#this boi owns four articles of clothing and they are all denim

[yolo-contendre]

Billy Hargrove’s Clothes

Hi, I’m a sad cretin and have nothing to do but sip gin and catalogue each one of Billiam Hargroove’s outfits, scene by scene, throughout S2. Excellent possibility the gin will seize me half-way through this. STAY TUNED. (Also, I’m chucking half of this under a keep reading because, DISCLAIMER, it’s loonnggg). 

Ok, our first scene. 

We already know he wears boots. But did we know he wore black motorcycle boots with a big old pilgrim buckle? Probably not. They also have heels. The jeans are mid wash denim and boot cut. Which means we don’t know if this feckin’ dweeb wears socks. Since he’s so gross, I’m gonna place bets on no. 

Then there’s this: 

From the same scene. Billy’s wearing his denim jacket, which you’ll see a lot more of. Today, he has his earring hoop in. It appears to be silver. He’s wearing a white henley-styled shirt (notice the waffle pattern), his necklace, and his cigarettes stuffed into the left breast pocket of his jacket. Idk what brand of cigarettes he smokes. Someone tell me. Help. Something with red and blue? 

Next up: 

Here, Billy is rockin’ almost the same feckin’ outfit as above, but today he has on a wife beater, a denim snap shirt, and his trusty denim jacket. We can see the hoop too, just a little baby bit. The cigarette carton is red, and I believe, but don’t quote me on this, the blue part is electrical tape? The carton appears to have a red border around it. I searched way too long for old cigarette cartons on google, but didn’t find a design that looked close enough. 

Same scene. A reminder that Billy has a brown messenger bag! It looks pretty thin here because I doubt this boi carries around his textbooks or homework. There’s something yellow inside it, probably a binder. Today, his cuffs are undone on his denim jacket. You can also see his ring, which he wears A LOT.

 Now it’s Halloween. Oof bb. He brought a leather jacket out tonight. Probably treating the denim one to a nice night in. No shirt. His necklace appears to be gone? Actually, this is the first scene where he doesn’t have it, which is interesting. Why’d he take it off? Midwash jeans again, and a black belt. 

So. He’s wearing fingerless gloves here (WHAT IS HE DRESSED AS? WHO IS HE DRESSED AS?) and his jacket appears to have a pin on it, attached near the left breast. I couldn’t get a good enough look at it to see what it was. Diggin’ that diagonal pocket, Bills. Still no sign of the necklace. 

And we spot the necklace again. Very faintly in this burry grab. Billy is rocking the only pair of non-tennis shoes on the court. A pair of classic hightop Converse, which appear to be knockoffs, because they don’t have the star symbol. Maybe he didn’t have enough money for the real ones? They seem extremely worn in. The gym shorts are universal, but peeping out of them is a white band. I doubt those belong to a pair of boxers. Safe to say Billy probably wears briefs. At least in this scene. 

Another day, another denim jacket. Our boy really likes this jacket. In fact, I’m gonna say, in canon, it’s his favorite. Today he has those cuffs flipped up. We see the ring in full display. His watch, which is digital, is on his right hand. The necklace is back. The belt looks the same from the Halloween party. Honestly, every man I’ve ever known has always had exactly one belt and no more. I bet Billiam is the same. This is probably HIS belt. THE belt. Shirt isn’t tucked in. Annnnddd, unnamed cigarettes, hanging in his left breast pocket.   

Ok, ok, YES, he’s not wearing clothes here. Kill me. I just wanted to capture these bedroom eyes. Also, he’s wearing his necklace here too. SO. What the feck happened on Halloween? Why did he take it off? 

Denim jacket? Check. Nondescript black belt? Check. Midwash jeans? double check. Our boy is rockin’ his fav jacket today with a little twist. This shirt looks like an actual button shirt and NOT a snap shirt. AND. It’s tucked in. Also, looks like that cigarette carton still has the piece of blue tape on it (unless it’s part of the design). That could mean Billy doesn’t actually smoke as much as I think he does if he has the same carton a few days later. So he might not actually be a chain smoker like I’ve been writing him. 

OKAY. OKAY. We have a NEW leather jacket out to play. This looks like a weathered leather bomber jacket my grandpa gave my Mom sometime in the 80s. Also lovin’ Billy’s aviators here. He’s wearing a red crew neck shirt and his necklace in this scene. 

Up close of the aviators from the same scene. You can also see here that the shirt really comes up high. Is that still considered crew cut? 

Literally. What is in the fucking background? BILLY. What are you watching? Is it an exercise tape?? What is it?? Okay, so here we got a nice shot of his sweaty, shiny arms in a cut up T-shirt. GAWD. I love the idea of Bills sitting down on his bedroom floor and cutting off the sleeves of his old shirts. Maybe he’s listening to music and watching himself in the mirror. 

Bad quality screen grab, but I wanted to see what his bottoms were. They look, from here, like nondescript basketball shorts. Love the above the knee action, Bills. Of course, he has his knock-off chucks on, and a pair of tube socks. Also, for anyone who wants to know, the Hargrove address is officially 5280 Old Cherry Street. 

Our final scene. THE red snap shirt, which has a white pattern on it. Unbuttoned 4 buttons officially. He’s got his dagger earring in here. 

