#pine stair treads

[miraavx]

Walk Out Basement in Indianapolis Basement - mid-sized contemporary walk-out cork floor and beige floor basement idea with white walls

[funny-junks]

Indianapolis Basement Walk Out

Mid-sized modern walk-out basement idea with a beige floor and cork flooring and white walls

[naturepound]

Walk Out Basement in Indianapolis Basement - mid-sized contemporary walk-out cork floor and beige floor basement idea with white walls

[blizzard-bells]

Great Room - Dining Room Example of a large trendy light wood floor great room design with white walls

[orchidsangel]

going to a tree farm with jason because he once mentioned how bruce used a real tree every christmas when he was younger. he says the smell of pine around the house comforted him when he was a child, and alfred used to make him hot cocoa while he did his homework beside the fireplace. it's an off-handed statement, and he didn't mean for the idea to worm its way into your brain. still, it did, and so you insist on getting a real tree this year as a way to bring his past and present together. 

hand in hand, you walk through aisles and aisles of trees, searching for the perfect one; the abundance of green and the foresty smell of pine, almost overwhelming. you lean over, gently taking a branch in your hand, a soft hum escaping your lips as you search for a sign that it's a good contender. but after a couple of seconds of running your fingers over the needles, you sigh. "you don't know what you're looking for, huh?" he asks, and you turn your head towards him, a sheepish grin on your face. he just draws you back by the shoulders with a laugh. "it's alright. i'll help."

leading you by the hand, he weaves the both of you in and out of rows of soon-to-be christmas trees. it takes a few minutes, but he finally stops at a beautiful eight-foot-tall specimen, pointing out the shape, branch density, color, and smell. he tells you it's nothing you need to remember, but you make a mental note of the light in his eyes when he's explaining to you what makes it perfect. 

getting the tree up the six flights of stairs to your apartment was difficult but surprisingly not as difficult as getting it to stand up. jason holds it up while you screw it into the tree stand, adjusting screws over and over again until he can safely back away from it without holding his arms out in fear that it'll fall over. you crawl out from under, a smile on your face as you admire how perfectly upright it is, tip almost touching the ceiling; and you take a step, moving forward to separate the branches but jump back when you feel something sharp under your foot. needles. lots of them. 

he sweeps them up while you grab the ornaments you'd been keeping in a spare closet. last christmas by wham plays in the background, and a pot of cocoa boils on the stovetop, waiting to be seasoned with a dash of cinnamon just the way he likes it. "need any help?" he shouts, tossing clusters of pine needles in the trash. "no!" you shout back, pulling down boxes of glass bulbs and bobbles; but you still hear his footsteps as he treads down the short hallway to you, and grabs the box of decorations from your hands. 

he looks down to see a mess of red. frosty red spheres, red birds, red metal engraved with his name and yours, et cetera. red on top of red on top of red, and he looks up at you, the beginning of a smile playing on his lips. "what? too on the nose?" you ask. he just shakes his head with a laugh, turning away to set them down in the living room before helping you with the rest. “at least tell me you’ll break up the color scheme with some silver tinsel.” he says, taking another box from you, this time red glass stars. “sorry," you say holding up a long line of sparkly red string. "the tinsel’s red too.”

[sunlightmurdock]

AETERNA | Two

ONE | MASTERLIST

SNYOPSIS: the show begins.

WARNINGS: smoking; the fic takes place in the 70s and so 70s era things will happen; mentions of minor character death; this fic has mature themes and is intended for adults, minors pls dni. spooky stuff. word count: 7.2k

…

On days that Billy works late at the shop, or just can’t find time to entertain your whims, you walk home from the Pines. It’s not too bad of a journey, you’re lucky that Fred and Joan didn’t pick a place too far out.

If you were to cross the creek at the bend, right outside of work, it would shave a good twenty minutes off of your journey. In the interest of keeping your Keds white and your socks dry, you take the longer route and walk down West Avenue.

Past the laundromat and Miss Jessie’s hair salon. Along the grass verge, sticking to the side of the road where there’s no footpath. People drive safer this close to town. Usually.

Early afternoon and you’re thinking about that evening.

Olive was supposed to come along with you tonight, but she blew you off to go fool around behind the old firehouse with this older guy she’s seeing. Twenty-eight, a father-to-be, and he still gets his kicks in the bushes like a teenager. Gnarly.

It’s for the best, though; your mom doesn’t like Olive too much. Joan wasn’t ever too strict with you — she let you scrape your knees and muddy your Sunday Bests, a couple minutes after curfew here and there never hurt. But to her, someone like Olive is someone treading water and bound to go under.

In Olive, you have found the big sister you had always wanted, but you wouldn’t go under with her. You’re too smart for that, your father says.

Without Olive, it’ll just be you and Georgie tonight. You just hope that he doesn’t get the willies and make you leave before it’s over. Fred would probably be pretty upset if you did wind up coming home without his only surviving son.

Wesley’s pictures are still up around the house, and his room remains untouched down the hall from yours, but he’ll have been gone five years in July. He doesn’t come up in conversation much anymore.

In another life, he would be driving tonight. You’d get shotgun and radio privileges, Georgie would get to be a real little brother and be banished to the backseat. You’d get your kicks chasing after gold-skinned West-Coasters and Wes would do what he always had and man the fort.

“You’re back!” Georgie greets you — half scaring you to death — by leaping down from the second stair and onto the runner by the door. You wobble in the direction you had come, the screen door clapping against your backside and deciding for you that you’re staying inside. “I’ve been waiting forever!”

“Yeah? Forever?” You drop your bag by the door and point a finger between the stripes on his t-shirt, right into that ticklish spot against his ribs. When he grins, he looks like your big brother had. He’s not much like Wes, though. It’s better that way.

“Man, and now I have to wait for you to get dressed!” Georgie realises, throwing his head back in complaint. “What time are we leaving?”

“Little after five,” You say and step around him as he spirals to keep with you, glancing down at the chunky brown wristwatch you use primarily to time Mr. Wheelan’s phone conversations with his mother against your smoke breaks. “Hour and a half. If that’s alright with you.”

He lingers at the bottom of the stairs while you hasten for your room. An uncertain frown works its way onto his freckled face as his stomach rumbles under the confines of his Sears’ Best t-shirt. “… Before supper?”

“Fred gave me money — we’ll get something on the way.”

From the downstairs hall, he curls his fist into a ball and celebrates under his breath. You wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway, your fingers already dropping the needle onto your still inky, sexy new Fleetwood Mac record.

After a month and a bit of trying, you had nabbed it at a store a town over. Atwood’s excuse for a record store rarely had the new stuff.

Sharp, fast-guitar strums and Lindsay Buckingham’s wicked vocals. There’s nothing better. Well, not yet. Someday soon, Lindsay Buckingham will be on the guest list to one of the lavish parties you’ll throw. By then, you won’t sing as embarrassingly as you do in your childhood bedroom.

Making your way through buttons and fastenings and stockings and Keds, you hop and dance to lyrics you haven’t quite memorized yet while shedding the candy-striped version of yourself for someone far superior.

Wiggling your hips and nodding your head as you pick through your closet, you’re searching for a safe middle ground in a sea of far from between. You’ll need something that Georgie won’t snake to Joan about, and something California at the same time. That’s where they’re from, you figure. With tans and smiles like that, it just seems like the reasonable guess.

Your skin-tight bell-bottoms are the obvious choice. Georgie can’t nark on you for jeans, but then again, these are so much more than jeans. They’re heaven sent. You’d spent your first Pines paycheck on them, and they were worth every penny.

The record plays on through tracks two, three, four and into “Go Your Own Way” while you’re still making up your mind on how to decorate your top half. Red would be your usual pick to stand out, but you’re going to be surrounded by a sea of red so that’s out. Green would make you stick out like a Christmas tree. Yellow works, you guess, in a McDonalds kind of way.

There’s no need for an alarm clock. By track six, Georgie is trying your doorknob and reminding you promptly that it’s a little after five. Fred installed that bolt lock on your door a little over a year ago. It keeps your brother out in the hallway. Your wristwatch, discarded, confirms that it’s exactly six minutes after five. That means time for make-up is over and you really need to find a shirt.

“We still have time for burgers, right?” Georgie bounds down the stairs ahead of you with reckless abandon and lacking coordination, slipping on the rug and catching himself on the stair rail.

“If you tie your laces in less than ten minutes.” Your answer is purely to tease him. You’re uncertain about the denim waistcoat you were forced to pick, but the jeans save it. Your new leather boots will make it.

As you zip them up your calves, Georgie races past you, almost banging into the front door as he wrestles it open. As he tears outside, you notice his feet halfway jammed into his sneakers, wobbling with each step. “I’ll tie ‘em in the car!”

Joan stops, wincing through her view from the dining room window as her overconfident little boy steps onto his own lace and tumbles into the door of the family station wagon.

“Nice going, Airhead!” You call out, turning your head mid-jibe to find your mother watching you. Her face flattens sternly, but she decides her priorities lie with making sure her airhead son picks himself out of the dirt okay.

The screen door rattles behind you as you jog down the steps and Georgie scrambles to his feet, brushing off his blue jeans.

“Wave bye to Mom.” You remind him, waving sweetly at the dining room window as you unlock the car and slink into the driver’s seat.

He stands straight and grins, cheeks dimpled as he waves toward the window.

The old radio system crackles to a start, and Joan watches from the dining room window as you reverse it down the driveway and pull out onto the main road.

The sky sits between purple and blue, darkening like a bruise as the station wagon follows the winding country roads that stretch out towards the O’Malley farm. It sits between mountain foothills, on the verge of Cole County, almost in Martock County — country club central.

In the late afternoon, your brother is buzzing. He can barely contain his excitement, or his singing voice despite you making him promise to stop exactly six miles back. He shoots a gleaming look up at you, grinning as he holds onto his vanilla shake like it’s a Pulitzer Prize. Fast food, his favorite flavor shake, and a trip to the realm of the unknown all in one night.

He’s going to have a lot to talk about come Miss Lindsay’s class Monday morning.

You plan to have plenty to talk about Monday morning, too. I.e. the dirt on those guys you spotted out by airport road; you saw ‘em first, and Olive is, in some regards, spoken for — so they’re all yours for now. At least one of them must be single. The guy with the mustache had a girl in his passenger seat, after all. But she didn’t seem to want to hit you for drooling all over him, so either she’s a Martian or she says he’s fair game.

“There it is, I see it!” Georgie declares, spotting the glowing Ferris wheel through a break in the trees. Your stomach twists, a giddy excitement toying at your nerve endings. You play it cool, shooting him a knowing smile, tugging the wheel to a slow left.

The O’Malley farm is the biggest in the area, threatening to be the oldest thing around too. Of its acres and acres of land, the circus has been allotted a four acre space at the forefront, just off the road.

You were here once for a Fourth of July fireworks show. You’d spilled mustard on your new white jeans. Your older brother had put you up on his shoulders and you’d forgotten how sad you were, lost in a sea of red, white and blue sparks.

Georgie lights up with the foreground, his jaw going slack as he stares out at the sea of sounds and colours ahead of him. Sure, it’s Saturday night but this place is packed. The designated span of grass is filled with Atwood’s car and truck collection; you do as Fred would want, and leave the station wagon at the end of the row. It’ll be easier to get out later.

It’s all neon around here. Purple lingers in the darkening sky, the dirt and the grass dry and the air brisk. Lights and screams overpower the song playing over the radio. The same one you’d heard out on Airport Road. Electricity fizzles in your stomach the way static feels on your fingertips when you reach for the television screen.

“Can we get cotton candy?”

Your head turns. Your gaze flickers downward. You eyeball the emptied cup, the now missing vanilla shake, and then look back at your brother’s ecstatic face. His feet kick uncontrollably in the footwell. Your lips purse, as if to consider the proposal. Guitar plays on around you, all electric like the feeling in your stomach.

“Yeah… we’ll see,” You cut the ignition and grab your purse from the passenger side footwell. With the engine, the radio dies too, and the song stops abruptly. The familiar guitar riff cuts out before you even remember where you’ve heard it before. “Let’s get our tickets first.”

Though, it might be kind of a fun joke to get him all hopped up on sugar and take him back home to kill Fred’s Saturday Night Movie Marathon. His VHS collection is unrivaled amongst the dads of Atwood.

Georgie is absolutely not, under any circumstances, allowed to get his grubby little paws on a single one of those tapes. Not because they’re dirty, or scary — but because Georgie likes to understand the mechanics of how things come apart and Fred prefers his belongings intact.

Your eyes are drawn to every corner of your peripheral, your boots tracking through dry dirt path. One hand on Georgie’s shoulder, you keep note that he’s still with you as your eyes explore. Dirt spills into grassland and you’re off the path; you just aim for the centre.

The fairground roars around you, hitting the peak of Saturday night excitement, carnival games singing and rattling around you and the carousel singing out dead ahead. Lights and games whir wildly around you, it feels like you’re still hearing that electric riff even now it’s gone.

“Can we go on the Ferris wheel?” Georgie tugs at your forearm, barely audible over the thrum of the whirring generator beside you. A shrieking scream tears your attention from him. To your far right, there’s a Rotor ride — a giant, spinning green cage that sticks you to the wall with one of Newton’s laws. If your eighth grade teacher was hotter, you’d know which one.

“If you’ll ride that one with me.” You point a gel-polished fingertip toward the spinning ride. Georgie shifts a bit, and fiddles with his hands. He’s eleven this year, getting too old to be chickening out of fairground rides.

“Alright.” He agrees without nodding, or really even moving. Your wristwatch is still on your bed at home, but with all the crowds out here, you know you must have time. Your hand presses between his shoulder blades, carrying him with you as you start towards the spinning ride.

Fifty cents later and you’re looking across at him, each of your backs pressed flat against the flimsy, green-painted metal. He reaches out for your hand and squeezes his eyes shut. You turn your head towards the lilac hue and inhale; buttered popcorn and sugar-sweet candy floss filling your senses.

“Smell that?” You ask him, squeezing your fingers around his. He peeks one eye open, his nose wrinkling. He smells it too, the sweet scent in the air. The sky’s coloured like it’s full of it, lighter than usual because of all the sugar. “No one’s ever been afraid while eating candy floss.”

And he stumbles off, feeling like he’s still spinning in circles and regretting that big vanilla shake a little bit, but grinning. The safety of being with a big sister isn’t something you ever grow out of. He looks up at you, your hand on his shoulder.

Your hair whips around you as you follow him off of the ride, still laughing at the way he’d shrieked. Your eyes crinkle at the edges and your knees angle towards each other like you’re laughing so hard you might pee, your laugh is far reaching.

The eyes on you, though amused, turn away as quickly as they’d found you. The feeling lingers anyway and you turn, looking through the crowds, searching for the attention you feel. Your instincts are good, but your eyes catch on the wrong thing. Your admirer has already turned in the other direction.

The sky has darkened sometime since you stepped onto the ride. It verges; safe, summer lilac bloom and tinged toward the color of a fresh bruise. The lights around are so bright that the O’Malley farmland looks like it’s being consumed, fading into the dark around it.

To the right side of the Big Top is a rectangular booth with a helpfully illuminated TICKETS sign hanging above, and a man inside shouting the same word on repeat with different varying offers.

His sights land on you. Something sudden, mechanical, almost. His gaze is stiff and unwavering, eyelids peeled back, irises black. Immediately, you feel watched. Not like before, not something instinctual that had made you turn to look.

It feels like even the sky up above notices, the sky skulking towards that kind of blue named after the darkest point of the night.

Wearing a black button-up shirt with a red waistcoat, he’s the only person around that you can see in a uniform. His face is a grease-paint white and there’s a red smile painted across his lips. They stretch back to reveal straight, white teeth, bared like an animal. Then, they curl at the edges and become something more natural — something closer to a smile.

“Show’s about to start! Sales close in the next five minutes, folks! Get your tickets!” He calls out like he’s looking right through you, even though you’re walking right for him now.

Steadied, no longer spinning, Georgie stares in awe, his neck craned all the way back as he watches the Ferris Wheel carriages rock and wobble. Safe with his big sister, he’s not looking. You curl your fingers into the back of his shirt, losing the sinister, greased-red smile in the crowd for a second as you reach for your purse with your other hand.

The bodies pass by and there he is again, watching you once again, but up closer he’s not so scary at all. You can see the way the paint is brushed onto his skin, and his eyes aren’t really black but more of a deep brown. His lips stretch into a goofy, friendly grin.

His rigid fingers relax against the wooden podium he’s posted behind, nail marks in the wood hidden behind his glove-covered palms.

“Hi, kids,” He’s got the goofy clown voice nailed, too. He almost makes you smile as he looks towards Georgie and plants his hands on his hips from inside the booth. “Are you excited for the show, young man?”

“Yes, sir.” Georgie answers back, suddenly bashful as he hangs off of your forearm.

“Two tickets, please.” You tell him, that awful, cold feeling ebbing away as you dip into your purse and pull five dollars from your wallet. Two dollars for kids, three for adults. Steeper than the movie theater, that’s for sure.

“Here you go! You kids enjoy the show now.” The clown slides the two pink stubs under the plastic for you, tipping his head to the side and grinning real wide once again.

