movies or listening music.

Just a day full of You.

A few days ago, however, your friend, Yahya, had messaged you to let you know he was going to be in town for the weekend and wanted to spend some time with you since you both were on busy schedules.

You had told him to come over and have a self care day and take some of the pressure off of himself to indulge in himself.

you told him to come over once you had finished your detangling (this would be after having washed, conditioned, and treating, your hair.)

When he arrived, you had just finished sectioning and plaiting your hair to keep it from knotting overnight and layed out the snacks in the living room. 

You were getting ready to get the necessities for the face masks you wanted to review when you heard the knocking at your front door and then receiving a notification from Yahya that he was outside and needed to use the bathroom.

“Aye! I know you know its me!” He’d yell out through the barrier of the door and your house.

You’d quickly open the door, in hopes you’d reach in time so he wouldn’t pee on himself.

You’d fling open the door and before you can get out a hello, he'd be running in, shouting out ‘gotta go gotta go gotta go’ down the hallway leading to the guest room. You couldn't do much but laugh at the way he was acting.

You just closed the door, thankful your next door neighbours were out of town or else you'd be hearing a lot about your friends antics the following day.

Once he had finished in the bathroom (obviously making sure his hands were clean and he didn’t leave the seat up or forget to flush) he’d make his way back out to the front of the house and see you sat on the couch with a face mask on, eating a bowl of mixed berries and watching Futurama on your wide screen tv.

“Hello to you too sir” You’d say smartly, he would just turn and respond with a ‘Hi’ and say thanks for getting the door quick.

“No problem.”You would bite into a juicy strawberry and chew on it for a bit as you were so absorbed in the tv until he snapped his fingers in front of you to break you out of your trance. “We wouldn’t want you to walk around like that in these peoples neighbourhood” You ate another berry before placing the bowl down and asking if he wanted anything, pointing to the variety of junk and healthy food you had placed out on the coffee table centred in the living room.

He would take some of your berries, popping them into his mouth and laughing at the annoyed look you have at him refusing to use the extra bowl you had out incase he wanted some.

He knew it would annoy you and you knew he did it on purpose so you just shook your head and proceeded to pick up your bottle of water and drink some of its contents. 

---

“So what’s on your face?” He’d motion to the mask you had painted on yourself.

“This, my barbaric friend, is a face mask.” You’d get up to stretch before picking up the diy mixture you wanted to try out and pushed it towards your friend who was no stranger and had gotten up to change into his extra shorts and old hoodie he left behind.

“I know you no-” you’d cut him off before he could finish asking the rhetorical “anyways this mask is supposed to help open your pores and detox your skin.” You’d continue to speak while reaching for the clean brush that you’d use as an applicator for your friends face.

He’d look down questionably at the mix before looking back up at you, who was now standing in front of him and smiling, waiting for him to give in so you could apply the mask to his face.

He’d sigh before handing over the product.

You’d do a little happy dance at the fact he didn’t put up much of fight, but you chalked it out to be due to the fact that it was a self care day and he wasn’t meant to be worried about anything other than taking care of himself.

He’d sit up straight and come closer to the edge of the couch to allow you to place the mask on his face and to be safe in case the mixture fell onto the couch before it reached his face. He noticed the towel you had placed over the space between the central carpet and the couch (even though there was a gap where you could see the floor under the massive rug, he knew you were just being extra cautious to reduce clean up)

As he sat and let you apply the mask, he did start to relax and not long after you were finished and he could lay back in the couch, finally being able to spread himself out again to get comfortable for the remainder of the day with his close friend.

The two of you sat and watched a few more episodes before going to wash off the face masks.

As you were patting off your face, you caught Yahya staring at himself in the bathroom mirror and couldn’t help but ask “what did you think?”

He looked at his skin a little more.

“Yay or nay, Yahya?” He still didn’t say a thing to you. “You actors and wanting to create suspense” you’d let out as you rolled your eyes at his dramatic pausing and serious face he had put on.

Once you had finished drying your face, you were met with your friends kind smile and a “I like it.”

You wanted to slap him for the theatrics.

Had you thinking he wasn’t feeling it.

“Well mr. Emmy-Award winner” you start off as you both made your way out of the bathroom, disposing of the face towels you had placed out for you both into the clothes basket, “glad you liked it. That means you can buy me some masks when you travel to places like South Korea or Singapore.”

Yahya would let out a little chuckle.

He knew there was something up with you wanting to share your skin care and he now got his answer.

“Oh! So that’s why you wanted me to come over? To try on some face mask so you could persuade me to buy more when I’m away to bring for your bougie behind?” You could hear the teasing in his tone but continued to play along.

“I mean...” you’d turn around and shrug your shoulders to the man walking behind you before you both got situated on the couch again.

He’d look over, amused at your behaviour before chuckling and nodding his head.

“But nah.” You’d let out after a brief stare off which was caused by your straight face to his accusations. “I genuinely wanted us to hang out” you’d say as you picked up a bag of dried mango.

“I mean how many times do we get to see eachother or happen to be in the same city at the same time for longer than 4 days?” You’d say as you opened up the pack, in which he helped himself to a good sized palm of its contents.

“You right” 

“I know. Now stop eating my snacks when there’s enough for the both us”

You both would turn from watching the tv to talking about random topics or anything going on in your lives that the other missed and it felt like you guys hadn’t been separated for so long.

You guys shared some laughs, got up to make some food before going back to the couch to be lazy.

You’d turned off the animated shows and switched to playing music once you both cracked open a bottle of wine to compliment the food you'd made.

Both buzzed and full, you guys cleaned up any mess made and just let the calm energy in the room take over. You both caught the itis and didn’t try to fit it.

---

By time you had woken up, your head was on yahya’s shoulder and he was sitting comfortable with the tv on low and munching on some gummies.

He’d ask how you slept and you'd say great and he’d say the same before you guys continued watching whatever he had put on while you were still sleeping.

It wouldn’t be until the late hours of the night that he’d decide to head back to his hotel room.

You’d try to get him to spend the night but he said he wasn’t going to be able to leave if he didn’t leave now.

You stopped fighting him and walked him to the door, sending him off with a couple more of the candy packets amongst other junk food (which he technically stole but you weren’t about to start anything with this man when you were still feeling tired.)

As he got to the front door, youd both hug and you’d watch him get into his rental before closing and locking it. You'd clean everything up, packing away any unopened food items, folding any blankets, fixing the couch pillows etc. before heading up to your bedroom where you would get ready to get under your comforter for another deep sleep.

before you could sink into the dreamstate, you got a text notification  (you normally had your phone on dnd once you got in bed but this time you forgot) and saw it was from no one but your friend Yahya

“We gotta do another one of these again girl. These chill days aren’t common anymore” You’d laugh at the message as you imagined him saying it in front of you and hearing it in his voice.

“I agree” You’d respond and he’d send you a couple memes to show his excitement at the future of this possibly becoming a ritual between you both whenever you saw each other.

“Goodnight Yahya.” You’d send after snickering at some of the images he sent you.

“Night beautiful.” 

You’d feel the butterflies flutter and try to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

You may or may not have had crush on the man for God knows how long, but that was neither here nor there and you were gonna punch those thoughts and feelings to the back of your head because sleep was more important right now.

As you thought about other things, you hadn’t realised you fell asleep after blinking a couple of times.

It was lights out for you.

---

on the other side of town, yahya was waiting to get a response from you and after a good couple of minutes he figured you’d gone to sleep and decided to follow the lead as he thought about the day you both spent together.

One day, he’d think as he was getting comfortable in the bed before placing his phone on charge.

As he was about to fall asleep, his mind ran across the topic of discussion earlier and said to himself that since he was flying out of the country in a few days, he’d bring you back a couple of things for your future self care days.

He went to sleep with a smile on his face as he thought of the look of pure joy when given the products. Just thinking of your happiness brought him happiness and helped him fall into a deep sleep with thoughts of you running on his mind and the future of self care days between you two possibly being something he’d try to upkeep for as long as he could.

Hey loves!

Hope you guys liked this one.

Thanks to the anon who sent it in (sorry it took so long to get out of the drafts) 

Hope you guys are taking time out for yourself and keeping safe.

Remember to like, comment and/or reblog and thanks for the continuous support.

I appreciate you guys so much.

Stay safe,

-K💜

[milkypompon]

𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕃𝕒𝕥𝕖 | Reader x Sokka x Zuko

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𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖 | Y/N and Sokka crushed on each other for the longest time, but neither of them had the guts to tell about their feelings. Sokka tried to ignore how he felt by flirting and dating other people, which left Y/N confused. Until, Y/N met Zuko, firing up something within Sokka.

𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖 | I received a good handful of Zuko x Y/N x Sokka, so I’m gonna warm up first with some headcanons! Also, I’ll be writing a Part 2 because I wasn’t able to think of how I want to write the confession part + “smutty 👀” part just yet!

WARNINGS: Fluff! Angst!

𝔼ℕ𝕁𝕆𝕐

Being a waterbender from the Southern Water Tribe meant Y/N spent many of their youthful days splashing water and flicking shards of ice around the snow with Katara. They’d playfully chase the Boomerang Man, also known as Sokka. The three were attached to the hip and the trio grew even closer when they were dragged into the whirlwind of Aang’s Avatar duties.

Progressively, Katara began to blush a little harder everyday around Aang. She’d quietly whisper her subconscious thoughts about the Avatar to Y/N when they’re alone looking for firewood.

Katara clears her throat as she pushes around a pebble with the tip of her boot. “Y’know… Aang has been real nice to me recently,” she said in a small voice.

Y/N bumped their shoulder with Katara’s. “Oh please, that boy has been extra nice to only you,” they rolled their eyes.

She elbowed Y/N’s stomach, earning her a groan. “Anyways! What’s with you making goo-goo eyes with my brother, huh?” Katara raised her eyebrow.

Y/N inhaled sharply, feeling their ears heat up.

Little did the childhood friends know that as the boys picked berries and scavenged for nuts, they were talking about Katara and well, Y/N.

Sokka deadpanned at Aang, gripping his shoulder, “You gotta stop talking about my sister to me… IT’S WEIRD!”

Aang timidly scratched the back of his neck, muttering, “Sorry…”

Sokka sighed, “But, go ahead. You have my blessing. Blah, blah, blah!”

The poor boy lightened up, then his demeanor changed into a teasing one. “Sooooo, what’s with you and Y/N? Eh, Sokka?” Aang clasped his hands together and puckered his lips.

Sokka’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing an embarrassingly red hue. He pushed Aang’s face away with the palm of his hand, “NOTHING! Absolutely nothing! We’re practically like siblings!”

“So stop talking about my TWO SIBLINGS, AANG!” He exclaimed.

Sokka flirted and hit one everyone (everything) that seemed to emanate singleness (well, except for Yue).

He’d ask Y/N for advice on how to catch the eyes of others. It worked of course because who’d turn down the brilliant, handsome, and kind boy?

What Y/N didn’t seem to realize was that Sokka only did this to get his mind off of his childhood best friend. He doubted that a practical sibling could reciprocate his true feelings for them.

Sokka attempted many times before of course, but his throat seemed to tighten and his hands became clammy every time Y/N would look at him with doe-like eyes that sparkled under the moonlight.

So, he continued to play his game of “Let’s break Y/N heart and mine by hooking up with other people!”

When Y/N saw Sokka finally getting together with Suki, they knew it was the end for their possible confessions and relationship. Even though they’d practice in front of the water’s reflection of how they’d confess, Y/N couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Sokka. Y/N wasn’t a homewrecker!

No one, LITERALLY, no one filled in Toph with any of this information, but she just knew! Even Y/N realized that Toph knew.

Y/N would lay on the grass with her at nightfall, detached from the group. They both knew that if Y/N watched Aang snuggle up with Katara, and Sokka’s head nestling on top of Suki’s shoulder, Y/N wouldn’t be able to take it.

So, here they were, Y/N spilling her lonely heart to Toph, who just nodded and hummed with affirmation.

“I don’t understand why I’m doing this to myself,” Y/N’s voice wavered.

After what seemed like ages, Toph sighed, “You know? I don’t either, but you need to find yourself another man.” She turned her back against Y/N and began to snore.

Then, Y/N met Zuko at the Air Temple.

The Gaang was in a fighting stance as the Prince of the Fire Nation, nervously introducing himself.

Y/N locked eyes with Zuko, those fiery ember eyes of his. Y/N blushed profusely, quietly moving behind Toph.

The earthbender elbowed Y/N in the ribs forcefully. “Anyone, but him, dum-dum!” she whispered.

Of course Y/N didn’t listen.

Zuko and Y/N would exchange stares, which progressed to small smiles and waves. They’d voluntarily scavenge for food together and small talk was made as they walked side by side. After a routine was made, they bump shoulders teasingly and joke around.

“ZUKO! THERE’S A SNAKE BEAR NEAR YOUR FOOT!” Y/N exclaimed “WHAT! REALLY-” Zuko froze and looked down immediately, to his relief there was nothing. His face deadpanned and he snapped his fingers to make a small flame. “I’ll set your hair one fire Y/N.”

Y/N doubled over from laughter. “You should’ve seen your face! SNAKE BEARS DON’T EVEN EXIST!”, they wheezed in delight.

None of this went unnoticed by the Gaang, especially Sokka.

Due to the dangerous life of being a Kyoshi Warrior, Suki decided to break things off with Sokka. But deep down, she did it in order to allow Sokka to set things right with Y/N.

Sokka would shoot sharp glares at Zuko and would immediately leave if Zuko approached the Gaang.

Zuko knew that the Gaang didn’t necessarily love him, they at least tolerated him, but Sokka was a different story. And he knew exactly why. He didn’t have the details, but oh how strong his hunch was.

It didn’t stop him from being close to Y/N. Their knees would touch as the team sat around the fire. Zuko didn’t do this to make Sokka jealous, the Prince genuinely felt a flickering warmth spreading throughout his chest when Y/N looked at him. Even just being in the presence of Y/N seemed to make his cheeks flush.

Sokka was fed up with the pair’s interactions. At nightfall, when the Gaang ate dinner around a campfire, he pulled Y/N aside.

Y/N and Zuko conversed and giggled quietly to themselves as they sipped up the last of their soup.

Sokka’s eyes no longer squinted in disgust at the sight, but instead it watered. Everyone seemed to notice at his change of demeanor the past few days, everyone except for Y/N.

He stood up quietly and made his way to Y/N, startling them with his gentle touch on their shoulder. “Can I… uh talk to you Y/N? If it’s alright with you?” Sokka’s voice whispered, the Gaang quieted down. Y/N looked around, earning them similar looks of sadness even from Zuko, finally meeting Sokka’s, they nodded.

The pair walked away with eyes still set on them, which quickly diminished when Aang cleared his throat. Their conversations returned.

Sokka kept a decent distance between him and Y/N, not wanting to make them uncomfortable by the sudden time alone they have together. He sat on a fallen log, dusting it off with his hand.

Y/N could read Sokka like a book. They frowned as he stalled around, “What’s wrong Sokka?”

Sokka looked up, his eyes unreadable. He drew his lips into a thin line, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? That’s what you’re gonna ask!”

Y/N flinched at his sudden burst. Sokka was the cool and collected one, that simultaneously bounced around with happiness, but now they could only see his color draining.

“I’ve been watching you cozying up with Zuko! You’d give him these looks and he'd look at you back the same way. Those jokes and trips you make with him,” Sokka’s voice raised a pitch higher

“YOU’RE NOT MAKING IT EASIER FOR ME EITHER! It’s not fair for you to throw around Zuko’s name like that, when I could list all the people that happened to magically kiss you on the lips-”

Suddenly, a chaste kiss was sloppily placed on Y/N’s lips by Sokka. Y/N forcefully shoved him away.

“Y/N… I- I’m sorry-” Sokka approached them carefully.

Y/N clenched their jaw, “No, you don’t get to say sorry.” They backed away slowly, which quickly turned into a sprint back to the campfire. Eyes still stinging from tears that were being held in for too long.

𝔼𝕟𝕕𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖 | THIS IS SO SAD :( Anon, why did you do this to us! But for real, I actually really loved writing this because it literally broke my heart. Is that sadistic? Or masochistic??

Give me your thoughts!!

[jungkookiebus]

Life Eternal | jjk

Genre: fantasy!au, angst, smut Pairing: Fae!Jeongguk x human!reader Word Count: 8.9k Warnings: the angst is minimal (years of pining and some heartbreak. okay maybe minimal for us, but not for them lol), near death of a major character, fingering, vaginal sex (that vanilla stuff, but it’s cute you just gotta get there). Summary: In the village there were always whispers of Fae and at home, isolated in the mountains, your mother wove you stories of the tricks they pulled. When young, you met, by fate, a Fae that skewed all your previous notions. A boy saves your life and sets you on your way. Years later, he’s there again, saving you and sealing it with a kiss. Legend says that if a Fae claims you as his own you’re his forever. Could you, a human, really live with forever? 

“Don’t go too far,” your mom said from the edge of the garden. The cottage door was open behind her, the smell of bread wafting into the forest. You had asked her if it would be okay to pick berries to which she obliged but came running out before you could get too far.

“I won’t, mama.” The basket she had given you was hung over your arm. If you brought back enough, then she might make that pie you liked so much. It was your birthday after all.

You wouldn’t have to travel far into the trees, but it would be out of sight of home. Growing up in these woods, you knew all the twists, turns, and strange trees but even Mother Nature liked to change every once in a while, and keep things hidden and out of sight. That was when you fell straight through the earth. Or at least that’s what it felt like. You landed with a thud, flat on your back. Bits of dirt and a few leaves landed on your face. Sitting up and wiping away the forest floor debris you looked at your surroundings. You were in an underground cavern with what looked like tunnels. Might have been an old underground river. Either way, there was no way you were getting out going up. The hole in which you fell was about twenty feet above you.

“Hello! Mom!” you yelled. Your voice bounced off the walls in the tunnels, disappearing into an unknown darkness. Birds chirped overhead and you suddenly wished you could sprout wings and fly out of here.

“Hello!” you called again.

You sat down hard, tears starting to prick at your eye corners. Dread filled your body as you thought about being stuck down here, never found, and starve to death. This was not at all how you imagined dying. Standing up, you walked to one of the tunnels, turning your head to see if you could hear any wind or distant noises. No sound came out of the void in front of you and it was so unsettling that you moved on to the next one about ten feet away. A whisper of a breeze came from within, promising a way out, but there was still one more to check. You had to walk across the cavern to get to this one. It looked a bit smaller than the other two, giving you pause. Maybe the tunnel got smaller as you traveled? You shivered thinking about getting stuck in there. One summer, you had fallen into a large hay bin in the barn, trapping yourself amongst the densely bunched straw and panicked. Reliving something like that in the dark made your heart hurt in your chest. You were about to give up on that tunnel entirely when you heard a small sound. It was very faint at first; just a clack against the rock. Could be anything. Then you heard it again. This time, two clacks against the rocks and a softer thud. You held your breath as you listened. The combination of sounds seemed to be coming towards you until they were getting too close for comfort. Scrambling backwards to get towards the light, your heel caught the stone and it sent you tumbling backwards. You sat up quickly and watched as a small, yellow ball came rolling out of the tunnel, bumping along crags and stones, and stopped at your feet. Your chest heaved as panic set in. Something or someone was in here with you. The clacks were footsteps, boots maybe, and they were drawing closer by each passing second. Closing your eyes, you accepted your fate with whatever was going to emerge out of that tunnel.

What you weren’t expecting was the total shock of the other person.

“Oh!” you heard exclaimed in front of you. From the sounds of it, it was a young boy, probably around your age. But now that you thought of it, there weren’t homes close to yours for miles and the village was even further.

You opened one eye slowly and then the other. In front of you stood a tall boy with shaggy hair. He was hidden in the shadows just enough that you couldn’t see much else about him. He wore baggy pants, a loose fitted long sleeved shirt, and upon looking down, boots.

“I see you found my ball,” he smiled nervously. He backed into the shadows a little more as if he didn’t want you to see him.

“Uh…” You looked down at your feet. Grabbing the ball, you tried to look confident as you rose to your feet. “Do you know a way out of here?”

“Oh, I…how did you get in?”

You looked up through the beam of sunlight and pointed.

He huffed in surprise as if he had just found out it was there even though it was painfully obvious.

“Do you know a way?”

“Yes.”

“Can you show me?”

“No. Uh, I mean, yes! I mean…I’m not supposed to take you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, stepping closer in his direction. He scuffled backwards to keep his distance. You stopped walking and stared into the darkness.

You heard his shallow breathing, watching you from the shadows as you stood, ball in hand and waiting for an answer.

“I’m not supposed to take you there.”

“Where is there? I just need to get out of here.”

“Look, I’m going to come closer to you because I don’t like this whole hiding in the shadows thing, but you have to promise me something.”

“Okay?” You fidgeted nervously.

“That you won’t be afraid.”

You sucked in your breath and held it there. This was making you very, very afraid.

“Okay,” you croaked.

He moved forward slowly; approaching the dim circle of light that you stood in. His shoes clicked ever so lightly on the stone. He was looking straight at you when he came into the light. His hair was jet black and it framed his face perfectly. It was messy and fell over his eyes…his eyes. You were suddenly entranced with his eyes. They were a color you had never seen on another person. They were as green as emeralds and shown brightly in the light. His skin shown as if the moon illuminated from the inside out. His features were sharp but at the same time round, boyish. Softly pointed ears stuck out from the curls. He was young still, maybe a few summers away from becoming a man. When all he was met with was mild curiosity, he stepped closer.