Billy shrugging into what I presume is the same leather jacket from before. It looks exactly like my Mom’s bomber. 

OOOOOOOHHHHHHH yeah. So, there’s like WAY more than four buttons undone here. Did he undo the rest just for Steve? He’s wearing his ring. He’s wearing his watch. The jacket came off because it’s fightin’ time. The same wash of jeans as previous scenes. I am actually convinced, after doing this, that Billy has exactly one pair of jeans. MAX two. MAX. 

Alright, the gin is gripping me. Hope you enjoyed a meandering walk through Billiam Hargroove’s wardrobe. I’ve come to the conclusion that his favorite jacket is the denim one. He probably only owns like 15 clothing items max, and they all appear to be different solid colored shirts. He has one pair of jeans. Two different pairs of earrings. And two different leather jackets. He is canonically a walking dumpster fire. But, like, a really sexy walking dumpster fire. 

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 12

Masterlist

Winding down from the frenzy of the last chapter... Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤

Word Count: 5.9k

Recommended song: "I Don't Care" by Fall Out Boy

“Mon amour, wake up.”

Pierre’s sleep-heavy voice rouses you from the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of his even breathing under the soothing touch of his thumb tracing patterns on your side.

You crack your eyes open to see him silhouetted by the white light of the waning moon, his bare chest left uncovered by the blanket slung low over his hips. The sight alone has your mind instantly jumping into overdrive, fighting the need to sleep with the need to continue ogling the bare skin a foot from your face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he says softly, reaching behind him for his phone. “We have to be on the M1 in about half an hour.”

“Mmmph,” you groan, snuggling back under the blanket and closer to him, chasing the warmth radiating from him. “The sun isn’t even out.”

His chuckle shakes the bed. “I figured you would say that which is why I made you breakfast and picked out your clothes. All you have to do is brush your teeth and get dressed.” 

You hum appreciatively and press a kiss to his bare sternum. “Is this how you’re going out today? Because I won’t complain but you might cause a few heart attacks.” A kiss to your temple is a small reward for your comment, as well as a concession.

"Don't worry, this is reserved only for you." He stretches an arm above his head, grinning when your eyes immediately are drawn to the way the muscles ripple and pull under his skin. You stare shamelessly as he flexes a little for your benefit, the action going straight to your head. 

"As it should be." You bite your lip and let your fingertips dance over his chest, memorizing the way it rises and falls so predictably with each deep breath. Against your better judgement you trail kisses up over his pectoral and spot them along his shoulder, dragging another light chuckle from him.

"My love," he warns, voice tinted with mischief, "we don't have time."

"Oh I think we do." You continue your path over his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Taking advantage of his biggest weakness, you flick your tongue over his prominent adam’s apple. The move has his hand engulfing your upper arm, giving you a warning squeeze.

"As wonderful as this is" -he sucks in a sharp breath when your teeth graze his neck- "if I'm late Horner will kill me."

"What's new?" You say, but draw back. The mere mention of his name made you see red and shattered the moment. "Do you really want to go back to Red Bull after how they treated you?"

"No," he admits, slipping an arm around you and tugging you up and into a sitting position, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of lust. "But if I want a shot with a top team when my contract is up, I don’t have much choice."

"Where do you see yourself going?"

Pierre studies you as you slip into the clothes he had selected for you. Nothing fancy, just an AlphaTauri branded navy and white hoodie and some light wash jeans. You don't miss the way his lips twitch upward when you notice it's his hoodie, his last name embroidered in block font on the cuff a dead giveaway even if the hoodie hadn't been ridiculously oversized on you.

Cheeky bastard.

"I think I would look good in sunshine yellow," he remarks. You make a show of looking him up and down under the pretense of imagining him in a Renault branded hoodie or their signature black race suit. Truthfully it was just another excuse to drink him in like the fine wine he was and recall how he had tasted on your tongue last night.

He would look good in any color on the grid but you don't grant him the satisfaction of pointing that out. Instead, you lean forward to toy with the waistband of the jeans he had hastily buttoned seconds earlier. "You and Daniel get along just fine." You snag him by the belt loops and yank him forward back onto the bed. "I think you should go to McLaren.”

“I’d still look good in orange.”

You wind your fingers under his waistband. “I think you’d look best wearing nothing at all, actually.”

“The time,” Pierre protests lightly when you pop open the button and undo the zipper. He groans when you yank the denim down around his thighs, finally submitting to your touch and lacing his fingers in your hair. Your lips explore the planes of his abdomen, any and all thoughts of speed abandoned on your end. "If you don't hurry up we're gonna be late."

"Maybe you'll just have to drive fast. I hear you’re good at that."

**********

"So how is it that they got your car all the way to London?"

"It's got its own private jet."

You roll your eyes and smack the hand resting on your thigh. His response is a light squeeze and a chuckle before he continues, "They've got a few spares they keep around for when drivers come to town. I can't be seen in a Mini or it would cause a scandal."

"Oh yes it would be quite tragic." His hand charts a dangerous path along your thigh. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slots a thumb between your legs and presses it tight to the apex of your thighs.

You snap your knees shut, effectively trapping his hand "Now you're just being cruel."