“Thanks.” You turn and plant your hand on Georgie’s back again. Those folks who stick reins on their kids might be onto something. “It’s about to start. We’ll do the wheel later, okay?”

People have already started to filter in ahead and behind you. The tent is quieter, and darker than outside, the screams of excitement seem so much further away. Following the flickering string lights, you venture deeper under the shade of thick, red and white canvas.

Ahead of you is a circle marked by red borders, a round, dirt-bottomed arena for the performers. Rows and rows of bleachers surrounding the space, pushing at the walls of the tent for the audience. It looks bigger inside. They were expecting a big crowd, and they got it.

“Here.” You pat softly at his shoulder and point to the second row of bleachers. Front row might be better for someone his size, but you would just about die of embarrassment if you got called as a volunteer.

“Uh-huh. Do you want a soda?” Georgie asks, planting his butt onto the wooden bench beside you, rocking the soles of his Chucks into the wooden slat below. He’s been waiting to ask, these dimes have been burning a hole in his pocket since Fred handed them over this afternoon.

A gentleman always pays, and that’s what Georgie’ll be someday soon.

You chortle, shaking your head. “I’m alright. Do you need some money?”

People filter in around you with hushed pardons and thank-yous. You set your bag down under the bench and that’s where it remains, forgotten, for the rest of the evening..

“No. I brought mine! — I’ve gotta get you something,” He explains, the freckles on his face disappearing as the lights above you flicker on and off purposefully. He fishes a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a handful of coins, presenting them to you urgently. “Popcorn?”

Instantly, you recognise this as the workings of your father. Wesley, too. A smile ticks at the corner of your mouth, then catches.

The last person standing takes their seat. The circus tent stirs, buzzing to life with hushed whispers of what’s to come. There’s a constant whir in the background, the sound of generators keeping this place going.

Craning your neck back, you study the support beams. The podiums so far up that you can no longer see the wires, the hooks for silks, the point at the very top of the tent where all of the lights stem from.

A reminder that summer grows nearer by the minute, the tent is already thick with the warm evening air.

Your gaze flickers back to the tall podiums and the bowed ceiling of the canvas as the stage lights flicker and then dim. A thud rings out like a stack of books dropping as a spotlight hits dead center on the red curtain that hangs. Everything settles into an abrupt quiet.

“After. It’s starting.”

Anticipation settles under the canvas, weighing heavier than the early May air. Popcorn crunching and shoes fidgeting against the wooden bleachers, a cough from somewhere to your far left.

Then, with another thud, the tent falls pitch black. Georgie squeezes your wrist. He’s still scared of the dark.

With a rush, a spotlight beams on the center of the arena, revealing at once a man in black slacks and an elaborate red tailcoat. From beneath the brim of his top hat, his mouth twists into a smile, the rest of his face hidden under the cast of a shadow.

His white, gloved hands stretch out from behind his back and lift from his sides in an almost greeting gesture. He spreads his wingspan, addressing the audience as he steps forward and looks swiftly up, his gaze piercing and blue.

It tracks that he’s the one in charge around here. Older, but young in the way his eyes glint with trouble. He looks left to right, following the curve of the audience, captivating his spectators with knife-life sharpness.

The crowd has fallen resoundingly still. Popcorn goops with the threat of cooling, congealing butter. Shoes are unwavering, suddenly stuck. Georgie’s eyes bulge, blinking back at the unblinking Ringmaster.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.” With a chilling air of calm, his lips peel back into a toothy smile. It’s friendly by nature, but cold to the eye. His head twists slowly, bending thirty degrees to the left, his smile spreading the way water does when puddled. “To the greatest show in the world.”

Ambitious, you think. Some hot guys and some speeding fines and suddenly the rest of the world are out of the running.

You recognise the self-assured leader of it all. He’s the guy from the first van, the big one, with the girl in the passenger seat. Hell on wheels, coming over that hill. Brown hair feathers from under the hat and sits around his jaw, the only part of him that’s not immaculately kept.

The tailed coat he wears is effectively tailored, showing off the gold watch on his right hand and the glimpse of a tattoo from under the sleeve of his left arm. The jacket is especially extravagant, threaded with gold buttons and woven thread down the lapels. He’s a lot more polished-looking than the guy at the ticket booth.

There’s something similar in the way his eyes land on you though. His gaze is gone again as soon as it touches you. His smile keeps on spreading, a puddle seeping through the sand floor at his feet, reaching, tendrilous, for the bleachers.

Music starts behind him, light and bouncy like the kind of sounds a carousel plays. He peeks backwards, and returns his gaze to the audience with a knowing grin.

“Sounds like my friends are excited to meet you all,” He says quietly. Then, he smiles and waves the idea off. The music stops with a beat. “They’ll have their turn. First, I have something to share with you all.”

He’s a hell of a magician. Captivating, really, the way he manages to keep track of the packed room. He’s everywhere, and aware of everything at once. During a trick in which he made a rabbit disappear, not into a hat, but into the very back of the crowd — someone near you began to whisper their theories. You don’t know how he heard what they said, but you know that it wasn’t an accident when that rabbit peed in their lap.

Beneath the awe and wonder of his run-of-the-mill magic routine, there’s something inexplicable. Something in the way he maneuvers; the way he smiles like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. All magicians are, you guess, but this is different.

The show flows on beyond him, performers emerging from the shadows with knowing looks on their faces. All of them hold onto that punchline through their tricks and trials, their mind-bending illusions and death-defying stunts.

It doesn’t stop with the appearance of the face you had been hoping to see. As he takes the stage, twisting a flaming staff expertly to a drumbeat so loud that it feels like it rattles your brain itself, he too is in on the joke. He throws the burning stick into the air. As it flips and spins, he takes a moment to look out across the crowd.

With the thundering drum beat, the orange glow of the flame, the sweat beading down his chest, the crowd hangs in anticipation as the object hurtles back down towards him. Searching through the sea of faces, a calm smile settles onto his face. He leans back, opens his palm, and catches the burning staff before it strikes him.

As much as his performance strikes an interest in you, you’re concerned that it might spark an interest in Georgie for a different reason.

Once he has returned into the same shadow behind the curtain that they all come from, there’s something that lingers with you. A delusional sense of hope, maybe, that because he looked at you once, he would do it again.

The evening’s entertainment draws to an end with another visit from the Ringmaster. With his unnaturally blue eyes and his stretching, tendriled smile, he bids Atwood goodnight. The last ones in are the first ones out, the Big Top becomes more shadow than human as the sea of faces filter out into the fairground.

“That was awesome!” Your little brother declares, throwing his hands up into the air in balled fists. “Could we come again?”

Oh, you’re planning on it. Golden Boy’s act alone is enough to guarantee you a return spot. Later tonight, when you’re alone and in bed, you’ll be thinking of the way his aptly golden biceps flex as he curls back to nail the tip of the blade into the center of the target from a distance.

Come Monday morning, Olive will be hearing all about how she missed the way sweat beads at his chest when he’s doing that fire show.

“Yeah, maybe,” You shrug. “If Fred’s okay with it.”

Fred’s okay with everything. Georgie grins, and then remembers the condition of him being allowed to go tonight.

“Oh, wait. I have to buy you something.” He remembers, shoving his hand deep into his pocket to confirm he still has his sweaty handful of change.

Fred will check to make sure, otherwise you’d tell him to keep his money for another day. You smile, and shrug once more, looking around.

“I’ll take a Coke.” You tell him. The stand is right in front of you. It’s not that far away and even with the crowds, you shouldn’t have any issues spotting the red and orange stripes on Georgie’s shirt. You were younger than him and venturing further by yourself. You don’t think twice before letting him rush off ahead of you.

He knows exactly where you’ll be waiting for him. Just to the left of the shadowy entrance to the Big Top, you push your fingers into the tight front pockets of your jeans, looking towards the inky-indigo evening sky.

It’s getting colder, now. You’re too old for your mother to remind you to take a jacket these days. Your boots trail in the mud, starting up an even and uniformed route to pace along for warmth. Georgie waits patiently at the back of the concessions line.

An evening breeze bristles at your exposed arms and carries the smell of burning tobacco. You turn your head sharply to the left, and crane your neck. The fields around the fairground are pitch black, like this pasture is the only thing around.

The smell has you wandering just a little further, around the wide bend of the Big Top, you squint through the shadows and light up just like the Ferris Wheel behind you.

Illuminated by the orange glow at the end of his cigarette, lurking in the shadows, he’s already looking at you by the time you spot him. Wearing the same black slacks he had worn for the show, the string lights behind you catch on the gold of his necklace. Your lips twitch as he smiles across at you.

The cigarette sticks between his lips like it just wants to be there as his lips stretch wide. His cheeks hollow a bit as he puffs at it, sweat drying on his skin and prickling the blonde hairs on his arms.

Watching you wander his way, he can’t help but smile back at you. Friendly is kind of his thing when it comes to this place. After all, you came all the way out here to see him, it’s the least he could do.

“Evenin’,” He drawls, Western in more than just the way he’s dressed, as he pushes up from where he was hiding to smoke against the Zoltar machine. He saunters towards you, the light catching his skin and making it glisten like real gold as he steps into the light.

“Evening.” You greet right back, lips catching on a grin. You straighten up like he’s somebody important and that makes him smile right back at you, the bridge of his straight nose wrinkling with enjoyment.

Taking his cigarette from his lips, it settles between his index and middle fingers, then lowers to hang around his waist. His inky-black, dress-pant adorned waist. The same as he was wearing during the show. Those things don’t fit like the kind of suits you usually see — the ones you’re familiar with end just above the belly button. His sit so slow on his waist that you can see the black band of his underwear.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can.

He hasn’t changed yet, he always sneaks out back for a smoke before he heads out to make himself known around the fair. Tips come rolling in if he makes himself friendly. That’s not why he’s here, hiding in the shadows, with you.

“So, how’d you like the show?” He asks. His cigarette wobbles between his lips in a real Clint Eastwood kind of way. The gold crucifix on his necklace slips on the chain as he moves, revealing a dark ink etched into his skin below. A cross, tattooed onto his skin, just between his collarbones at the base of his throat. The same as is on his necklace.

You tear your eyes away from his chest and look him in the eye. Georgie would pitch a fit if you asked to bum a cigarette. Really, you only smoke with Olive, anyway. “It was cool. My brother loved it.”

“And you?” He prompts, placing the cigarette back between his lips and inhaling deeply. Like he finds oxygen in the smoke, as if he’d been holding his breath since the last hit. He quirks an eyebrow at you as he lets the breath sit on his chest.

He knows he’s good looking, clearly — you can see that in the way he juts his hips out before he walks like a cowboy does. But, you can play too. You shrug at him, suddenly coy.

“It was alright.”

A breathy chuckle slips his lips.

“Yeah?” He beams at you, all intrigue and amusement, green eyes glinting as the neon lights of the fairground rides illuminate his face. “You’ve seen better?”

Oh, you like the way he plays. You trail towards him, slipping into the shadows of the Big Top. Close enough now that you can smell him; sweat, smoke and an equally smoky cologne. It smells expensive, for a carnie.

Your shrug is a balance between ditsy and daring that particularly seems to strike a chord of interest within him. “Still holdin’ out for the best, is all.”

Smirking around the growingly short cigarette, he puffs at it once more and plucks it from his lips again. Tall, broad and muscled all over — he must have served before. A bit older than you, he’d probably be the right age for it. He carries himself calmer than the other Vets you’ve seen. He doesn’t have that look in his eyes.

He’s what they should all look like, if they’d gotten to age like normal.

“Smart girl.” He decides, rolling it between his fingertips for a second. You watch as he drops it into the dirt and stubs it out with his boot. Green eyes on you once again, a flash of neon crosses his face as the ride roars into action once more. “I’ll see you.”

He says it like he knows it to be a certainty, taking a step back. His usual after- show ritual will continue with or without you. Next comes an outfit change and a spritz of cologne, then some Front of House showboating.

“Don’t you have a name?” You prompt him, brows drawing together as he wanders backwards.

He grins. “Jake.”

Jake. He even says his own name like he likes the sound of it. Like he thinks you’ll like the sound of it. Backwards, his boots fall into line behind each other; you don’t even realise you’re following him until his footprints are the only ones in the mud anymore.

Jake’ll be seeing you. You’ll be seeing Jake. It seems set already.

“Excuse me.” You turn and look over your shoulder, a muscle in your neck catching as you do a wide-eyed double take and spin.

One hand on a red and orange striped t-shirt, is the man of mystery himself. Standing tall, especially tall, taller than he had looked driving along the road that day, is Mr. Movie Star, stone-faced. Wearing a white vest with an unbuttoned blue overshirt and rolled blue jeans, he looks even better than before.

When he hadn’t turned up in the show, you’d started to think that you had imagined him. Speeding along that country-road with his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose and the prettiest smile you’d ever seen.

Well, here he is. He doesn’t look half as happy to see you.

Your brows furrow as your gaze falls down to where his hand sits. Georgie’s shoulders heave with a shuddering, relieved sigh, tears burning in his eyes as he stares back at you with a glass Coke bottle trembling in his hand.

“I think you lost something.” The man of your dreams tells you, stone-faced, cold.

“Shit.” You whisper, and Georgie doesn’t even consider scolding you. He looks up at the man who had helped him find you, and heads for you instantly. “You okay? What happened?”

“I turned around and I couldn’t see you.” Even though he’s older now, right on the verge of being grown, his voice trembles and you remember he’s not like you were. He’s scared of the dark and he sleeps with a stuffed tiger and night; he’s sweeter than you’ve ever been.

He goes to wrap his arms around your middle and you welcome him with a one-armed embrace.

The guy from the road is still watching you. His hair is tousled and his shoulders are stretching out that overshirt, his cheeks are warm and pink. Eyes dark, he eyeballs you from boots to earrings.

“Thanks,” You can’t help but take a look behind you. Jake is long gone already. You smile softly in polite gratitude. “Sorry, I just — took my eye off him for a second.”

His eyes linger on your face, a silent second too long. The wait almost makes you squirm on the spot, wondering if he recognises you, if he’s mad at you. Finally, he meets Georgie’s gaze and shoots him a cool shrug. “It’s all gravy.”

Georgie unravels himself from you and pushes the Coke bottle into your hand, and you hold off on pushing him away by his face to get to know his knight in shining armour.

“Have a good night, little buddy.” With another nod of acknowledgement, the handsome man makes no effort to sugarcoat the bluntness of his tone. He drops one boot backwards and moves to turn away.

Now, you haven’t been jealous of Georgie too many times in his life so far, and not many older siblings can say that. But on this occasion, you’ve barely been graced with two sentences and Georgie’s all of a sudden been awarded a nickname? — Not gravy.

“Thanks, again.” You call out in a moment of panic. It happens before you have a chance to develop something as cool as your exchange with Jake. Then again, Jake had seemed to want to speak to you. The Movie Star turns and looks at you over his shoulder, barely giving you a second of eye contact as acknowledgement as he plucks his cigarettes from his pocket.

They sure do smoke a lot for people surrounded by canvas and gas-guzzling generators.

“I really appreciate it.” You continue, cursing yourself, curling one hand into Georgie’s shirt as you follow after him. He closes his eyes, rolling them into the back of his skull as he hears you hurrying behind him. “He’s always wandering off.”

“No, I—“ Georgie struggles as your arm wraps around his scrawny shoulders, hugging him to your side and covering his mouth.

“Really, it was no sweat.” His lighter clicks open and ignites, then flips shut and disappears back into his pocket. Not so much as a look in your direction at this point.

You really should cut your losses and take Jake as your win — you can’t have them both anyway. The Movie Star’s lips almost twitch. Cut your losses and take Jake— he likes that.

“I didn’t see you in the show,” You continue anyway, something unnatural in the way you’re itching for him to so much as look in your direction. It’s been a while since you last saw action. “So, you like… work here?”

Idiot. You cringe, and even Georgie looks up at you in unimpressed wonder.

“You could call me security.” Smoke curls around him, leaving you five paces of dirt road behind. You make a face at him from behind. He’s not as friendly as the others, who have now emerged from the shadows to greet their fans. Instead, he walks ahead, skulking under the string lights like he’s silently hating them for illuminating him at all.

You cut your losses at once, stopping in his tracks, pursing your lips. Jerk.

Georgie struggles at your side and you’re reminded to let him go from the pseudo-headlock you’ve squeezed him into. The man of your dreams, the perfect movie star to fit into your Napa Valley retirement plans, disappears into the crowds of people.

You’re stuck on that day by the road. He had seemed into you then, grinning across at you like you were the bee’s knees, shooting you that easy-breezy peace sign. Maybe it was the halter top he liked.

“Can we go on the Ferris Wheel now?” Your younger brother reminds you of the real reason you’re supposed to be there, standing in the O’Malley’s south pasture past his bedtime. Flattening out your frown and sticking your fingers into his hair, you nod your head.

“Yeah. Come on, just don’t pee your pants.”

So, your Saturday night didn’t go exactly how you had pictured it. You’re not too sure what you were really expecting of the two guys you’d seen just once. But, your little brother is still grinning and talking a hundred miles a minute when you get back home that night, and that counts for something.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, kicking your legs and snacking on a slice of sugar-sweet clementine. The waning light overhead almost makes you forget how dark it had been beside that Big Top — how you’d found Jake all alone.