“I don’t scare you?”

“You look like any other boy.”

He laughed and you saw his eyes shine. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, you act like one.”

He laughed again. Distracted by your movements, he looked at you palming the ball in your hands. A deep gash lay across your left hand.

“You’re hurt,” he said pointing to your hand.

You gasped, dropping the ball. You were so scared you hadn’t even noticed that you hurt yourself. The boy stooped low and scooped up the ball before fixing his gaze on your hand once more. He watched you panic for a couple of seconds before stepping forward tentatively.

“May I?” he asked reaching out.

You sniffled. You were confused. What could he possibly do for you? It didn’t look as if he carried anything with him. Was he trying to find a way to grab you? Drag you back into the cave and more than likely eat you? You stepped back noticeably, and the boy gave pause. Putting his hands up in a defensive gesture he looked at you squarely.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Your hand shook as you held it out. He walked towards you again, slowly. When he saw that you weren’t going to bolt, he gently placed his hand beneath yours, to cup it softly. His skin was cool and soothing against yours. He placed his other hand over yours and you looked up at him through your tears. He smiled a little, his effort at comfort, as his grip tightened on you.

“You should be good as new.” He pulled away hesitantly. Looking down, the gash was gone. You turned your hand this way and that.

Looking at him with astonishment you said, “How did you do that? Are you a witch?”

“Don’t compare me to those creatures,” he mock sneered. He averted his eyes to the floor.

“So? What are you?” You leaned to the side a little hoping to catch a glance at his expression.

He scrunched his nose before smiling wide, turning to look at you, and you saw a glint of mischief in his eyes. You knew what he was going to say before the words ever left his mouth. Dread filled you to the brim and you felt the blood drain from your face. You thought his kind was only a legend; stories passed down to scare you into staying close to home. Mischievous creatures that lived in the forest, preying on humans, taking them as their own.

“I’m Fae of course.”

You should have known, and you could kick yourself for trusting him. He probably wasn’t even a young boy. He was more than likely an old Fae disguised to lure you into a false sense of security.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted. Bending down you grabbed a stone large enough to maim if need be.

“Hey!” He held his arms out in front of him as you slowly circled one another. “Put that down!”

“Oh, so you can kidnap me and take me back to wherever it is you live? You’ll…you’ll probably feed me to your children!” You jabbed the rock in his direction as he took a step towards you.

Hands still raised he said, “Put the rock down, please.”

“I’m not putting this down.”

“Can you at least stop swinging it at me? And children? Ew, no. I’m too young for kids. I’m a kid.”

“Says the old man disguised as a kid!” You swung a little wider hoping to keep him away from you.

“I’m not an old man!”

“Prove it!”

“Look at me!” he shouted emphatically, gesturing towards himself as if it were painfully obvious and you were just stupid.

“All you Fae are tricksters.”

He flung his arms to his sides, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he sighed. He rubbed his hand over his face. “That is true…however!” he held his hands up again, “we are also honest folk. I can get you out of here, but you have to trust me, and you have to be quiet.”

You stared at him as you pondered his offered. He didn’t look away from you as your brain rattled through all the possibilities. He could be telling you the truth; he can get you out of here and on your way back home. Or, he could be lying to you and leading you to your death. If you turned him down, he would just leave you here and you’d starve anyway. Maybe he’d give you a quick death if he really did mean to kill you.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But I’m keeping the rock.”

“Fair. Just don’t swing it at me.”

“What’s your name?” you asked, lowering your hand.

“Jeongguk.”

“Strange.”

“Oh yea? What’s yours?”

“______.”

“Strange.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he smirked.

“Now, let’s get you out of here before your parents think you’re actually dead.”

He held out his hand to you, but you didn’t take it.

“You let me hold it before,” he pointed out.

Exhaling loudly, you stepped forward and placed your hand in his. He was like touching a smooth stone from the creek bed next to your house. His fingers intertwined with yours and he grinned calmly.

“It’s going to be dark, but you have to trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He tugged at you gently and you numbly followed behind him, afraid to leave the light behind, but that too would disappear as the day went on. The tunnel floor was unnaturally smooth so there was no tripping as he led you further into the depths of the cavern. Cool air blew against your face and it helped to calm your nerves as they pricked your skin and caused it to flush. It was quiet save for his soft foot falls and your erratic breathing.

“Don’t be so nervous,” he whispered. “I’ll protect you.”

“From what?”

“You tell me. Sounds like you might be creating something in your head.”

He was right. Your mind raced, thinking up the most horrible creatures imaginable. Wolf men hid in the shadows, watching you walk by. The drip you heard occasionally was not water, but drool. You shook your head to clear the thoughts but couldn’t seem to let it go.

Sometimes, he would turn to look at you and you would see his eyes glint even though there was no light source in the tunnel. The walls were still very close. The echo of your footsteps came back rather quickly as you traveled. After about ten minutes of walking, the floor started to slope upwards ever so slightly, and the breeze became stronger.

Jeongguk stopped after a moment and turned to face you. His face was close to yours as he spoke, and you caught his scent as he leaned closer. Fresh rain and pine needles, you thought.

“We’re going to travel the outer limits and you’ll have to be extremely quiet, okay? If I take you along the edge there shouldn’t be very many people. Plus, we’ll be high up and most people don’t go up there anyway.”

You were confused but you didn’t want to ask. From where you fell was maybe only twenty feet and you were gradually going up, so what was he talking about? He took your silence as confirmation and led you onwards once more.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered.

The breeze grew stronger. Smells started to assault you senses and it bewildered you because they were all so…familiar. Strong smells of cooked meat, wood burning in a stove, and fresh earth were among the ones you noticed. The first sounds besides the two of you started to reach your ears. A town. Voices, bustling carts, people walking on cobblestones, and small children laughing. Jeongguk held your hand harder as a light came into view ahead, around a corner. The light, sound, and smells grew stronger as you rounded the corner. Ahead you saw a cavernous expanse open up before you and as you exited the tunnel you were astonished at what you saw. Inlaid inside an enormous, ancient underground dried up lake sat a small city. A waterfall rushed down on the opposite end, straight into a river that cut through the city and into the mountain. Houses were cramped on top of one another, bakeries, butchers, people talking amongst each other in the streets, and children played along the stalagmites. The city glowed. Some form of plant life that grew on the ceiling and many of the columns of stone illuminated the city.

“This way,” he whispered, pulling you from your reverie. “We need to get you out of here before anyone notices you.”

The two of you stood on a ledge that was only about three feet across, just as smooth as the tunnel, and wound upwards and around to another opening. You both moved with haste and you tried to take in and remember as much of the city as possible. Strange creatures you had never seen before moved along the streets and alleyways of the busy city. People like Jeongguk made up most of the population, but you also saw all manner of wild, magical animals among them. Strange birds with white eyes sat perched on rooftops, observing you as you passed without making a sound. Lithe creatures with fur as shiny as silk and deep red slinked in and out of the passing people. You were soon approaching the next tunnel when you forcibly stopped, causing Jeongguk to turn and look at you.

“What are you doing?” Fear crept into his voice as he watched you, exposed, staring out over the city.

“Is this where you live?”

“Yes, now we need to go,” he said pulling on you again.

“Just give me a second.” You slipped your hand from his and walked to the ledge.

“Be careful!” he whispered loudly. The drop was long and would surely kill you if you were to fall over the edge. You’d be met below with stone rooftops and strange creatures no doubt. Much better than starving. You looked out over the city and then back at him.

“I thought Fae lived in the forest.”

“They-we do. Just not all of us live on top. You humans don’t even know a fraction about us.”

You looked back at him. His eyes glowed even brighter under the luminescent plant life. He seemed to be pleading with you to step away. Sighing, you reached for his hand. He looked relieved as he grasped you firmly and pulled you into the tunnel. The city disappeared behind you until it was a faint glow in the distance. Neither of you spoke as you walked. The sound of rushing water filled your ears and you knew you were close. The same water source that fed the waterfall had to come from somewhere and you soon saw it as you approached, it came up on your right as Jeongguk led you to the left. An opening led directly out into the forest where you saw the trees swaying peacefully in the wind. The two of you stepped into the sunlight and both squinted as you adjusted to the bright afternoon sun. When you could finally fully open your eyes, you turned and looked at the boy a little more fully. Woven in his hair were jewels that shone so clearly that you were sure they were nothing man had ever made. His skin was alabaster but shone so prettily in the light that you were suddenly envious. The green of his eyes was even more unsettling as the sun washed across his face.

“I’ll get you back to the path and then you can find your way home.”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

“Not all Fae are bad, _____. You’re right to have reservations about us, though. Fae are not a wholly peaceful race.”

“W-what does your race do?”

He looked at you squarely and you could tell he was debating on telling you.

“We…do take humans.” He cringed a little as you stepped back in fear. “Only the really bad people. The ones that like to keep humans as pets or kill them. The legends are true, but it’s not true for all of us. Though, if a Fae does take you, you’re theirs forever; doomed to live an eternal life until you are released.”

“Like immortality?”

“Something like that.”

You both moved forward into the forest and soon you were back on the path leading you home. You hadn’t realized he had stopped some time behind you until you only heard your footsteps crack amongst foliage. You turned and saw him standing in the path holding the basket you had brought, filled to the brim with berries. You stood in shock as he walked forward and handed it to you. You hesitated before reaching out and holding the basket in your arms.

“So you don’t have to tell your mom what happened,” he smiled.

This was his way of saying goodbye to you after he had set you on your path.

“Will I see you again?”

“It’s not safe for my kind to mingle with yours.”

“Why not?”

“Elder Fae do not take kindly to humans,” he said sadly, “unless they’re the ones taking them.”

He seemed to be different from the others he described. He looked ashamed as he said the words.

“Well, thank you for helping me and…thank you for��,” your voice trailed off as you didn’t know what to say. All you knew is that you wanted to see him again and that seemed impossible.

“Goodbye, ____.” He grinned one last time. A strong breeze grew overhead, causing the leaves to rustle loudly, momentarily distracting you as you looked up. When you looked back at where the boy stood, he was gone. The only proof you had that he existed was the basket of berries you held in your arms.

Five years later

“______, where are you going? I’m making your favorite dinner for your birthday. 18 is a big deal.”

You grabbed the basket from the small table by the door. “Berries, mom. I was hoping you’d make me a pie.”

Every year, for your birthday, you had gathered berries for a pie. Five years ago, is when you met him and you had hoped every year since that you would happen upon him again. The hole you had fallen into was gone the next day when you went searching for it. It seemed to have been sealed up, almost by magic. A few times you thought you might dare go into the tunnel the river flowed into, disappearing under the earth, knowing it led to the glowing city. But you always got frightened in the end and never went. This year would probably be no different. After you had gathered the appropriate amount of berries you headed in the direction of the rushing water. The snow had begun to melt farther up the mountains, so the water was higher and faster than usual as you approached. The mist sprayed higher than ever as the water hit in the stone walls of the tunnel. Today would definitely be a day you would not be entering the tunnel. But fate had a funny way of changing your plans. What had normally been a safe rock for you to stand on was now slick with water and a thin layer of gooey slime. You had no time to process what was happening as your footing was lost and you plunged headlong into the icy depths of the river. The cold cut through you like a knife, seizing your breath in your lungs, and caused your muscles to tense. No matter how painful it was, you fought. You grabbed for anything you could until you plunged into darkness, swept away with the current and underground where you were surely going to meet your fate. These woods had tried to kill you five years earlier and here it was trying again. You had resigned yourself to your death as the world faded around you, darkness creeping into your mind as the coldness began to ebb away. The last thing you remembered as a sharp jerk to the right before you succumbed to the empty blackness that was death itself.

You stood, alone, in an empty white space. Wherever you were, it was bright, but there were no defining features. It was just…white.

“Hello?” your voice only echoed a little, but with no curves or corners to the place, you could not determine how large it was.

“_____.” You heard your name even though it sounded like a low whisper.

“Hi! Yes! Where am I?”

Your name sounded again, but a little more frantic this time.

“I’m right here, can you see me?!” you shouted at the top of your lungs.

“________!”

Your eyes flew open to darkness as you coughed. Water came sputtering out of your mouth as your lungs filled with precious air.

“Oh, thank the gods,” you heard above you.

You laid flat on stone, that much you could tell, and it was smooth. You ran your fingers along the glassy surface and memories of the tunnel came racing back. A scratchy coat was thrown across you and you pushed it away as you sat up.

“You might want to stay down,” a deep voice said beside you.

“Who are you?” The river was close, but it wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t hear him. The fresh breeze chilled the water soaked into your hair and clothes and you shivered.

“Wait until your eyes adjust.”

You tried to focus and soon you were able to make out shapes in the darkness. A little way down the tunnel you recognized the soft glow of the city you had convinced yourself you dreamed of. Turning, you looked at the man beside you and recognized him instantly. He had changed so much, but you could recognize those eyes anywhere. Jeongguk sat beside you, not a boy anymore, but a young man. His arms that were once willowy were now thick with muscle. His jaw had become defined, but his face still held a softness to it. The same curly hair laid against his contrasting white skin. In that moment, you had sworn you had never seen anyone or anything more beautiful than him.

“…Jeongguk?”

His smile was wide and glittering as you said his name.

“You remember me.”

“I thought I made you up.”

His laugh was low and rumbling, like rocks tumbling in the forest.

“I’m real.”

“You’ve changed.”

“So have you,” he said looking you over. Your skirts were heavy with the weight of the water and you involuntarily shivered. “And you’re freezing.” He lifted you easily in his arms and held you to his chest. Your breath caught in your throat at the closeness. Memories of him flooded back. He still smelled the same, like fresh rain and pine needles. He carried you into a small alcove of stone that was protected from the breeze and before your eyes a fire seemed to sprout and come to life from within the stone. No wood sat beneath it as it burned warmly in front of you. Jeongguk came into view in a flash of orange as he sat beside you. The icy jewels still hung from his hair like raindrops and you longed to reach out and touch them. His nose still sloped delicately, but time had favored him into sharp features as well. You sat appreciating him when he looked at you, green eyes glinting from the glow of the fire.

“I see that you still like to almost kill yourself. That hasn’t changed,” he laughed.

You huffed as you turned your palms towards the fire. “I was looking for you if you must know.”

“For me?” He pointed to himself in astonishment as he looked at you.

“I told you I thought I made you up. The hole was gone the next day, so I thought I dreamed it. If I hadn’t had the berries that day, I would have convinced myself that you weren’t real.”

He looked worried as he peered into the flames again.

“It’s not safe for you to come poking around here.”

“This is my first incident in five years.”

“That’s not what I mean. There’s other Fae…bad Fae, _____, I told you this and you’re still going to tempt fate?” He was looking at you again and his eyes flashed in anger? Or was that fear?

“No one has come after me.”

“That you know of. Not all Fae can be seen.”

You swallowed nervously. You hadn’t thought about how mischievous the Fae were ever since you met him, the seemingly only kind one there was. You both sat in silence, you more so in embarrassment at having been saved twice by the same boy and for being so foolish and heedless in his warnings.

“But are you okay?” he asked after a long moment.

“Yes.”

He seemed nervous as he spoke. “How have you been?”

“Lonely. Wished for a mysterious boy to keep me company again,” you smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.

You saw the whisper of a smirk grace his lips as he continued to stare into the fire.

“I’ve been busy,” he replied.

“Do you…work?” A little more hesitantly, “Married? Have kids?”

His eyes were wide as he looked at you, questions swirling in his mind. “No, I’m not married. Just busy.”

“Oh,” you said looking down. The mood was ruined.

“You?” He sounded shy as he talked.

“Oh, no. Still helping mama and papa with things around the house and farm…nothing special.”

The silence was strong and deafening between the two of you and you felt that if you didn’t say anything now, then you’d probably spend the next five years trying to find another hole to fall into.

“I’ve thought about you every day for the past five years.” You weren’t looking at him as you said it; you were speaking more to the darkness beyond the fire than you were to him. His back straightened a little and he shifted slightly in your direction as he listened. “Every year on my birthday I’d go to that same spot to pick berries. I know where the hole was because I distinctly remember a sycamore tree next to it and beyond that, a rock shaped perfectly like a loaf of round bread.” You sighed dreamily as you recalled each year. Jeongguk watched your expression change in profile. He liked the way you looked when the downturned corners of your mouth slowly rose upwards at the memory. Your skin was golden from years in the sun, but here in the darkness, it glowed with fire and life and he was drawn to you more than ever. “I thought maybe my birthday was special and you were a gift that few are given.” He held his breath as you spoke about him like he was a treasure you held close for all these years. “But you never came.”

The corners of your mouth turned down again and he was desperate to see your smile.

“I…I, too, thought about you…” His voice shook as he spoke.

“Really?”

“More than I’d like to admit.”

You laughed when he wasn’t intending to be funny, but he would do it a million times over in order to hear your laugh again. He smiled, looking at you, and watched as the light from the flames danced across your face. Your long hair was starting to dry and turn golden in the light. Before his brain could catch up and tell him no, his hand was on your cheek, turning your head towards him as he leaned in, lips connecting with yours. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach and your mind raced with memories, as tranquility flowed through you, knowing that the boy in the mountain was real. He deepened the kiss as he held your neck firmly. The taste on his tongue was sweet, sweeter than the berries you picked every year. The fire flickered higher as Jeongguk kissed you as if his pleasure heightened the flames. All too soon, coldness washed across your wet lips as he pulled away. He breathed heavily as he stared at you, searching your face. He looked confused, afraid, and all at once relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be,” you said reaching out and grasping his arm. “I…I wanted that.”

“But I’m a Fae.”

“And?”

“You’re supposed to be afraid of me.”

“You haven’t given me a reason yet. You’ve had years to kill me.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“It can’t be that bad-“

“Stop!” he interjected. “This was a mistake. This is wrong and you shouldn’t be here.” He started to stand as you reached for him.

“Jeongguk, wait! I don’t understand. What did I do?”

“Nothing now let’s go,” he said angrily. The fire was already starting to die out.

You stood on shaky legs and he reached out to keep you aloft, but only touched as lightly as possible. Your heart clenched in your chest at the sudden rejection and you could do nothing else but follow him out.

Once again, his footsteps faded behind yours and once again he stood in the path with a basket of berries. You looked down and noticed you were completely dry and not a thread out of place. Tears swam in your eyes as he looked at you impassively, basket in hand, and waiting for you to take it.

“Jeongguk, please talk to me.”

“You need to go and I’m going to need to you to quit looking for me.”

Your tears fell freely now as you refused to take the basket, knowing it was the only thing keeping him in front of you now.

“Just tell me what I did.”

“I told you that you didn’t do anything now take the basket and go home, ______.”

He thrust the basket into your chest and you instinctively grabbed it. His jaw clenched as he looked you over and you looked up to make eye contact with him. All you could see was sadness, but the hard lines of his face told you he was angry.

“Don’t come back, _____.”

And he was gone. In the blink of an eye it was as if he wasn’t even there. Dropping to your knees you cried in the path as the leaves floated by on the wind. The sun was warm on your skin as you sobbed, reminding you that you were real, that he was real, and that heartache was going to be your constant companion.

7 years later

“Are you ready?” your mom asked from the doorway.

You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror. She had sewn your wedding dress to the best of her abilities, and it was in all words beautiful; something you’d love to get married in…but to someone else. Of course, your soon to be husband was kind and gentle, but you weren’t in love with him. You had always loved someone else and that someone else had wanted nothing to do with you. Many nights you dreamed of that kiss. That kiss from the boy with diamonds in his hair, the cool as stone skin, and eyes so green that even nature had trouble competing. But you had to move on and that meant marrying, leaving your parents, and not being a burden on them. Moving on meant starting a family and forgetting all about Jeongguk, but you didn’t want to forget. The memory of him was your most precious and your deepest secret.

“I think I want to go on a walk before we go into town.”

“Are you okay?” your mother’s features were laced with concern.

“Just nervous,” you smiled.

“I was much like you before I married your father. It’ll be terrifying, but you’re strong. You’ll make a wonderful wife and mother.”

You smiled sadly at her, knowing the truth was there, but this wasn’t what you wanted, and you had to pretend it was.

“I’ll be back soon,” you said kissing her cheek and leaving the house.

Drawing up your skirts, you wandered down the path and into the forest. The day was perfect. The temperature was mild, the breeze was lazy and cool, and the birds were singing in the boughs. You were sad knowing that you’d be moving away from this place with little to no chance of seeing him again. You walked close to the river but didn’t dare go near the edge in fear of falling in again. Chances of being saved twice were slim. Instead, you found a warm rock in the sun on which to sit and think. The snap of a branch sounded behind you and you turned around to look but no one was there. Scrutinizing the trees in the distance you saw no one or nothing. Turning back around you had decided it was probably just a branch falling from a tree…until you heard it again. You stood from the rock and walked around, gazing into the distance and trying to see around trees.

There was a punch to your chest followed by a searing heat of pain. A straight, wooden arrow was stuck firmly in your chest, right above your heart. Your vision blurred as you sunk to your knees. A man came crashing out of the trees and started to panic.

“It’s a woman!” he cried.

Another man’s voice approached. Hunters more likely; having mistaken you for some animal.

“Is she dead?”

“No, but she’s close.”

“We need to leave.”

“We can’t just leave her here!”

“It’s too late, let’s go!” One set of feet disappeared with a crash of leaves and sticks.

You opened your eyes to see the first panic stricken man looking at you with pain and fear.