"Only dishing out what you did this morning," he points out and wiggles his hand free to rest on your knee instead. The message was clear: he had shaken you well enough for his liking and was perfectly content to leave you frustrated until he could get you home.

“So catch me up on what I’ve missed,” you say, determined to distract yourself from Pierre’s slight teasing. “What’s new in the life of the rising star in Formula 1?”

“Rising star,” Pierre mumbles and rolls his eyes. “Not yet, my love. Getting there, but not yet.”

“Please, you’re too modest. Last night when you fell asleep- you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, don't give me that look!” Pierre picks his jaw up off the floor and shakes his head as you continue, “I read plenty of articles that called you the next big thing, right up there with Max.”

The comparison didn't seem to sit right with him. He shifts in his seat, rolling words over on his tongue. “I’m sure you’re caught up then. I haven’t done anything really besides train and race.”

“I did notice you’ve beefed up a bit.”

“Yet another reason to thank Pyry.”

“At this point I should send him a fruit basket for his trouble.”

“Maybe you should.” Pierre grins, hand leaving your thigh for a split second to upshift. “What about you? How’s year four treating you?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” you groan. “My senior project is already killing me and I’ve only just started it. We have to design a building from the ground up- I mean I like architecture but I’m trying to be an engineer, not an architect. I dunno why I have to be the one to design a building! At this point it’s just a brick box.”

“Sounds challenging,” Pierre notes, flooring it when he merges onto the highway. Though the speed makes your stomach flip, you don’t miss a beat.

“My team doesn’t do much either, I’ve been doing most of it. I could rant for hours about it.”

Pierre glances at the clock, then back to you. The blue of his eyes is blocked by his signature purple tinted sunglasses, shielding them from the rising sun that casts him in a warm orange glow. “Humor me. We’ve got time.”

The hour and a half drive was by no means dull with Pierre's teasing touches and endless string of questioning along the way. He asked after every aspect of your life that had transpired in the last four months, only stopping you once in a while to interject with an opinion or anecdote.  He didn't stop at your life either, even asking after Ben's relationship. You'd been happy to report that he had indeed wooed his crush and had officially asked him to be his boyfriend.

"Those secret French lessons paid off," Pierre jokes as he pulls up to the imposing glass fronted building that served as Red Bull Racing's headquarters. The sweeping curve of the entrance was flanked on either side by two-story red and yellow bulls; proof that the team's dramatics extended far past the track. Anyone approaching for the first time would have been intimidated by the sheer size of them that suggested they were ready to stomp on their competition at a moment’s notice.

“Guess it’s time.” You sigh and undo your seatbelt and fiddle with the buckle, doing your best to stall. There was no reason to be this nervous. You were no one to these people; the focus would be entirely on Pierre. You would be an afterthought, not that you minded because it made it easier to fade into the background. 

Pierre picks up on your hesitation in a heartbeat. “I’ll keep them off your back,” he promises and you nod, the single sentence taking the edge off. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You reach for the door handle but Pierre tsks and you pause.

"You know better." You bite your lip to keep back the grin fighting its way to the surface as he comes around to open your door. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it and are pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours and heads for the entrance.

The atrium serving as the lobby is breathtakingly gorgeous. You had to hand it to the interior designer; they knew what they were doing. Sleek white marble floors are accented by red and yellow leather chairs scattered in small groups throughout the grand space. A tiered circular modern interpretation of a chandelier hangs above to offer guidance to the accountants, engineers and artists that weave through the lobby on their way to their respective wings or offices.

A waist high, glass front cabinet of drivers helmets serves as the reception desk. The unmistakable scent of a fresh cup of coffee hits you as you approach and the secretary hands a steaming paper cup to someone before they scurry off, presumably to a private office if they were important enough to warrant special attention. The first rays of morning sunlight glint off the silver Red Bull logo inlaid in the black marble behind the woman at the counter, making you squint.

"Bonjour Monsieur Gasly," she says in perfect French. "Ça va?"

"Bien," he says simply and switches to English for your benefit. "Has Christian come through yet?"

"He has," the woman says, glancing sidelong at you. Whatever conclusions she draws about you are insignificant enough that she writes you off immediately, angling her body towards Pierre and resting her chin in her hand. The posturing puts her ample chest on display, nearly spilling out of her billowing blouse, but Pierre's eyes don't wander. "He's not expecting you yet. Voulez-vous un cafe?"

"I'm good." The woman may have been determined to alienate you but Pierre was having none of it. Pierre turns to you, a grin playing on his face. This was your first test as an official couple and he intended to see how you handled it. "How about you, my love? Coffee?"

The woman's eyes slip to where your hand remains clasped in his. She cocks her head so slightly you think you might be imagining it until Pierre's grip tightens, a silent encouragement. Your confidence soars. If this was how Daniel's girlfriend felt when the two of them were out, you finally understood why they didn't hide. It was a rush knowing that everyone wanted Pierre but he only wanted you. No matter how blatantly women threw themselves at him, there was no doubt in your mind that he would never give a single one of them the light of day.

It was about damn time you afforded him the same unwavering commitment as he had shown you.