“The I-75 thing didn’t work out?” Fred whispers to you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair as he pats your shoulder and passes by to drop his last beer bottle for the night into the recycling. You look back at him and smile while Georgie whittles on and on and on.

“Alright, alright,” Joan hushes, tucking her reading glasses into her hairline and giving up on her magazine to devote her attention to her youngest. “You can tell us all about it in the morning. I think you’d better head on up to bed for now.”

He closes his mouth and looks around the lemon yellow kitchen. Fred’s no help, and neither are you. He huffs and gives in to the idea of bedtime.

Dutifully, he hugs both of your parents tonight and heads for the hallway. He doesn’t head to bed before he has peered back around the doorframe and smiled back, thanking you for taking him.

The stairs groan, the hallway creeks and Georgie’s door wheezes shut. Everything about this house talks.

“Oh, I’m going to need my bag back for work on Monday, sweetheart.” Joan remembers, packing up her Cosmopolitan and dirty Martini set up from the kitchen table. Rollers in and green, mint-smelling face-mask smeared around her features, your mother has Saturday night rituals of her own.

And, you don’t have a bag.

You had one. You had taken your mother’s brown shoulder bag that she takes to work even though it fits a little more than a wallet and some keys on a good day. Shit, your wallet too.

“Sure.” You answer tightly. “Let me clear my stuff, you can have it tomorrow.”

The curiosities of a mother cross her mind, but a girl’s gotta have her secrets. She smiles and gives your bicep an affectionate squeeze as she heads for the stairs. “Okie dokie. Don’t be up too late.”

You wince at the thought of her bag being somewhere in that South pasture unattended, or gone by now. Probably rifled through. You hope there weren’t any receipts in there — she gets awfully protective about her receipts.

“Tell me the bag’s in the car.” Fred says from behind you as the groan of the stairs grows faint and the creeks of the hallway ready to start. You pivot cautiously towards him, still grimacing. He presses his lips into a line and shakes his head. “You’d best get out there and find it before she finds out, kiddo.”

“Mhm. Planning on it.” You answer with a sigh.

Really, it’s not such a bad thing, you think to yourself. You could go back there tomorrow without all those crowds, without Georgie. Maybe do the whole damsel in distress thing and see which one of them comes running with your misplaced bag.

Closing your eyes and twisting onto your side, you spot the pointed, red canvas top of the tent from your window. All of the neons are gone now, powered down for the night. They’re over there, just beyond the stretch of those woods. Jake, and the one who hates you.

…

NEXT CHAPTER

TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT

tags: @sunflowercharlie13 @spinning-away @eloquentdreamer-blog1 @a-reader-and-a-writer @breezyweazybeezy @mel119g @hersuitisbanana @one-sweet-gubler @atarmychick007 @ximehs @nnatel @topherwrites @seitmai @yepyeahuhhuh @cherrycola27 @ohtobeleah @roosterbruiser

[ruiniel]

Hey ho! Love you blog and writing so much!!! I wish I could write as well as you. They way you write Alucard is just magic ✨

I saw that you had asks open for Alucard and if it’s not too late I had a suggestion, maybe there’s one you might like?

Lisa never dies AU Alucard x Fem Human who’s come to study under Lisa. She’s already betrothed and there’s a lot of moral conflict on Adrian’s side as to whether he should confess to her. Reader is clueless but suffering as she feels her love for Alucard is unrequited. Could be smutty if you feel like it?

You're kind, we all have our interpretations, glad you enjoy mine enough to send an ask! Tried to incorporate most of what you wrote. Will be a longer one, here's what I have for Part I. Next part will have an Alucard POV.

Hidden

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: T

Count: 2k

Tags & Warnings: Mutual pining, Romantic angst, Unresolved emotional tension, Second Person POV, Two people running from their feelings like their lives depend on it, for Reasons

I. Status quo

“Not yet. Wait five minutes longer.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you stammer, placing the beaker back in its place. The laboratory is silent today, with only you and Lisa and the clink of glass and hiss of flame. You’re working together, aiding the head physician of Belmont in an experiment she sustains will bring forth a new type of medicine that might revolutionize the treatment of infection. 

Lisa smiles, always patient, and you feel all the more clumsy, and in all honesty rather useless.

Your mind’s just not in it today, and the reasons? Well.

There is no reason, there shouldn’t be. You’re content. You have someone by your side, to spend a life together. Your fleeting life, the thought beckons.

You bury down the thought of his voice, the patience he poured into teaching you the basics before his mother took you under her wing. It matters little now. You’ll pass this apprenticeship and you’ll always find work, in any place, away from the agony that takes hold whenever you meet his eyes lately.  

“Are you all right?” your tutor asks, and you shake your head, annoyed at yourself. 

“Yes, I...”

“Drifted away, I know what that’s like all too well,” Lisa adds with a smile, her attention back to her working table. “After all, we’re only human, aren’t we?”

“Yes...” Only human. 

How stupid is it to think he would ever look at you that way? Your friendship at least endures, and he does not know. 

“Mother?”

You bite the inside of your cheek at the voice, listening to the footsteps drawing near, the tread you’d recognize anywhere. 

“My dear?” Lisa asks.

Adrian pauses somewhere between your working stations. “I need a gauze and disinfectant. Sara fell during one of their usual games by the river and now sports a gash the size of Belmont’s ego.”

“Of course,” she turns to you. “Darling please will you show Adrian where we moved the supplies?”

You freeze, still with your back turned, wanting to appear busy. The dome is silent again, and the faraway laughter of children can be heard through the open windows.

He doesn’t say your name, merely waits as you face him, slowly. You’ve seen less and less of him in the past month, and you yearn to look. I have someone. Someone worthy. This would never work, him and I, even if he did... “This way,” you say, your manner betraying nothing as you disappear among the many stacked shelves of the laboratory storage area. You’ve had plenty of practice in that respect, after all.

You find the section hosting the necessary items and reach for the sliding stairs nearby while Adrian busies himself momentarily with an open tome lying on one of the tables.

“What are you doing?” comes the softly spoken question.

“I’m... retrieving what you asked for?” If there’s irritation in your tone, you can’t be bothered to hide it.

“That wasn’t necessary. After all, I could get them myself, without the use of—”

“Yes, I know, but now I’m already up here,” you say while struggling to reach for a roll of bandages.

“Careful!” Adrian warns, but your boot’s already slipped on the well-worn wood and for a second you feel the relentless pull of gravity, and your fall.

Next you know—

You’re held none-too-gently against Adrian, the grasp of his hold crushing your ribcage as you try to breathe. Without realizing you’re clutching at the folds of his loose cotton shirt, knuckles pressed into the bare skin below his collarbone. 

You dare not meet his eyes, struggling even as he places you on your feet, your heart a mess.

“I told you I can get them myself,” he says with due exasperation. His back is already turned, and he pushes the stairs aside, rising to the intended spot. 

You open your mouth to speak but can think of nothing to say that would be in any way useful. You should thank him, but decide against lingering. He seems to be in a strange mood today—better to retreat and so you do, finding your way back to the other side where his mother is still noting down proportions. Stiffly you walk, fingers curling against the imprint of familiar warmth at their tips. 

You wish it could be like before, between the two of you. Why does it feel like treason each time you meet his eyes, choking on your emotions like rags being forced down your throat? 

I shouldn’t be wasting time on this. 

And so you try to follow suit, heeding that sensible thought and smiling at Lisa as you reach her.

Two weeks prior

Your legs dangle in the air as you sit on the stony battlement with your gaze cast towards the forest beyond, sunken in thought. This is a time of celebration, but the reminder only makes you quirk your mouth tiredly and with some amount of distaste. It is a chilly night, made colder by the harsh winds reaching from the West. You’d forgotten to take your cloak, and now hug yourself to warm your prickling skin. Below, the townsfolk are steeped in song, drink, and merriment. 

You sigh. At least there is peace to be had up here. You’d left needing solitude, and so disappeared from the eyesight of any who might wonder. As luck has it, your friends, trapped in their own wiles and enjoyment, had scarcely noticed your departure. Things were already animated in the groves surrounding the village, and voices raised in joyous song dimly reach you from afar. Even Adrian had been indulging in the fragrant honey wine offered for the occasion, despite his otherwise restrained manner.

You frown. Yes, Adrian. Your friend, your dearest friend, with his sunset gaze aglow from the bonfires, cast on you like melting gold, and burning just as much. 

You wonder at these rather trying new thoughts, and why in recent years such things come to your notice as they had not in the past. He always held to himself and seems utterly disinterested in matters of the heart. Tonight, however, he’d been no less than gallant and, from what you could tell, eagerly inclined towards conversation. 

You bring your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them, lost in the shy moon rays peeking from torn clouds streaking the sky. You don’t know how much time had passed, and late realize someone approaches. You don’t turn to see who it is, not until you hear a shift of material, and breathe the scent you know too well. 

Adrian fluidly sits down by your side, leaning back with his palms propped against the stone.

Your heartbeat is ruthless, but still you do not turn. He’s so near you feel a few gilded strands touch your cheek as the winds blow them in this direction and that.

He follows the sight of that same moon, now layering a silvery grin over castle and forest. “I’ve never known one to flee a festivity so early.”

You snort. “Some of us tire faster.” Odd, you’d been joyful indeed and eager as the day began, and now a ragged mood confuses you more than anything. 

When you should be happy.

You feel warmth, and realize Adrian’s undone his coat, placing it around your shoulders, over your hunched form. 

You don’t move, do nothing to fasten the material around yourself, either. It has something of him warming you from head to toe. What you fail to place is the sweet ache as you drink in his scent, nearly sighing aloud. “What are you doing here?” 

Adrian looks your way, an eyebrow raised. “You disappeared. I wanted to see that you were well.”

“But how did you know it was me?” You don’t usually come here, and had deliberately avoided any of the places he knows you frequent. 

Adrian stares long at the moonlit sky. “I would know you anywhere.” His voice holds that same unflinching honesty, a simple truth for him.

Rather dizzy, your words still come bitten at the edges. “I’m fine. Of course. Now I believe your curiosity is satisfied?” 

A gentle hand is placed on your arm, but immediately withdrawn. Somehow, the gesture angers you. It shouldn’t. 

“...what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” you stare away, into the black horizon. “Why would anything be wrong?”

Adrian says nothing, and a part of you hopes he’d leave you to your misery. The other hopes he doesn’t. 

“You’ve always been a terrible liar,” he tilts his head to look at you. 

You grumble something unintelligible. 

“That is good to know,” he teases, while reaching inside his tunic to retrieve an object. “This, also, was part of the reason I was searching for you.”

Now you truly wish he would go, but you cannot see your days without him for a while now, and worry over what Adrian would think if he knew.

“Will you sulk or look?”

Annoyed, you set your gaze on his palm; your eyes go wide. “What... is this?”

Adrian holds the pendant up for you to see better. “A gift, for the sulky one. Did you think I’d forgotten today was your birthday?”

You stare at the piece, shining with a light of its own. The chain is so slight one could barely tell it was there, and a small, round pendant of iridescent moonstone glows against his pale hand.

“You mean, for...” Words fail as your eyes meet his. His smile is small and sweet, and you wonder what it would taste like before hot tingles creep up your neck, reaching all the way to your cheeks. “Thank you, this is... this is kind. You know I don’t…”

“May I?” 

You catch his meaning and so turn with your back to him, his coat falling from your shoulders, looking down to see the stone nestled in the hollow of your neck. You bite on the inside of your lip when his fingers touch your skin to fasten the pendant and when you turn to face him again, a smile beyond your will pulls at your lips. “I… it’s beautiful. Thank… you.”

His hands are curled in his lap as Adrian breaks your gaze. He shakes his head. “Listen, I—”

No. You can’t, you can’t hear whatever other pleasantries he has to say. What is this? Why is he doing this now, kindly gestures like crumbs to feed the thing within you that suddenly is ravening, yearning for something that frightens you, that you’ve finally set to rest?

“Adrian.”

He looks at you then, and you stare at each other for so long you don’t even know when you’d begun to shiver with the cold again.

“Yes?” 

“As of next week, I am betrothed. To Matei.”

He is still watching you, not a line changing on his face. “That is wonderful. Matei, is it?” A pondering smile. “I’ve seen the two of you together often, but did not want to presume.” Silence falls between you. The smile is frozen on his face. “Where is he, though?”

There used to be a time when there were no secrets, no strangeness. You look down, touching the gem at the base of your neck. “Still not returned from Brașov.” A change of topic is in order, though you know Adrian has never been one to pry, and so would not ask more. 

Yes, Matei is a good man. He’s kind and honorable, and has a knack for making one forget their woes. It’s a good decision. It has to be. “It feels right,” you murmur anyway. Then why does this hurt? 

“Are you happy?” Adrian asks, rising and leaning on the stone edge with his elbows. The question is soft, but his voice lacks the warmth from earlier—maybe it’s your imagination. 

A stray cloud mists over the moon, and the night grows darker around you. “It feels right,” you repeat stupidly, suddenly needing to be away as you rise from your place. “I should go inside, it’s gotten so much colder…” You drop his coat. “Again, I thank you for your gift.”

Adrian does not move from his place, his loose hair shielding his expression. “It was gladly given. And—congratulations.”

You nod in thanks though he does not see it, wait for a moment longer. He sketches nothing, having fallen into a reverie it seems, and everyone has the right to solitude. “Good night, Adrian,” you turn on your heel and walk briskly to reach the door, not looking back. 

Part II

[gyattoru]

the apparition (prologue) - hogwarts legacy fic (s.s)

title inspired on the apparition, by sleep token

summary: An old family friend arrives on the Villin household with strange but intriguing news, and an undoubtly helpful preposition for the 15 year old set of twins whom hold something ancient and unknown within them.

cw: 1.2K words, hogwarts legacy fanfiction, female MC, sebastian sallow x female!MC, poppy sweeting x male!MC, muggle raised MCs, eventual pining & romance, eventual fluff & angst, minimal lore alterations, dialogue alterations, added events, sebastian sallow x seer!MC, will definitely add more as the chapters go on.

a/n: ahhh I honestly can't believe I'm posting this (after revising it three solid times, having second thoughts and realizing it’s super long), this has been in my drafts since I finished the game, writing the prologue (and half of the first chapter 🤫) has been so fun up until now and I really, REALLY hope you enjoy this, and my silly OCs.

-xxx, lola <3.

A dream, the same one as always.

A roar of an animal, falling, nausea, abandoned ruins, white flashes of light.

A snake, a brunette, a mysterious task, four portraits, a cure for an illness, bright red, pain.

Brown eyes, they feel like home, now they’re melancholic, a sadness which is hidden behind books and wittiness, something dark, corruption.

An owl, a tomb, a green explosion, regret.

An important fight, the fate of the world, death.

Light summer rain tapped on the window as Ellise awoke with a start, she rubbed her temples and gazed over to the bed on the other side of the room. Her brother, Aiden, was still asleep whilst the low light that got through the curtains reflected softly off his freckled features and silvery hair, he snored lightly.

As she pushed her quilt over to the side, muffled conversations could be heard coming from the other side of the door - intriguing - people rarely visited them, a widowed woman with twins to raise alone, townsfolk saw it as bad omen, or just sheer misfortune.

The girl quickly changed her clothes and brushed her disheveled silver hair, pining half of it up in an acceptable updo. She creaked the door open, careful not to disrupt the chattery voices nor wake her brother from his slumber and walked over to the top of the stairs.

“Jasmine tea! One of my favorite blends, thank you for your hospitality, Abigail." An unknown voice echoed through the halls of the Villin home, her mother chuckled softly.

"Don't mention it, Fig. You were Rick’s friend, that makes you a friend of mine." Rick. Richard Villin, this mysterious man was her father’s friend?

Ellise never knew much about her father, he died when she and her brother we’re a really young, her mother refrained from talking about him, it never seemed as if she didn’t want to, it felt like she couldn’t.

“Eavesdropping again, Leesie?” She snapped her head back at her bedroom door, squealing softly “You know mom doesn’t like it when you do that.”

“Bloody hell, Aiden! And you need to stop creeping up on people.” She bit back at him.

“That’s not polite for a lady, Leesie.”

“I’m glad you’re both dressed and awake!” They froze, both their mouths clamping shut “We have a visitor, and he’s here to see you two.”

The tread down the flight of stairs was rather awkward for the twins, their mother right behind their tracks ushering them forward to meet the mysterious man. He was sat on the kitchen table, nestling a tea cup between his hands. His gaze quickly flicked towards the fifteen year olds and he swiftly got up from his chair.

“Ah! I’m glad you’re both here at last, pleasure to meet you.” He gave them a soft smile while shaking both their hands “I’m Eleazar Fig, I was an old friend of your father’s.”

“Pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Fig.” Aiden answered on their behalf, his sister nodding in acknowledgement.

“Fig is here to talk to you both about important matters, I’ll be taking care of the chores in the kitchen to give you some privacy.” Their mother walked over to the archway opposite to the table “Make sure to show him hospitality, and tell him about last week’s event.” She reprimanded softly as Aiden gulped, Ellise chuckled.

Both of the twins sat down at the table, Fig sitting opposite to them both, he cleared his throat. “Last week’s event?” He arches an eyebrow, Aiden looked away from him, a rather embarrassed expression plastered on his face.