“I’m so sorry,” he said before turning on his heel and running after his friend.

“Please,” you whispered, reaching out. Your strength was draining fast, leaking out of you with every drop of blood. You sat back on your feet and gazed up at the sun. At least the day was beautiful and at least you wouldn’t have to marry someone you didn’t like. You giggled tiredly, losing all sense as you sat dying in the middle of the forest. At least you had that. The ground was soft beneath you so when you laid on your side you felt a little better. Soon, you would die here, and wild animals would find you and then nature would claim what was left. The only regret would be not seeing your mother or father…or him, just one last time.

“Stupid girl,” you heard somewhere close by. You were fading fast so maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you in your last moments.

“Stupid, stupid girl.” The person sounded panicked, on the verge of losing control as you were pushed to your back. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay away?”

The ground disappeared beneath you as you were lifted. You cried out as you were shifted, the arrow digging into you further.

“Stay with me,” you heard. “Don’t give up. Stay awake.”

Your head dangled and your arms went limp, sliding off your stomach and stretched out to your side.

“______! Stay with me!”

You slipped into the darkness much quicker this time. There was no white. There was no you standing in time looking for help. You were simply…gone.

When you awoke, you were groggy, still very much under the cloud of darkness with a dull pain in your chest. You moaned and stretched your fingers. Every muscle in your body felt as if it hadn’t moved in days. You weren’t even sure you could move. A cool hand was on your forehead, steadying you.

“Keep still. I’m going to get you some water.”

Moments later, a glass was at your lips and you drank appreciatively as a steady hand on the back of your head kept it up. When you were done, they steadily laid your head back against the pillow. Swallowing a couple more times, you dared open your eyes. Blinking a few times, you saw that you were in a cozy room with stone walls, a roaring fire, and furs lining the floor. Jeongguk was sitting beside you on the bed and you should have been surprised but you weren’t. Saving you seemed to be the detriment you never meant to put on his life. At least this time you weren’t actively looking for him.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore. Like I haven’t moved.”

“You’ve been out for over a week. You’re completely healed, but I’m sure there’s still some pain there. I’ve been trying to keep it under control.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He looked tired. He wasn’t much different from when you last saw him. He had filled out with more muscle, but he still had the same boyish quality to his face.

“You keep having to save me.”

“Well, somebody has to. You keep getting yourself into trouble.” The bags under his eyes were prominent and the tension he held in his shoulders relaxed a little. “I thought…you had died for a second. I was holding you in my arms trying to get you back here and you just…” His voice caught in his throat and he cleared it immediately, hoping you wouldn’t notice. “You just went limp in my arms.”

Guilt hung heavy in your heart as you realized the pain you had caused him.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I know you weren’t looking for me.” He seemed sad as he said the words.

“How did you know?”

“I could always feel you when you were looking for me. Remember when I said not all Fae can be seen?”

He had been watching you. All these years he had been watching you.

“But this time it was just a coincidence…or something like that. Something felt off. Wrong. I had this urge telling me to just go up and look and there you were, on your knees with that arrow in your chest and you just slumped to the side. I panicked.” You held your hand out and grasped his in yours.

“The woods aren’t safe.” He couldn’t look at you as you held his hand, but he wasn’t moving either. Tears swam in his eyes and he blinked fast to quell them.

“Thank you,” you said lifting his hand and kissing his palm. “Thank you for saving me.”

His eyes met yours as his heated stare was turned on you. He let out a shaky laugh as his eyes shimmered. When he shook his head, the gems twinkled in the light and caused small flashes to shine off the wall.

“You’re going to kill me one day,” he said.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about it if I make it back home.”

“Why?”

“I was supposed to be getting married…”

Realization dawned across his face. “The white dress.”

Of course, he removed it, he had to when he was getting the arrow out and cleaning the wound, but he was so scared of you dying that he hadn’t paid attention.

“If he’ll still have me after being gone for so long.”

Sadness crept into your heart again thinking about the loveless life ahead of you. Jeongguk’s expression fell as he held your hand. He was losing you. Permanently. But your paths were never meant to cross. It was never meant to be this way and that’s why he tried to break your heart when he last saw you. If you truly thought he didn’t want you, you wouldn’t come back. And you hadn’t; not for many years. The pain he felt was immense, but he kept himself busy, watched over you the best he could, and tried to forget all about the kiss. But the kiss plagued him. It woke him from sleep and interrupted his daily thoughts. Thoughts of your smile in the firelight kept him up at night and your laugh echoed in his deepest buried memories. The moment he had held your hand in the cave, he had fallen in love. Such a creature so clumsy and yet so elegant had never crossed his path again.

He was here, so close, looking just as pained as you felt.

“But I love you, Jeongguk.”

His eyes betrayed every emotion and his face wasn’t much help either. His eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened.

“You what?”

“I love you,” you said a little louder. “I’ve loved you for over a decade and I’m going to love you for as long as this life will give me.”

He kissed you much like he had beside the fire; with surprise and passion. His lips found yours and the tension of years washed away under his touch. He had thought about you all this time and he had loved you in his own way. His hands cupped your face as he kissed you, tongue dancing over yours and you sighed as the sweet taste you so missed played across your taste buds. He shifted until he was hovering over you, layers of blankets between the both of you, but the weight of him brought you comfort. Jeongguk had nestled home in your heart and never left. You moaned as he pressed against you and he shot back with surprise.

“Am I hurting you?” Worry painted his features.

“No, keep kissing me,” you said while drawing him back in.

Jeongguk started to peel back layers of blankets in a desperate attempt to be closer. You didn’t know what to expect when he pulled back the last one but looked down to see he had dressed you in one of his shirts. You blushed knowing he had seen you bare, but it was in a moment of panic and probably meant nothing. He had to break the kiss to get to you, but as soon as he had all the blankets kicked to the side, he delicately held himself above you as he kissed you again. All the years of waiting was poured into that kiss and the dam had been broken. He wasn’t going to hold back now, not ever again. His hand was on your hip and pushed up under your shirt. The contrast of cold on warm had gooseflesh washing over you and you pushed yourself upwards into his touch. Ever so slowly, he slid his hand up the side of your waist, fingers ghosting the side of your breast, the underside, and then around your nipple until it pebbled under his touch. You sighed as he tweaked it between his fingers, reveling in the small sounds you were giving him.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he whispered against your lips.

“So have I,” you murmured desperately.

His hand was firm on your skin as he moved down your stomach. You realized you had on no undergarments as you spread your legs. If there was one thing you knew, it was that you wanted this, and you would open yourself to him fully. He ran his fingers over your slit as if he were worshiping you, feeling every bit of you, collecting what he could, and keeping it for himself. You gripped his shoulders tightly as he slowly pumped one finger inside of you. His lips were on your jawline, neck, and collarbone as he slowly worked you open. You had never been with a man before, but you knew now that there would be no one after him.

“Will you give yourself to me?” His lips were against your cheek, eyes closed, as he felt you around his finger so soft and warm.

“Yes, you can have all of me.” Your chest arched upwards into him as he slipped another finger inside of you.

“You could stay with me forever.”

His fingers brushed over a spot deep inside of you that had you clenching around him as you moaned. His teeth grazed the skin of your shoulder and he placed searing kisses to the space above your breast.

“All you have to do is let me take you. Let me claim you.”

“We…do take humans.” He cringed a little as you stepped back in fear. “Only the really bad people. The ones that like to keep humans as pets or kill them. The legends are true, but it’s not true for all of us. Though, if a Fae does take you, you’re theirs forever; doomed to live an eternal life until you are released.”

A distant memory of a young Jeongguk came to the forefront of your mind.

“Will you protect me?” the words slipped through your lips like water and flowed over Jeongguk. He felt as if his entire life was meant to protect you.

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You pulled his face towards yours as you kissed him. This time it was slow, passionate, and held answers that he was looking for.

“I want you to take me.”

“You’ll have to stay forever.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He was desperate. Desperate to get what he always wanted. He had held back all these years and you were finally saying the words he never thought he would hear. He pulled his fingers from you and pushed his pants off. He yanked the shirt you had on upwards, working it over your head and onto the floor. Grabbing his cock, he rubbed it along your slit, gathering the sticky wetness amongst the pre cum. Your moans were like a drug to him, a toxin that ran through his veins that had him feeling as if his body were not his own. He slowed his actions, savoring the taste of your skin as his tongue flicked across you. He pushed the head in slightly, allowing you to feel the sting and adjust. He kept you distracted as he rotated his tongue around your nipple and pushed a little further. You pushed your head back into the pillows as your body arched forward, begging to be absorbed by his. A little further and his arm was around your back, pulling you closer, and biting the skin beneath your breast. Lightning seemed to shoot through you as he slid in all the way. Pleasure followed the discomfort as soon as he filled you up. You felt as if you were floating, held in his arms, as your body connected with his.

“_____,” he sighed as he took his time. He didn’t move while he kissed the valley of your breasts, slowly back up your neck and to your lips once more. He moved experimentally, not wanting to hurt you. The first thrust shot heat through your body, the second cooled it on contact, the third had flames licking all the way down to your toes, and the rest became a blur as your body took in all the sensations. You had never known anything could ever feel this good. He leaned back, wanting to see you. He was on his knees as he gripped your waist, pulling you onto him as he thrust into you with more force. He watched the way your breasts bounced with each push of his hips and he was even more fascinated with the way your cunt seemed to be made for him, pulling him back in each time. He fell to his left hand over you, wrapped his right arm around your waist and pulled you upwards. You supported yourself on your feet as he held your back aloft, changing the angle in which he thrust into you, and hit directly where he wanted to be. You cried out and clung to the sheets around you as he ground his cock into you, hips stimulating against your clit. Each rocking motion of his cock inside of you had your world tilting upside down until you could neither distinguish up nor down. Hot, molten pleasure shot out to your limbs and hardened as you came. Your fingers cramped as they bit into the sheets, toes curling in on themselves, and you were left gasping for air. Jeongguk’s grip on your back relaxed and soon you were melting among sheets and blankets as if they were going to absorb you whole. He laid down beside you slowly and pulled you to his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart grounded you and soon yours was matching its beat. His arms were firm around you with the silent promise of never letting you go.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he whispered. You heard the uncertainty in his voice.

You turned in his arms to look at him. You were met with those same green eyes you had dreamed of since you were 13. This time, you weren’t letting this go, no matter what you lost from your previous life.

“I’ve wanted you since I met you. I’m not turning away for a fourth time, no matter how hard you try to break my heart.”

“You have to say the words, in order for me to…to keep you.”

You had heard legend that there was a simple aphorism in which the Fae could claim a human. You swallowed thickly and nodded, full of excitement and fear; fear of the unknown and what was to come.

“Take me away at evening’s soft light,” he said softly.

“Take me away at evening’s soft light.” Your voice was low, but confident.

“When the world grows quiet and the owl takes flight.”

Visions of your parents swam through your mind as you said the words. You loved them dearly and they you, but now was the time for you to move on.

“Take me now, to the world of the Fae.”

The air around you changed and shifted, charged with electricity as if there were about to be a storm.

“You’ll keep me now, forever I’ll stay.”

As stay came whispering from your lips a dim light glowed under his skin over his heart. It traveled, like a little ball of light, from him to you, settling in the exact same spot, filling you with warmth before fading away. You were his and his alone, destined to live an immortal life by his side.

Legends passed down through time. Your disappearance was discussed, and the story retold until outlandish ones were made that spread throughout the mountain country; told in homes by fireside, before children went to sleep at night, and grandparents claiming to have been there when it happened. In some, a wicked, evil Fae had kidnapped a girl and kept her as a slave to cook, clean, and provide for him as he saw fit, never letting her rest. In others, she was seized because the Fae was so taken by her beauty that he couldn’t possibly let anyone else have her. And then, there were those who had whispers of truth weaved among its words. She went willingly, out of love, giving up her mortal life to live life eternal.

[madhyanas]

the sweetest and most important sound

Part [TBD] of the Hospitality series

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13 (Mainly due to verbal teasing and extremely mild language)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: None, really. Some non-sexual intimacy, if you’d like to avoid that.

A/N: this is my first fic that’s staying posted, so feedback is welcome. i do have a series in mind with paz and this specific reader. check it out on ao3, too, if you want to see more detailed tags. title comes from a quote by dale carnegie. 

big inspirations for this were @no-droids​, @vercopaanir​ and @its-alltheway​​. also, i’m very new to tumblr, and @jangofctts​ has been lovely :)

Golden.

That’s what you see, what you feel. Stopped on some backwater, Outer Rim planet, your little travelling party finally has some time to relax. To tread on soft, grassy earth, and breathe in the sweet scent of flowers in the breeze. It’s a welcome change from recycled air and solid, mechanical floors.

The fresh, crisp forest atmosphere. You can taste it on your tongue, feel the chill of it as you inhale. You can detect the fragrance of berries, somewhere far off in the trees, and the earthy, waterlogged scent of silt closer by. A stream, perhaps.

You don’t know the name of the planet; you didn’t bother to ask Mando, excited as you were. You suspect it doesn’t have one; so untouched by war and Imperial rule that it just… remained. Literally, a land that time forgot. Someplace so out of the way that it soothes even Mando’s constant vigilance.

Two suns set over the horizon, and the sky is a dreamy blaze of orange and violet. Insects buzz faintly in the background, and you sigh.

The Hawk IV stands behind you, hatch down, as you rearrange some logs around Mando, who’s preparing firewood. Vosca’s giggles fill the air as she scampers through patches of tall grass. Keeping a close eye on her, you catch flashes of a crimson forehead as she stalks some kind of creature. A frog, you think.

The mild, familiar scent of her is comforting. You rub the white, geometric markings on your cheeks absent-mindedly, and will yourself to relax. She’s close, she’s safe, she’s happy.

It’s a nice thought to have.

“Give me a moment. I’ll be back,” Mando says suddenly, and you blink. The fireplace is lit, you notice, flames crackling. Your sturdy canvas satchel has been moved to sit upon one of the logs, noticeably dusted off. He stands, patiently waiting for you to respond before he goes. Helmet inclined towards you with a respect that manages to warm your cheeks every time.

“Ah, yeah. Of course.” You pause, and joke, “Just don’t run away with the ship, huh?”

There’s a burst of static through the vocoder, and you think it could be a snort, before he steps forward. His gloved hand falls on your shoulder, and you swallow thickly at the closeness. A scant few inches lie between the tip of your nose and his cuirass. “I would never.”

There’s a depth to his low voice that resonates within you. As if he’s taking an oath, kneeling at your altar. It’s… a lot more sincerity than you expect.

“Oh. Well, of course. I think Vosca would throw a fit.” You grin, attempting levity, but he shakes his head firmly. Leaving no room for debate.

“Even then, even if she were with me. I would— I would not leave you. I could not.”

The hand on your shoulder squeezes gently, and his helmet inclines down to your face, like he’s imploring you to understand. Staring up at him, your lips part as his meaning finally reaches you. His broad figure is backlit by the dusky glow around you, casting his silhouette over your smaller frame, and you like to think that behind the helm, those eyes are staring back with just as much wonder.

Your mouth is dry, as if you’ve crossed a desert for years. Only now finding the water to quench your thirst. His hand on your shoulder, as heavy and muscled as you know it to be, does not feel like a weight. It’s pulling you up, rising, and there are no words to describe the lightness in your heart.

He ducks his head then — the movement registers as shy, impossibly — and the palm slides off your shoulder, lingering down your arm, before ultimately leaving you at the hand. The cool kiss of leather on your skin makes your breathing hitch. A modulated sigh, before he repeats softly, “I’ll be back. Faster than you know.” He turns and begins the short walk to the ship.

There’s a bubbling urge to say something. “No need for dramatics,” you call after him, wiggling your toes in your boots. “But best hurry back, Mandalorian.”

He hesitates, a split-second pause that you would have missed, had you known him any less. You almost think you’ve imagined it, because when have you ever known Mando to hesitate? But then he continues without looking back, disappearing into the hull of the ship.

You slump down on a log bonelessly, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. Your cheeks ache, and you realise you’re smiling.

“Ruusaan, Ruusaan!” A whirlwind of scarlet limbs tumbles in front of you. Startled, you blink at the little Zeltron girl. It’s rare that anyone manages to get the jump on you, but by now you know that Mando and his ward are exceptions to almost every rule in your book.

There are leaves and twigs stuck in the two brown braids running down the back of her head. She grins toothily at you, a smear of dirt on one cheek. Really, it’s more a bearing of teeth than anything else, feral thing that Vosca is. Her eyes are bright, shining with the thrill of a successful hunt, and she thrusts her little arms towards you. “Look what I caught!”

In Vosca’s grimy grasp, there’s a blue, particularly fat creature, rather like a toad. Held at the middle, its six limbs dangle loosely at the sides. Your nostrils flare minutely, but can’t pick up any scents of poisons or toxins, and you relax a fraction. It casts an unimpressed gaze over you once, and attempts a croak, but the child’s clutching grip digs in too deep to allow for the swell of its belly. Those lazy, golden eyes widen in panic, and you balk.

“Hey, bug, let’s just put it down for now, yeah?” Hastily, you extract the toad from Vosca’s hands, and she pouts at you. You still, and cradle your palms around the creature’s stomach, fingers resting gently on the front, in a caress rather than a pincer-grip.

“See here,” you explain, leaning in, as if you’re trading secrets. She ducks her head towards you in curiosity, and there’s a burst of tenderness in your chest. “We’ve got sharp, pointy fingers for animals like these. Gotta be careful. Be soft with it.”

Vosca’s eyes widen and she nods her head vigorously. A few dried leaves fall to the ground. A beat, then she asks shyly, “Can I try, please?”

Always so polite. While you don’t know for sure, you suspect it’s Mando’s influence. In any case, you don’t think you could deny her even if she’d demanded it. “Sure, bug.” Gently, you pass the toad back into her dusty, red palms. With a watchful eye, you see how quickly she takes to correction. Now holding the scared little thing with more care, less force. Precariously tilting it onto her chest, she frees one hand to stroke it tenderly across the back. The corner of your mouth ticks up fondly.

Then, carefully, she kneels down, and releases it. The toad immediately hops away into the tall grass with a vengeful ribbit, and your brows raise. Sensing the question on your face, she turns her face up to yours, doe eyes blinking up at you.

“It wasn’t prey,” Vosca says simply. “S’just for fun. Wouldn’t be fair to hurt it.” She shoots you another toothy smile, filling her whole face with innocent joy.

Huh. Always keeping you on your toes, this one. You return her grin as she sits next to you on the log. “Ah, that’s right, bug. Good girl.”

You lift your arm and she snuggles into your side, her scrawny body fitting into yours neatly. Lovingly, you press a kiss into her hair, eyes falling shut. You keep your head resting on hers, and she heaves a sigh as you idly stroke through the loose strands at the nape of her neck.

This is how Mando finds you, later. Half-asleep, curled around each other. Your eyes open at the fuzzy, tingling feeling on the back of your neck, and lo and behold: he’s watching you as he makes his way towards the makeshift campsite. His gait is familiar to you; the broad saunter of a man confident in his abilities, yet not foolish enough to be cocky. As if he couldn’t fill up a room already, his walk only amplifies his presence.

You blink lethargically, trying to focus. The sky is now a deep indigo, the bare beginnings of twinkling stars appearing across the heavens. It’ll be fully dark, soon.

The Mandalorian comes to stand over you. Once, you would have found his constant presence menacing. But now you smile at him, grateful for his company. It’s sweet, you think, how awkward he is. If you know what to look for. Most don’t have the chance to look beyond the beskar, and the assortment of weapons he lugs around.

He seems… duller, somehow. You shake your head lightly, dusting off the lingering fatigue, and you realise it’s true in the most literal sense. He’s not reflecting light as much as you would expect.

Aside from the helmet, he wears no beskar at all. Dressed in a dark, high-necked, shirt and canvas trousers, Mando seems comfortable. Relaxed. It’s a good look for him, you think.

“Did she fall asleep?” he asks you, nodding at Vosca, nuzzled in your arms. Her head emerges from where she’d buried it in your side, yawning blearily.

“I’m not… M’not sleepy,” she whines, squishing a chubby cheek against you. You and Mando both chuckle.

“Of course not, ad’ika.” You think he’ll hold his arms out to hold her, pick her up, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he just takes a seat next to you. The log creaks under his bulk, even without the added steel.

Vosca grumbles something under her breath, and you snort as she wriggles further into your warmth. She slumps bit by bit, falling asleep once more. You glance down at her, and the love you feel is all-encompassing.

Because you do love her. Your girl, just as much as she is Mando’s. You don’t know if she thinks of you as a mother, and the thought stings a little. An aunt, perhaps?

But without a doubt, you know she’s your child.

You’re startled out of your thoughts as a weight settles over your shoulders, and you look at the man next to you. Mando’s draping a cloak over you, tucking it around your frame and over the little girl in your arms. Out of the corner of your eye, you recognise the sturdy, brass-coloured clasp as his own.

“O-oh. You don’t have to…”

“You’ll get cold.”

He shuffles closer to fasten the clasp. As he raises his gloved hands and leans in, you wet your lips nervously.

His helmet shifts, ever so slightly, to follow the motion.

“But what about you?” you ask quietly, heart hammering in your chest. His long fingers meddle with the clasp at your clavicle; the weight of them on your person seems astronomical, for such a small, small thing. In the shining surface of the helmet, you can see the outline of your face, small and vaguely illuminated in the firelight, framed by those bold white strokes. But when you see them in Mando’s helmet, for once, you don’t think of your father’s matching stripes, of what you inherited from him. You think of how close you two are, in this moment.