"No thank you," you reply sweetly with a mocking smile directed to the woman. You lean in and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to fix your shirt though, it’s… slipped. I know I'd hate for that to happen to me and no one tell me, especially at work. I don't think I'd ever recover from it."

Her face immediately turns scarlet as she stands straight and folds her arms over her chest. "If I were you-"

"Let Horner know I'm here," Pierre interrupts and it's somehow the hottest thing he's ever said. His purely commanding tone leaves no room for argument. 

"Of course," she replies with a sharp smile in your direction that makes your spine stiffen. "Good luck. Christian is in rare form this morning."

"Just ignore it," Pierre murmurs and sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand as he leads you across the cold marble and down a carpeted hall. "You handled that well.”

“I may have gotten a few pointers from Daniel’s lover.” Your soft smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The short interaction had sapped most of your confidence, leaving you on uneven footing. “I would rather not have to deal with that again soon though.”

“I can handle the women easy enough when I know I’ve got you to come home to.”

The tightness in your chest eases further when the hall opens into another startlingly white space, this time packed with rows and rows of navy cubicles. But that's not where your attention is drawn- instead, your gaze is immediately snagged by the case of trophies towering high along the back wall. Cups of every shape and size shine within, each one representing a different podium for the team achieved in various years and tracks.

"There must be over a hundred," you breathe, mesmerized by the glinting silver and intricate craftsmanship. The case was easily thirty feet tall and you had to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the ones in the top row. Each one told a story of blood, sweat and tears, each one earned by a driver who had made countless sacrifices to be where they were and finish on a podium.

"A hundred and eighty five to be exact," he counters, laughing at your amusement. "Your inner architect is screaming isn't it?"

"Only a little." 

Pierre laughs outright at your white lie and tugs you along. "You can stare on the way out. I'll even show you which ones were Max's."

"Did you memorize what all his trophies look like?"

"Hey, meetings with engineers get boring. It's one of the more interesting ways to occupy your time when they are going on and on about fluid mechanics and thermodynamics- you know, stuff you understand but not me."

"Oh whatever, you enjoy those meetings and you know it."

"Only a little," he quotes.

People recognize him as you pass and some nod or give a simple greeting as they go about their morning but no one stops him to chat. The air feels a bit hostile, like no one knows what to do with him now that he's walking through the building after a nearly two year absence.

"Do you miss it?" You ask after he smiles at someone for the millionth time. 

"I miss the team," he admits, "but not the management culture. My team was great- they supported me any way they could but it didn't help that Horner didn't exactly encourage them to believe in me. It's hard to crank out results when there's no one on your side."

"I'm on your side," you point out, nudging him with your hip. "You've got me forever, no takesies backsies."

"I'm grateful for it," he murmurs and gives your hand a squeeze. He hadn't let go once; not when he had to open a door or the two of you had to walk single file to let people pass.

The building was a labyrinth and if it wasn't for Pierre you'd have been lost the moment you set foot inside. He navigates the twisting halls with ease, having no need for the countless signs posted along the way.

He leads you up a set of steel stairs after what seems like ages. When he knocks on a heavy oak door, his grip on your hand turns possessive like he suspects the office’s occupant would try to rip you away from him. 

“Morning.”

God, even the one word makes rage simmer in your veins. The voice precedes the man and Christian Horner swings open the door, a plastic smile splitting his face. He doesn't bother acknowledging you with a greeting, instead addressing his driver directly.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a guest.”

“A pretty face was needed around here,” Pierre snaps back without missing a beat. You bristle, free hand curling into a fist. If there was one person you didn’t mind teaching a lesson to, it was Horner. He had little respect for anyone he viewed as disposable- up to and including “underperforming” drivers.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Sure. She can wait out here- you and I have terms to discuss.”

Fine, Horner wanted to play dirty? So could you. When it came to staring him down, you became fearless. He was the one person you refused to let intimidate you.  

Drawing on your newly minted confidence you smile up at Pierre and silence the protest forming on his tongue with a grin. “Gimme a kiss, race winner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours. Cupping a hand to the back of his neck you draw him in and nip at his lower lip. The hand on your hip tightens at Christian's scoff but Pierre makes no move to break away. You linger a moment longer than necessary to drive your point home: you didn’t care what Horner had to say about you, you were here to stay and he would have to get used to it.

Pierre gives you a small, blissed out smile before dropping your hand and following Horner inside. The door clicks but doesn't shut all the way, Pierre leaving it cracked for your benefit.

Uninterested in eavesdropping on small talk, you lean on the metal railing to observe the research and development garage coming to life on the floor below. Hybrid engines in various stages of disassembly dot the space, small teams of mechanics and engineers tweaking components to reduce weight or increase horsepower. Pistons and valves are scrutinized and exchanged before being placed under stress to test their strength.

An FIA official in a red jacket wove through the garage to observe and jot notes down on a clipboard. He looks over the shoulder of an engineer pouring over formulas on a whiteboard, startling him when the official asks a question. Someone calls your name from below and you search for the origin, finally spotting the woman and waving back at her.

Management may have their qualms with Pierre but it was clear there were still some within the team that had his back. They were likely the same ones that knew he would have to leave the Red Bull umbrella to find any semblance of success. They may not have possessed the guts to stick their necks out for him when Horner had cut him but they were at least happy to see him back around headquarters.