“Well Aiden was quarreling with the Jones’ boy, they live just down the street from here.” Ellise signaled with her hand “And when me and mom got there he was staring him down while the poor kid floated, we still have no idea how that happened.”

“Well, you’re both wizards! That’s why.” Fig said, baffled at their confusion, to him they took after their father, after all. Did Abigail not tell them anything beforehand? “Although, rather late bloomers if you were to ask me.”

To say Ellise’s eyes were as big as dinner plates was an understatement, Aiden just laughed at the man’s face, much to their mother’s distaste “For God’s sake! Wizards? You can’t be earnest sir.”

“Your mother didn’t tell you anything?” Eleazar asked “After all, I came to deliver your acceptance letters from Hogwarts.”

“I don’t mean to be rude sir.” Ellise stated “But what even is a ‘Hogwarts’?”

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it’s where you’re both supposed to study next term.” Fig said calmly “Usually wizarding children show magic at one and ten, but you’ve only showed signs of witchcraft this year, so you’re both quite late bloomers.”

Is this why both of them didn’t fit in with the other kids in their borough? Ellise could only wonder. She always knew something was different about them, but could never figure out what exactly it was. Sure, an unknown man telling her and Aiden that they possessed “magical abilities” was nothing far from odd.

“You said children show magic at one and ten?” She asked, the man nodded “Wouldn’t that mean we’re rather far behind in- Well this sounds weird, magical studies?”

“Leesie, you’re actually taking this seriously!?” Aiden questioned, rather harshly for her liking.

“Well Aiden, it’s not my fault as if it seemed you made the Jones’ kid float around and about!” She snapped at him.

“Stop arguing!” Abigail’s head popped out of the archway as she reprimanded the both of them.

Aiden frowned and looked away from his sister, Ellise looked at her lap as she fidgeted with her hands. Fig took the opportunity to slide two letters over the table and towards the pair.

“Those are your acceptance letters from Hogwarts, you better skim them over.” He commented “And yes Ellise, you’re quite behind other kids your age, but that’s why I’m here too. Magic outside school is strictly forbidden for underage wizards, but the Ministry asked me to come teach you the basics and escort you both to school for the beginning of term.”

“So we have a month to catch up on what?” Aiden scoffed “Four years worth of knowledge?”

“Precisely.” Fig grinned “Although, you’ll have to use the second hand wands that were lended to me, let’s hope that won’t be an issue.”

“When do we start?” Ellise exclaimed. In other circumstances she would’ve found her impulsive question quite rude, but in this moment she didn’t care to hide her bubbling excitement. Aiden couldn’t help but still look apprehensive as he skimmed over his now opened letter.

“We can start today if you’d like.” Fig couldn’t manage to hide his matching excitement, they could tell he looked forward to teaching “Well, if your mother wouldn’t mind it, that is.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure she wouldn’t mind a day of freedom from our bickering.” Aiden stated, lightly shouldering his sister, whom gave her a soft smile in return.

They surely had a busy summer ahead of them, Ellise couldn’t help the excitement bubbling up in her chest, she was looking forward to this new reality.

a/n: ah yes, the famous “post and run”🏃‍♀️

wattpad link

ao3 link [to be added]

chapter 1 [will tag when posted in the blog]

[xoxo-sarah]

I Wanna Be Yours || Part 11

Part 10 | part 12

↝a/n: I feel out of love with this series after chapter 4, if you can't already tell by the effort I put into the chapters after. I refuse to just scrap it through. Also ⚠️ I need help on picking a song for this fic. I have been listening to different songs from the 80's to see which one should be reader's favorite, but then I had the idea that I could just use the song that this story was based off of (since the series kinda went off the tracks with the original plan). I Wanna Be Yours by Artic Monkey's is a good song and I could make it work. Obviously it wasn't released in the 80's but this is fiction anyway, so it doesn't really matter. Should I continue looking for better songs or use I Wanna Be Yours?⚠️ Your opinion would be highly appreciated 🩷

↝pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!Wheeler!reader

↝Warning: not proofread, possible spoilers, cannon events, nosebleed, flashback of flashback from chapter 3, pining, cursing, not proofread

↝⎙ 7.30.24

“Couldn’t we have tried a road, or something just slightly less creepy?” Robin and Nancy were walking ahead of you, treading through the dead forest of the Upside Down. Steve and Eddie were a little behind you, deep in conversation.

“I think we’re getting close. We’re out of here. Don’t worry.” Robin nodded at Nancy’s reply, before falling in step with you, leaving Nancy to lead the way.

You weren’t sure why she fell in step with you. You hadn’t said a word since the mini earthquake. “Feel any better?”

You cleared your throat, “Yeah, I guess.”

“I would say you need to eat something, but I highly doubt the food in the pantry would taste any good.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile, appreciating her trying to lighten the mood.

You decided to play along, “I don’t know, there might be some saltines.”

Before Robin could reply, the ground shook again. You feel the opposite way of each other, where you had landed harshly against a tree. You felt the pain shoot through your shoulder, through your arm to your fingertips.

“Okay, second on my list of least favorite things: earthquakes. Seriously, I’m unsteady enough as it is.” Robin seethed, looking up in time to watch Nancy run off. “Nancy! Where are you going?”

Looking up, you mentally cursed your sister and the thoughts her brain came up with. As soon as the ground stopped shaking, you all ran after Nancy, yelling out for her.

You ran until you found her, overlooking your neighborhood. “Come on.” She walked forward, toward your house.

It was weird, seeing your house standing. The water of Lover’s lake was dried up, trees dead, but your house stood, surrounded by the dried out version of the trees you, Nancy, and Mike would play in as kids.

Nancy took a deep breath before opening the front door.

“Ew,” You stepped over the vines littering every inch of the house.

“Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.” Robin stepped beside you, watching her next step.

“Come on, I don’t want to stay here longer than we have to.” You followed Nacy up the stairs, falling back as they made their way to her room.

Steve turned back half way up the stairs, looking into the living room, but you paid him no mind.

Your door to your room creaked open. You set your eyes upon your room. The same tacky paint laid on the walls, pure nostalgia. It was from your childhood, which you covered up when you hit sophomore year. The memory of you and Chrissy played in your mind.

She spent so much of your friendship trying to get you to open up- to be yourself. ANd you couldn't even get her to open up about what was bothering her. You could’ve asked.

“The way he looked at you!” Chrissy continued to gush, kicking her feet in a 'schoolgirl' way. She stared up at you with her head in her hands, laying on her stomach. Homework was long forgotten.

“He looks at everyone like that.” Rolling your eyes, you turned back to your dresser, looking in the top drawer for a certain shirt you were meant to have worn the day before. You were pretty sure Nancy had stolen it at this point. Wouldn't have been the first shirt that had just wound up missing just for you to see either in Nancy's clothes basket or on her. “I saw him look at Mrs. O'Relle and I thought he was going to combust. He's just a naturally flirty guy. I don't even think he realizes it most of the time."

“Oh, okay. Yeah.” With her tone and the smile on her face, it was obvious she didn't believe a word you said.

After closing the drawer harder than you meant to, you turned, glaring at the girl. “Anyway… I don't like him.”

You regretted the way you said 'him' as soon as it rolled off your tongue. But you tried to play it off cool. However, she didn't.

“So there's another guy!” You were quick to shush her, with it being night and Holly had already been put to bed and the fact you did not want your parents or siblings knowing anything about your love life. “Sorry.” She moved to sit up, watching as you sat on the edge of the mattress. “So…?”

“So what?”

“What's so special about this guy?” She said it as if you were stupid for asking.

“Nothing. Well, not like-” Closing your mouth, you couldn't find the words. Your eyes danced around your room, taking in the tacky paint from your childhood that you have yet to cover up. “He's different.” No matter how much she tried for you to meet her eye, yours stayed glued to the wall In front of you.

After a few moments of silence, you glanced over, her face telling you to continue. Her smile was so sweet, happy for you.

“He's nice.” She. She's nice. But Chrissy didn't need to know that. This is the first time you've told her about anyone you have ever fancied in the 5 years you two have been the best of friends. She was over the moon. “He's smart. He looks good in blue or green.” Chrissy noticed the way your lip twitched into a small smile at the thought of this mystery 'man'.

“What does he look like?”

“Light-brown hair, blue eyes.” You began fiddling with your nightshirt. “Tall. Taller than me, at least. Uh,” You glanced back over, not wanting to be telling her this anymore. Sure, you've wanted to tell someone how you felt, how a girl you barely talk to could make you feel all kinds of giddy without meaning to. But this was too much. “Actually, I don't want to talk about this anymore. If you don't mind.”

Before she could reply, you clicked your lamp off, leaving you to get under the blankets in the dark.

Robin's nice. She's smart. She looks good in blue or green. She had light-brown hair and pretty blue eyes. She is taller than you. She is beautiful. She is someone you couldn't even admit to liking to your closest friend.

You know Chrissy would never judge you or make you feel less than, but it was just different. It always would be. Sadly.

“He sounds nice, like someone you should admit your feelings to.” Chrissy spoke up after a moment of silence, of which you had stared above you, darkness blocking the color of the ceiling. You nearly scoffed at her words. But you settled on humming in agreement, or maybe just to satisfy her.

…

Chrissy was never one to judge.

The worst things always happen to the best people.

“Y/n?” You heard Nancy yell, frustration clear in her tone. Scrolling out of your room, you leaned against the doorframe, the pain in your shoulder slightly subsiding. “‘83, the year Will went missing.” Nancy stared at you, “We’re stuck in the past.”

“I’ve noticed.” you deadpanned, growing frustrated at the whole thing. “I don’t know why you're looking at me like that. It’s not like I have access to Vecna’s brain and know everything about this stupid place and stupid vines, and this stupid shit flying around in the air.”

You frantically waved around you, the bits flying around you, like a fly that keeps annoying you, getting on your last nerve- “Wheeler, hey, chill out, yeah?” Eddie stepped forward, bringing his hand to your shoulder. You instinctually recoiled, not wanting him to touch it and make it begin to hurt again. You put your arms back down at your sides, looking up at them. Their looks of confusion turned to concern. You felt your nose running. Blood coated your fingertips when you went to rub at where something wet was leaking onto your top lip.

“Dustin? Dustin!” Steve yelled from somewhere else in the house. You waved them off when they hesitated to leave as you tried cleaning up your nose. You grabbed the nearest dark clothing in Nancy’s room before going after them. “Dustin! Can you hear me, Dustin?” Steve frantically circled the kitchen and dining area. “Dus-Hello? Hel-Hello?!”

“Maybe he really does have rabies.”

Nancy ignored Robin, watching with concern, “Steve, what are you doing?”

Steve swung around, shining the flashlight into everyone’s eyes. “He’s here; Henderson. That little shit, he’s here. He’s like…He’s in the walls or something. Just listen.” He put his hand up, motioning for you to be quiet and listen. “Dustin. Dustin! Dustin, can you hear me?”

You could faintly hear Dustin’s voice, leading to everyone yelling out for him. STeve took a break, “Alright, either this kid can't hear us or he’s being a total douchebag.”

“Will found a way.”

“What?” Steve turned to Nancy.

“Will,” Nancy realized, staring up at Steve, “He found a way to speak to Joyce through the lights.” “Lights?” He trailed behind, watching as she tried to flick the lightswitch.

“You okay?” Eddie shoulder cheeked the one that wasn’t hurting, making sure to be gentle. You sniffed, “Yeah, it stopped bleeding.”

He pursed his lips, “ ‘m not talking about your nose. You about had a meltdown up there.”

“Sorry,” Your voice was only a whisper.

“No need to apologize. Shit is about to make me breakdown, too.”

“It’s all so much. There might not even be anything we can do.”

Eddie watched as you ranted. He knew you weren’t the talking type, much less the venting type. But he knew you hadn’t had time to properly grieve. He knew you wouldn’t give yourself time to do so until they figured out more about Vecna. You would burst at any moment, and they would only be able to watch as you did.

Robin watched your face, slowly watching as you crumbled more and more throughout this week. You didn’t deserve Vecna’s curse, she knew that for sure.

Steve spoke, “Guys, you seeing this?” You turned toward him, following where he pointed his flashlight at the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. The bulbs glowed, flickering a little. Particles swirled around like dust in the air. The bulbs sparked as you stepped closer. Nancy raised her hand, moving it to the sparkling particles. It was so much prettier when it was glowing and not in your face.

“Woah,” Eddie stared in awe.

You could still hear Dustin’s voice.

Steve raised his hand, doing the same as Nancy had. Soon, you all had your hand up, gawking.

“It…tickles.” Steve drew his eyebrows together.”

“It kinda feels good.”

Eddie smiled at Robin in agreement.

Nancy jerked her hand back, “Does anyone know morse code?”

“No,” you all shook your heads.

“Wait, does S.O.S count?” Nancy looked at Eddie, “Is that…is that good?”

By now, the only people who haven’t taken their hands away were you and Robin. Your hand tingled as you looked over at her, a slight smile on your lips. Although the rest of the upside down was dark and gloomy and gross, the lights lit up her face a little. It showcased her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, and her chin. Her eyes left her hand, catching your eyes. Even though the light didn’t illuminate her eyes, you could make out the specks of blue and green. Your eyelids half-blinked, too scared that if you fully closed your eyes, even for a second, that Robin would disappear or look away.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Eddie stepped forwards after talking to Steve and Nancy, explaining the plan. You had pulled your hand back as soon as he stepped closer, as if you had gotten caught. Robin had a hard time watching as you did so. Were you too scared to simply be seen holding eye-contact with her? She could hide her disappointment easily, she thought, atleast.

You had gotten through to Dustin on the other side. Now, you all kneeled on the side of Nancy’s bed. The kids had the idea to get Holly’s Lite-Brite, and communicate with that, as they kneeled in the same place in the other dimension.

“Okay,” Dustin yelled to be heard, “You guys seeing this?” Nancy raised her hand, the same light radiating in the particles.

Dustin’s cackle could be heard, before he said that they were unplugging it. As everyone stared in awe, you caught something- someone- in your peripheral. Robin smiled at the image in front of her. All frustration dissipated in your body. Your shoulders relaxed. Even if you were on the edge about Vecna and his cures, as long as Robin kept smiling, it would be okay. Maybe that was a delusional way of thinking but it made it all easier. Or maybe spending your last moments staring into her eyes makes it less scary. Your last moments don't matter- not when Max is in the same boat as you Blinking back to reality, you heard Dustin yelling, “We think Watergate isn’t the only gate. That there’s a gate at every murder site.”

“Does anybody understand what he’s talking about?” Nancy questioned, watching as everyone shook their heads. She wrote a question mark in the dust, waiting for an answer.

“Seriously?! How many times do I have to be right on the money before you trust me?” Dustin’s frustration was clear as day. Steve sighed, “Jesus Christ, this kid’s gotta get his ego in check.”

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie leaned over, agreeing with Steve.

“I know.”

Nancy ignored the boys, like she has been doing this whole time. “So, how far is your trailer?”

You felt your blood run cold. No way you had to go to the place Vecna had sucked the life out of your best friend.

“Seven miles.”

The rest of the conversation went over your head, your only thought being Chrissy. Unknowingly to you, someone was watching you, sympathy in their pretty eyes.

It was so easy for everyone to forget that you were going through something. Even if they noticed how odd, quiet, and distance you became, they didn;t make it a priority to ask. Robin noticed- the headaches, nose bleeds, the distant look in your eyes- she noticed it all. There was a checklist in her head of your symptoms and she didn’t like how it was looking. You flinched when you felt something graze your knuckles. Looking down, you noticed Robin's hand beside yours, palm open for comfort. Your eyes shot up to hers, to find that she was looking away, acting like she wasn’t trying to silently comfort you. Robin had to fight back a grin as she felt your hand slip into yours.

Your eyes were trained on the gate in Eddie’s trailer's roof. It’s like you were in a trance. The pulsing red pulling you in, but at the same time, keeping you glued to your spot. “This is where Chrissy died. Like, right right where she died.” Eddie broke the silence, grimacing at the memory.

“Jessica?!” Chrissy stopped painting her toenails, fixing her back and gawking up at you. “The one everyone thought the Steve Harrington boy was going to end up with?” Your lips formed a thin line. You and Jessica had talked about the rumors. The two of them hadn’t even interacted much, only interacting as much as you had to with the other people in your grade. Jessica thought the rumors were funny, you not so much.

“Yeah, safe to say she’s not his type.”

Chrisst bit her cheek in amusement. “So,” She went back to hunching over her knees, beginning to paint her nails once again. “Are you together now or…?”

Your movements stopped, frozen in thought until you closed the nail polish bottle in your hand. “I don’t know, i mean” Sure, you liked her, but it was all fun in games. It was just complicated. Jessica was pretty, nice, witty, but it always felt like something was missing. Her touch was nice, her green eyes were pretty, her pink lips felt soft, but it wasn't what you pictured when you fell asleep. Her lips weren’t what you yearned for. “What we have is fun, but…” Your voice trailed off. Chrissy gave you a sympathetic look, finishing your thought for you, “She’s not Robin.”

•© 2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

• My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [!I don't give permission!]