He’s so close you can hear him breathe, too faint to be picked up by the modulator. There’s a small puff of air, escaping under the lip of his helm. Raw, unfiltered. You cling to it with all your heart.

“I will be fine, Ruusaan,” he rumbles. He’s leaning over Vosca’s snoozing body between you, arching carefully so he doesn’t disturb her. He’s… really quite close now.

Inhaling as subtly as you can, you catch the scent of him. Lingering on the thick wool, a clean blend of soap, blaster residue and freshly cut grass. Something smoky, too. It’s more soothing than you expect. Involuntarily, your nose twitches in delight, and his helmet tilts a fraction in response. You rush to distract him.

“But— But the armour.” Mando stares. “You’re not wearing any. Isn’t it cold? With— Without it, I mean.”

He dodges the question entirely. “Would you like me to put it on?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, sweetening his low baritone, and he quietens to a murmur as he sticks his head forward condescendingly. “I understand if this is too… scandalous."

You stifle an outraged squawk, and remove an arm from holding Vosca to swat his bicep. Your hand bounces harmlessly off corded muscle and you look away from him, cheeks burning. He just laughs at you, muffled for fear of waking the girl at your side.

You huff, resolutely averting your gaze, but it’s for naught. A large palm comes to cradle the side of your face, and your face feels tiny in its hold. He directs your eyes back to the visor with more care you’d ever expect, had you not known him so well. The smooth leather against your cheek is grounding, an anchor amongst the dizzying, overwhelming ocean of his presence. Surely, he can feel your flaming blush through the glove. In your embarrassment, a peculiar strike of courage grabs you by the throat.

With your free hand, you hold the glove cradling your face. Without taking your eyes off him, you lean into the touch, exhaling gently.

Mando stills. You can’t tell who’s predator or prey, here. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Deliberately, you squeeze your fingers around his own and an unfamiliar, choked noise comes out through the modulator.

You stare at him, and realise there’s hardly any distance between you. It’s nothing obscene, never could be with Vosca dozing in your arms, and yet you feel so giddy. There’s a type of intimacy here that you’ve never experienced before, never imagined before.You’re close enough that your breath fogs on the beskar.

“Mando…” you breathe.

Suddenly, the figure between you stretches awake with a yawn. You jump away from Mando as Vosca awakens with a long, languid yawn. The man beside her, a little subtler, leans back with the fluid, practiced grace of a warrior.

“Are you okay, Ruusaan?” she asks sleepily, oblivious to the moment now broken.  She pulls the cloak away from her to face you properly.

“W-what? Of course I am, hun, why…”

“S’just,” she starts, rubbing one eye. “I got woken up. Your heart’s beating really fast.”

Your eyes widen. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. You try to backtrack, “How about you go back to sleep, bug? It’s late.” You can feel Mando’s stare on you. Piercing, even through the steel.

Vosca frowns at you, scrunching her nose up endearingly. “But then you and alor’ad will be without me.”

After a moment of floundering, struggling to come up with an answer, Mando beats you to it. Planting a gentle, reassuring hand on her head from behind, he says simply, “We’ll never be without you, adi’ka. You know this.”

She leans her head completely backwards, and her braids dangle in the air. Arching her neck to look at him upside down, the vibrant red of her skin reflects in his helmet. There’s a flash of hesitation as she considers, and you jump at the opportunity.

“Bedtime, bug,” you say, standing. Mando’s nearly your height, you notice, even as he sits. You stuff the thought down. Later. “Got a big day tomorrow.”

Vosca mutters something under her breath moodily — something about how everyday’s the same — but her eyelids are drooping, and you figure you can let it slide. Just this once.

Maker, you’re impatient.

You sigh. Again. You hate to undo Mando’s work, but… “C’mon, hun. Floor’s more comfortable.” You undo the clasp deftly, and some subconscious level, it occurs to you that Mando is dextrous. More so than anyone you’ve ever met, probably. Fastening the clasp would take seconds.

No reason for him to linger as long as he did.

You smile faintly to yourself, and the ever-present heat burning in your cheeks this evening unfurls through your face.

You bundle the girl in Mando’s cloak as she lays down in the shallow grass. Tugging your canvas bag towards you, and place it beneath her head.

Kneeling down next to her, you stroke her hair once, twice. “G’night, alor’ad, g’night, Ruusaan,” Vosca mumbles, eyes falling shut once more.

“Goodnight, bug.” You lean down to peck her forehead tenderly, and she snuggles into her covering.

“Goodnight,” Mando returns kindly. At last, when you’re convinced she’s really out for the count, you steel your courage and look back to him.

From this angle, he’s glowing. Your lips part in wonder as you marvel at the rolling flames reflecting in the helmet. The flickering bronze and gold and scarlet washing over his bulky frame, defining the hard lines of his arms and chest beneath the shirt like something out of a painting. A relic of another time. Beautiful in its detail. Regal, even when most relaxed.

Silently, he holds a gloved hand out to you. You blink at it for a moment, too overwhelmed by this man you know so little about but oh, would you like to learn.

You take his hand, and suddenly he’s pulling you up with him to stand. Stumbling a little, your other palm comes to steady yourself on his chest. The movement feels so natural, so instinctual, and you worry you’re being presumptuous.

But then Mando’s free hand comes to rest on your waist — “Oh.” — and all other thoughts leave your mind.

“She’s asleep,” he notes, and you can feel his deep voice rumbling. Through the shirt, vulnerable and unprotected, his chest lies beneath your fingers. Solid muscle, yes, but there’s the soft give of flesh just like anyone else. It’s… nice. Pleasant, in the way it reminds you how human he is. How he lets himself be, in these fleeting moments of peace.

You hum. “Finally.” The hand on his chest gradually makes its way up his pectoral, tracing the ridge of his clavicle, before coming to rest on his shoulder. Without the pauldron, you can feel just how taut he holds himself. “Relax, Mando,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb back and forth in an attempt to soothe whatever’s running through his mind.

“Could tell you the same,” he replies smoothly, but you feel the strain in his shoulders lessen slightly under your gentle ministrations. The helmet tilts forward to hover next to your ear; it’s somewhat awkward, with how much he needs to bend down to do it, but that’s alright, you think. “Careful, Ruusaan. Does your heart still beat so quickly?”

Your jaw clenches momentarily, if only out of sheer embarrassment, because you know he’s right. “That’s— that’s not— Come on, Mando.”

The man chuckles, and at this meagre distance, you can feel it in your soul. Straightening just a little, he rests the side of his helm against your head. Not leaning, per se, or applying weight. Just touching. Keeping contact. The cool surface of beskar feels chilling against your molten cheeks.

With the hand joined with his, you curl your fingers, embracing the gaps between his. You both linger like that, for a while. Basking in the haze of firelight and safety; frozen in a half-dance, holding each other contently.

Then you realise. In another, strange instance of boldness, you murmur, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed yours either, smooth talker.” The reassuring thud thud thud beneath your fingertips is steady, as always. But you feel it’s more insistent, more urgent than you’d expect.

He doesn’t stutter or fumble like you do, but there’s a bashful sort of groan through the vocoder. It really shouldn’t be endearing as it is. “Ah, well. Seems I’ve been caught.” He plays along in a plaintive, mournful tone, and you stifle a snort. “Can’t be helped, I suppose.”

You nudge the helmet with your cheek playfully. “Oh? What’s that?”

He breathes a particularly wounded sigh, and you feel rather than hear him sober as he murmurs, “This is what you do to me, Ruusaan.”

Your jaw falls slack. Oh.

Your head is reeling with the implications of it. Him affecting you was one thing, because how could he not? With the way he fills a room and laughs at your stupid jokes and tells Vosca bedtime stories and holds you so carefully it feels like a lover caressing glass, about to shatter any moment—

Kinda how he’s holding you now, actually.

Your hand on his shoulder brings his head up from where it rests to look at you properly, and holds the blue steel in the indent where his cheek would be. You’ve been struggling for words, wondering how to respond to the affections of someone you admire so much. How to do him justice.

“You are so much to me, Mando.”

Timidly, your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and once more, his helmet tilts to follow the movement. You feel a kind of longing in that little shift, an age-old yearning borne of dedication to the Creed, from a man who feels everything so strongly.

The knowledge that you two will always be separated by a layer of beskar is always floating over your head. To say that you’ve made your peace with it would be a bold-faced lie, but—

Well, it’s who he is. To disrespect his Creed would be to disrespect him, and that you cannot allow.

But for the first time, you wonder how he feels about it. If that perennial ache in your chest whenever you glance at the helm resides in his, too.

Mando’s hand, previously resting on the slope of your waist, comes to hold your cheek. As if there’s a mirror between you, paralleling your stance to each other like clockwork. Two halves of a whole, reflecting each other.

Gradually, he tilts your face up to his. Leaning in, he touches the forehead of the helmet to yours, and your eyelids flutter shut, lashes barely grazing the metal. This time, the cold metal against your skin feels like a reprieve, freeing you from the burning sensation.

Like a kiss, you think absently. Is that what this is?

You’ve seen him do this before, with Vosca. Never truly knowing what it meant, what it signified to him, you’d left it alone.

You try to ask him, to make sense of the maelstrom of affection and yearning and want. “Mando—”

But his shoulders tense suddenly. “No.”

You blink. “N-no?”

He draws away, then. His hand is still cradling your face, but the helmet retreats, and you panic. What happened? What did you do? What boundary did you overstep to ruin something so torturously good—

He says your name. The name your mother gave you, not the nickname he and your girl call you in their language. “May I give you something?”

You’re confused, to say the least. The emotional range he’s currently choosing to display could give you whiplash. He’s not a very materialistic man, you know, and what could he possibly be giving you now, in this moment?

“I— I don’t think you could give me anything greater than this.”

He deflates. “Oh, ner kar’ta,” he croaks, stroking his thumb over your flushed cheek. Even through the modulator, the foreign syllables drip from his mouth like liquid gold, tongue rolling over the consonants in a way that makes you shiver. “I would be honoured to try.”

Wordlessly, you nod, still not fully comprehending what he means.

He must sense your bemusement. The grip on your side tightens nervously, and you dig your heels in to swallow a squeak. “My name is not ‘Mando’, cyare.”

And the world collapses beneath your feet.

This is new territory, dangerous territory. This is uncharted land, and you feel like you’re trespassing on the tricky, treacherous land of his very being.

You must look ridiculous. Like a fish, mouth bobbing open and shut. He chuckles, a small, subdued thing, and you immediately think it doesn’t suit him. The urge to fix it, to help him, crawls up your spine and settles in your gut.

You bite down the nerves scrambling up your throat to accept what he’s giving you. To reassure this man in your arms, who you have come to care for so deeply, and for yourself. To satiate the niggling curiosity in that corner of your mind left forcefully ignored for so long.

“If you’re sure.” You pause, and add, “Only if you’re sure. This isn’t… an obligation.” It’s somewhere between a question and a statement. You can both hear the moniker you’re avoiding, the cavernous gap opened up by what he’s offering you.

“I know. This is what I wish to give.” And there’s the Mandalorian you know, steadfast and confident, unwavering in the face of adversity. Willing to cross the gap into the unknown with you.

You remain silent, and step closer to press yourself to him. Feeling his pounding heartbeat against yours. Allowing the words to come from him, at his own pace, the warmth of your combined body heat hopefully calming his nerves.

Just as your eyes drift shut, content to wait as long as he needs, you hear it. Quiet, rasped through the helmet.

“Paz. Paz Vizsla.”

You inhale sharply, and look up. Oh, stars. It feels surreal, having a name to the face. Or lack thereof. To think he’d really trust you with such a core part of his being. You’re not sure if this breaks his Creed, or if there are loopholes, but as of now, you don’t care.

It… suits him. Short, robust. Yet somewhat lyrical on the tongue.

“Can I say it?” you ask meekly. The last thing you need right now to is to overstep, not when you’ve come so far.

“Please,” he breathes.

And the floodgates open. A smile breaks over your face, soft and eager, and you swell with affection. “Paz.”

A beat passes, in which everything you love hangs in the balance, and then he laughs. A true, full-bodied, bark of laughter that would ring in your ears long after it stops, but it doesn’t — it spills out of him like water spluttering through the fissure of a dam, bursting forth with all the weight of its years of confinement. He keeps laughing and laughing and then he’s holding you tightly with both arms, swinging you around. With anyone else, the action would’ve scared you. Would’ve been interpreted as a wild, uncontrolled invasion of space.

But with Mando— No. With Paz, you feel like you’re flying. You’re reminded of your days piloting through hyperspace, and the pride of swimming amongst the stars.

You shriek as your feet leave the ground, but it soon dissolves into giggles as he holds you above him.

(The ease with which he can manhandle you, can wrap both of those large, large hands around your comparatively diminutive hips, brings a blush to your face. But that’s a thought for another time.)

Eventually, he places you back on solid ground, and you beam up at him. He’s panting lightly, though you know lifting you was an easy task for someone of his strength. It’s okay. You feel breathless, too.

“Only with me,” he says. “And Vosca.”

You nod gravely. Maker, you’d never use it with anyone, just for the pleasure of knowing he trusts you. “I give you my word.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the girl in question snoring lightly, still bundled up in Paz’s cloak. Somehow still asleep; you’re immensely grateful.

He returns the nod, and it’s funny how formal it seems compared to the little display you just put on. Paz stares for a moment longer, then huffs. “You sound like a Mandalorian.”

“Is that… good?”

He’s quiet, like he’s trying to find the words. “We may rubbing off on you— I may be rubbing off on you.”

You take a moment to look at him. Beskar gleaming in the moonlight, softly reflecting the fire behind you. He’s bared before you in a way that makes you feel safe. Maybe even loved.

“That might not be too bad.”

And so it goes. You and Paz stand under the stars, flames crackling at your feet, bending towards each other like flowers to the sun.

———

[the-unknown-storyteller]

The Sight Of Such Pretty Things

Summary: Wilbur is dead and Ghostbur fills the place he has left behind, mending the broken relationships he has thrown aside.

Wilbur is dead, but Ghostbur is alive in the sense that he gets to experience all the little things his former self may have taken for granted.

Talking with Philza about the colour green, stargazing with Tommy until deep into the night and collecting wild potatoes with Techno remind him that he is not that person anymore. That these moments are his and his alone.

Nevermind the fact that he can't talk freely, breaching sensitive topics left and right and touching people with hands that can only seem to remind and hurt with memories he himself cannot remember.

__

It all starts with Philza. With him and his green-striped bucket hat that ignites an irrational interest in Ghostbur's mind. It's such a nice green, is all he can think, as he walks laps around Philza's living room, mindlessly chattering and rambling on about his day. 

His restless hands throw a small piece of lapis that he found the other day from side to side, palming it in his right hand whenever he raises his hands in exaggerated sweeps and gestures to accompany his excited words about his newest project.

"-saw it just the other day and I really wanted to build it and Tubbo said he didn't mind it, so I just went right ahead and, Phil, I just gotta say, it's coming along great! Fundy is helping me balance it properly, so that it won't topple over and accidentally crush the main walkways and-" 

Ghostbur can hear his father hum every now and then to let him know that he is listening, as he mends the latest rip in one of his green shirts. Green like the stripes on his bucket hat. Both his feet and his words come to a stop, strangely fixated. It's so green.

"Hey, Phil, have you ever noticed how green your bucket hat actually is?" Ghostbur drifts over to his father to get a closer look at his hat, his crane building story forgotten. "Like, it's really green. One might think that, with all the fighting and running it has probably endured, it must have definitely lost its colourfulness. But look!" He raises his hands to frame the hat, as though it were something exceptionally precious. "Still as green as the day you got it, I'm sure!", he exclaims with a grin, his face mere centimetres away from Phil's.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Philza laughs awkwardly, shuffling on his seat. "Never knew you were this enthusiastic about green clothes, mate."

"Oh, I'm not," Ghostbur chirps, playing with his piece of lapis, "I just really like yours, especially your hat!" He rubs his thumb over the stone one last time before putting it away, missing the way Phil's smile becomes strained. 

"It's funny that you say that. Someone I knew had the exact same sentiment towards green," Phil says softly, pulling the bucket hat from his head, rubbing at the worn fabric. "Especially towards my hat."

"Oh, how fun! Who was it?" Ghostbur loses concentration in his excitement and can distantly feel his body slowly float upwards, rotating until he stands upside down on the ceiling. Unbothered, he keeps talking. "Maybe you could introduce us sometime and we could talk about the colour green, about your green! I don't know what-"

"I… I don't think that will be possible, mate. It's been some time since I last… saw them," Phil apologizes, his voice catching at the end of the sentence.

Ghostbur sinks back down to the floor with a frown. He's done it again. "Are you okay, Phil? Here, have some blue. Calm yourself," he says, folding his hand around the blue he's just placed in his father's hands. He knows he's upset him. He keeps upsetting everyone because he keeps forgetting what is taboo to talk about and what isn't. Apparently, Philza's bucket hat is one of those things. What a shame, he really likes how green it is.

__

Tommy lets his almost broken axe fall to the ground, before flopping down himself. Sitting next to the small fire he lets out an annoyed groan.

"You know, you could have helped me chop down those trees instead of just standing there, watching and shit", he scoffs, picking at the splinters in his hands. All afternoon he had been chopping down tree after tree. Probably for his tower, which was looming behind Tommy in the far distance.

Ghostbur gives him a smile, quietly picking at the strings of his guitar, as he ignores his complaint. The soothing melody accompanies the constant crackling of their campfire and the sizzling of the fish above the flames. He starts humming for a bit, letting his gaze wander, and then he starts talking. 

"You know, I think you're quite lucky, Tommy. To be out here-", he starts, rotating the fish to keep it from burning. He resumes his strumming.

"Wha-?! What the fuck are you saying, Wil-"

"Where there is barely any light to taint the night sky", Ghostbur continues, undeterred by Tommy's protest. He repositions his left hand and the song becomes a bit more somber, bringing down the mood of the conversation with the descending chord progression. "I mean, the sky is just so beautiful out here, look," he breathes, tilting his head upwards. He notices his little brother frowning in his peripheral, but he follows his instructions and looks up as well.

"And what am I supposed to be seeing?"

"The stars, Tommy!" A grin spreads across his grayed out cheeks. The soft strumming stops for a moment, as Ghostbur makes a sweeping motion across the horizon. "The stars." A breath of admiration leaves his empty lungs.

"What about them?", Tommy asks, an annoyed tint to his voice. He sounds exhausted. Maybe he should have helped with the wood chopping, actually. Next time, maybe. Because right now, all he can think about is the twinkling and shining of the stars above him. How has he never noticed how many there are? How bright they are?

"Are you not seeing the same thing I'm seeing? Look at the stars, the milky way, they're all so incredibly clear out here in the wilderness." A shooting star flies across the sky, making Ghostbur gasp in child-like glee. "Quick! Make a wish, Tommy!"

"That's stupid, Ghostbur. I'm not a stupid child, believing in something stupid such as-"

"Ah, come on, Tommy. What's the worst that could happen? Just make a wish with me." Ghostbur claps his hands together more forcefully than was really necessary and closes his eyes. He peeks at the boy in ragged and torn clothes next to him, looking more tired and broken than a boy his age should, and mouths his silent wish for his little brother to please, please, come out of this alright. 

"Your turn!" He smiles, quietly rubbing at a piece of blue from his messenger bag when he's done.

"Ugh, fine," Tommy groans. He claps his hands together and closes his eyes with much less enthusiasm than the former did. His lips don't move along with his silent wish, but Ghostbur trusts his sincerity. Knows that the other can't be anything but sincere in almost everything he does. Whether he wants to or not. After a few moments he opens them back up. "There, done," he grumbles, "happy?"

A grin in approval and a nod, making Tommy roll his eyes. A shiver runs down his arms with the dropping temperatures of the night. Ghostbur stands up without a word, dumping three thick blankets on top of the younger when he returns. Satisfied when Tommy is adequately bundled up for the night, he sits back down at his place in front of the fire, picking up his guitar from the ground, and begins to strum yet another melody, more soothing than somber this time. He leans back against the tree log behind him, continuing to play long after the other has finally fallen asleep, only occasionally stopping to throw a log in the flames to keep the fire going. His eyes stay fixed at the stars that are so much brighter than they ever were in any of his faded memories.

__

The third time he gets fixated on something arguably insignificant, he is with Techno. They're out on a hunt for wild potatoes, since most of his old crops lay abandoned in their old ravine and the few that he managed to take with him long ago were not enough to start a proper farm. 

So here they were, quite a few thousand blocks away from Techno's base, where the ground isn't permanently frozen and manages to support the occasional berry bushes and even some wild carrots. When they come across some tall yellow-white flowers, Techno immediately puts down his bag next to them and gets out his shovel. He plows through the dirt, bringing up large chunks with every scoop he takes. They're littered with the beautiful golden glow of potatoes. 

Ghostbur floats up to the piglin, watching him check every potato he finds and throw the good ones in his bag. The dirt, damp with recently fallen rain, sticks to Techno's clothes, getting stuck in the fur of his red cape and leaving dirty smudges on his crown whenever he adjusts it. Ghostbur tilts his head, feeling a strangely familiar itch in his hands, urging him to go, go, touch it, touch it now, take it. He ignores it.

It's dirty.