"You sure you'll rise to the challenge?" Horner's question drags you back to the mezzanine. 

"I'll take seventh. I'm only a few points away and we have plenty of races left."

He had five races to catch up to be exact. Pierre currently was comfortably ahead of the pack in ninth, Sainz was only three points ahead in eighth, and Norris ten points beyond in seventh. It would only take a DNF or two from his rivals and a few podiums to pass them up.

"Right," Horner starts. "There's a reason you've done so well this season and it's not luck. You've been racing exceptionally well and I don't want that to change."

"If there's something on your mind just get on with it." Pierre's voice is calm and collected in a way yours wouldn't be if you had been in his shoes. You've been dying to rip into Horner since the day he wrote Pierre off.

"There's been a fire in you the past few months since she has been gone-"

"Leave her out of this."

The tone sends a chill down your spine. It maintains the same level headedness that Pierre had perfected over the years and you had come to expect when he was backed against a wall, but it was laced with an unspoken threat. The intent was clear: he would walk out and abandon his chance for a seat at Red Bull if it meant protecting you.

You creep to the door to peer through the crack. Horner crosses his arms, a sly smile on his face. "You would sacrifice your chance at a championship winning seat for her? Everything you've worked so hard for, gone in a flash, because of her?"

"Without question," Pierre answers immediately. The conviction and commitment behind it nearly makes you stumble. "I'm sure there's plenty of other teams that would love to have me after the season I've had. She’s not going anywhere, so either you stop disrespecting her or I walk out."

You clench your fists, ready to burst in and demand Pierre stop being a fucking idiot. His long term plan saw him at another top team that would take care of him and nurture his skill- a long stint at Red Bull Racing was never in the cards. It wasn't an environment for everyone. Some people like Max thrived in it, letting the toxicity roll off their backs but for Pierre it was a cruel form of punishment. However, a seat at Red Bull for the 2022 season could mean the difference between an offer from Alpine and an offer from Haas when his contract was up for renewal. 

The idea of seeing his number stickered to the floor in a Red Bull garage excites and intimidates you. Last time he hadn't been given the chance to prove himself. Would they still hold that against him? Knowing Christian, he probably would. On the other hand, it meant that they admitted their mistake in cutting him mid-season, whether they said it outright or not.

Pierre's redemption day was on the horizon and you couldn't wait to see the look on Horner's face when he finally won. And the longer Christian stays silent, the more potent the urge to throttle him grows. 

Christian gives a slow clap. "Now there's the unwavering commitment that was missing during round one."

Your heart hammers in the dead silence as papers are shuffled. "Here's the contract. Terms are as discussed, you secure seventh in the world championship in 2021 and the second seat at Red Bull Racing is yours for the entire calendar in 2022. No demotions, substitutions, or shuffling of drivers unless medically necessary or mutually agreed upon by all affected parties."

"And the same spec car as the number one seat," Pierre insists, spine straight. "Same strategy." 

Christian waves a hand. "Yes, that's in there too. Feel free to take a moment and read it over."

He does, allowing Christian time to pour a knuckle of whiskey and set the glass before Pierre. He pours himself an identical glass and waits until Pierre signs and initials all the boxes before raising it in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations. Welcome back to Red Bull- conditionally."

Pierre leaves the glass untouched and remains silent, staring his potential future team principal down. He gives the man no margin to question his abilities further, conveying all he needs to with a look that would have had you shaking at the knees. Even if you can't see his face, wrath radiates from him in waves and you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it when it explodes.

"Right then." Christian lowers the glass, his fake smile vanishing. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

"Don't worry. I'll deliver."

You step back and allow him to set the mood as he exits the office and slams the door behind him. Pierre sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You heard all of that right?"

You nod. "You wouldn't have really walked out, right?"

"I almost did."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you should know that he would choose you over all of this, that all of his dreams and everything he had sacrificed to achieve them thus far meant less to him than you did. How many times did he have to prove his unwavering commitment before you realized it was true?

Pierre laces his fingers through yours, the heat welcomed by your ice cold skin. It was as much a comfort to you as it was to him. "I just have to grab some things from Max's office and then we can head out."

His jaw is still set after his stand off with Christian and you want nothing more than to ease his mind. Publicly comforting him with a touch to his chest or a kiss to his neck was out of the question so you settle on temporary distraction.

"Hey, you know what I want to see?"

"What's that?"

"That room full of all the old chassis. You know, the one that they hold all the fancy virtual events in? I wanna see those."

"I think I should be able to get you back there." He veers down a hall and you yelp, pulled along by his momentum. His attitude brightens a little at your laugh. The grin he throws your way is your own personal sun, warming your soul. 

"Hey- hold on." You pull him to a stop and lead him into an alcove. The inch of space between your chests is charged with electricity, begging to jump from one to the other.

"Can I help you?" He asks and grins down at you.

"No," you say nonchalantly. "Just wanted to be selfish for a second."

You rise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other finds the small of your back. You side your tongue over his lower lip and he presses you against the door leading to who knew where and opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, arms winding around his neck and losing yourself in him.