🫧 Taglistׂׂ ૢ ~ @overtrred28 @ihatepeanutss @jovana1234578 @dobbycarl @kyleeservopoulos @marirxse @ch-3-rry

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

last christmas, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Last Christmas, she gave you her heart, wrapped up with a note saying, I love you. She meant it. This Christmas, you give her back the stuff she left at your place and run into her next-door neighbor that knew all about your love. Somehow, you end up explaining why it went wrong.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of previous w/w relationship; pansexual reader; mentions of bad parents and discrimination / prejudice; reader def needs a therapist and Jeon Jungkook is not a therapist; JK is also reader's ex-gf's next-door neighbor; pining; awk tension; I cannot shut up about JK's big peepers; smut (fem reader, a lot of making out [both lips and bodies], light scratching, so much grinding, cowgirl); motorcycle-owning!JK takes you on a ride, whee

inspired by Wham!'s 'Last Christmas'; you are the shitty ex, don't read this unless you're okay with that and, yes, some decisions are made

--

You handed the bag over.

“This is it.”

“T… Thanks.”

The cold stung your cheeks. Around your neck was a dark green and black plaid scarf, thick layers shielding your heart that was exposed to the winter thanks to your open parka. Your hands returned to their tucked position in your fleece-lined pockets. You smiled, ever so slightly.

“You look pretty. The short hair suits your face well.”

She reached up to touch the tips of the chin-length bob, wispy front bangs framing her gentle eyes, not quite looking at you. You noticed her short nails were painted a light shimmery gold, suiting the holiday season. Her lips pursed and she breathed in deeply, looking straight into your eyes.

“Don’t say stuff like that. We’re not together anymore,” she said decisively.

“Ah… right.”

You left the smile on your face.

Right, because you could no longer compliment a person after dating them and then breaking up with them. Rules of some code apparently you didn’t get the memo for. The breeze whipped around your body, chilling moments as you stood at the doorstep of your former lover, feeling a strange kind of satisfaction seeing in her shiver in her fuzzy cream sweater and fleece pajama pants, complete with ivory fur slippers. But those thoughts were cruel to think and so was the bitterness.

She glanced at you.

You felt bad, seeing the glisten in her eyes.

In a box labelled donations in your apartment, there was a knit scarf, checkered peach and cream, the note included long gone, probably in a trashcan. Last Christmas, that scarf had been in silvery wrapping paper with a white silk ribbon, the package shaking in her hands and accompanied by a nervous smile, handed over for you to open, seeing the note first and then the handmade gift.

I love you above the handiwork of love.

It wasn’t the very next day, but you were still giving it away.

“I hope you have a nice holiday,” you said, bowing lightly.

“A-Ah, yeah,” she stuttered, clutching the brown bag of the few sweaters and joggers she had left at your apartment, all laundered and folded neatly the way she usually folded them. You had remembered, and this would be the last time you needed to remember how to delicately tuck sweaters into themselves like cake rolls. “I’m going to see my mom and dad. You should…” And she trailed off, knowing full well you weren’t going to see your parents. “You should eat something nice.”

You nodded.

Smile.

“I will. Take care.”

You took a step back and bowed again, taking your graceful exit from the front porch of that apartment that you would never walk into again.

You headed for the stairs, being careful when it came to the snow-slicked stone steps. Good thing your black boots had sturdy, thick treads. You reached back and pulled the hood of your parka up, fleece blanketing your head and ears, instantly warming your cold hair. It was already getting dark. You barely saw the sun these days, with work and all. There was something nice about the winter evening though, not as thick as the humid summer nights. Crisp and chilly, sure, but maybe you could argue that was all you were anyway.

Shit, holding a pity party for yourself? That’s rich.

The voice was inner self-loathing was nice and loud tonight, huh.

You heard your name being called from the garage at the bottom of the stairs. You looked up to see a familiar resident of these apartments.

Your ex-girlfriend’s next-door neighbor, in fact.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He smiled and waved, jogging over, something large and round under his arm. Black leather jacket, his gloves matching his jacket. Black jeans. Heavy-duty boots. You took a couple steps towards him, and then you spied the parked motorcycle, and finally recognizing that it was a motorcycle helmet he was holding. The sweater underneath with the somewhat tacky, bright red-and-white candy cane print didn’t quite match the rest of his ensemble.

He looked down when he realized you were staring at his chest and laughed. “Ah, yeah, I came back from a work party. Christmas lunch before we go on break. Theme was ugly sweaters.”

You blinked. “You could have tried harder.”

He grinned. “Yeah, my co-worker Jimin said that too, but I told him he was ugly enough for us both.”

You shook your head with a sheepish smile as the young man looked way too proud of himself burning someone who wasn’t even here to defend themselves. Well, supposedly he burned them publicly already. Poor Jimin. You had never met this Park Jimin Jungkook occasionally talked about, but they seemed to have a brotherly friendship, complete with Jungkook providing shithead younger brother quips.

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” Jungkook said, tilting his head.

Oh. Right.

You pointed up and prepared yourself to say it again and again until everyone knew.

“We broke up.”

“Oh…” His expression fell, big round brown eyes and the downturn of his lips. Man, Jeon Jungkook looking sad was not something you realized you needed to brace yourself for until now. It almost made you sad seeing his expression. “I’m sorry to hear that. I liked watching movies with you two, since you like Marvel stuff.”

You chuckled. “I’m not banned from going to the theater. I can still go to opening nights with you, if you want.”

He scratched his cheek, nodding slowly. “She wouldn’t feel weird seeing you with me?” he asked.

Oh.

Right.

If it was only you and Jeon Jungkook going to the movies, then, of course, people would think certain things.

You answered him honestly.

“I don’t know.”

You didn’t need to give answers, but Jungkook was your ex’s next-door neighbor and you had made friends with the guy before she did. Would be odd, considering she had proximity on her side, but, as it turns out, she was the lesbian and you were the pansexual. She had other priorities than the man living next door. He was not that interesting to her.

You shrugged. “I don’t know how she would feel, but what’s done is done and life goes on.”

Jungkook blinked at you.

You puffed out your left cheek and then exhaled heavily. “As you can expect from my reaction, it was me who broke up with her.” You clicked your tongue. “It wasn’t her. It was me. I have issues when women try to take care of me, even if they only have good intentions.” You reached up and pushed your parka hood back, letting the cold wind pierce your skin again, eager to feel something else. “Doesn’t really happen to me when it’s men, but women? Hah... I tried to tell myself that that wasn’t it, but facts are facts. In the end, I didn’t like her anymore and it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.”

Sounded awful coming out of your mouth.

Truth was ugly.

“I thought I would feel like shit not being with her during Christmas, but actually I feel worse because I’m actually glad I’m out.”

You glanced at Jungkook, whose was staring at you with those big brown eyes. For his part, he simply accepted when you introduced his neighbor as your girlfriend back then. Didn’t pry much. It had come up in conversation about representation in movies, and you both clarified your sexualities. Jungkook’s reaction was, oh, cool. But, of course, you hadn’t specified about the differences of various romantic relationships for you personally, until now.

You winced. “Sorry. Kinda dumped all that on you.”

He shook his head quickly, his long black hair flying about like floppy puppy ears. “No, no. It’s okay. Have you talked to anyone about the breakup?” He held up his free hand, pulling it back a little. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. It’s just… I mean, I knew you two a little bit, so… I can listen, if you wanna say stuff.”

You opened your mouth, ready to say, yeah, I’ve talked about it, but then you realized, no, you haven’t talked to anyone about the breakup. You didn’t really have friends outside of the ones related to your previous relationship, and, well, he was standing right here. You certainly weren’t going to tell your parents about dating, least of all dating outside of the heteronormative. They already didn’t like you for various reasons and being anything but heterosexual was probably going to lead to full-on pitchforks and chasing. Not your idea of a fun Christmas, you had to admit.

Mostly because you were the one that had to do the outrunning.

Jungkook rubbed the back of his head, screwing up his face. “Uh, well, a friend much smarter than me told me once that good and bad is relative to who you’re talking to and that most of the time no one is good or bad because there are too many ways to judge.” As he spoke, his eyebrows became more knitted together in increasing confusion of unsure recollection. “Um. Something like that.”

You half-smiled. “Hm, ever considered becoming a therapist?”

Jungkook frowned, looking displeased. “Sounds complicated.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry. You would totally suck at it.”

He harrumphed. “Anyway,” he concluded gruffly, chopping the air, his Busan accent coming out with the flourishment. “I’m saying you don’t have to be sad or feel anything in particular.”

You nodded.

Awkward silence.

Jungkook suddenly perked up and pointed to his bike behind him. “Oh! Did I tell you? I got my motorcycle license over a month ago.”

No, he didn’t tell you, because at the point you had already broken up with your now-ex and stopped coming to this apartment complex. But you glossed over that detail and shook you head, cocking your chin to the metal monster. “Yours?”

He grinned, bouncing like the Energizer bunny. “Yup! Mine! I bought it as soon as I got my license. I always wanted one. Want a ride? I have an extra helmet upstairs.” He pointed up excitedly. “It’ll only take me a second to grab it.”

He knew you didn’t drive here and usually walked here from the train station because it was easier. You looked at the silver and black motorcycle and then back at him, seeing the bubbling eagerness and childlike joy in those sparkly big peepers. What the hell.

“Sure.”

He grinned.

You always liked Jungkook because he had such an expressive face.

He hurried past you and reached out to nudge your arm towards to the stairs. You stood steadfast, your head following his face as you saw his changing expression.

Time slowed.

So did Jungkook, stopping, standing beside you, his motorcycle helmet and arm in between your bodies.

You looked up at him.

Eyes connected.

Your hands lifted and you took his motorcycle helmet from him, ticking your head upstairs.

“I shouldn’t go back up there,” you softly said.

For a moment, he didn’t understand. You knew what he intended, you to follow him up to help carry the extra helmet so he had a hand free to lock the door again. But he hadn’t quite thought about why you were here in the first place, days away from Christmas, after months of not seeing you, and now the comprehension was creeping into his eyes, the wheels of his brain moving in real time right in front of you. You nodded slowly as his lips formed a small ‘o’ accompanied by quick, sharp nods as he bounded up the stone steps two at a time.

“I’ll be fast!”

“Don’t break a leg,” you scolded, rolling your eyes as he completely ignored you, but he held onto the railing, so at least he wouldn’t tumble down and squash you if he tripped.

That left you standing there in relative silence, holding Jeon Jungkook’s helmet and staring at his fairly new motorcycle, only a couple floors underneath your ex-girlfriend who you recently gave back all her things that she had left in your home, the only trace of her now being your memories that would fade in time.

You felt a bit weird, not minding too much about it.

Also felt a bit weird realizing in a few minutes you would be holding onto her next-door neighbor’s waist, your chest to his broad back.

I’m an asshole.

You sighed, remembering the apprehension you had felt embarking on this relationship. Maybe you should have listened to it, but, then again, hard to say. No one wants to believe they have issues. Also, she was quite cute and convincing at the time. Unlike in past relationships, she was already secure and didn’t make you feel ashamed about not being strictly lesbian or heterosexual. It made you think that this was right, this was how it should be, and then it started getting a little too serious.

You kept thinking, I’ll get over it.

You did not get over it.

Then you realized what you really meant was, I must get over it to prove that my shitty upbringing didn’t affect me but all I’m doing is pretending that I’m over it when I’m not.

Yeah, well.

You ended up breaking up with a nice, pretty girl that you weren’t really in love with. She had just made you feel secure because she actually accepted your sexuality, which was awesome but not enough.

So, why did you feel like a complete and total jerk, like you wasted her time, as if you weren’t worthy of it?

Don’t know.

You stared at the motorcycle in front of you.

He must feel free when riding it.

“I got the helmet!”

You didn’t even turn around when you heard Jungkook’s announcement. You were too busy transitioning out of your reflections. “Don’t you know motorcycle accidents are much more likely than car accidents?”

Jungkook popped into view, holding out the other helmet in his hands. You exchanged the one you were carrying with his, and he shrugged. “Everybody dies.”

“Morbid.”

“At least I wouldn’t die knowing I never got to ride a motorbike like I wanted to when I was a kid,” he pointed out, revealing a bit of his inked skin under his leather sleeve. “Same reason I got tattoos.”

“Bet your mom loves that.”

“My mom just has to love my personality,” he laughed. “And I got defiance from her, so she’s doomed.”

You shook you head with a smile. Jungkook showed you how to put the helmet on.

“Just stay safe.”

“Don’t you mean drive safe?”

“It’s not just you on the road, dude.”

Suddenly, his hands stopped moving after you put it on. Now you were staring at Jungkook through the opening, about to close the visor, but then those brown orbs found yours. There was a strange intangible ripple between you and him. He tilted his head.

“Why are you talking as if you’re not here about to get on the bike with me?”

Everybody dies.

You pointed to the helmet. It felt heavy and odd. You were unaccustomed to the tightness. It smelled clean though. “I am. Why else would I put this thing on?”

Maybe I’m already dead because I don’t feel bad about what I did.

You wondered if you should feel bad, even though you did the right thing, even though you knew there were no real villains and heroes in this situation, even though you knew you both were only people that chose how to live their lives. How were you supposed to know if you were dragging things on or running away? The only thing you knew was that she deserved someone who really loved her as much as she loved you. It wasn’t her fault you didn’t. You just had to be honest about it.

Right?

Jungkook nodded and stuck on his helmet, fitting it snugly and climbed onto the motorcycle, unlocking it as signaling you to get on behind him.

“Hold onto me here. Set your feet there. Yeah.”

He was warm and solid and present.

He even smelled nice.

You didn’t think about it too much. What was there to think about? Life was complicated. You could spend countless hours analyzing why you made certain decisions, if they were wrong or right and in which eyes that mattered, and then all those thoughts blew away when the mechanical monster underneath you roared to life, loud and vicious and pure power wielded with skillful hands, and you held on tighter to Jungkook, startled by the sound, yet not scared for some reason.

Just fascinated as Jungkook pulled out of his parking spot and zoomed out of the garage, onto the road.

It was fuckin’ cold.

Layers of green-and-black plaid between Jungkook’s back and your sweater, shielding your racing heart, wind and speed and thrill shooting throughout your veins, the winter night flashing past, blurring streetlamps and stoplights, forgetting the cold, your hands tucked inside Jungkook’s jacket, fingers fanning over his waist and ribcage, feeling his muscles under the tacky sweater.

You closed your eyes.

At least I wouldn’t die knowing I never got to ride a motorbike like I wanted to when I was a kid.

You used to think about riding a motorcycle when you were in middle school, although you had been looking at those smaller, zippy Japanese models, not a Harley-Davidson. You always assumed only loud obnoxious Americans rode that kind of stuff.

What?

Movies didn’t help.

Unfair stereotypes aside, it had been only a passing thought for you. One among many rebellious teenage desires. Cringe. That was hard to admit. But apparently for Jungkook it was a dream that he had turned into a reality and, while someone could view it in whatever negative light they wished, you saw it as walking the walk. You could respect that.

You leaned against him.

Felt the cold but there was something hot under layers of green-and-black plaid.

This is what joyride means, huh?

You were slowing down. Opened your eyes and saw Jungkook turning, seeing a parking lot and, across that, a field of white covered in a walkway of colorful lights. Oh. That was right. The park over here had put up this light display called Festival of Lights, where local artists had created wire sculptures covered in Christmas string lights which were displayed along a walkable path.

You went her last year, holding her hand.

You got off and took off your helmet, entranced by the bright twinkling displays, barely making out a gingerbread man doing a handstand.

“Wanna walk?”

You glanced at Jungkook. “What about this? Should I carry it?”

He laughed, waving to the sudden open top-box behind the seat. “Put it in here.”

You handed the helmet to him and watched in fascination. “Oh. I didn’t know there was a space to put stuff.”

He grinned. “Come on, let’s go.”

You following his bouncing jog with a loose stride, closing your fingers into your palm and remembering the feeling of his solid body in your hands only moments before. Furrowed your brows and shook your head, approaching the entrance, seeing a family several meters ahead, tired parents with a couple of loud kids pointing excitedly at a lit-up snowman holding six candy canes like Wolverine claws.

“Have you been here this year yet?”

“Ah, no,” you absentmindedly replied, seeing Santa and his reindeer. Classic, and well-done. “Haven’t had the time.”

“There’s one at the end I think you’ll like,” Jungkook was saying excitedly. “But I think the food vendors went home already. There was a hotteok truck and another one that sold roasted sweet potatoes, mmm, but maybe you can come back some other time.”

“Uh huh.”

You knocked into Jungkook’s back and bounced, vigorously shaking your head. “Ow.”

“Sorry, there’s ice. Careful.”

“Oh.”

You realized Jungkook was looking at you and you let go of his arm, not even realizing you had grabbed it out of instinct so you didn’t trip. A weird moment of muteness. You looked past him to see three chipmunks flashing in red, blue, and green scarves.

You looked up at Jungkook, who had followed your eye line to the three cuties.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you ask your neighbor why I wasn’t coming over anymore?”

Those brown eyes looked away from the twinkling artificial stars to your eyes. There was a little bit a guilt. They shifted away and came back and you realized Jungkook didn’t know how to lie but he also wasn’t sure if he was about to be out of line either.

“I… I heard her crying. A lot. And it’s none of my business,” he mumbled, frowning. “My mom told me not to be nosy,” he added under his breath.