"You know, I've always been curious, Techno." He picks up one of the bigger potatoes on the ground to keep his hand busy and turns it over in his hand, looking for any faults on its skin. He throws it up in the air a few times, judging its weight. "Why are you so… fascinated with them?" He throws the large potato, which the other catches easily. His eyes drift down to the red of his cape and the white of his fur collar, clumps of dirt and mud spread throughout. He tears his gaze away. "I remember you having a large farm in the ravine and I think I've never seen you eat anything other than a baked potato." 

"I do not only eat baked potatoes," Techno protests, picking up his bag and walking towards the next yellow-white flower cluster he sees in the close distance. The ghost follows with impossibly light steps.

"I only eat them most of the time," he admits, driving his shovel into the ground. He throws his falling cape back over his shoulder, ignoring the way it accidentally gets dragged through a muddy puddle next to him.

"Which is most of the time if we're being honest," Ghostbur remarks with a grin, his hands still itch with the thought of Techno's red cape getting dirty, he's always so careless with it, the white fur is getting ruined. He starts plucking the yellow-white flowers, delighted when he finds a slightly purple variant of it.

"Because they are clearly the superior food source," Techno shoots back, throwing the last potato in his bag. He notices that Ghostbur's is still completely empty except for a piece of lapis and the sack full of blue that he is so fond of carrying and handing out. With a sigh, he keeps moving. They change location a few more times, whenever the ground has no more potatoes to give, until both bags are finally filled to the brim.

Satisfied with the amount, Techno puts his shovel away and they start the trek back to his base. The sun is only two hours away from setting and they're quite a long way away from home, so Techno picks up his pace, pulling the ghost with him, away from the bees and their nest in the tree.

With nothing to preoccupy his hands Ghostbur takes out his piece of lapis, running his fingers over its rough ridges. His crown is smudged with mud.

"There is dirt on your crown," Ghostbur points out, looking up at Techno's head with a frown. "And your cape." He picks at some clumps of mud and pulls out a few small twigs.

"It's fine, I can just wash it, when we get back." And that's that. Except Ghostbur knows that Techno will just hang it up at the entrance, brushing off the worst of the by then dried mud the next time he has to go out and wear it. How does he know that. Now that he's pointed it out and begun cleaning it, the itch in his hands has grown to be unbearable. This feels familiar. He won't be able to clean the cape right away without any soap or water, he's always so careless with it, never properly taking care, and his crown is dirty with mud.

"Give it to me," Ghostbur suddenly demands, extending his hand towards Techno's crown. Why is this so important to me? "Give me your crown." The piglin raises an eyebrow at the demand, but hands over the golden crown with a shrug, curious as to what has the ghost riled up so suddenly.

Ghostbur snatches the crown from the other's hand and starts to clean it with the fabric of his sweater. The mud that has since dried slowly flakes off and reveals the shiny surface underneath. He almost obsessively rubs at the inlaid jewels, scratching away the dirt. He turns it over a few times when he is done and returns it to his owner with a slight huff. "Please take better care of it next time."

Techno chuckles at the ghost antics, but his brows are pulled together and he looks anything but amused. He doesn't hide his small frown fast enough.

Ghostbur mentally adds Techno's crown to the taboo list, as they continue walking home. At least the itching in his hands has stopped.

[thealphabetmurders]

Irises

Pairing: Prinxiety

Word Count: 2522

Summary: Virgil knows exactly 3 things: 1. He is stressed about finals more than a normal person would 2. Impressionists are the worst 3. The barista at this new coffee shop has the prettiest eyes

Triggers: anxiety, insomnia, implied/referenced drug-use, lack of self care

Authors Note: I wanted to challenge myself and write a fic with a pairing that I don’t normally do. I am definitely more privy to Logince, Analogical, and Moxiety, but I gotta love Prinxiety, how could you not?  

(Read on AO3)

Virgil tugged off his earbuds as he walked into Monet’s, an unfamiliar coffee house and a new experience for Virgil. Virgil hated new experiences. The smell of vanilla filled his senses as he walked in a dream-like state to the counter (standing a little bit away to let the employees know he wasn’t ready), rubbing his eyes from exhaustion, getting his fix here because he did not have the energy to go out and buy more grounds. He knew that it was most likely extremely unhealthy for him to have only consumed Takis, coffee, and Adderall the past couple days, but it was finals week, which meant it was crunch time. 

Virgil tells people he is a bit more anxious than most people, and by a bit, he means a fuckton. So, of course, finals week has him questioning everything in his life, from his study methods to his career path. Virgil is a smart guy, so he doesn’t actually have anything to worry about, as long as he studies, right? Wrong. As a fine arts major, not all of his classes are just knowing that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, you have to apply the skills you learned into a creative piece, and while Virgil is a talented artist, he was always second guessing everything he created. Which is why, in the 11th hour, Virgil decided he hated the medium he was working in, completely scrapped it, and had 48 hours to create 3 completely new “transformative” pieces. Sleep was not an option until it had to be. Which, it seemed it had been, when he fell asleep on the bus after class, missing his apartment by 11 stops. Coffee seemed necessary at this point. 

Pulling his hoodie off his head, smoothing out his hair, he looked at the pretty standard local coffee shop menu with some lunch items as well, and just looking at those made his stomach grumble. 

“Suppose you cannot create on an empty stomach.” Virgil thought. “And while I’m here…”

 As he was reading, he noticed each combo had a quirky name relating to Monet’s works. Berry spring salad with bagel was Luncheon on the Grass, sesame soba was The Japanese Footbridge….

“Give me a break…” Virgil muttered, before finally deciding on what to get. The shop was completely empty, so Virgil didn’t feel too bad about taking his time, though he did feel a bit nervous looking like a mess in front of the handsome barista. 

His olive colored skin tone with black wavy hair made Virgil feel a bit woozy, but he became dazed when he looked into his beautiful emerald eyes, almost forgetting why he was there, until he asked, “What can I do for ya, man?” 

“Uh, yea, can I get the tomato soup and grilled cheese with a medium espresso frappuccino,” He looked around the empty store, “For here, I guess,”

The barista turned around and looked at the two other employees behind him, one on their phone and one inspecting their nails absentmindedly, “Does anyone want to make a frap?” 

They both looked up and looked at each other before turning back to the one taking Virgil’s order. The one with a large scar on the left side of his face put his thumb down while the other one who looked very similar to his cashier blew a raspberry, shaking his head. The handsome cashier turned back to Virgil, and shrugged, “Sorry, gonna have to pick something else, no one want to make it,” 

Virgil sighed, rubbing his eyes, “Okay, whatever, is an iced flat white with some espresso okay?”

The three looked at each other then back at Virgil, before the cashier said, “Dude… It was a joke,” 

“Yea man,” The barista with a scar said, “We can’t just say no to what you order,” 

“What kind of business would that be?” The third one piped up. 

“Are you okay?” The barista, Virgil looked at his nametag, Roman, asked. 

Virgil merely sighed, “I’m kind of going through it,” 

Virgil pulled out his card, but Roman put his hand up. “On the house,” Normally Virgil would protest, despite the cheesy food names it was still a local business,  but being so stressed and depressed he honestly could bring himself to care. He choked out a thanks and sat down by a window, leaning his temple against the it, cool condensation comforting and making him a bit more awake. 

His food and his coffee eventually arrived, Virgil thanked Roman, who then proceeded to sit down across from him, elbows on the table and hands folded. 

“Can I help you?” Virgil asked, probably being harsher than intended, it was just his natural speaking voice. 

“Probably not, I wanna see if I can help you,” Roman shrugged. 

Virgil frowned, “Help me?” 

“I have been told I am good company and good at advice, and you, Brad Pitt-iful, seems like you are falling apart at the seams,” 

Virgil chuckled dryly, “Trust me, I hardly think you are qualified to handle hearing about all my problems,” 

Roman sat up straighter, looking into Virgil’s brown eyes against his gorgeous green, “I work as a barista by day with a bunch of dysfunctional idiots and I am a bartender at night, there is nothing I haven’t seen before, I am probably more qualified than some therapists”  He crossed his arms and cocked his eyebrow, “Try me,” 

Virgil, intrigued, took the bait, and spilled. He talked about his anxiety, the insomnia, the fear of failure, the days where he debates dropping out, his nerves going into overdrive everytime he thinks about what he is going to, how he abandoned his final project, how he has to start on a new one- essentially everything that has been swirling in Virgil’s mind the past semester. 

“Hmm, okay, so you are pulling all nighters to finish all your work, and you only had one piece to do before you were completely finished with your final, and you then decided it looked all wrong and scrapped it?” Roman recapped and Virgil nodded, “Might I give you a suggestion?” 

“You can try,” 

“When you get home, go to sleep. Sleep for at least 9 hours, in a row, look at your old project again, and see how you feel,” Roman shrugged, “Maybe with a clear head you will feel differently about your project, maybe even get some inspiration,” 

Virgil gripped the bridge of his nose, “Roman, I do not have the time to sleep for a full 9 hours, that is ridiculous, I have to do so many projects,” 

“You’ll have one less to start from square one in if you end up actually liking what you did,” 

“It is a nice thought, I appreciate it, but I probably won’t be able anyways, not after the coffee,” Virgil took another sip, as to prove his point, but Roman just smirked. 

“That’s actually just a frozen hot chocolate with coffee flavoring in it,” 

Virgil eyes flew open wide, “Really?” He stared at his drink for a bit before looking at Roman, “They taste exactly the same, I cannot believe I let you fool me like that,” 

“Janus, Remus, and I made an executive decision, you do not look good,” Roman frowned, concerned, most likely looking at his swallowed out skin and circle under his eyes. 

“Well-” Virgil half-chuckled, “Not a lot of people look good compared to you,” Virgil would later wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because of his flippant flirting that he never engages in, but for now he doesn’t care. 

“Charmed.” Roman said, a fond smile present on his face, “I am sure you are a catch as well, when you don’t look like a skeleton” The door opened and a gaggle of people walked in, dressed in the local high school’s uniform. Roman sighed, “That’s my cue,” 

He stood up and frowned, quickly patting his front and back pockets before pulling out a sharpie. He grabbed Virgil's arm, the other one yelped, blushing slightly at the contact. “I would do the cliche ‘write my number on a napkin’, but now I know if you don’t text me it’s because you don’t want to, which is okay too.” He capped his pen, “Message me about what you decide to do, if you want. Would love to see your art,” And with a flourish of his hand, Roman walked away to the counter to take the many orders of the teenagers. 

Virgil looked down at the 9 numbers on his arm, swallowing thickly, feeling a bit sick, though it is not just from Roman’s number in bold, black ink. God, he was tired. 

His body was not attached to his brain as he walked to the bus station, got off, and walked up to his studio, unlocking the door and banging his head against the wall (not too hard, though, these walls are so thin they might as well be made of rice paper). Virgil looked at the numbers on his arm, remembering what Roman said. 

Virgil shrugged off his jacket and jeans,  throwing them on his ‘stuff’ chair and pulled on a pair of sweats, collapsing on his bed. He looked at his phone, the time reading 3:35pm. 

“9 hours from now… That’s midnight. Is he mental?” Virgil muttered to himself. He attempted to pull himself out of bed to get started to study for his history of art final, but his body would just not cooperate. How long has it been since he has had a proper sleep. 

If you have to think about it, it’s been too long… 

That tomato soup and grilled cheese combination was beginning to make him sleepy. Virgil groaned, face-palming. He went on his phone and set an alarm for 6:00pm. 

“Fine, a short nap,” He said to himself. He hit the lights and it took maybe two minutes before he was sleeping, dreaming of impression paintings and emerald eyes. 

***

this is Virgil. 

i didn’t end up sleeping for the 9 hours like you asked

i ended up sleeping for 13.

i hate you. 

And how do you feel, now?

……….…

much better actually. you were right. after my coma i looked back at my final and realised it was a lot better than I remembered. 

i even ended up finishing it. 

That is fantastic! I am soooo glad I could help. What did you end up doing?

Can you send me a picture? 

oh uh

idk if that is a good idea

i don’t want you to think i am weird

Virgil. 

I beta read my twin’s fanfiction. 

I am so desensitized, I do not think I am allowed to be weirded out. 

ok...

img.cm/1029483

Incoming call (Roman- Monet’s)....

****

Virgil yelped when he saw the incoming call. He doesn’t like phone calls at the best of times, but especially not now, not after he showed Roman his final piece. Stupid, stupid, STUPID! He should have just said no, people don’t press about that kind of thing. But Roman is clearly a liar because he said he wouldn’t be weirded out and he is, and Virgil just met this guy and he already messed everything up, why does he have to be such a fucking weirdo all the time, goddamnit, everything is falling apart, Virgil may have gotten sleep but he can’t fix himself. He groaned and snatched up the phone on the last ring, attempting to put on his best, most positive voice. 

“Hey, Roman, wha-what’s up… Bro?” 

“Hello!” Roman answered the phone, not sounding angry or upset, which calmed Virgil a bit, “I apologize, I should have prefaced that I loved the painting. I understand why you might have been worried, but it is absolutely wonderful.” 

“Really?” Virgil let out a breath, “I was really worried that-” 

“Are you kidding?” Roman almost shouted through the phone, Virgil having to pull it away from his ear, “A profile of just my eyes surrounded by roses and irises, in the style of the impressionists, even though I know you hate that style,”

“I don’t hate it,” Virgil muttered. 

“You ranted about Renoir, Degas, and Monet for longer than anyone I have ever met, and one of my closest friends is a curator at the art museum,” 

Virgil sighed, “Yea, you’re right, they suck. Sorry about that…” 

Roman laughed, “Ha, are you joking? That was the highlight of my day. But all that aside, how could you even fathom me not liking the piece? 

“I mean,” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, “I just met you yesterday, it’s not exactly something people do for someone when they do not even know their last name.” 

“My last name is Perez, my middle name is Thomas, my twin brother is Remus who you met yesterday, I am left handed, my favorite food color is red, and I love attention, it’s why I have done theater for 20 years. Does that help?” 

Virgil grumbled, “I guess it does,” 

Roman laughed, “I love it, Virgil, trust me, it is now my phone background,” 

Virgil��s heart swelled, “Really?” 

“Really. Honestly after us talking for like, 45 minutes yesterday, I would have been more offended if I wasn’t your muse, I mean, what about mean isn’t inspirational?” Both Roman and Virgil laughed at that, “But I could have told you all this over text, I called because I don’t like texting to ask pretty boys out on dates,” 

Virgil’s heart leapt into his throat, he felt as though someone dropped a ton of bricks on his chest. How was he supposed to respond to that? Roman first impression of him was a literal dead man walking and he still wants to go out with him?

“A date?” Virgil responded, still shocked. 

“Unless the pride pin on your jacket was just as an ally, and you just spent hours painting my eyes in a straight way, I would like to, if you want,” Roman said simply. Before Virgil could respond, Roman started speaking again, “And don’t say no just because I saw you at your rock bottom, I can see where this is going,” 

Virgil smacked his lips together, “You got me,”

“What do you say,” 

Virgil smiled, genuinely, for the first time in a while, “Let’s do it,” 

Virgil was only speechless for a full minute when Roman laid out an entire romantic picnic, scheduling it perfectly to watch a matinee Shakespeare in the Park production of Much Ado About Nothing, both of them happily munching on the brownies and sandwiches Roman had made that morning. Virgil only complained for 3 minutes when Roman wanted to take him to the art museum, the blushing lasted for 4 times that long when Roman confessed it was because he wanted to hear Virgil about the paintings, his voice being one of the most pleasant he has heard. When Roman grabbed Virgil by the waist, pulling him in for a kiss, Virgil responded with equal passion and emotion that Roman was, not even noticing they were in front of Monet’s Irises. 

[ciggylungz]

Boys are weird

BUTTERFLIES AND BANDAIDS- chapter 4

Boys are weird

••

The boy stared down at his best friend. Eyes locked on hers, trying to figure out what to say. His train of thought was halted when he heard a little giggle from Y/N

"I was just joking Haz, you look like you're gonna pass out...am I that ugly?" She stuck her tongue out at the boy and he just shook his head letting out a little chuckle himself.

"Not at all love, just caught me off guard is all" his fingers went up to pinch her cheek before dropping back on her bed. He tried to push the thought out of his head, but he does wonder about how Y/N's lips would feel on his, not just his cheek or forehead like he's used to.

He imagines they'd feel soft, they're rather full and plump. He thinks they'd feel like a little pillows against his. Her cherry chapstick leaving a little layer of grease on his, but he wouldn't mind.

He was brought out of his little day dream by the girl herself, "Harry are you listening to me?" He looked up at her and blinked a few times "sorry love, mind drifted. What were you saying?"

The young girl gave him a little playful eye roll. "I asked how I look, these jeans are new I got them because Emma said they make my butt looks good, thoughts?" She did a little spin and he huffed

"Not gonna comment on your body little love. You know you're beautiful, looks great" he gave her a smile and she returned it.

"Thanks stinky" her little hand held his cheek as she kissed his other one, smiling at him.

"No problem dummy" he blew her a kiss before sitting up and cracking his back.

"You really gonna go to Eli's house? I really don't think it's a good idea, got a bad feeling sweetheart."

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and his eye brows pinched together. The younger girl looked up at him with a tilted head

"What do you mean?"

Harry let out a low sigh and ran his fingers through his chocolate locks trying to find a way to warn her without being a dick.

"Well, sometimes guys can be jerks. Some guys don't have good intentions, they want selfish things and some guys don't take no for an answer and that's what I'm afraid of. Not ever gonna let someone hurt you if I can help it. You're my best friend, still see you like the little girl I met. Just as protective over you as I am over my mum and sister. Care about you sweetheart."

He gave her a warm smile after speaking and she took a second to let it sink in. Looking back at him a nervous look on her pretty eyes

"What do you think he wants from me?"

Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sweater when she asked, nervous energy evident with the slight shake of her fingers.

"I don't know bunny, that's what I'm scared of." He brought his fingers up to push a few curls from her face, rubbing his thumb on her blushing cheeks.

"Okay...I'll tell him I'll reschedule with him...do you wanna do something together instead?"

He gave her a smile, nodding and twirling her hair around his pointer finger.

"Course, always wanna hangout with my girl. Can go to that diner we like tonight? Steal a couple beers from your brothers stash and have a little movie night?"

Y/N smiled at the offer, nodding and holding her hand up, palms smacking and pinkies locking as they did their handshake, purely muscle memory at this point.

"Sounds good. Think Luke is at his friends anyway, he won't care. But for now let's go get some snacks and I gotta get tampons so let's go to the pharmacy."

Harry let out a groan, he may be her best friend but he's never super into hearing about periods or her needs for period products.

"Relax, you're so dramatic. I don't start till next week but I wanna just get them now cus Lily used the last of them, I'm paying for the snacks this time so be nice or I'll eat all of them myself"

She poked his chest and he just nodded chuckling a bit.

"And I'm the dramatic one?"

••

The two teens jogged down the steps of her family home, hopping over the baby gate at the bottom of the steps, greeted by her 3 year old brother Jackson, 8 month old sister Miley and then year old Violet. All of the toddlers looking up at them, instantly getting excited.

The little ones have always loved Harry, and he loved them just as much. He's always wanted to have kids, so they are kinda like his little practice family till he settles down and has his own. Plus making a baby smile is one of his top ten favorite feelings.

Jackson was the first to rush towards the older boy, hugging his leg and smiling

"Hi! I missed you! We play football together?" The little boy looked up at Harry and he smiled down at him, rubbing his head

"Course we can, later yea? Going out with your sissy for a little while. I'll bring you back a surprise though, don't tell your mommy ok?"

He talked lowly like it's a big secret, getting the toddler even more excited as he pinky promised not to tell.

The next one up was Violet, she was a sweetheart just like her older sister but she definitely has a sass that Y/N was too shy to have when she was little.

She lifted her little arms up prompting him to lean down and pick her up, kissing her cheek while settling her on his hip.

"Hey Vi, how are you today?"

The little girl grabbed onto his necklace and smiled at him

"Good Berry, tooked nap!"

The fact she still couldn't say his name, and settled for 'berry' instead still made Y/N giggle sometimes, the boy found it endearing though.

"You took a nap?! That's great! Good job!"

He highfived her tiny hand and kissed her little knuckles before letting her down, watching her run off to the little play area they had in their living room.

Finally Miley managed to scoot her way up to Y/N getting promptly scooped up, she was definitely a lovey little baby. She loved being held, kisses, cuddles any affection anyone wanted to give her, she welcomed. She was a lot like Y/N, they are both the softest most cuddly girls he's ever met. And he still finds it adorable.

The baby babbled a bit, smacking her lips and sticking her tongue out. A new trick she had learned from her older brother. Harry gave her a smile and a kiss on her rosy chubby little cheeks, giving her a quick cuddle and baby talk session before the two teens left the army of infants with their mother and started making their way towards the small pharmacy at the end of the block.

The pair made conversation as they went, mostly Y/N telling him gossip she'd heard, and because he is guilty of being quite the gossip himself, he ate up every bit of it.

"There's no way! You're lying!" He exclaimed as she told him a juicy little bit about a girl she is on the volleyball team with.

"I swear! She really is! She's pregnant, by Austin Lewis!"

She waved her hands around as she talked, both of them shocked at the piece of drama they now were clued in on.

"God, that's gonna be one ugly baby...Austin's an ugly little prick, personality and looks wise. She must be legally blind." The boy chuckled at his own comment, holding the door open for her as they entered the store.

They continued to chat among themselves as they browsed the isles, grabbing snacks and the tampons she came for. Harry made sure to snag a little bouncy ball from a crank machine for Jackson on their way out. Knowing the little boy would lose his mind over the brand new toy.