Now that you had gotten over your anxiety, everything was so much easier. You know there's press roaming about the building and any number of them could pass by at any moment but you genuinely couldn't care less. Let them talk; you were over caring what anyone thought or said.

All that mattered was the man beneath your fingertips. You would endure a lifetime of insults if he was the one to soothe the wounds afterwards. As long as you both were happy, no one could come between you ever again.

Pierre pulls away when someone passes by and coughs quietly.  "You're trouble," he murmurs, leaving an arm propped next to your head and effectively caging you in.

"And you're dangerous," you tease, tugging on his hair and exposing his throat enough to nip at it once. "Together we're the perfect pair."

He groans and leans away. "Keep that up and I might have to stay in London an extra week."

You slip out of his grasp and give him an unrestrained grin. "Don't threaten me with a good time." You spin on your heel and set off down the hall, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"You know where you're going?" He calls after you.

"Someone will point me in the right direction, I'm sure."

"Someone like me." He catches up to you and once again takes your hand in his. He was enjoying showing you off almost as much as you enjoyed hanging on him.

"Maybe we should head right to Max's office and hurry home, huh?"

"Maybe-"

"Pierre, there you are."

You both turn to a woman hustling up the hall after you. She’s slight and her brown curls bounce as she jogs to where the two of you pause at a bend. You glance up to Pierre to see if he's just as confused as you are.

"Hey Mary," he says cheerily. "How are you? Sorry I didn't check in with you when I got here."

"Oh it's fine- why aren't you in the Alpha samples I sent?” The woman props a fist on her hip and tips her head to the side. “I think I got your size right now that I’ve laid eyes on you. I was hoping for a shoot today since you've finally come by."

It takes you a moment to register that she's addressing you. You shoot Pierre a look and he offers you a tentative, closed off smile. "Um, what Alpha gear?"

The woman's chocolate brown eyes go wide. "The ones I've been sending to Pierre. Hoodies, dresses, jackets. All the stuff from the new line. They have been sending the samples to you, right?"

"Um, yeah I've gotten them," Pierre says, rubbing his neck. "I haven't given them to her though."

"Oh, I see!” Pink tinges Mary’s cheeks. “I must have missed a memo. I just thought that you'd want to do a shoot with her today, since we already had a quick one planned for you. After all, you talk about her all the time."

"He does?"

Mary nods. "Oh yes, we've all heard plenty about you. You're lucky to have someone so enamored with you. I just dropped off some more samples in Max's office as a little thank you for letting us steal him so often-"

"Okay, thank you Mary," Pierre says abruptly. "I'll get back to you on that."

Pierre steers you away and down the hall. "What was she talking about? Why would they want me to come by for a photo shoot?"

Pierre runs a hand through his hair and pauses outside Max's office. The Dutchman must have been away because Pierre pulls out his key and fits it in the lock. "I just- come on."

He waves you inside and you obey, letting him close the door and grant you some semblance of privacy before continuing. 

"I never formally told anyone that we broke up. Most people came to their own conclusions once they didn't see you around for a while. Some people didn't get the message. Obviously Mary was one of them. I would still talk about you, I couldn't help myself. There was one shoot where Yuki and I were together and he mentioned off hand that you'd be a good brand ambassador. I tried to explain that it wouldn't work but Mary wouldn't hear it and she just kept sending me more and more samples.”

You draw a breath and interrupt his rambling. “But where-”

"I had it all in a box in my office but I struggled to concentrate with a reminder of you hanging over my head. I sent it over here to Max and that's where it's sat ever since. I used the excuse that Max was in town more often than I was and no one read too far into it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper. "I would've taken them. I'm sure you got an earful from Mary."

"Would you have?” Pierre pauses, your silence in the face of his frustration speaking volumes. “I waited four months to hear from you. Tell me that sending you thousands of dollars in unreleased merch wouldn't have made you even more hesitant to come back to me."

Not knowing what else to say, you let your gaze fall to the carpet. Sending you expensive things would have felt something like a bribe, like he was trying to influence you with fancy clothes.

Pierre shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past now. We can take it home today and you can wear it when I take you for dinner and Alpha will get the press they’re after. Everyone will be happy.”

He wasn’t happy. That much was plain to see. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing something intended for you, even that minute of a reminder had been too much for him to bear. God, you had thoroughly wrecked him. You were lucky that there were still enough pieces of him left to heal. 

“I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you cross the cramped space to him, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork carefully so as to not disturb whatever random order they were placed in. You don’t dare reach out to touch him as his shoulders slump, any and all forward momentum he’d gathered suddenly sapped.

“It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.”

Unable to let him suffer alone with his thoughts, you wrap your arms around his middle and let your cheek rest between his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alienate you. I was waiting for you, too.”

“You needed space and I gave it to you.” His hand rests on your arm with a gentleness you’ve come to expect when he lays himself bare like this. “There were so many times I almost gave in to the impulse and just messaged you but I made myself wait. I didn’t want to rush it and make things worse. You always need time to think things through- I knew you would come around eventually. It didn’t make it any easier though.”

You rub soothing circles on his side as you blink back the tears that spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you wait. It had to have been torture-”

He turns in your embrace and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek, the metal of the ring on his middle finger biting into your flushed skin. “It’s alright. You had a lot to sort through and I had to respect that.”