You almost snorted. “You told your mom that you were worried about the lesbian couple next door?”

Jungkook squinted at you, annoyed. “No, I told my mom that I was worried that my friend might have broken up, so I asked her if I should do anything. Something nice?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed weird especially when Black Panther: Wakanda Forever came out, and I was going to ask if you, I mean, you both were going to the midnight release but…”

The kids were yelling in the distance and you didn’t even hear them.

You were just staring at Jungkook and noticing that his ears were turning bright red.

All the adrenaline from the speed and, now, everything slammed on the brakes.

“I didn’t cry.”

He blinked slowly. “What?”

You breathed out, looking around you, at snow and lights and white, and then at Jungkook, wearing all black and that candy-cane sweater, at yourself and your dark monochrome outfit, and then you admitted it again. “I didn’t cry, and I feel kinda shitty for it.”

“Oh.”

You stepped past Jungkook and walked down the carved-out path, following footprints and hard work. He followed and you acknowledged him, looking from one festive decoration to another, admiring the creations and spinning through the inner workings of your mind. “I felt frustrated. I know sexual attraction and romantic relationships are two different things, but I wanted to believe they weren’t. I wanted to believe that enough time had passed and I was okay, but I wasn’t okay and maybe I’ll never be okay, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

You glanced up.

Jungkook looked confused and thoughtful at the same time. “I think you said before you don’t talk to your parents?”

“Yeah. They’re assholes.”

“Oh.”

That wasn’t very descriptive so you gave a brief explanation. “They looked at me like a product they made. A child was an object that they could program to do things they weren’t able to do, like make lots of money, marry rich, and in general sacrifice all my autotomy for their every beck and call.” You shrugged. “A dog would have more grace than their child.”

“Ouch.”

“Also, they would not understand that I’m pansexual. I think I’d be shot on the spot.”

“Don’t talk to them,” he puffed heatedly.

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement. “And, yeah, I’m sure that kind of upbringing affected my romantic relationships.” And lots of other things, but that wasn’t the point right now.

“Everybody goes through stuff like that.”

You looked at him.

Jungkook shrugged. “My last girlfriend said all I care about is myself and there’s a reason why all my friends are older than me and called me irresponsible, selfish, and childish.”

“Are you?”

He frowned. “I don’t think so? I do the dishes and always fold my laundry.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Only fold?”

“Okay, sometimes I leave it on the table for a little while,” he grumbled.

You chuckled. “How long ago was this?”

“Um, couple years ago? Maybe five?”

“You were barely an adult,” you commented, seeing a face-down figure with white hair in a bun and something that looked suspiciously like deer tracks on the back of that red coat. Uh. You decided not to comment and move on. “Still learning.”

“Learning to be a dick, she’d probably say now. She would tell me not to get a bike for sure.”

“Thought the whole point she was dating you was because you had a dick.”

Jungkook laughed, loud and vibrant, the lights making his cheeks glow. “Well, she’s married now so I guess she found a better one.”

“Or settled.”

“Damn, you would think you were the one who dated her,” he snickered. You could tell he was enjoying this though, those brown orbs sparkling a little too bright. There was a little bit of a jealous streak in him, you could sense. “I think I was dating the wrong kind of girl though. I think I have to date someone who shares my interests more. I like being with the person I like all the time. I don’t want them to be sick of me.”

“Mmm. I can see that. Pretty childish of you.”

“Hey!”

You laughed, nudging his side. “As long as you know you are the problem.”

He narrowed his eyes.

You grinned. “I didn’t say you weren’t a fun problem to have.”

Jungkook leaned closer, squinting harder.

You grinned wider.

Then you realized he was so close and he realized he was so close, both of you backing up at the same time. A little too fast, simultaneously darting your hands out and grabbing each other’s forearms, you grasping his right with your left hand and his right hand on your left sleeve, squeezing hard, immediately regaining balance.

You let go.

He let go.

Speed under a green-black plaid scarf, something hot and moving fast under all those layers.

“Sorry.”

“Ah, no, my fault. Sorry.”

You jerked your head towards the light displays and started walking again, trying to move past this sudden weirdness. You pointed out the various ones you liked. Yellow pill-shaped Minions decorating a Christmas tree. A curtain of lights programmed to look like falling snowflakes. Penguins sliding down a light-up hill. Slowing down. Breathing. You glanced at Jungkook.

He looked somewhat ashamed.

“Hey.”

He tilted his head, inquiring with his big eyes and pink nose. “Hm?”

“I’m glad you took me here. I don’t think I’ve done anything festive this year.”

“O… Oh.” He looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his head. “I thought it might be cool. Cheer you up a bit.”

“Yeah. It’s funny. A lot of people think I don’t like this season.”

You saw Jungkook rub his nose, realizing it was cold. “Huh? Why?” he asked nasally.

You glanced down at your dark color palette. “Well, you know me, I like Halloween most, but I actually enjoy Christmas quite a lot. Not because I have any particularly nice memories around it,” you mused. “Ah, I mean when I was a kid. But, I don’t know, maybe that made me appreciate the spirit of the holiday time more than all the capitalistic stuff surrounding it, since I didn’t participate much in that.”

Jungkook blinked, puzzled. “You didn’t get gifts?”

You thought about it. “Hmm, not until I was an adult and only when I was dating someone who gave gifts.”

He pursed his lips and then reached out, taking your elbow and pulling your along, to the corner.

“Come on. This can be your gift.”

You stumbled behind him, craning your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“Did you watch Wakanda Forever?”

“Of course, I did. You know Black Panther is my favorite.”

“Then, look.”

Your eyes widened as the bright display of Black Panther, black lights complete with the purple highlights and signature action pose loomed among the other creations, slightly out of place because it wasn’t holiday-themed or even remotely Korean, but apparently none of that mattered and it didn’t matter to you as you admired the craftsmanship of the wire structure underneath, obvious it was specifically Chadwick Boseman’s T’Challa from the violet details.

“Oh, shit. That’s sick,” you breathed, staring at the display for far too long and probably burning it into your eyeballs.

“I knew you’d like it right away.”

“That’s so random that it’s here.”

“I mean it’s not Christmas, but the movie did come out a month ago, so I guess they made an exception ‘cause it was so cool.”

“I mean this feels like Christmas to me. Put a Santa hat on him and call it a day.”

Jungkook laughed. “Okay, I’ll sneak one on in the night.”

You whipped your head to him, wiggling your eyebrows. “I mean…”

“It turns off automatically at midnight to save power…” he trailed off, putting on a scheming face.

“Would you go to jail for that? Is a Santa hat vandalism?”

“I didn’t commit a crime if I don’t get caught,” he countered.

You gave him a look. “Sounds like someone belongs on the naughty list.”

Jungkook scrunched up his face.

“Naughty or nice depends on who’s asking.”

He stuck his little pink tongue out.

You poked the tongue tip sticking out of his lips.

Instant wet warmth on your index finger. Jungkook jumped, startled at your quick action and even you snapped back, surprised at yourself. Why had you done that? A wave of fluster, and you froze, hand hovering in the air, and Jungkook rapidly blinking, cheeks turning bright red. Silence. Couldn’t even say sorry, too stunned at your action to try to double back to apologies. Big brown eyes framed with windswept black locks, something unsaid hanging between you and Jeon Jungkook.

A casual friendship.

Kept at a fixed distance for… reasons.

Well, it had been.

Nobody was stupid, but time and place meant something.

Fast lane, not feeling the cold, racing pulse, lowering your hand, and you could feel it. You knew it was there, but time and place and all those other things.

“Sorry,” you finally said.

Jungkook’s eyes started darting in all directions. “It… It’s okay.”

“It’s kind of not. No one should be touching other people’s tongues without permission,” you pointed out.

He wasn’t really looking at you. “It’s okay… I forgive you.”

“Stop pretending I’m not a bundle of walking problems.”

Now those brown orbs finally scooting back to you.

There was no getting around that.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not a fun problem to have,” Jungkook mumbled softly.

Yeah, especially not after this irresponsible, selfish, childish guy said something like that.

There was a lot of shit you could say, but none of it seemed right. They sounded like excuses, or lame roundabouts, or too much too fast, like getting a whole sleeve of heavily-inked tattoos in a little under two years and a bigass motorbike after passing your motorcycle license exam. They sounded like feebleness in what was pretty clear, and you didn’t believe in saying something that wasn’t the truth.

“Um...”

Jungkook continued staring at you like a lost reindeer even though his nose was quite red.

You decided it was best to give a response. “Yeah?”

“You… You’re not doing anything on Christmas?” he asked.

“Ah, no. Nope, I just get a day off work.”

An extended silence.

You verbally approached very carefully. “You wanna… uh… hang out at my place?”

“Oh…” Man, this conversation sure was something. “I can bring some food and stuff. I can cook.”

“Me too.”

“You… like pork belly, right?”

“Yeah. It’s my favorite.”

Good fuckin’ gracious.

You couldn’t stand it anymore and exasperatedly put your head in your hand. “Just…” You saw Jungkook peering at you, looking worried. You put your hand down, resolving yourself quite quickly. “Okay. Give me your number. I’ll text you the address.” You didn’t think about it too much. Just yanked your phone out of your inner pocket and furiously typed down the numbers that came out of Jungkook’s mouth, your frozen fingers needing to press more than once, but you eventually got there.

After you pressed send, you immediately jerked your head up and looked at those big brown eyes very seriously.

“I… We… What happens, happens,” you finally said.

Jungkook nodded determinedly. “Yeah.”

It was pretty obvious what was going to happen but, then again, there were children around.

Last Christmas you received a gift with a note that said I love you.

This year, you would receive…?

-

“You think Die Hard is a Christmas film?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Sure?”

The actual movie didn’t really matter. Mostly because you fell asleep on top of him and woke up to a black television screen, wrapped in a fuzzy red velvet blanket, and Jeon Jungkook staring at you in the darkness. You blinked slowly. Could barely make out his face in the faint light of the open window, seeing the shape of his parted lips, the shine of his large eyes, the waves of black hair that cradled his cheeks.

You had animated conversation over dinner, funny stories of Jungkook’s friends and viral videos you had both seen on the internet, so natural it was almost frightening, complete with weird tense moments of silence that you or he pushed along, resolute, knowing how you got here, and yet.

Chills all over despite the warmth under the blanket.

He was not wearing a tacky sweater now. Just a simple black and white plaid flannel and a white t-shirt under, paired with loose black pants. Oversized and cozy to go with your fleece red-and-black checkered long pajamas. He smelled the same as he did the other day. He didn’t bring anything with him but a large glass Tupperware of food and his motorcycle helmet, saying he forgot to leave it by his bike. His heavy black coat was hanging in the hall closet by the front door.

You stared at Jungkook, saying nothing.

Stayed close.

He leaned in.

You closed the distance.

You were pretty sure you had a soul of ice.

Then again, Jungkook had said earlier in the night that he had been told in his fortune that he had too much fire in him, so maybe it canceled out or something.

You wanted to say you had an entire, deep discussion of, is this a good idea, or perhaps even, what is courteous and respectful but also fulfills the personal desires of the very obvious between us, but there was only heavy making out and lip-locking and breathless gasps and your hands around his waist again, warm and solid and present, and you shuddered, breathing him in, pulling him close, pressing your body to his.

Jungkook didn’t waste time.

His hands were on your hips, his wispy moan trailing over your lips.

Oh no. You tried to resist the addictive sensation that demanded to be chased, your lower body rolling into his, feeling was what very real and very apparent, his shaking breath tickling your lower lip and chin, whine shimmering in his throat. He liked it. Pulled you closer, increasing the pressure, your clothed pussy practically riding his clothed dick.

You caught his moaning mouth and felt the electricity of his arousal enter your lungs, your hands tangling into his hair, pulling his head back, first lightly and then when he didn’t relent, harder, tearing a moan from his throat, loud and vicious and pure power of his vocal cords vibrating under your kisses, nipping at his neck and leaving small possessive marks that he encouraged with gasping, don’t stop, don’t stop, please, falling apart in your skillful hands, tracing the crown of his head, his ears, his jaw.

You ran your tongue over his collarbone and then softly trailed back with kisses.

“O-Oh, fuuuuck me…”

That was the idea, yeah.

He was unbuttoning your pajama shirt.

“Wha… Why are you wearing a bra?”

You guessed that was not supposed to sound whiny but then again Jungkook was pouting in frustration.

“I generally wear bras. You know, to hold my tits.”

He puffed his cheeks. “Don’t ladies usually not wear bras at home?”

“I imagine the situation might change if there was a hot man involved.”

An involuntarily shiver travelled all over Jungkook and the only reason you could feel it was because you were basically humping his dick.

“Also, we can’t talk much if you are distracted by my nipples,” you added.

You felt an agile hand creeping around to the back clasp. “What if I want to be distracted by your nipples…?” he trailed off experimentally, giving you a curious, mischievous look.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Sounds like someone belongs on the naughty list.”

He tilted his head, sending dark strands over one eye and his cheek.

“Who’s asking?” he purred, his silvery voice low and deep.

Well, shit.

The man knew how to be sexy.

You raked your fingers through his thick black hair, feeling him tremble under you.

“Leader of the naughty list herself,” you breathed back, leaning in to kiss him again.

While it was true that Jungkook had not come with some last-minute wrapped trinket, he had brought a hard dick and abundant horniness, and that was a pretty good gift in your book. You showed him your boobs and those nipples he was so keen about – well, technically, he showed himself and audibly gasped when your bra tumbled off. You weren’t sure if he was acting or not, but that question was answered too, because he lifted you by the waist and ran his tongue over your cleavage and then started making out with your chest.

“Oh…!”

Your turn to be surprised and you clutched his head, gasping, pushing him to suck, and he didn’t need any more signs, circling his tongue around the hard nab and then his eyelids fluttered, moaning deep in his chest. Hot shivers at the feeling of his warm mouth and gentle insistence, your body pressing into him, matching his rhythm and sound, holding his free hand to your neglected breast while his other hand splayed over your lower back, strong and secure. Your thighs squeezed his waist, feeling his desire melt into yours.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know.

You just didn’t act on it and neither did Jungkook, other than the occasional puppy eyes because he was terrible at lying. He had made a conscious effort to stay securely in the friendzone out of respect. You had appreciated that, really. But then there was that chance meeting, and, even then, you knew he took you to the Festival of Lights just to cheer you up, not to put you in any complex or awkward situation, but, again, he was bad at lying and there was no getting around this very intense attraction between you and Jeon Jungkook.

Hence the current kissing down your stomach and you leaning back, slow cascading moan falling from your lips as you felt his dance around your bellybutton and he pulled down the waistband of your pajama pants, following your hip line.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy…”

Your fingertips grazing the lines of his legs, nails applying dainty pressure that made him quiver under you, his breath hitching as you placed your hands on his thighs and pressed your fingers inward, lifting yourself back up. Leaning down to kiss him again, tasting traces of you on his lips. Slowly peelings his clothes off, tangling him in them just to see his eyebrows knit in frustration, so cute, but you didn’t say, not yet, and then your clothes were in a rumpled pile on the living room floor. You in your panties and him in his boxer briefs, and you straddled his waist, kissing him repeatedly, rubbing your chest into his, feeling him under you.

Hot.

Shivering.

Overwhelmed with sensation, rolling his hips and hard cock into your covered heat.

He liked the feeling of your fingernails running down his chest. You did it once, just to test, and he reached for your hands, pulling them back up, more, and you watched his body writhe and fall apart under your touch, his head tipping back and lifting up his torso to add more pressure, moan hiking when you scratched down his sides and kissed his chest, licking his nipples, traveling to his back, earning a stronger reaction and his fingers sinking into your ass, his erection throbbing in between your thighs that squeezed his tense hips.

“Fuck, oh, fuck…”

You could feel the dampness occurring, both from you and him.

“J… Jungkook…”

You couldn’t stop kissing him, continuously telling yourself last one, but that was ages ago, lips locked and drunk on foreplay, on his body and his sound, vibrant and carnal, a mix of cute and sexy that was practically illegal. Couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop whispering to him how nice he felt, how nice he tasted, careless, absorbed in the strength of his lust.

“C-Can I fuck you…? I brought condoms in my coat, j-just in case…”

“Naughty boy,” you scolded and didn’t mean it, and it was dangerous, so dangerous the way Jungkook desperately moaned as you placed your hand over his damp, pulsing hardness and rubbed him through his underwear, too dangerous with the way he looked at you and gasped, you wanna sit in this naughty boy’s lap?

Thankfully, that was the extent of that.

Also, you didn’t bother going all the way to the hall closet when you had plenty of condoms in your bedroom.

And, yeah, you sat in his lap.

”Oooh, wow, y-you feel soooo fucking good…“

Could have been either of you or both of you saying it. You wouldn’t remember if you thought about it later, because you were too busy rocking your hips and trying to find the correct rhythm again. It was easier than you thought, maybe because of Jungkook’s roaming hands on your thighs, hips, breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure across your torso that matched the satisfying fullness deep inside, and, right there, finding the correct depth and forcefulness, chasing it immediately, building the steady pace with the condom wrapper tumbling down your sheets and hitting your knee.

You snatched it and chucked the foil wrapper over the side of your bed.