••

They made it back safe and well, both distributing the snacks and bouncy ball to their intended recipients before marching back up the steps, Y/N snagging 4 beers from her brothers closet on the way and stashing them under her bed for the evening.

The pair sat together talking and simply enjoying each other's company. Both always feeling content even if they are both on their phones not talking, as long as they were in each other's vicinity they were content.

Harry only looked up when he heard an audible gasp from the girl beside him, seeing an immediate blush rush to her face and eyes wide as ever, cocking his eyebrow at the girl.

"What? It looks like you just saw a ghost"

He sat himself up and peeked at her phone screen, eyes widening before squinting when he saw what she was looking at.

A text message from Eli, normal enough until he saw the very graphic dick pic he sent attached to it.

The boy instantly went into protective mode and snatched the phone

"Yea you don't need to look at stuff like that, why did he send you that? You're like 6, no don't look Y/N!" He held the phone away from her grabbing hands and scrolled up the thread of messages.

" 'You sure you're not able to come over tonight?' 'I had something special planned, even got some drinks for us' 'really wish you were coming...' 'know it's a bit unexpected but maybe this might change your mind about coming...got me rock hard just thinking about you baby' what the hell-"

Harry read the texts aloud and cringed at most of them, Y/N blushing like crazy hiding her face in her hands.

"I knew that kid just wanted to sleep with you. He literally sent a picture of his dick mid conversation, he has horrible game bloody hell"

Harry took it upon himself to delete the picture from their texts and send the boy a text himself.

' keep your dick pics to yourself mate, She's 14- Harry'

Sending it off before handing her phone back and blowing out a breath.

"Oh my god...this is the most embarrassing moment of my life...I can't believe you just sent him that text...I can't believe I just saw his penis...I'm- what is even going on?"

The young girl groaned as she finished talking flopping back on her bed, the boy chuckling a bit as he watched her.

"That's high school boys for you. They think with their pricks, not their heads sweetheart. They see you and have one thing on their mind, and I will die before I let you sleep with some guy who has a small dick. Not gonna happen love."

She simply shrugged and gave him the side eye, getting a cheeky smile from the boy who was covering up his sliver of jealousy with his protective tendencies. He knew it was up to her what she did with her body, but he hated the thought of her sleeping with some boy who only wants one thing from her. As much as she is a smart girl, she's still a bit naïve at times. So of course he does what he can to keep her safe.

If he has to endure looking at his classmates penises to keep her protected, then he will.

He secretly felt a bit of an ego boost seeing that kids dick compared to his, Harry knew he had at least 5 inches more than Eli and was a hell of a lot thicker. He knew he was above average in that department but who doesn't love a good confirmation once in a while?

Y/N finally let out a little laugh, starting to lose the embarrassment and find humor in the situation turning to Harry and letting out another laugh

"His dick was...ugly. I've seen others but why did his looks so odd? It was like 4 different colors! Is that normal?"

The boy snorted and laughed with her shaking his head

"Mine isn't, not sure on if it's normal or not. But out of the dicks I've seen in my life his was probably the ugliest."

She smiled at him and poked his side

"You go around looking at penises in your free time Styles?" She raised an eyebrow and he let out another bark of a laugh.

"Not intentionally usually, locker room and porn is usually where I'm exposed to guys bits. Some guys don't care much about just letting it all hang out in the showers"

The girl giggled and sat up a bit. Smiling and laughing quietly to herself while she gets comfortable against her headboard.

"Boys are weird, girls don't get like fully naked usually but I've seen lots of boobs in the locker room. Katie Wilson has really nice boobs, I'm honestly jealous. I have seen Sarah Peters fully naked in the showers, that's really it. I've seen guys in the locker room like twice when I had to go in their locker room to drop off towels and stuff, saw Seth Newman fully naked and Grant like that too, they were definitely not shy about it. A bit uncomfortable."

She let out another laugh and he did the same.

"Boys are weird." He nodded

"You're not that weird though, you're the best boy I've ever met. You haven't sent me Dick pics mid conversation either so you get bonus points for that." She poked his stomach and smiled.

"I don't typically send unsolicited cock pictures"

He laughed when she gasped at his choice of words, cheeks growing pink yet again.

"I've only ever heard people call it that in porn, do people really use that word?"

Harry gawked at her for a second before nodding.

"Yea, lots of people say it. But you watch porn?! Since when? You're a baby! You shouldn't be exposed to that!"

Y/N rolled her eyes and waved him off.

"I'm 14, I can watch porn if I want to sir. You watch porn, I've seen your search history you Weirdo. Eli isn't the first guy to send me pictures, I've sent a few before too. Not to him but to someone else."

Harry was shocked to say the least. The shyest sweetest girl he ever met just admitted to sending nudes to other people. He couldn't believe it.

"YOU sent nudes?! To who?!"

The girl smiled shyly,

"Don't worry about it, not your business mister."

He stared at her for a second before shaking his head.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that, you're still such a innocent little girl to me. I refuse to accept you've done that ma'am. I still can't believe you've made out with people before, the only reason I accepted it was because I literally caught you doing it once. Still not happy about that one Y/N, boys are stinky! You're not allowed to do that, I decided it's illegal now."

Y/N laughed at him and pushed him back a bit

"Shut up, you're such a drama queen Haz. I'm not 4 anymore, I'm old enough to kiss whoever I want."

He grunted in response and frowned.

"Nope, it's illegal I made the law. Now I need a beer after that."

She just snickered to herself while handing him one grabbing her keys and popping the cap off with her house key before grabbing her own doing the same.

Locking her bedroom door and turning off her overhead lights, opting for her fairy lights instead. Switching her tv on, both of them sipping their beers while skimming movies before picking one. Both just drinking and enjoying their evening together, but still Harry couldn't help his mind wandering off a few times thinking about the pictures his best friend has sent other people.

And he couldn't help but be jealous.

[captainchrisfics]

Sweet as Strawberries

About: First-person pov narrator and her husband, Chris Evans, go berry picking with their daughter and chat about having another. Probably the sweetest, sappiest thing I’ve ever written.

Word Count: 2,343

Requested By: Anon! Thanks for submitting this, I genuinely had the best time writing it. Fluff is so soul-cleansing sometimes. Hope you enjoy!

Chris’s mouth was stained the faintest shade of pink between sneaking bites from juicy strawberries to the transfer of my lipstick every time he pressed his lips to mine. The apples of his cheeks and the top of his nose were rosy too, but that was from the morning chill. He pulled me into his chest and I looked up at him, admiring the way the noon sun glinted around him like a halo. Reveling in the bliss, I snuggled into the soft fabric of his worn flannel. 

He smiled down at me, rubbing his hand along my arm. “I told you it’s still too cold for this,” he said, chuckling as I shivered.

“I know it’s only April,” I responded, rolling my eyes. “But she wanted to pick berries with you all winter.”

Our eyes landed on the little girl running between the rows of bushes, wildly swinging her wicker basket. Occasionally, she’d bend down and pluck a good strawberry once a ripe one caught her eye, but the red ones were few and far between this early in the season.

“You remember when she was born?” I asked, pressing my cheek to Chris’s chest. He was a human radiator, but it still didn’t rid the cold from my bones. Really, I wanted to see if I could feel his heartbeat thudding through his layers of clothing.

Chris’s laughter rumbled like thunder. “Never gonna forget it,” he proclaimed, enveloping me in his strong arms.

“You said there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for her,” I reminded him with a tsk. Although I was sure my teasing grin would’ve given me away, I buried my face into the crook of Chris’s neck to hide it. “I feel like strawberry picking before you go film for the next few months isn’t a lot of her to ask.”

“Oh, just wait until the day she figures that out,” he chuckled. “You of all people should know she’s had me wrapped around her little finger the second she grabbed my pinky in that tiny fist.” Then Chris snorted as he started swaying with me, even though there wasn’t any music. “I never would’ve guessed it’d mean driving an hour and a half to the only farm opened this early in the season and freezing our asses off in the middle of a field.”

But then our daughter jumped up from the middle of a green patch. She raised her arm in the air, proudly waving the bright red berry squished between her small, chubby fingers. “Got a really good one!” she called to us, jumping up and down so hard her dress went flying. Despite the cold and our protests, she’d insisted on wearing a nice checkered red dress so she could match her favorite fruit. It looked awfully funny under the down coat and layers of leggings I’d wrestled her into anyway.

As quickly as she’d ran through the rows of berry bushes, unbearably eager to get her hands on whatever she could manage to conjure up in spite of the frost, she sprinted as fast as her five-year-old legs could carry her in our direction. 

“C’mon,” she pleaded once she’d reached us. Her pint-sized hand grabbed mine while the other wrapped around Chris’s fingers, dwarfed by their size. “You guys gotta help look,” she insisted as she tugged us through the field. “‘Cause I’m not gonna find all of ‘em for you to eat all of ‘em. S’not Halloween.”

I gave Chris a pointed look as I tried to stifle my laugh, telling him without saying it that this was his attitude coming through. He was already grinning at me with eyebrows through the roof, trying to convey the same. 

“You,” I mouthed, jutting my chin out to reference our little girl. As often as Chris liked to claim he didn’t know where she got it from, I had an idea. She inherited every last ounce of her father’s sass.

Chris’s lips drew into a tight line as his eyes crinkled shut and his head shook once in a defined ‘no.’ I raised my eyebrows, but before I could challenge his assumption, Chris said, “I didn’t touch a piece of her candy last year.”

I scowled as he blamed this on last Halloween. Our daughter finally talked him into wearing the old Captain America costume he snatched on the last set after her whole lifetime of begging to be brought around the neighborhood by Steve Rogers. He begrudgingly stepped into the old thing, bragging about how it still fit like a glove.

By the time they returned, our household had run dry, before I could even sneak any chocolate for myself. So when she collapsed in her bed, leaving her plastic pumpkin on the counter, I ate all of her Reese’s. Although she never liked peanut butter before, she decided the next morning that was her favorite candy and I’d committed an unforgivable crime. Chris, who was preparing for a role, refrained from pigging out with me and escaped punishment.

“I know, Daddy,” she said innocently, sending her dark pigtails bouncing with every step. She did too, he made sure she knew exactly who to blame.

“See?” Chris said between incredulous laughter. “At least someone in this family has a good head on their shoulders.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s important to learn to share,” I grumbled in artificial annoyance. Chris only laughed, but soon stopped as our daughter drew his attention.

She slowed down as she focused on looking more intently among the green vines and thick layer of leaves for the patch of particularly ripe berries she’d managed to find. Chris and I started swinging her between us almost absentmindedly. She squealed as she protested half-heartedly, screeching about needing to focus.

Chris glanced down at our little girl, watching her giggle and leap into the air as we carried her momentum further. His smile grew impossibly wider and carved a dimple into his cheek and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Chris took a deep breath, like he was trying to breathe in the bliss of this moment and replace all of his air as to never forget it. 

He looked at me, with the same smile that said so much more than that, his eyes searching for mine. Wanting to share the moment, to marvel at our little joy together. I grinned back, hoping it conveyed half the amount of pride and even just a fraction of the love that his expression did.

Then her little hands started wriggling more furiously from our grip. She ran between the rows, diving under a bush. She rose with two more bright red berries in her hands and an infectious grin on her face, the same smile that had me falling for her father in the first place.

Chris took only a couple strides to meet her before hoisting our daughter up onto his shoulders. She laughed in that lilting way her dad always seemed to squeeze out of her. It made me remember a time, entire years ago now if that’s even possible, that Chris and I would lay awake, staring at me moving stomach as she pushed and stretched underneath the skin. We would wonder what her laugh would sound like, what she would be like.

Too much like her father for her own good, if you ask me.

She popped the berry into her father’s mouth and scolded him for finishing it in one bite instead of saving some for her. They must’ve seemed giant in her tiny palm. Chris apologized anyway and reminded her what I’d said about sharing. As his hands quickly rubbed up and down her legs in an attempt to generate some warmth, he asked, “Can you see any more from all the way up there, darling?”

She rested an elbow atop Chris’s head to support her own. Our daughter peered over the field, a hand shielding her eyes from the high sun like a sailor spotting land. Her legs started to thrash with excitement, kicking Chris square in the chest. He couldn’t put her down fast enough. With her engine already revving, she took off once again to chase whatever berry she’d spotted.

Chris laughed as he caught the breath she’d knocked out of him. “She’s something else,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me to his side. He looked at me dreamily, in a way I always wanted someone to but wasn’t naive enough to hope for before I met him, as he said, “Just like her mama.”

“Now that’s something I’ll take credit for,” I grinned as I bumped my hip against his. Chris wasn’t listening though, he was too preoccupied watching our daughter dart between the bushes. She’d occasionally turn back to see that we were still there and, upon realizing we were already looking at her, she’d try to show us the trophies sitting comfortably in her basket, only for a few to topple out. 

“I want another,” Chris said, so sure of himself. Without a doubt in the world.

“Yeah?” I asked, trying to hide the hope in my voice. Truth was, I’d been wanting to have another baby for a while now. She was getting so big, after all. I knew our daughter would always be our baby, but I missed having a little one that fit so well in the crook of my arm.

“I mean, as long as you do,” he started to backtrack. Chris shifted uncomfortably, retracting his arm and shoving his hands into his pockets. I tried to catch his eye, but his gaze was on the sky.

“Hey,” I said softly, looping my arm through his, “I want another too.” I leaned my cheek against his shoulder.

Chris’s chest collapsed with a sigh of relief. His head rested on mine, neither of us taking our eyes off our little girl. “Scared me,” Chris chuckled dryly as he pressed a kiss on top of my head.

“We’ve been talking about it for years,” I reminded him of the long, late-night conversations we had. Chris always told me he loved being a part of a big family and wanted the same for his kids, to have the built-in best friends he did. 

I wasn’t entirely convinced at first, but our daughter changed my mind. The second she opened those bright, blue eyes, I remember thinking that I’d like to relive that moment a million times over. And when she really laughed for the first time, properly from the bottom of her stomach, she threw her head back the same way her father did. And, one morning, she saw Chris meditating in the living room. Without a word, she climbed into his lap and folded her legs in the same way and watched him with one eye open, trying to sync her breathing with his. Every time little bits of Chris popped out of her, when she furrowed her eyebrows just he did or said something with the same inflection he would, I realized I wanted to watch our children grow up over and over and over again.

“I feel like the timing’s finally right,” Chris sighed. “She’s so much more independent and I’m not signed to any more projects after this one wraps filming. Just saying, you know, I think it’s a good time to start trying again,” he reasoned, tucking his hand into the back pocket of my jeans.

In the past few years, it had never been. She was too little, demanding too much of us to even consider having another any time soon as far as I was concerned. And then Chris started working again. He was always dashing off to some other state to film or another country for promotional press, gone so long he’d miss our baby growing up and I’d miss his help.

“When you get back, though,” I asserted. “No shot in hell am I gonna be able to make breakfast as early as she wants with that god-awful morning sickness.”

Chris laughed again, resting his chin on top of my head. “So you’ve been thinking this through?” he teased. I pressed my lips together and narrowed my eyes at him, unsatisfied. “Kidding,” Chris retracted. “Of course we’ll wait another couple of months. I wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.”

“You say that now,” I warned, raising my eyebrows. “And then it’s three in the morning and I’m waking you up to send you to get some pickles because I’m craving that juice so badly I can’t sleep.”

“God,” Chris chuckled dryly. “Somehow, I’m still going to miss you.” He enveloped me in a hug. I pressed my forehead to the curve of his neck, trying to drown myself in his scent. Treasure the feeling of being in his arms while I still could feel his warmth. Tomorrow morning, his flight would come far too soon.

“It’s because you love me,” I mumbled against his skin, pressing my lips to his neck. I kissed up his jaw until I had to stand on my tip-toes to peck the tip of his nose. 

Chris’s warm hands found their way to my cheeks, numbed by the cold. He squished my cheeks together before placing a kiss on my puckered lips. “How’d you know?” Chris asked, looking at me with a crooked smile.

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Had a feeling,” I shrugged into our hug.

Then another little body squirmed its way in between our legs, tucking herself between our knees. “You guys are not good at berry picking,” she insisted. “I found all of ‘em.”

“You did work really hard,” Chris said, placing a hand on her head. He ruffled her hair as the little girl’s features scrunched up with earnest annoyance. Chris pulled away from our hug to scoop her up into his arms. He peered into her small basket as his eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped with mock shock. “That’s so many. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

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[the-blind-assassin-12]

This Year, Every Year

A/N: Day 6 goes to Billy Russo. The same Billy Russo that you coaxed out into the sun a few months back. You showed him that he was more than his scars. Now he’s going to show you that you were right. 

Word Count: 2,617

Prompt from: @something-tofightfor​

“It’s not weird, it’s tradition.” 

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” 

You squinted one eye to better your aim before tossing a kernel of air popped corn directly at his nose. He made a face of mock annoyance that melted as soon as the tiny projectile bounced off of him. She’s the only person on this green Earth who gets away with that.   

“It’s not weird, Billy, it’s tradition.” It’s a weird tradition. You held up the string of popcorn and cranberries that you’d threaded onto a piece of fishing line. The berries, in their varying shades of scarlet and Merlot, spaced randomly between the near-white morsels, provided the perfect festive contrast. “Now are you gonna help me?” You stood and took a few steps towards the tree, the edible garland draped over your arms. Shaking the hair out of your face, you looked over your shoulder at him, catching him as he shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. That look... “Or are you just gonna eat all my inventory?” 

You smirked at him and he returned it with one of his own, chewing through the grin. But he stood from the couch and crossed the room to take one end of the strand. “‘Course I’m gonna help you,” he insisted, suddenly grabbing for your waist with his in encumbered hand. You let out a surprised laugh as he tugged you against his body, a few pieces of corn crumbling away from the line that neither of you cared to notice. “Always.” He leaned in to press his forehead to yours, and you let go of the end you were holding, the garland dropping to the floor as Billy released his end too. 

“Always, huh?” You closed your eyes and brought your palm up to the center of his chest, over the soft gray waffle knit thermal and the heart that beat beneath it. He pulled back to look down at you, at the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting in your eyes. Your other arm wound around his midsection, hand pressed flat against his back. Letting out a contented hum as he ran his fingertips under the hem of your hoodie, you rested your cheek next to your hand. He felt the warmth of your breath through his shirt.  “I like the sound of that.” Yeah. Me too. “Even if you think my traditions are weird.” You turned your face to kiss his chest as a low chuckle escaped his lips. 

“Not all of ‘em,” he tilted his head to lay it atop yours. The damaged nerve endings around his scars were starting to repair themselves, and the sensation of your feather soft hair tickling the skin around the pink lines that marred his face was still new. Feels good to feel her. Inhaling the scent of your shampoo mixed with the pine from the needles that had gotten stuck in your locks, he turned his head to look at the tree.“Just the ones that waste perfectly good popcorn.” 

You laughed, shaking your head as much as you could against his body and the way he was holding you. “I told you, it’s not a waste. When the tree goes out to the sidewalk after Christmas, birds and squirrels-” 

“And rats,” He flexed his arms almost protectively. This city’s full of rats. 

You laughed again. “Yes, and rats, will pick off the popcorn and the berries.” Turning your head you tilted it back until you could look up at him again, shrugging your shoulders with your arms still around him. “Actually, saying it out loud does make it sound kind of weird. Pigeons and rodents aren’t going hungry in New York, they don’t really need help finding food.” No, they don’t. “But I grew up in the suburbs, in a little neighborhood. My mom used to tie red ribbons on our tree instead of tinsel, and she’d leave them on when we took the tree out to the curb. My brothers and I would watch the animals come pick off the popcorn, and we’d see birds taking the ribbons to fluff their nests with.” You smiled, a whimsical sparkle in your eye. “All winter we’d look for spots of red up in the trees.” Licking your lips, you returned your cheek to his chest, both of you facing the tree now. “Guess I just…” You miss it. That feeling. Billy knew what it was like to miss the way things were. 

“Hey,” he kissed your hair, his own just long enough to fall over his forehead as he leaned forward. “What’do I know about traditions, huh?” Nothing. “I changed my mind. It’s not weird.” 

“It’s a little weird, we can compromise.” You slid the hand that had been over his heart up and around his neck, fingers curling in his hair. He groaned quietly, the sound barely making it out of his throat. You sighed, continuing to move your fingertips soothingly. “It’s a good tree, isn’t it?” 

Billy looked at the fir tree in front of him. It stood 4 feet tall in the corner of your living room, branches sticking out at odd angles in a few places, and it had more than one bare spot where the trunk was visible. You’d strung it with lights, the miniature bulbs illuminating the blueish green needles and making the pathetic twig of a thing into something more. “Yeah,” he responded, thinking back a few nights to when you’d dragged him out in the snow to go to the tree lot on the corner. “It’s a great tree.” 

..  .. ..  .. .. ..  ..

“Come on,” you shivered, your shoulders shuddering against the cold as it bit through the several layers you had on. Tugging on his hand, yours encased in thick white gloves, you pulled him down the street. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we get back inside.” Your voice wavered in the frigid air. 

“Remind me why we’re doing this on the coldest night of the year,” he hunched his shoulders to brace himself, shoving the hand that wasn’t holding yours deep into his pocket. “Tomorrow’s supposed to be 48 and sunny and-” 

“Because it’s snowing, Billy.” You laughed, turning to him with watery eyes and a bright red nose. Your scarf was tucked up over your chin obscuring your bottom lip, your hat pulled low to your brow, trying to protect as much of your face from the cold as you could. He could tell that you were smiling because your rosy cheeks grew round. “Gotta get your first tree in the snow.” 