“We lost so much time-”

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head to meet your eyes. “We’re together now. If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you can’t let missed opportunities control you or else you’ll never be happy.”

You nod, swiping your sleeve under your eyes. “What did they send?” you ask, nodding towards the box overflowing with tan and navy threads.

“Pull up a chair,” Pierre suggests, “there’s a lot.”

You roll over Max’s desk chair and tug on Pierre’s arm. Once he gets the picture and sits, you settle in his lap. He winds an arm around your middle, the close contact already soothing your frazzled nerves.

“That better?” he murmurs.

“Much better.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo​

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

[firefly-in-darkness]

Galaxy Princess - 2/3

Galaxy Princess - 2/3

Characters → Y/N & Peter Quill, Mentions of other Marvel characters.

Summary → After the birth of superheroes, several alien attacks and the blip, you were pretty much ready for anything. That was until you met Peter Quill. He burst into your life at lightning speed and nothing could have prepared you for the way he turned your world upside down.

Word Count → 2k.

Warnings → 18+, Smut - oral (male receiving), p in v (unprotected - wrap it before you tap it bro).

Series Taglist → OPEN - send an ask.

Beta → @princessmisery666 // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → Should have posted this at half 7 but everything seemed to go wrong BUT it’s here now… This is for @crushedbyhyperbole - I am so sorry that this is months late to your challenge! [Prompt: To the moon and back - in Part 3]. This is GOTG Vol1&2 Peter Quill set in a post-Endgame world. AND YES MY SCHEDULE WENT COMPLETELY WRONG.

Return to: Series List // Marvel List

Previously: Spare bedding was placed on the sofa and Y/N directed him around the apartment, “The shower is just down the hall. If you can’t sleep, here’s the tv remote and help yourself to food.” 

“Thank you, Princess.” 

“Goodnight, Starlord.” 

“It’s Peter.” His cheeky smile had faded to something softer. 

“Y/N. Goodnight Peter.”  

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.” He laid down and continued to wave until she shut the bedroom door. 

Y/N was too tired to process that she was leaving a stranger on his own, in her home. There was an odd comfort from his determination to get back to his ship and crew; the place he belonged.

After spending the best part of an hour deciding when to leave the bedroom and greet her guest, breakfast the next morning was not as awkward as Y/N had imagined. The moment she sat down at the kitchen table; her apprehension disappeared. It seemed natural to be opposite Peter, eating toast and draining her mug of coffee as he did the same.

“I’ve got some clothes that you can borrow,” She mentioned, trying to sound casual.

“Boyfriend?” His eyebrow quirked, obviously noticing the drop of her eyes, “Ex-boyfriend?” 

The air in the room disappeared, sucked out like a vacuum. Y/N was unable to think straight as the image of the owner of the clothes flashed in her mind's eye. Tears began to form, blurring her vision but before they fell she bit down on her bottom lip. Redirecting the emotional pain.

“My um, brother. I’ll be right back,” She whispered and rushed from the room.

She pushed open the door opposite her bedroom, and breathed in the, now faint, scent of hazelnut and him. The feel of the clothes under her fingertips was bittersweet, and Y/N couldn’t help bringing the sleeve of his favourite hoodie to her nose and inhaling deeply. 

Approaching footsteps echoed around the almost empty room, she pulled out a pair of jeans and a cotton t-shirt, immediately failing at composing herself in time as Peter entered the room. Kindness lined his features, and she couldn’t look at him any longer than a second.

“I think they should fit, you’re a similar height but he is- was- a bit leaner.” She offered him the items.

 Skin ignited at the delicate touch of Peter’s calloused hands that wrapped around her forearm, “Thank you. What was his name?”

“Eli. Elijah,” She whispered, her eyes unmoving from the thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. “I don’t like talking about it. Why don’t you try the radio once more and I’ll head to the hardware store to see if I can fix the transmitter.”

Peter nodded, “Believe me, I know family is a tough subject for anyone.” She met his eyes, sincerity and sympathy stared back at her. “But if talking about it would help lighten some of the sadness in your eyes, I’d be happy to listen.” 

Y/N nodded and gave him a small smile, appreciating the kindness from the stranger.

The fixed transmitter sat on the windowsill. One of the three lights had finally turned on, it had beeped a few times which was, hopefully, a good sign. After four hours of waiting for something else to happen, Y/N and Peter resigned to watching Stranger Things.

Even though Peter was enthralled with the music and monsters that came from the television, he couldn’t help the way he felt as Y/N shared snippets of her life with him. The way she would talk to him about all the things she loved about science fiction, space and of all the new things on Earth. Y/N’s excitement was infectious, and he didn’t want to part with it.

To slow down and spend time with someone as enigmatic as she was a one-eighty on his usual fast-paced crazy life as a Guardian of the Galaxy.  And that’s when he knew that he’d have to stall his departure if possible.

While Y/N was getting ready for bed in the bathroom, Peter grabbed a cell phone from his red jacket and hopped out the window and onto the fire escape, perching on one of the steps. He flipped open the phone and dialled one of the few contacts he had.