“Oh!”

“Forget about it, fuck me, Jungkook, fuck me.”

He angled his hips up and you rode him, relentless pleasure and waves of need satisfied by thrusting, clenching around his thick, hard cock, losing yourself in the shocking bliss.

You closed your eyes.

Felt the heat, so intense it sent chills up and down your spine. Couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, hands on his chest, tense and vibrating under harsh smacks and craving more, your name in Jungkook’s breathless voice addicting. His sound, intoxicating. His body, telling, unable to lie and you could be nothing but be honest, so good, fuck, feels so fucking good, speeding in the fast lane and soaring from the feeling.

There was no doubt that Jungkook was someone special.

You looked down, just for a moment, catching those brown eyes, glassy and fucked-out and watching you like you were everything and more.

I need him.

The thought was so intense and raw that you felt something inside you snap, your breath cutting off, torrential crash and orgasm seizing you by the throat, throwing your head back, your hair sweeping your shoulders, and you came around him, jerking your hips to bury him deeper, oh, fuck, yeees, suspended in the blissful, powerful rush, feeling your liquid honey leak out and down, covering him with it, the scent of sex rising between your bodies.

Jungkook lifted his hips and your body by doing so, his hands strongly grasping your waist, moaning with you, thrusting hard and fast, fucking your through your orgasm and you immediately tumbled into another peak, back-to-back intensity, feverish pitch of your joined voices as he came too, rock-hard and twitching inside your pulsating tightness, holding both of you up by a miracle.

Or sheer lust.

Nice or naughty, right?

For a moment, mute, stunned silence at the shared feeling between you and him.

Sure, it was pretty damn obvious you were going to fuck.

You just didn’t expect it to feel this good and this right.

Down, down, down. Slow, serene, subliminal, the way he sank down and both your gazes left the ceiling, sinking into your sheets, your eyes and his eyes connecting, quiet but an entire conversation humming between your bodies.

“J… Jungkook.”

He was panting hard, sweat glistening on his chest and forehead, his long black hair a mess your pillows. “Y… Yeah?”

“It’s… It’s a bit late…”

Well, actually, you had no idea what time it was.

“Y-Yeah, it kinda is…” he breathed, caressing your hips with his fingertips, relentless energy under you, eyes so big and brown that you could drown in that comforting darkness.

“Can you just…”

A pause, racing hearts beating together.

“Stay?” you asked, tentative and unsure.

Jungkook squeezed your thigh, reassurance in his touch.

“I wanna stay,” he stated, nodding determinedly.

So, he stayed, the start of many Christmases to come.

--

masterpost

[middleearthpixie]

Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Four

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all. 

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle. 

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…  

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm 

Warnings: Some violence (nothing graphic)

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard

@legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being

@rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz

@knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell

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@night-ace

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Previous chapters can be found here.

Although it had been a year since she’d been on the Long Lake, Sophie felt as if only days had passed since she lived there, in the drafty house with its leaky roof and rooms that all pitched to the left. 

Roughly half of Esgaroth had been restored, and while none of the buildings were inhabited, according to both Thorin and Bard, Sophie knew she would find Sten and knew exactly where she would find him as well.

Their house had been at the southern end of Esgaroth, tucked between the fish market where Sten sold his catch, and another house and it was there that she stood, staring up at the new structure, finished save for windows. The scents of cedar and pine mingled with the cold, somewhat brackish smell of the lake water, and had she not been so nervous, she might have heard the gentle lap of the water against the new pilings and bulkheads. Instead, all she heard was the thundering of her heart. 

A toolbox stood just to the side of the doorway, although the house had no door yet. Still, as she stepped over the threshold, she heard the sounds of someone moving about. The houses were all the same, the first floor was normally a mudroom of sorts, a place where oilskins, boots, winter coats and the like would be stored. A narrow staircase to her right would take her above, to the main floor. There, she would find a kitchen and great room combined, a small privy, and toward the rear of the house, two small bedrooms. 

It took every bit of will she possessed to force her feet to obey and propel her up those narrow stair treads. As she emerged into the kitchen, she saw a familiar pair of boots in the doorway. Battered, scuffed, one held together with a strip of leather wound about it.

Sten’s boots.

Of its own volition, her hand found its way into the small satchel she carried, her fingers curling about the knife handle. She slipped it free, drew in a deep breath, and called, “I know you’re here.”

“Why?”

Her blood ran cold at the familiar, softly menacing tone of Sten’s voice. She’d learned that the greater his fury, the calmer he sounded, and while he didn't exactly sound calm, she was wary just the same. 

“I could ask you the same.”

“Come here.”

“No.” She tightened her grip on the knife. “You come here.”

He appeared in the doorway between the great room and the short hallway that would lead to the bedrooms and she fought the urge to gasp at the sight of him. 

Tall and handsome and blond and I thought he was utterly perfect. That was how she’d described him to Thorin and once upon a time, that had been true. 

Once upon a time.

Now, however, Sten’s once-handsome face was lopsided, no doubt from its meeting with her cast iron pan a year earlier. He bore distinct burn scars on his face as well, although, in a darkened alley to a frightened little girl, they might not have been noticeable. 

“Surprise to see me, are you?”

“Why are you here again?” She took a step closer, but made certain to remain beyond his reach. “What do you want from us?”

“I want my wife. My daughter.”

“Your wife and daughter. Don't make me laugh, Sten. You were going to kill me that night, weren’t you?”

“I was wrong, my love. So terribly wrong.”

“Do not call me that, for we both know it to be a lie. I don’t believe you, not a single word of what you say.”

“You should, for I speak true.”

“No.” She shook her head, trying to will her arms and legs to stop quaking so badly. She didn't want him to see any hint of fear for if he did, he would pounce. “You need to leave us alone, Sten. I want you to leave us alone. I want you to give me a divorce and go on your merry way.”

“So you might continue thinking you’ll be queen of Erebor?” A chilly laugh followed his words. “Think you I didn't hear about that? That I didn't hear about you and the Mad King. You’ve exposed my daughter to that madman? I could not, in good conscience, leave Heather with you. Who knows what the mad king would do to her if I did.”

The very thought of Thorin ever harming Heather was a laughable one, but Sophie kept her expression neutral. She would not give anything away to him. Not any more. “The mad king? Hardly. We both know the only madman here is you, Sten. You need to let us go.”

“No. I will not let you go so you can go running back to that runt!”

“Why? You’ve made yourself perfectly clear in how you see me, in how you see Heather.”

“She is mine. You are mine.”

“No, Sten,” she shook her head slowly, “we are not yours. Heather deserves better than a father who does not trouble to hide his disdain for her.”

“So the dwarf can not only slip into your bed, but into my role as her father?”

“Thorin is good to her. He doesn’t yell at her for doing what children do, for laughing too loudly or being afraid of something. He makes time for her and treats her as she should be treated. Can you say the same?”

“She is weak and addled, like her mother.”

“See? And do you honestly wonder why I want out of this marriage? Because I do, Sten, and I will be free of you for once and for all.”

Some of the ice left his pale eyes and he took a step backward. “I’ve really ruined things, haven’t I? I—I don't even know why I said the things I did, or why I did the things I did…. I just… I just loved you so much, Sophie. And it always seemed that I could never give you what you truly deserved, the life you should have had.” He shook his head. “Do you know how that feels? To know the person you’re with deserves so much more and you’ll never be able to give it to her?”

For a moment, she almost believed him to be sincere. He certainly looked and sounded it. At least, he did to one who didn't know him. But Sophie knew him.

And believed not a word he spoke.

“It’s too late, Sten. I am not so trusting as I once was.” She drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and said, “I want a divorce and you will grant me one.”

He stared at her for a long moment, but then slowly shook his head. “I don't think I’ll be doing that, Sophie. In fact, I think I will come by Erebor ’round sundown and collect my daughter as well.”

“We are not going anywhere with you. And the idea of you forcing the gatekeeper to do your bidding is laughable.”

Sten offered up a slow smile. “Think rather highly of yourself, do you? Did you fail to notice I mentioned Heather and not you?”

With that, he stepped closer and she instinctively stepped back at the same time. “You are not getting within a league of her, Sten. So, whatever insane idea you have about how this will end will never come to pass.”

“It’s a funny thing about this lake, love,” he replied softly, shaking his head as if filled with regret. “People have a way of falling into it and never being seen again. Isn’t that what you told people? That I went out on the lake and simply never came home?”

He kept approaching and she kept backing up, mindful of the narrow staircase directly behind her. “You have no idea how I wished that would actually happen.”

“You tried your best.” He gestured to the misshapen side of his head. “But you failed. You’ve failed at everything you’ve tried to do, haven’t you? Failed as a wife. As a mother. As a woman.”

She slipped the knife from her pocket. “Do not take another step.”

He glance down at it, then looked back up, a laugh coming to his lips. “You haven’t the nerve.”

“Do not test me. I will do what I have to, to keep Heather safe, to keep her away from you.”

“Is that so?”

He dove at her, and she swung, the tip of the knife’s blade catching him in the shoulder. Not that it mattered, as he drove his shoulder into her stomach and sent her reeling backward. The knife clattered to the floor as Sophie made a frantic grab for the moulding about the doorway. Her nails scratched along the wood to no avail as she crashed down along the risers, pain bursting through her shoulder and her hip as she crumpled to the floor at the foot of the staircase. 

Pain radiated through her, starbursts erupting before her eyes as she fought to keep them open. Above her, the stair treads creaked as Sten descended toward her. “You little fool,” he said, his voice low and flat. “A more worthless woman never lived.”

Her head ached. Her vision swam. Slowly, she untangled herself and tried to sit, scooting back across the fresh, smooth wood toward the front door. Sten held her knife loosely, but she had no delusions that she would be able to wrest it from him again.

Pulling herself up to her feet, she bit back a cry as pain burst through her right ankle and when she placed that foot on the floor, it refused to bear weight. She gripped the wall, sweat breaking out across her back as she stared at him. 

“Why won’t you just leave us be?” Her words came more easily as her head slowly began to clear. “If I am so worthless, why are you even troubling with me?”

“Because you are mine and no man, not even the runt king, takes what is mine.”

The knife blade glinted as the sun reflected off the water and as Sten shifted to lower it, Sophie lunged for the toolbox, her fingers brushing, then curling about the somewhat rough handle of the hammer laying atop it.

She came up swinging with every bit of might she could muster and Sten let out a howl at the sickening crunch of the hammer’s head striking his. She caught him along the jaw, pain flaring through her hand, her wrist, but she held on, tightening her fingers about that handle as he stumbled back into the stairs, a hand clasped to his chin, blood dribbling over his bottom lip. 

Footsteps thundered along the wood to the north and while she ignored them, Sten must have expected her to turn to see who was coming, for he dove at her once more.

Without thinking, she spun to her left and he shot past her, reeling forward to topple into the lake with a loud splash. 

“You bitch!” he sputtered, swimming back toward the bulkhead. “I will kill you this time.”

He grabbed the edge of the bulkhead, but as he tried pulling himself up, she swung again. And again. And again. She kept swinging even as both Thorin and Dwalin came around the corner.

Thorin caught her by the wrist with one hand and around the waist with his free arm to pull her back. “Easy, amrâlimê,” he whispered as she tried to fight him, tried to keep swinging, “it’s over, love… it’s over…”

The hammer hit the wood at their feet and she collapsed against him, her tears infuriating but unstoppable as she buried her fingers in the fur of his coat and clung to him as if for life itself. 

“Get her back to Erebor,” she heard Dwalin growl. “I’ll take care of what’s left of him.”

Sophie’s stomach clenched and curdled at the same time, a sour taste flooding her mouth. She fought down the rising nausea, shaking her head as she whispered, “He was going to take Heather… I—I could—I couldn't let—let him get h—her…”

“Shhh…” Thorin swung her easily into his arms and moved away from the edge of the bulkhead. “You’ve nothing to worry about now, mesmel. He cannot hurt either of you again…”

Exhaustion and pain wound together to make keeping her eyes open impossible, so she let them close as she tucked her head against his chest. A sense of relief swelled, taking some of the edge off her pain.

It was over. 

Finally. 

Sophie sucked in a sharp breath as Narnerra gently prodded her swollen left ankle. “I beg your pardon,” the healer said as she looked up, “how did this happen?”

“I fell down a flight of stairs.” Sophie clenched her teeth as Narnerra continued her examination. She was so tired, all she wished to do was sleep, but Thorin was insisted that Narnerra look her over and told the healer so in no uncertain terms before leaving the infirmary.

He would not say where he was going, but he didn't have to. She knew. Esgaroth. Any moment now and Bard would be coming looking for her. 

This time she had no doubt at all that she’d killed Sten. She might have failed the first time. She did not fail this time. And if she was honest with herself, she was not the least bit sorry, either. It had to be done. She had to protect Heather.

She had to protect herself. 

“I don't think it’s broken,” Narnerra said, straightening up. “But rather a nasty sprain. We’ll splint it and I’ll recommend you remain off your feet for the next fortnight.”

Sophie nodded. “I can still work with Bifur, then.”

“No, you will rest, Sophie. I daresay Bifur and the others will all understand.” Narnerra moved to her supply cupboard, returning a few minutes later with what she needed to splint Sophie’s injured ankle. 

“How are you otherwise?” the healer asked softly as she set to work.

“I’m… tired… and—and sore.” Sophie replied slowly, wrapping her arms about herself as a chill settled about her. “And I’m so cold… I can’t seem to shake it.”

“The stress of the moment.” Narnerra crossed over to the cupboard once more, this time returning with a blanket she draped about Sophie’s shoulders. “What happened?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Narnerra’s blue eyes were sharp. “He had it coming, Sophie. Do not think for one moment you did anything wrong, for you didn’t.”

She shot the healer a look. “I’m afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“You do. And if I were there, I’d have helped you.” Narnerra bent back over her ankle and no more words passed between them as she finished wrapping it. 

“How does she fare?”

Sophie’s heart skipped a beat as Thorin came into the room that served as the royal family’s quarters in the infirmary. Narnerra looked up and nodded. “She’s shaken up, but in one piece. Nothing is broken or fractured, just bruised or sprained.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Narnerra crossed to the door. “I’ll be back in a moment to give you something for the pain, Sophie.”

Sophie managed a smile. “Thank you, Narnerra. For everything.”

Narnerra bobbed her head. “Of course.”

As the door swung closed behind Narnerra, Thorin came around to face her. “How are you truly faring?”

“I’ve had better days,” she admitted softly.

“I know.” He reached out to smooth her hair away from her face. “I’ve been to see Bard. It seems there was a terrible accident out on the Long Lake. I’m afraid Sten Asharm fell into the water and drowned.”

“Thorin…”

“He’s gone, mesmel,” he murmured, curving his hand against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently along it. “This time, for good. He will not trouble you again.”

“I thought that once before.”

“Trust me. He is not coming back this time.”

Sophie pulled the blanket more tightly about herself. “And will I face any charges?”

“For his accident?” Thorin shook his head. “No. As Bard said, sometimes accidents cannot be avoided. And the lake doesn’t always give up its dead, so in all likelihood, no one will ever know exactly what happened to him.”

“Give up its dead.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the iciness that filled her with those words. “How do I live with knowing this?”

“You had no choice, Sophie,” he told her, his voice low and stern. “He would have killed you, had he gotten up on that dock. You did what you had to do. No one would fault you for that.”

“Still…”

“No,” he shook his head, “no still. You did. It’s that simple.” As he spoke, he caught her face in his hands, tilting it to his. “You had no choice, mesmel. None.”

“I know, but—”

“No. No but,” he cut her off gently. “You had no choice. And if you hadn’t have done it, I most definitely would have. No one lays a finger on you while I live and pays no price for it. No one.”

Tears stung her eyes at the quiet ferocity in his voice. “Thorin, I—”

“Let’s get you back to your chambers, mesmel. Heather is out in the paddock with Fífi, but they will be coming in for supper soon. What do you wish to tell her?”

“I don't know yet. I—I have to think about it.”

He nodded as Narnerra came back into the room. “I told her to remain off that ankle for a fortnight, Your Majesty.”

“And I will make certain she does.” 

“Good. You need to rest, Sophie. You’ve earned it.”

“I will. I will.” Sophie managed to smile as her shock slowly eased. Thorin was right. Narnerra was right. She’d had no choice.

She’d done what she absolutely had to do and that was that.

[thatsrightice]

we rest amidst the mad tumult of war

chapter(s): 1-3

word count: ~3.4k so far

main themes: Crosby x Rosie but can be read as platonic, Part 6 Rewrite, mutual pining, entirely fluff, Harry Crosby is insecure AF, look at these educated gentlemen, coping with trauma, Flak House Shenanigans™️, flyboys being flyboys, Croz in a little swimsuit (briefly 😔), suggestive sexual humor from friends, literally just fluff with a dash of angst, humor

pain: ✨pre-existing trauma✨

summary:

Rosie slowly wandered down the stairs, following the sound of Frank Sinatra’s voice as he sang Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear To Tread) into one of the many sitting rooms. He wasn’t sure who he expected to see occupying the space, but it certainly wasn’t Harry Crosby.

or

A rewrite of Part 6 where Harry Crosby is sent to the Flak House with the crew of Rosie's Riveters.