We don’t. “We could just call that place… there’s a tree service that delivers. You don’t even have to go outside.” He knew, having worked the deliveries as a teen, hustling around from one high end apartment to another, collecting tips from rich strangers and helping them set their trees up in waiting tree stands despite having never done it himself. 

You smacked his arm, the cushion of his jacket absorbing the light impact and making him laugh. “We are not calling the tree service. We’re slogging this tree home ourselves.” 

“Alright, easy killer. We’ll do it your way.” Snow was falling in big fat flakes, landing on his nose and cheeks and melting into his skin. This time last year, the trial was still in full swing, so even though you’d been the most important part of his life even then, this was the first real Christmas that you got to spend together. Though he gave you a hard time about your specific traditions and the meaning that was tied to them, what he really wanted more than anything was to give you the perfect holiday. Even if it means freezin’ my ass off for a tree.  

You’d almost made it all the way down the block, the streets more clogged than usual with holiday shoppers, tourists and guests, and you turned to respond missing a patch of ice that others were clearly steering clear of. What he could see of your eyes went wide as your boot sole struck the slippery surface, a panicky “woah!” tumbling from your lips as you prepared to take a tumble. 

Billy was quicker though, reflexes kicking in as he pulled you into himself, where he stood planted on ice-free sidewalk. You clutched at his arms for stability.  “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall, I gotchya.” I’ll never let you fall. 

You giggled, a mixture of adrenaline, embarrassment and pure happiness. “My hero,” You rose on your toes to brush a snowflake from his nose, right between the two raised scars, before dropping a kiss there. “Now come on, let’s pick a tree before I find more ice to fall on.” You took his hand again, his fingers sliding between yours.  

“You are good at that.” This time when you went to smack his arm, he was ready, catching you off guard by grabbing your wrist and wrapping it in front of your body, trapping you by pressing himself up against your back. “And I'm faster than you.” He said it in your ear before dragging the tip of his nose over your frozen skin. 

By the time you’d gotten to the lot, he couldn’t feel the cold. A few dozen trees of varying sizes from 12 inch table-top shrubs to over the top 10 foot giants. A booth had been set up, comprised of two by fours and clear plastic tarps and hung with classic, old fashioned bulbs. Wreaths finished with red velvet bows collected snow, the trees turning white as the flakes kept falling. Carols were playing from an old CD player inside the booth, the hum of a space heater playing a part in the rhythm section of each song. One shivering employee was working the booth, taking payments, another stood just outside, near a cluster of trees, offering photos for $5, an old Polaroid hanging over the scarf around his neck. Billy could see why people got so worked up about all this, could see why it was so important to you. It’s nice, I get it. He watched a young family choose their tree, their son no more than 6 so excited by the festivities that he clearly couldn’t feel the frosty air. He sniffed and turned to you, surprised to see that your eyes were already on him. 

“You shoulda had this, Billy. Every year, you should have had memories of this.” You reached both hands behind his neck, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He shrugged. “Yeah, maybe,” he nodded. “Maybe that’s true. But now I get to have it with you.” Every year.  

Wordlessly, you kissed him, your lips moving with his, wasting no time in deepening it. He responded by moving even closer to you, curving his body around you as his tongue swiped against yours and he tasted the sweet sound that you made as he tilted your head to better his angle. The city was bustling all around you, the temperature diving into the low twenties, but the two of you were oblivious to anything but each other. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed from more than just the cold. “I love you, Billy,” you sighed, melting against him and slipping your arm through his. I know you do. The mechanical whirring of the polaroid went off behind you as another couple stood in front of the trees for a picture, giving him an idea. 

“Hey let’s do that,” he cocked his head in the direction of the impromptu photographer. “After we find a tree I mean.” 

You grinned, the light in your eyes putting the blinking bulbs all around you to shame before you lead him through the rows of trees. You charged Billy with choosing the tree, insisting that there were no wrong choices...as long as it fit up your staircase and into your front door. Billy scanned the trees, reaching out to touch their branches. He stopped in front of a White Fir, its needles poking sharply into his palm. Taking in the shape of it, it could only be called scrawny, and he knew that no one wanted this tree. Looking around, all the other trees were fuller, their needles longer and finer, less prickly. “This one?” He asked you, even though you’d told him it was up to him. 

“This one,” you nodded. “It’s perfect.” The way that you said it made Billy sure that you knew what he was thinking- that this tree reminded him of himself. He carried it without your help as it was lighter than it looked due to several bald patches, and leaned it against the booth to pay. He let the attendant know that you were going to take a photo while he bound your tree in twine, and he nodded, gesturing towards the photo station. 

The photographer introduced himself as Aiden, and told you where to stand, pointing out an X that he’d marked on the ground, perfectly centered in front of four tall, perfectly shaped trees. 

“C’mere,” Billy stood on the X and held his hand out to you. You took it and he pulled you next to him. The photographer counted down from three, and you wrapped your arm around him, beaming as the camera clicked. Perfect. 

Aiden passed the photo to Billy and he inspected it as it developed, the image appearing slowly, colors coming through the black square like magic. “Let me see,” you peeked over his shoulder, but he hid the photo from you, flattening it against his jacket. “Hey,” 

“Trust me.” He slid the picture into his pocket, concealing it completely. “Not yet.” 

You eyed him suspiciously. Not yet. Let me surprise you for once. “Okay…” you dragged the word out. “If you’re not gonna show me, then let’s get this show on the road, huh?” You grabbed the top of the tree and waited for Billy to take the trunk end. 

“Yeah, let’s get home.” 

.. .. .. .. .. .. 

“Good choice, Billy,” you said, both of you still looking at the tree. “Just wait until it’s all decorated.” 

“Yeah,” he pulled  back, releasing you. “We should do that. The decorations.” He turned away from you then, walking over to the sidetable and stooping down to open the cabinet beneath it. 

“Billy?” You stooped down to pick up the discarded popcorn and cranberry strand, hanging it on the tree. “What are you-” but when you’d turned back around, you saw what he’d been doing.

In his hand he held an ornament. It was a small picture frame, silver with a red satin hanger, and in the frame was the photo that you’d taken at the tree lot. Your mouth fell open and a breath slipped out as you moved closer to him, fingers reaching for the frame. The picture captured the joy on your face, the happiness that you felt sharing another tradition with the man that you loved. But it was Billy’s image that had pulled the gasp from your lips. He wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at you, right at you, his dark eyes focused solely on the one person he’d give anything for. “I thought we could hang this this year, what do  you think?” 

Tears had formed in your eyes. Billy wasn’t a sentimental person. He didn’t put a lot of stock in things like traditions or pictures or mementos. But he knew that you did. You took the ornament from him, hanging it on one of the highest branches, the place of honor saved only for your most meaningful pieces. “Every year, Billy.” You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, your skin smooth against the raised lines that cut across his. “Every year.”

.

.

.

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[passivenovember]

When Billy Falls in Love

--

Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.

Max stays angry red. 

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here-- 

“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag. 

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows. 

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close. 

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar. 

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him? 

About his bones and blood. 

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.

“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--” 

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull. 

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

--

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue. 

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking. 

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black. 

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back. 

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness. 

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him, 

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock. 

Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong. 

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.

So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies. 

If it kills him. 

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers. 

Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”

“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington?  What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away. 

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky. 

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks. 

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks. 

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.

That Steve would survive losing this. 

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

--

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt. 

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard. 

He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door. 

Eddie doesn’t move. 

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up. 

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him. 

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy. 

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?” 

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him. 

He smells like peaches. 

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch. 

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare. 

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”

“--Right--”

“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”

Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image. 

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

Billy stops. Waits. 

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning. 

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And. 

Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does. 

He really does.

Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now. 

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then. 

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy. 

The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him. 

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

[terrifictomholland]

You’re a snack - Tom Holland x reader

word count: 2,3K

warnings: curse words, the usual, also there are so many god-awful puns in this im sorry 

pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Hello! I’m back with a blurb, I browsed Tumblr one night and I came across the prompt “I buy lunch at this grocery store every day and you're always there and you're my favourite cashier.”   So! Enjoy this, its pure fluff!

You had a favourite grocery store that was your go-to store, no matter what. Usually it was to buy lunches to bring to work, other times you  went there to pick up veggies and produce as such. A few weeks ago however, there was a new cashier. A really, really cute one with big brown eyes, a wide smile, gorgeous thick curly hair and a hell of a body from what you could tell. He was your favourite cashier because he'd been in each time you came in to buy stuff and you found that he was always smiling, laughing and always helping people.

      Whether it be old ladies or teenage boys. He was a charmer for sure and just like the old ladies, you were smitten by him even though you'd hardly spoken to him. You simply admired him from a bit of a distance, the few times he'd been at the cash register to check your things out, he would say hello with a blush. You had no idea why either, it was the strangest thing, but he made you feel much the same. Like whenever you were in his presence you couldn't help but to fumble over your words and blush furiously, feeling your palms sweat and heart race. You were a grown woman for christ sake! A boy, albeit a really cute one, shouldn't have this effect on you, yet alas, here you were. You stood in line, waiting to get your groceries checked out, having 3 people infront of you, when the cashier currently sitting there scanning the peoples things, got swapped out, due for a break and in came the cute boy. You inwardly groaned at the state he'd be seeing you in now.   Dressed in gray sweats, an over-sized baby-blue sweater with gold thread in it, your hair up in a bun on the top of your head and no makeup on, your glasses perched ontop of your nose. You felt a right mess, and he looked like a God. It finally came to be your turn, you gave the cute boy a small smile, the tag on his shirt saying "Tom", as you lined up your groceries on the band. You thought nothing of it when he scanned the beans you had, when all of a sudden you heard him say, "How ya bean?" and you looked over at him, mouth slightly parted, seeing the cheeky grin on his face. "Did you just...make a pun out of my groceries?" you asked trying to keep a straight face. "Maybe, taters gonna tate," he grinned mischievously as he scanned your potatoes. "But.. how have you bean?" he pressed and you laughed softly, "I've bean good, how about yourself?" you grinned, glancing at him, biting your lip. "I'm doing berry good thanks for asking," he smiled, looking at you. You let out a louder laugh slapping your hand over your face trying your damndest to not let it show just how fucking endearing you thought he was with his stupid ass puns. This was ridiculous, but in the best way possible. "Good god, that was horrible," you laughed hopelessly, letting him finish scanning your groceries and you paid, "But I made you smile right?" he asked adorably and you couldn't help but blush. "You did," you smiled, bagging your things, "Kale me crazy, but I'm glad I used those puns on you," he grinned and you let out another laugh, "I'm glad you did too," you smirked, "Have a nice day," you smiled at him, seeing him perk up, "Thanks a bunch!" he happily said making you laugh once again, he had a pun for everything didn't he?  

Once you had left, your heart was beating faster than normally, that had been your first exchange and already you wanted more. You wanted to go back there and see what other puns he had in store for you the next time you went grocery shopping.                                                      ....

That happened a couple of days later, when you were running low on some fruits, so you stood in the fruit isle looking at the oranges there, when all of a sudden you heard a voice say, "Orange you glad to see me?" you turned around seeing Tom there grinning at you, making butterflies in your stomach go crazy, you bit your lip looking over at your left and you picked up a kiwi, "You've gotta be kiwi-ing me," you giggled and he raised his eyebrows impressed. "Well done," he applauded and you blushed, "Thank you, as you can tell I worked hard on that one, can't have you upstaging me all the time," you giggled, picking up a few oranges, putting them in your cart. "I ap-peach-iate your hard work," he smirked and you groaned at that.

"No, that's awful!" you said, but your lips tugged up in a smile nonetheless. "You loved it!" he boasted and you shook your head giggling, "I hated it," you giggled bluffing and he knew it, which just made him laugh. 

And oh, what a laugh. It could cure all bad things in the world, it was such a pure and infectious laughter that made you want to laugh along with him.  

"Well, now that there's been an ice-breaker, what's your name?" he asked looking at you with those big eyes of his, a smile resting on his face. "Oh, uhm it's Y/N," you said seeing his face lit up. "Y/N," he tried out making your heart skip a beat at how good your name sounded coming from his mouth. "You've definitely made grocery shopping much more fun," you admitted and he absolutely glowed at hearing that, "Yeah?" he said hopefully and you nodded, looking around you seeing how empty the store was, you bit your lip now before looking up at him, "Do you uhm, wanna help me? Shop for groceries?" you asked, feeling your cheeks redden. In all honesty, you just wanted to spend a bit more time with him. His face brightened up at your request though which relieved you, knowing he'd say yes now. Maybe you weren't reading the signals wrong after all. Sometimes self-doubt could be such a bitch. "I'd love too," he smiled, reaching over and taking your cart from you. You bit your lip, hiding a smile as you picked up some of the things you needed. "Look at you all gentleman-y and all," you teased and he let out a small laugh, "Well of course," he pretend curtsied and you laughed loudly at his antics. You stopped and put in some carrots in the cart. "Do you use horrible puns on all of your customers?" you asked curiously, looking over at him seeing him blush at the question, right before a cheeky grin took over his face. "Hey! They're not horrible!" he protested, "Only the really gorgeous ones though," he winked making you blush in turn. "You think I'm gorgeous?" "Hell yeah, so much that I find you very a-peel-ing," he smirked and you snorted, "You're not too bad yourself," you admitted with a grin. "Well thank you! So, how about going on a date with me then?" he bravely asked looking right at you, "Are you leaving the puns at home then?" you retorted and he laughed softly, "Now you're just being un-raisin-able," making you sigh dramatically, "Yes, I would very much like to go on a date with you. Puns and all," you smiled seeing the smile spreading on his face too. "Yeah?" he affirmed and you nodded. He hummed to himself with a grin, "Yeah, you're fun and very charming, I wanna see where this could lead," you admitted and he nodded, "I feel the same about you," he smiled at you and you felt butterflies fill your stomach hearing him say that about you. "Thank you," you said suddenly feeling shy and he noticed, 

"How about tonight?" he asked smoothly, stopping when you did, adding some bacon to your cart, "Tonight works," you said with a grin and he did too now. You felt so relieved and now you were getting excited for tonight, "Yeah? Hang on," he said and you looked at him seeing him pull out his phone and he tapped on it for a moment, before he pushed it into your hands. You added your number into his phone quickly, handing it back. "I get off at 7,"  he said  and you couldn't help but to smirk, "Oh do you now?" you asked sassily and he rolled his eyes, "Well look at you, getting ballsy," he smirked and you giggled with a small blush. "Wouldn't you like to know just how ballsy I can get," you countered and he bit his lip, eyes darkening just a little at the suggestion. "I'm not opposed," he said with a wink and you blushed even more. "Let's get through our date first Casanova," you got out and he chuckled, nodding, "As I was saying," he started with a mock-pointed stare at you, "I get off at 7, how does it work for you?" he asked, "That works for me, I can come by here and we can figure out where to go after that?" you asked a little unsure, looking at him, "Yeah that sounds like a great idea actually. I've got some stuff here so I can shower, so how about you come by here around 7:20?" he pondered and you couldn't help but to just admire his beauty, you nearly forgot what he asked you. "Hm? Oh! Yes, that works for me," you grinned and you saw the smile spread on his face. "I'm really fucking pumped," he said almost shyly and you felt so relieved to hear him say that, "I am too," you laughed softly, both of you making your way to the cash register and he got in behind and checked your things out. The both of you checking eachother out, without saying much, but it felt very comfortable so you didn't mind it. "I'll text you later," he smiled when you were all done and you couldn't help but to smile yourself, "I look forward to it, and to tonight," you blushed seeing his smile get even bigger. You were so excited, that as soon as you left the store you let out a small squeal.                                                     .... You waited outside of the store where Tom told you to. Once you had gotten home you had spent the entire afternoon texting him, the both of you getting to know eachother even more. 

You felt giddy, like you were 15 years old again talking to your first ever crush. You didn't know it was possible to feel so giddy and excited over a date, but what made you feel more reassured was that Tom was equally as excited, you knew it before he said so.   Before you could get too lost in your thoughts, the door opened and Tom walked out, effectively knocking the breath out of your lungs. He looked delicious enough to eat in a pair of dark blue jeans, a snug white t-shirt that showed off the contours of his abs through the shirt and a leather jacket and a baseball cap on backwards. You eyed him up and down licking your lips, not realising that he was doing the very same thing to you. "Well, hello," he smirked reaching over giving you a hug. You melted slightly in his arms and you discreetly breathed in his cologne. He smelled so good, very fresh, you couldn't put your finger on the smell, but it was very much Tom. "Hi," you replied slightly muffled by his jacket, slowly the two of you pulling away ever so slightly and he wasted no time in taking your hand, lacing your fingers together. "You look rad-ishing," he said as you began walking and you let out a groan, "For fucks sake," you said before you burst out laughing, "You look really rad-ishing too," you said giving his hand a squeeze. "Thanks babe," he grinned making your heart race at the pet name he used on you. "What a spud muffin you are," you giggled and he let out a laugh, "Well well, have I rubbed off on you?" he asked cheekily and you grinned, "You wish you could rub one off on me," you said confidently seeing his eyes widen just a smidge before he laughed even more, "We're gonna have a great time tonight, you and me," he promised and all of a sudden you felt anticipation, but for a whole other reason. "I sure hope so," you winked "Well, plans are made, I've oranged everything so let's head to dinner," he grinned and you giggled, 

“Let's go then, but first...I think you should egg-plant a kiss on me," you said shyly. He stopped and turned towards you, his lips quirked up in a wide smile, moving closer to you and you held your breath, watching his every move. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. 

Your toes were touching and you looked up at him, seeing just how close his face was to yours, his breath falling onto your face and you closed your eyes, your hands resting behind his neck, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. His arms went around your waist, holding you securely against his chest. At first, it was just a gentle brush of his lips over yours before he pulled away, but you used your hand on his neck to pull him in, pressing your lips against his more insistently, your lips locking with his. It felt as though your body was coming alive, little jolts of electricity coursing through your body as the two of you stood on the pavement kissing like there was no tomorrow, all wrapped up in eachother. Slowly, you both pulled away and you opened your eyes seeing him look at you, a small, content smile on his face. "You're so fig-in amazing," he whispered pecking your lips as you started laughing.

[morelikesin]

Security

The second chapter of my self-indulgent kiss fic! This focuses on Bloodhound and Mirage exclusively, though hints towards the other love interests are made. Below is the chapters in order.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Intro

Chapter 2 - Mirage (You are here!)

Chapter 3 - Octane

Chapter 4 - Caustic

Chapter 5 - Ending

Chapter 2 below the cut!

That same afternoon, late in the evening, Bloodhound stood in the kitchen as they got themselves a glass of water - wondering if they should prepare a meal or not as they sipped.

They noticed the sound of steps being taken behind them, coming down the stairs and eventually coming to a stop as the person assumedly reached the bottom. Bloodhound turned to meet the person, who had already begun talking;

"Oh! Hey - you hungry for something too?" Mirage laughed gently after he spoke, before clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck in assumption that his words didn't land.

Bloodhound entertained the subtle humour of his, "Somewhat. I vas going to make something outside."

Mirage nodded and let his arm fall back down to his side. It didn't take the legends long to discover that Bloodhound did things rather traditionally - cooking over a genuine fire as opposed to using the electric stove being one of them. He gave his input as he walked over to get something of his own to drink, "I could keep you company, if you want - I should probably learn how to cook my famous porkchops over a fire, hah!"

Bloodhound made a small chortle, "I think they taste fine as you make them. Fire does have a certain taste, though." They sipped at their water again, lifting their mask just a bit from beneath to do so, before leaning down and pulling a sizeable pot out of the cabinet. They then set it and their glass aside to pull open the fridge and survey ingredients, "I wouldn't mind you accompanying me."

"Cool! Cool - maybe we can make something together!" Mirage playfully offered as he squeezed past the hunter to grab the jug of iced tea.

They contemplated that idea a moment - gathering what they needed and storing them temporarily in the aforementioned pot for easier carrying before responding, "We could, if you'd like. I don't intend to make you feel as though you need to help me, though-"

"No, no, it's nothing, really!" Mirage quickly assured the other, "I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to. Plus it could be kinda' fun, yeah?"

Bloodhound made a brief hum, tilting their head slightly and picking up the pot. "Suppose it could be."

Mirage sat on a fallen log as he waited for Bloodhound to come back with firewood, with his arms folded over his lap. It was a comfortable evening - cool breeze breaking the settled warmth and rustling the leaves of the tall trees that stood around them. The forest just behind the dormitories was always a nice place to get away if one needed it - the privacy of it feeling fresher than that of staying in one's room.

Taking in a deep breath, air crisp as he took it in, Mirage looked to the grass beneath his shoes.

Suddenly, Bloodhound had settled beside him and dropped a thick cut of a log, notches cut into it to create a Swedish torch, in front of themselves - the axe they'd been using being set aside on the log they both sat on. Mirage had let his gaze linger on the hunter's hand and how it gripped the axe handle, and how it released thereafter. Without their gloves worn, Bloodhound's hands were a mix of strong and pretty all at once - few, small nicks from assumed previous wood-working decorating their finger pads and palms, along with several beauty marks kissing the backs of their hands. Their nails looked kempt, if short, and their fingers looked both firm and gentle.