[miraculousmultifan]

hii!! im mira, im 19, and i use she/her pronouns! thanks for checking out my account! im a fanfic author, and although i mostly write sfw fics, i have a couple that are nsfw, so minors tread carefully.

currently, i mainly post/reblog stranger things, hermitcraft, ted lasso, top gun, and bbc merlin (hence, miraculousMULTIfan lol)

ALSO IM CURRENTLY ENTERING MY SMOSH ERA SO… BEWARE I GUESS

here's my ao3 profile, i hope you find something you like <3

expanded list of my fics is below the cut!

AO3

-- Merlin

Nightmares Without You | 3.7k | oneshot | T | merthur | suspected enchantment, sharing a bed |

Arthur has been having nightmares, and Merlin does everything he can to make it better. Arthur is oblivious to it all. OR The one where Gaius has to play cupid, but it actually works for once.

it's a lovely morning in the castle, and you are a horrible magic goose | 11.8k | oneshot | T | merthur | animal transformation, merlin's magic revealed |

So there they were... Arthur cradling Merlin, a goose, while he trudged up the stairs to his chambers. Merlin gave an exasperated honk. How did he manage to continue getting into situations like these?

This is my husband, Arlin | 1.8k | oneshot | T | merthur | fake relationship, flirting |

Merlin and Arthur go out hunting until bandits show up looking for the prince. Merlin does some quick, albeit a bit bold, thinking to try to get them out of the situation.

Top Gun

kiss me, please | 2.1k | oneshot | M | hangster | fake relationship, escaping from a pushy ex |

Rooster needs to hide from an old ex, and who better to back him against a wall and kiss him stupid than Jake “Hangman” Seresin?

slap or kiss | 2.9k | oneshot | T | hangster | spin the bottle, drinking games, mutual pining |

The Top Gun pilots are holding a party outside of The Hard Deck for once, and Phoenix makes sure Rooster is there. She’s making the team play Slap or Kiss, and her role as Rooster’s best friend/wingwoman depends on him and another blonde asshole being there. She just needed to set the stage. They could provide their little song and dance without any input from her.

touchdown on the tarmac | 1.2k | oneshot | T | hangster | life-affirming kisses, idiots in love |

Once they land the F-14 after the mission, Bradley wants nothing more than to take Jake into his arms and kiss him senseless, showering him with all the love he feels. Why should he stop himself? Trick question. He shouldn't. And he doesn't.

it's all fair in love and chess | 4.2k | 2/2, complete | T | hangster | humor, cheating at chess, hangman eats the pieces when rooster isn't looking |

Penny invests in a couple of chess sets for the bar once she sees how much the squadron loves beating each other in games. How could she have known that it would turn into a nightly battle between Hangman and Rooster?

i bet you think about me | 8.3k | oneshot | T | hangster | exes to lovers, wedding rehearsal, hurt/comfort |

Rooster is getting married, and against his better judgment, Hangman attends the rehearsal dinner with the rest of the Daggers. It goes about how he expected, if maybe a little better?

this love came back to me | 1.1k | oneshot | M | hangster | hurt/comfort, presumed dead, exes to lovers |

During the mission, Jake and Bradley reminisce on what they had and what they could have had. Until they end up having it after all.

number neighborhood | 3/13, incomplete | T | hangster | group chat, humor, shenanigans |

[12:36 p.m.] number neighborhood 754-XXX-2324: howdy neighbors! 754-XXX-2327: who the fuck are you *** Jake, bored out of his mind one day, decides to add a bunch of numbers into a group chat and see what happens. It went about as well as he expected.

companionship comes in threes | 2k | oneshot | T | hangster | hangman character study, introspection, first kiss |

“Mind if I play you in a game?” Jake recognized it for what he knew it was—a polite way of telling him that he was hogging the pool table with the pathetic game he was playing against himself—but part of him wanted to interpret it as something nicer. Maybe Bradley was looking out for him. Maybe he noticed his retreat into the painful depths of his mind and decided to reach a hand down to pull him up. *** Jake was stuck in his head in the days following the mission, and the olive branch that Bradley seemed to offer is dragging him out.

practice makes perfect | 8.3k | oneshot | E | hangster | hangman has an oral fixation, oral sex |

Jake was nothing if not the best. At everything. So when a hookup at a bar tells him his blowjob skills are subpar, it’s enough to spur him into taking a spite-fueled dick-sucking masterclass. From none other than Bradley “Big Dick” Bradshaw himself.

Stranger Things

faded lips red (down your chin bled) | 6.5k | oneshot | T | steddie | post-season 2, reformed jock steve, tender wound care, sharing clothes |

After basketball practice, Steve comes across an injured Eddie Munson and takes him home to patch him up.

something's on my mind (and i'm focused on you) | 11.8k | oneshot | T | steddie | pre-season 4, steve subs for hellfire |

When Dustin pleads with Steve to be Lucas's substitute for the Hellfire game, he finds himself unable to say no, leading to the realization that the Eddie he had been so jealous of was actually Eddie Munson. And he had only gotten hotter since Steve had graduated.

The Baby Project | 33.9k | oneshot | T | steddie | post-season 2, school project partners, fake flirting | ART HERE

Steve turned around with a grin and propped his elbows up on Munson's desk. Then, before he could really think about the words coming out of his mouth, he said, “Guess that makes us married then, huh darling?” Munson, of course, stared back at him blankly, but instead of backtracking or something, Steve batted his eyelashes for good measure, really hamming it up. Munson blinked at him once. Then twice. Then he raised an eyebrow and said, deadpan, “What the fuck are you talking about?”. *** In the last month and a half of Steve's senior year, he gets paired up with Eddie Munson for the final project in Mrs. O'Donnell's Home Economics class. The assignment? To take care of a fake baby for four weeks. For some reason, Steve finds himself surprisingly excited. Eddie, not so much.

the purest expression of grief | 2.9k | oneshot | T | steddie | kas!eddie, five stages of grief, angst with a happy ending | tumblr post

Kneeling over the man’s prone form, Steve refuses to believe he is truly dead. They got back to the trailer park quickly, so surely there’s still a chance that he could make it. Right? OR Following Eddie's death, Steve goes through the five stages of grief and attempts to grapple with the consequences. That is until a monstrous figure breaks into his house and throws his heart through a loop.

[itsthestutterforme]

Indenial (Jim Hopper x black!reader) [1/3]

Summary: You’re afraid that Jim still has feelings for Joyce. He’s willing to do anything to prove you wrong. Will that be enough?

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, angst (tears, heartbreak)

**

“I said I was sorry, baby,” Jim states, looking over at you for a second before returning his gaze to the road. You hummed in response and watched the outline of the tree tops blurring together. “The silent treatment, really?”

Jim forgot about your date, again. He stood you up because he was helping Joyce, again. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Jim.” You said nonchalantly. He pulled the car into park and took the key out of the ignition. You hopped out of the car and walked to the house.

“Y/N,” you shook your head but he caught your wrist anyway. “Come on, talk to me.” “What’s the point? You don’t listen to what I’m saying anyway,” you yanked your arm away. “Hey, hey!” He stood in front of you to block you from walking away.

“I hate fighting with you, baby. Can we please just talk this out?” His warm hands ran up and down your arms, he felt the goosebumps littering your skin. “You’re freezing,” he took off his jacket. “I’m fine,” “Don’t play that with me,” he reprimands as he draped his thick, sheriff’s jacket over your trembling frame. “There you go,” he closes the jacket around you and rubbed the sides of your arms to warm you up.

You sighed in relief at the warmth and his scent of pine, your air turned into smoke in the cold Indiana night. Guilt weighed on your chest. “Hop, I..” you trailed off and looked down at your feet. He takes your chin in between his pointer finger and his thumb to lift your head up to meet his gaze.

“You didn’t have to-“ he kissed you and nibbled at your bottom lip when he pulled away. “Of course I did, you’re my girlfriend.” “I just miss you,” you said softly. “I miss you, too, darlin’. I’m so sorry I forgot about our date. You look gorgeous,” his hands slid to your hips and squeezed, digging his thumb into your pelvic bone.

You don’t want to leave him. You loved him too much. But you don’t know how long you can deal with this. “Come on, let’s go inside. You must be freezing.” He offered.

**

You came home early from break when you heard Bauman’s voice booming from outside. You treaded lightly so the porch stairs wouldn’t creak like it normally does. “It’s obvious from the way you act around the each other, how often you argue, the way you steal glances at each other when you think the other isn’t looking. It’s more than chemistry.” He states, annoyed with the pair in front of him.

“Well at least someone had the balls to say it,” you stated, walking through the door. Hopper’s hand drops from his face at the sound of your voice. You looked to Bauman then to Joyce. Both had a look of shame on their faces. “Baby,” Jim starts. “I’ll have my stuff out tomorrow,” you closed the door and retreated back to your car.

“Y/N, wait!” Jim called after you. You heard his hurried steps behind you and turned around before he could get ahold of your arm. You stared at him for a moment and raised your eyebrows to challenge him to say something. “Bauman doesn’t know what he’s talking about, baby. I want you. I love you.” “No, he’s the only one that has enough common sense to see what’s going on here. I’m just a place holder.”

He lifts his hand to touch your shoulder; he would rub the sides of your arms and give a squeeze to your shoulder that calms you down every time. His warmth always made you feel at home.

“Don’t touch me,” his face scrunches, your words stabbed at his chest. “You’re not a place holder,” “Yes, I am. I’m here to keep you busy until Joyce finally realizes her feelings for you,” “She doesn’t have feelings for me. I don’t have feelings for her. You’re the one for me, Y/N/N.” “Stop lying to me!” You pushed at his chest but he barely moved.

“Tell me the truth for once,” you said softly, tears brimming in your eyes. “I.. had feelings for her, yes. I was pining over her, yes. But that was all before you. When you came into my life, it was.. it made me feel like all was right with the world.” Tears trailed down your cheeks as he continued.

“You’re my home,” “Do you know what it’s like? To be so deeply in love with someone and watch them fall for someone else? And they won’t even admit it to themselves.” He shook his head in disagreement. “I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy, Hop.”

“I love you,” he croaks. “Hop, we found something.” Joyce calls hesistantly. His gaze never left yours. “Now you have all the time in the world.” You turned to leave but he catches your hand and kisses the edge of your palm. “Jim, stop it.” You reprimand, trying to pull your hand away.

“Please don’t make it harder than it already is. Let me go,” you took a shaky breath and wiped your tears with the back of your sleeve. “Please, Hoppy,” he chokes out a sob at the nickname he hated but learned to love. He inhaled the scent of your floral perfume on your wrist and held on for a few more seconds before letting go.

You stared him for a moment, more tears leaving your eyes. “Goodbye, Jim.” You took quick steps back your car and slid into the passenger seat. It took every fiber in Jim’s body not to run after you. Especially when he saw the outline of your body shaking in your car. You clapped a hand over your mouth, attempting to get your breathing under control passed your sobs.

You turned over the ignition and reverse away from the dead end sign before pulling off.

**

It felt so odd being at the house you lived at before moving in with Jim. You never put it back on the market. You always felt like shit for not selling the house. You could always use the money but.. you just weren’t ready to completely give your life to someone. To you, giving up the house was giving up your way out.

Not like Jim would do anything to scare you into leaving. He was perfect, but he was in love with someone else. You wiped your eyes before more tears could escape and walk over to your landline. You dialed your mom’s number and sat on the floor below the phone.

“Hello?” She answers. “Hey, momma,” “Oh hey, suga, it’s been a while since I heard your voice, sweetheart. How are you?” She greets. “Not so good, Mom.” “What happened, sweetheart?” She asks. You let out a breath of air before saying, “I separated from Jim,”

“Oh honey, what did he do?” “There was someone else,” you heard her gasp and the sound of her shuffling about. “He cheated?” “No, he didn’t cheat on me. He just.. he had feelings for someone and didn’t want to admit it to himself.” “I’m sorry, baby. You want me to send your sisters over there?” She offers.

You took some time to think. “I don’t know if that would be the best idea, ma.” “Why not? We’re stronger together,” “I just… I can’t help but think if there was something else I could have done-“ “Listen to me very closely. You. Did. Everything. Right.”

Jim was on the other side of the door, listening to the whole conversation. He’s been on your porch for a while now, trying to come up with the right thing to say. It’s only been five days but it was the worst five days in his life. He barely got a lick of sleep; there was no point without your head resting on his chest.

But it was just starting to dawn on him that he was the reason why you were suffering. He was the reason you were sobbing loudly to your mother. The one that hurt you. Your voice rings in his head. “I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy, Hop.” Maybe it was time for him to let go..

Your head snapped towards the creaking outside the door. “What happened?” your mom asked over the phone. “I heard a sound outside,” “You want me to call the police?” “Just wait a minute, ma,” you set the phone down gently and grabbed the bat as you advances towards the door. You heard the creak again before you swung the door open.

To your surprise, there was no one there. You peaked your head out and saw no one. “Hm,” you huffed before going back inside and locking the door. Jim waited a few minutes, he sighed in relief when he saw you for the first time in days.

His heart sank once he noticed how puffy your eyes were. He wanted nothing more than to hold you and apologize until he was blue in the face. He wanted you kiss your red nose and smooth his hands over your fluffy, 3c hair. But he couldn’t, so instead he ran a hand over his face and pulled off your street.

[nothinghereisworking]

From Gondolin With Love - AO3

Rating: G No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Pengolodh Wordcount: 662

The change of season offers the perfect chance to see the familiar from a fresh perspective.

Pengolodh struggled up the narrow path, burdened with satchels of scrolls, pens, inks, and other sundry items, plus the somewhat excessive fare which Salgant had prepared and insisted he take with him.

Though the snows had melted on the valley floor, it did not take much to find frozen patches stubbornly holding out among the shadows and hollows of the surrounding mountains, especially on the north face where the sun did not yet fully reach even at midday.

Early spring flowers painted the hills where the pines opened into a meadow, a tapestry of colors reclaiming the winter landscape and filling the air with their scent.  Little streams of snowmelt trickled across his path, sparkling in the afternoon sun, and offering regular opportunities to stop and refresh himself on his journey.

He smiled as he considered that often repeated proverb that it is the journey and not the destination which holds meaning.  While he could not agree entirely - after all, when Gondolin had been their destination so many years ago, the journey was quite secondary to that aim.  But in this particular instance, he found he not only agreed but that there was not even a destination he was necessarily aiming for.  The journey was all; seeking to move away rather than toward.

It had been shortly after the spring festival - with its flowing wine and renewed evening concerts - that Pengolodh decided what he needed was distance from the din and distractions of the city.  Room to clear his head and return to the task of writing his accounts.  Most importantly, time away from those who were only too eager to lay claim his attention and humbly boast their own accomplishments which were ever deserving of his chronicles.

Often of late he had wished that he had more time to return to the foundations of his profession as a member of the Lambengolmor, rather than the ever increasing social demands that had become likewise increasingly wearisome.

It had reached the point where he felt the only way to escape such expectations was to flee the city entirely.  Which was what had brought him to this moment: treading the narrow path that ribboned along the middle-slopes of the Echoriad, picking over damp earth and fallen rocks, cautiously avoiding tenacious flora and the scurry of little creatures emerging from their winter burrows.

From the slopes above he heard the calls of swallows and chickadees, and the click and buzz of insects all around.  It was a simpler music than that which rang in the city, purer.  It enfolded him and drew him further up the mountainside, wishing to see what lay around the next bend.

But what he found around the bend took his breath away, when the trees parted and the light of the late sun set the city ablaze, the Tower of the King a shining spire in its midst. From this vantage he could see the fountains, haloed in rainbows, the glimmer of gold and diamond-set sculptures, and the emerald fields of Tumladen which lay all around.

High above the politics and personal grudges the city became another thing entirely - the promise which had enticed them all to follow Turgon those many years ago.  He saw it as if wholly new, unblemished.  His heart swelled with a love for his city so great that it ran down his cheeks and weakened his knees.  

Sinking to the ground, he did nothing but look upon it as dusk turned to twilight, night to dawn, noon to dusk; the dance of the heavens offering something new to see with each turn.  He breathed deep of the crisp alpine air and watched the eagles circle far overhead.

At long last he drew forth pen and paper and wrote:

High and white were its walls, and smooth its stairs, and tall and strong was the Tower of the King. There shining fountains played, and in the courts of Turgon stood images of the Trees of old*

______________________________________________________________

*quote from Of the Noldor in Beleriand, The Silmarillion, JRR Tolkien

Lambengolmor - Loremasters and historians

[serenityscribes]

My Happy Place (2023)

So many of my favourite places Now belong to someone else The spaces we tread as a child Tend not to remain ours forever The smell of the cedars The crunch of the pine needles Underfoot despite sweeping Rocky stairs down to a dock Trees who’s tops you can hardly see A call of the loon in the dark Peace disturbed by train whistles Bustling with cargo to and fro Water that welcomed in August As much as it did in October To test the mettle of dedication And gentle daring from the cousins So many of my favourite spaces Now exist only in ink on paper Or the wistful memories of what was My happiest place

E. Ecker, April 7th, 2023

I may update this post with an actual picture of the lake front of the cottage. For now it remains the banner photo for this good ol’ tumblr. There’s something magical about the water of that lake.