He was brought out of his adoring observations when they began to speak, "Could you help me cut these up? I'll start a fire in the meantime."

"Yeah! Of course," Mirage nodded as he was handed a relatively flat piece of wood and an assortment of ingredients. It took a moment for it to click in his mind that the wood was to be his cutting board.

Bloodhound almost offered their axe to him, but Mirage noticed the motion they made to grab it and assured them that "I carry a pocket knife with me." The hunter gave a nod and went back to doing what they were doing - though their gaze lingered on Mirage's face for a moment or two before doing so. He was tortuously handsome - hair and facial structure and scars and all.

As Mirage rather expertly chopped up some chanterelles, he sparked further conversation, "What's on the menu tonight? See you got some- got some veni- veni-kin? Veni..." He cleared his throat, "Deer, right?"

"Yes," Bloodhound confirmed as they sparked a low ember within the hole they carved inside the firelog. "I've br'rought mutton, as well."

Mirage made an intrigued hum and pushed aside the chopped mushrooms to start on the garlic and onions. "Never had it. Have had deer, though!"

"Really?"

"Well," Mirage backed down sheepishly, hesitating to keep cutting the alliums, "Deer jerky, yeah. Still counts though, right? Hope so."

Bloodhound made an amused exhale from their nose, "Of course it does." They added a slab of butter into the pot they set atop of the Swedish torch, allowing it to melt before taking the alliums Mirage had cut up and putting them in to fry.

The rest of the process was generally silent between the two of them - the sound of crickets and the fire crackling being all that kept the air company - but it wasn't unpleasant at all. A generous amount of cream was added after the onion and garlic cooked a bit, as well as after the added thickly-diced meats. Carrots, crushed juniper berries, various herbs such as bay leaves and thyme, potatoes, a leek, and finally chanterelles made their way into the stew gradually - and when everything had been included, all that was left to do was to let it cook.

Mirage put away his pocket knife (vowing to clean it thoroughly when he got back inside) and set aside the makeshift cutting board - leaning over and looking to the hunter, "Don't think you told me what we're making yet. I mean- it's stew, but..?"

"It's viltgryte," they answered, "Though tr'raditionally it doesn't normally contain mutton. I do that for my own taste."

Mirage hummed low in approval, smiling and finding that his mouth had been watering from the smell of their cooking alone. "It smells great, I'll tell you that. I'm guessing it's something from home?"

Bloodhound nodded in a way to accept his compliment before taking a second to contemplate and respond to his question, "Yes - in Ísland my comfort foods were this and kjötsúpa." They chortled to themselves a moment, quiet and a bit reserved, "I like foods with broth, or sauce of some kind."

Mirage laughed and leaned forward - resting his forearms in his lap and draping his hands over his knees. "Hey, I can't judge you there - shit's good. Hell, I can't think of any other things half as comforting as that kinda' thing."

"Fur blankets?"

"Food, I mean," Mirage snorted.

"Oh!" Bloodhound made a quiet laugh and shook their head, looking back to the fire, "Yes, I think you're right."

They sat quiet for the next few, long minutes - not bothered by it per se, but basking in the smell of food cooking and not being able to eat it just yet called for a distraction of some sort.

"..You did really good in the game today!" Mirage offered with his signature warm grin, picking up his glass of iced tea he'd set on the ground after sitting down earlier, "You wiped two teams at the end, there - sorry about the loss, though."

Bloodhound waved a dismissive hand and looked back to Mirage, voice indicitave of an assumed gentle expression, "You, as vell. You earned your victory today, félagi - you should be proud."

"Oh, I am," Mirage insisted with another smile - swirling the liquid inside his glass before taking a drink from it, creating a pause in his words, "..but I still gotta' give respect to you out there. You were doing work - y-your team, of course, but you especially."

The compliment earned Mirage the sound of Bloodhound's hum and gentle laugh - the former finding it damn near ethereal.

When the hunter gave a breathy "Thank you," Mirage gave a slick "No problem," despite needing to turn his head away to conceal his blush.

Mirage kept busy drinking his iced tea, the ice cubes clinking against the glass adding to the ambience - not to mention oddly complementing the fire crackling rather well. Bloodhound occasionally stirred the viltgryte with a wooden spoon.

It was serene. It was almost domestic.

This fact was realized by the both of them, but it wasn't addressed - neither thinking the other had made the same discovery.

Bloodhound made a sigh. It sounded almost longing, in a way, and before Mirage could give concern as he looked over, they had set the stirring spoon aside and reached behind their head to undo the clasps of their mask. Mirage swallowed the sudden dryness in his throat - attempting to no avail quench it by taking another drink.

He set his glass back down onto the ground, and folded his arms over his lap - eyes busy taking in the welcome sight.

Their face being illuminated by the orange and gold flickering of the fire accentuated their features - the glow angelic, in some way. It just about did Mirage in when Bloodhound raised a hand to pull back a lock of hair behind their ear; the motion so admiringly graceful. How the hunter managed to be so firm and mighty, while also being so soft and benign was simply another charm of their's that kept Mirage wrapped around their pretty little finger.

Bloodhound set their mask beside them - fingertips tentative in leaving its surface. They explained their sudden choice with hushed words, "It's a little warm beneath that, vith the fire going. I hope you don't mind."

Mirage slowly shook his head, "Not at all."

His eyes wandered across the darling landscape that was their face - gaze remaining an extra long moment on their lips before finding himself suddenly in tune with the intimacy of his actions, and reluctantly looking away in an attempt to chill the ever-growing heat on his cheeks.

Bloodhound noticed the staring, and while they knew not the focus of it, the knowledge that Mirage found something in their countenance to focus on in the first place ultimately made them blush.

This was stifling, they both concluded - and just when Bloodhound was about to let it go and sit in their own assumed unrequited emotions, Mirage cleared his throat.

He sat straighter. He rubbed his palms on his thighs, tightening his lips while he looked towards the hunter; not at them directly, but in that direction.

He swallowed again.

He mustered up some sort of courage, words quiet, "I was- uh, I was wondering something - you don't have to talk about it if you don't want or anything, I was just.."

His sentence managed a decrescendo near the end, until it eventually trickled into silence.

Bloodhound stayed equally silent for a moment - waiting for a continuation that never came. They leaned towards him a bit and rest their arms in their lap, face expressing such mansuetude that Mirage felt some of his anxiousness clear. They comforted the man and urged him to continue with a "I can't decide if I can talk about it if you don't tell me vhat it is. What is it?"

"..Well," he began, the flush on his cheeks becoming gradually more evident, "I have a lot to say, I guess. I've been thinking about it for a while, and I...I don't know what to expect after I say it, so.." Mirage rubbed the back of his neck and kept his hand there up until his next sentence was done, "But I ask you.. be honest with me."

His phrasing was unbearably vague, but Bloodhound wasn't going to rush his pacing - instead, they simply allowed him to say his piece at whatever pace made him comfortable.

"I think you're a good person. I.. really like hanging out with you - I mean, in the games, yeah, but outside of them too. Kinda' like this." Mirage looked to the ground, "Since I met you that first day, I've always kinda' been.. what's that word- fascin-tid? Fasc-un-tid..? Fascinated- that's it. Uh, fascinated by you. Getting to know you these past two years just cemented my idea that you're one of the coolest people I know."

Bloodhound smiled and turned their head away - eyes focused on the fire and the warmth it brought them, but they knew deep within themselves that the fire wasn't the sole cause of this warmth.

"Þakka fyrir."

Mirage smiled similarly to Bloodhound, "Of course."

The hunter leaned forward to stir the viltgryte once more, speaking further, "I find you rather intr'resting, as well. Your personality is quite forward." They set the spoon back down - hands returning to their lap.

He laughed softly, and clasped his hands. "That good or bad to you?"

Bloodhound hummed sweetly, "Good - your forwardness is charming. You're unapologe'ically yourself, and I find it noble."

Mirage swallowed, made a small exhale, and made a chortle. "..That's sweet of you, thanks. Good to know my charm works on some people here," he spoke his last line with a laugh as he meant it as a half-joke. To his relief, and adoration, Bloodhound laughed at it too.

In the midst of their shared amusement, their gazes somehow met - the ends of their laughs returning to smiles, and then shy ones when they realized they were looking at each other this whole time.

Bloodhound quickly blinked and looked away - awfully aware that their face probably gave away their thoughts as their skin stained with a burning blush.

Mirage took in a quivering breath.

He hesitated to say what was on his mind, and when he eventually got it out he was alarmed by how anxious it made him-

"I want to- I.. I want to date you."

Bloodhound's head quickly turned back to the man - lips parted, eyes widened, expression dumbfounded.

Mirage sealed it with a quiet "I have for a while now. Months."

The hunter could feel their heartbeat in their ears. Their ears felt so hot - their face, their skin. That couldn't be right, they thought to themselves - mind almost trying to convince themselves that they heard the man wrong.

The silence hung in the air for a long moment.

"...Romantically?"

Mirage made a nervous breath, "Yeah."

Bloodhound kept their eyes on Mirage's face. Their expression had since lessened from shock into gentle surprise, and the man sitting beside them could finally tell that this was a look of disbelief.

The silence rest once more.

It broke, once again, after a long moment of thought - the words spoken to break it hushed and timid in tone, but strong in their meaning - in which Bloodhound at last conjured up a "I've thought about you, too, in that way. I.. think I discovered these feelings months ago. So..I say yes."

Mirage made another trembling breath - breaking into a nervous smile and tilting his head a bit, "Yes?"

"Yes."

They watched each other. They took into account how they adored the others features, their persons, their whole selves.

Somehow, someway - unknown as to who moved first - their faces got closer at one point. Bloodhound felt Mirage gently take their chin in his fingers, thumb caressing their bottom lip, and before either dared to question anything else, their lips pressed together.

Bloodhound fluttered their eyes quickly, before slowly melting into the feeling and closing them. The kiss was warm, and passionate, and left nothing to be desired after Mirage pulled away. The hunter raised a hand to delicately touch their own mouth - eyes opening to watch with amorous intent the flushed man before him as the realization of this being their first kiss settled in. From their expression, face red and eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, Mirage could easily read that this was the case.

He took his hand away from the other's face and sat himself back down fully on the log, but the two of them kept rather close still.

"..I really liked that."

Mirage smiled again, softly. "Me too."

The two stayed busy in their own minds - time dedicated to contemplation being a long couple of moments before anyone spoke up again.

Mirage did so first, "..I.. know I've used it in the past, but..." He looked to the hunter's hand, "Can I use your real name more?"

They nodded, "Yes. I.. like when you say it."

That sent a fulfilling throb through his heart.

"..May I call you Elliott more?"

"Of course."

Blóð looked down coincidentally - happening to notice that Elliott was looking at their hand. It took a second, but two and two was put together.

Elliott had glanced up. He then looked back down. "..Can I hold your hand?"

Blóð nodded again.

It was awkward, at first - Elliott taking lead and attempting to hold their hand while their partner was unfamiliar to the way it was supposed to happen. It didn't take long for Blóð to figure out how to properly lace their hands together, though, and when they finally were able to get the idea it felt of a new type of happiness.

Hands intertwined, the idea that they were embracing this intimately was almost devoid of verisimilitude - but it was happening, and it was so tender. It was so warm.

The rest of their hour or so alone was peaceful - their company being the rustling trees being swayed by the breeze, the crackling of their fire, the bubbling of a simmering hot meal, and one another. They talked for the better part of their time together, starting out timid before eventually becoming mostly comfortable - new-relationship anxiousness aching them a bit. They spoke on how the other made them feel, a small part of their previous homelife, and - interestingly enough to Blóð - their sexualities.

When Elliott told Blóð that he happened to be polyamorous, they concurred - to which he gave a "I'm glad to hear that," and followed it up with "I encourage you to find happiness in all who you can." It felt reassuring, considering that they did find themselves allured by two others, but at the same time it felt like Elliott knew a playful little thing that they didn't. They brushed it off in the meantime, and kept note to inform Elliott if anything between them and another happened.

What would be the odds of that, right?

Ahem.

Their time alone was interrupted after that aforementioned couple of hours, when Lifeline had come out to see where they went because she couldn't find them - having been planning to make dinner.

"Miss Che, we did happen to make quite a bit of this," Blóð began to offer - Elliott finding it sweet that they included him in the process - "I'd be happy to share. You don't have to be in charge of dinner tonight - but I do request you bring back bowls and spoons."

Lifeline hesitated to accept the offer - her face clearly dripping hospitality and an urge to care for people, her most noble trait - but the more she took in the aroma of the stew, she relaxed her shoulders and clasped her hands in front of her. "That's sweet a' you two - I can' say no. Mind if I grab th' otha's?"

Elliott shook his head, raising his free hand a bit, "Not at all! Let's hangout tonight - we deserve it after today's game."

She smiled and turned around, walking back to the dorms. She called out a teasing "I'm sure y' can get closer on that log you sit on, there, an' make room for the rest a' us," before she made it back inside.

Caught off guard, and caught red-handed, they found themselves flushed and suddenly shy all over again - pulling away a bit and releasing their hand-holding to save themselves any embarrassment from the other legends. It was a lucky thing that Lifeline was the one who had found them, for she was good at keeping secrets for people.

Elliott made a small chuckle, leaning forward. "I.. think we should wait to say anything. I got a big ego, but they probably won't leave us alone."

Blóð took absolutely no offense to the sentiment, "I agree. Just for today, I want to relish our pr'rivacy."

They tried to not watch each other, really - but it was so hard to not look at something that was so wonderfully perfect. Their eyes met, and it made them break into subtle smiles.

What an evening.

[mssjynx]

Hey, I'm here for the first time & want to say that your writing really sets me in high spirits & inspires a lot. Thank you so much 💙💙💙 Could you maybe do TerrorMoo or OhmToonz 2 scenario from the ABO list? Only if you want to. Love you a lot & sending you waves of inspiration ⭐

alpha / beta / omega au

terrormoo drabble

2. You came up to me and starting spitting out awful pick up lines. My days been shit, I just got dumped and fired from my job, but now I can’t stop laughing.

a/n: hi omg!! i see you in my notifs all the time and i cant tell you how much your support means to me! thank you so much for enjoying my content- i hope you like this silly little terrormoo xx

Brock’s day couldn’t have been worse. He’d woken up with a clogged nose and a sore throat, sick at the beginning of the week. When he called his work to let them know he was sick, they let him know he was fired due to decreasing business.

His pre-heat had come two weeks earlier, catching him by surprise and he could feel the headache coming on before he’d even had his morning coffee (which he ended up burning his tongue on anyway). A distressing hour was spent raiding his bathroom, coming up with no suppressants, and dialing his boyfriend of five months. His stress was overwhelming by himself and as the phone dialed he couldn’t control it.

There, sitting on the floor of his messed up bathroom, his boyfriend picked up and reluctantly told him he’d found someone else, a smaller, younger omega female that he actually wanted to mate with. Brock hung up on him before he even caught the apology and didn’t try and stop himself from breaking down right there against the wall.

“Evan, I can’t go out tonight I’m- I’m out of suppressants and my pre-heat’s started.” He let the phone sit on the counter, face in his hands as he spoke to his friend. “I’m- Yeah, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, hearing the disappointed sounds from the other side of the receiver. “Connor broke up with me. Mm, just then on the- on the phone… He found a new omega. A girl.”

Words of sympathy barely reached his ears and he didn’t let them sink in. He’d never been a very good omega.

It was a surprise Connor had kept him around for so long anyway…

“I’ll buy you some suppressants. You, me and Tyler can go out; no one will know you’re about to hit your heat. We’ll treat you to drinks and who knows! Maybe you’ll find yourself a new, cuter Alpha. I always hated how Connor smelt.”

Brock scrunched his nose, knowing how sometimes his boyfr- ex-boyfriend’s scent could really be overbearing. Especially if he got angry- he always did have a short temper.

With a low sigh, he dropped his eyes shut and nodded to himself. “Okay, we can go out,” he murmured. “Please get me extra strength ones and I’ll pay you back tonight… Thank you so much Evan.”

The other omega flicked off his phone and Brock sighed to himself in the emptiness of his bathroom. His headache was throbbing and his energy was already waning. He dragged himself to his feet, stepping over the mess of bottles and bathroom products and heading straight for his room.

The first hour of his morning had been simply awful and he didn’t want to do anything but go back to bed.

-

“Evan, i don’t know about this.” His tapped out another two suppressant pills into the palm of his hand and popped them onto his tongue. With a wary look to his friend, he swallowed them. “What if they can still smell my heat, or- or if I get lost-”

“Brock.” Tyler’s firm voice from the front seat had the omega nervously snapping his attention to the driver. “I can’t smell a thing. I’ll let you know and you can stay by me if you’re scared of anything. Connor was a prick. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a good night.”

Evan nodded along to the alpha’s words, flicking through radio stations as Brock sat anxiously in the back seat. “You don’t gotta be nervous, okay? We’ll be right with you the whole time!”

An hour later, Brock found himself alone at the bar, watching the crowd where Tyler had his hands on a beta’s hips. Evan had been bought a drink and was chatting away with an alpha in a booth. He sipped his cocktail, carding fingers through his hair and avoiding eye contact with those eyeing him up.

It was inevitable that finally someone slid into the chair that Tyler had left empty, arm settling on the counter and charming smile catching Brock’s gaze. “Hey, I just wanted to ask-” Pretty blue eyes. Straight white teeth. “Are you a magician, by chance?” he asked and Brock frowned. Magician? Before he could respond, that smile was widening and the man was leaning in, allowing Brock to get a whiff of the sweet scent of berries that seeped hung off his skin. “Because everytime I look at ye, everyone else just disappears.”

The realisation of the cheesy situation had Brock’s confusion falling, small smile quirking his lips. Really, the line was so bad, Brock couldn’t help his amusement. “Seriously?” he asked, settling back in his barstool and taking another sip of his drink.

That gorgeous grin didn’t falter as the alpha nodded, before his expression turned more serious. He held out a hand politely, not pushing Brock any further than he was comfortable with. But the omega wasn’t bothered at all, offering his hand for the alpha to pull into his.

His fingers were gentle, fingertips brushing along his knuckles as he examined the omega’s delicate hand. “When I first saw you over here,” pretty blue eyes lifted in confusion, “I looked for a signiature. All masterpieces have them, right?” Once again, a little proud smile pulled at his lips and Brock felt no need to retrieve his hand. “Also, also!” Brock just couldn’t stop his laughter as he listened with interest. “So I’m writing this essay on the finer things in life.” With ease, the man leaned forward, curling his hand around the leg of Brock’s barstool and pulling the omega closer by the chair. “I was wondering if ye’d let me interview you,” he asked, voice dropping to a more low, sweet tone. It felt reserved; special for the omega. With those gorgeous blue eyes on him and that handsome smile, Brock couldn’t help the buzz of butterflies in his chest.

He dropped his eyes, feeling red flush his cheeks at their new proximity. The fragrance of berries was stronger and it was hard for the omega to stop himself from leaning and taking a deep breath. The idea of scenting him made Brock almost weak in the knees and he gribbed the edge of his stool to keep himself grounded.

“You okay?” The alpha dropped his head to level his eyes with Brock’s, drawing the sensitive omega’s attention up to him. Patience and kindness was all the man offered and Brock smiled sweetly at his question.

“I’ve been having the worst day,” he explained, carding fingers through his hair and slipping his fingers between the alpha’s. The heat of his hand kept him stable as a frown pushed the man’s lips. “I got dumped, fired and my pre-heat’s come two weeks early. And- And now you’ve come in and made me feel like there’s nothing wrong at all-” He released a deep breath, returning that handsome smile. “I’m Brock,” he introduced, squeezing the fingers in his.

“Brian,” the alpha introduced. “And I’m glad I got ta see your beautiful smile. You don’t deserve to be havin’ such a bad day.”

Brock grinned. Brian. The Irish alpha suited the name and Brock couldn’t stop his smile as he inhaled subtley. Brian’s scent was delicious- Brock hadn’t ever met an alpha so alluring before. Before the omega could speak again, the alpha opened his mouth, cheeks dusted pink.

“Would ye- Would you wanna come back to mine tonight?” he asked, smiling welcomingly as he blushed a pretty pink. Brock couldn’t help his own smile, head tilted. “I know ye said you’re startin’ your heat but I know how some pre-heats can be tough- If you’re comfortable, I’d love to have ye around. You don’t have to stay with me long, I just- if you’d want- as long as you’re comfortable-!”

Brock’s laugh was breathless and sweet as he nodded happily. “You smell amazing,” he admitted, leaning in and taking in another lungful of the delicious scent. “I’d love to spend the night if you wanted me.”

Brian’s smile couldn’t have gotten any wider as dropped to his feet, standing between Brock’s legs and dropping his head to the side of Brock’s. “May I…?”

A pleased sound of affirmation released from Brock’s throat and he keened as Brian’ tucked his nose against his pulse, pressing against his scent gland. A deep inhale, Brock’s hand gripping his shirt, and his exhale drifted from his lips with a gentle purr. When he drew back, he pulled Brock to his feet too, smiling broadly.

The omega didn’t wait, pushing into the alpha’s face and fitting his face against the side of Brian’s warm neck. He drew his nose up the side of that tan skin before fitting against the alpha’s scent gland and breathing in nice and deep. The strength of his scent was dizzying and Brock couldn’t wait to be surrounded in it. The possibility of sharing his nest with the beautiful man had his heart beating faster and when Brian’s arm slipped around his waist he leant heavily into the touch.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered and Brock didn’t think about refusing for a second.