“Hey, Bird Boy ‘Merica.” He chirped, glancing through the window to check that she hadn’t left the bathroom. “Can you give Rocket these coordinates? Pick up in five days? Cheers Cap.”

Pocketing the phone, he sat looking up to the sky, watching the stars twinkling in the distance, and for the first time since he was abducted all those years ago, he felt at home. Y/N’s footsteps brought him back to reality; he was leaving but not just yet.

“Whatcha doin’ out there?” She giggled, now in pyjamas and knotting the ties of her robe at her waist.

“Just checking out the sky, Princess.” He grinned at her.

Y/N climbed out the window and grabbed his hand, pulling him up the fire escape. They both greeted Stan on the way, a mischievous look on the older gentleman as he watched the pair laughing as they rushed up the stairs.

Once they reached the top, Y/N dropped his hand and twirled around with her arms open wide, then gestured to the sun lounger. “Welcome to my little piece of heaven.” She smiled proudly, “Take a seat.”

Peter sat back, legs either side of the lounger to allow Y/N to perch in between, “Come up here often?”

“Yeah, every Friday night, at least. It’s how I knew where you crashed,” She pointed to the woodlands in the distance.

“Well, I thank the stars that you were out here. Honestly, I don't know what I would have done.” Peter paused, watching the modesty line her features as she shrugged.

Y/N was different from the other girls he’d met. She had this look of adventure and passion for space, the universe, the unknown. Something that he had only seen in children. He could feel something blossoming; a desire to know more about her, spend more time with her, but he also knew that he’d be leaving and that was not going to put a downer on tonight.

Peter wanted to make the most of the time they had. However long they had. His hands gripped at Y/N’s waist, and he tugged her back, guiding her to lay on his chest. She hesitated at first but after a few seconds, she curled into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. Watching the sunset over the trees.

The cool breeze sent shivers up and down Y/N’s body, she held tighter onto Peter’s waist. Her mind raced with all the possibilities only to be destroyed by her insecurity; maybe this could be my way out? Don’t be silly. He’s just going to leave. You don’t know him; he could be a serial killer.

Peter brushed the strands of hair away from her face, bringing her out of her thoughts. Her body tensed as he tipped her chin upwards. She looked at him in wonder and slight confusion. Peter cupped her cheek, his lips met hers, and she was frozen in place.

After a moment, she melted into him, their lips moulded together seamlessly. Peter deepened the kiss, and earning a gasp from her, it allowed his tongue entrance into her mouth. It silenced her worries and all thoughts of this man being a stranger and being from out of space left her mind. The fact that they were on a rooftop and anyone could glance from the neighbouring apartments slipped away as his tongue danced with hers.

She couldn’t refrain from his touch any longer and adjusted her position; swinging her leg over his and straddled his lap, not breaking the kiss for a second. Peter’s arms snaked around her waist, holding her almost impossibly closer to him. 

The dressing gown fanned around them, giving her body access to the delicious friction of his erect cock through his jeans and her pyjama shorts, the material dampening at her core.

She wished she’d changed into the black underwear set that she had bought on a whim a couple of days ago. She was confident in pursuing this with Peter and she was glad her instincts were correct; it was just bad timing.

Peter’s deep moan disconnected their lips and Y/N bit hers as she watched the pleasure take over his features. His hands trailed down to her hips, gripping tightly to the soft gown, and untying the rope and pushing it off her shoulders. His lips met hers once more, she whimpered as his hands lifted her tank top over her head.

He drank in her appearance, his eyes scanning from her face down to her chest. He surged forward, his mouth leaving wet kisses to her jaw, following the path down her neck. Y/N’s hands found their way into his locks, tugging at the ends as he nipped at a sensitive spot on her collarbone.

Peter glanced up at her, an unspoken request for permission. She nodded and Peter obliged, latching around her nipple with his hand palmed at the other breast. Y/N gasped as his teeth scraped at the hardened bud then she tugged at Peter’s cotton top. He huffed as he finished his assault across her chest and pulled off the offensive article. Y/N stood up and shimmied out of the shorts. Peter followed suit with the denim and boxers.

The summer breeze struggled to cool their heated skin as they admired each other’s exposed figures. The moonlight cast shadows over their naked bodies yet highlighted every delicious dip and sensuous curve.

Y/N dropped to her knees in front of him, ignoring the debris that dug into her skin as she levelled herself with his cock. She used her index finger to smear the beaded pre-cum around his head. She curled her hand, gripping his shaft and languidly pumped.

“Fuck, Princess.” He grunted as she twisted her hand up and down his length. “Want your mouth.”

Y/N immediately parted her lips and began licking his tip then took him fully. The tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat caused her to choke slightly but as she regained her composure she looked up at Peter. Flushed cheeks and the darkened glint in his eyes held her gaze turned her into a mess.

Raspy moans and grunts spurred Y/N on; her tongue swirled, and she took him deeper into her throat once more. His hands gripped her shoulders, tugging her away to stand. The passion erupted between them, a clash of lips, teeth, and tongues. Peter’s hands slid down her body, grabbed at her thighs to lift and she obliged. 

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he laid her down on the sun lounger. She was in awe at his strength while he pulled the cushions to soften her head and back before letting her go completely. 

Peter pulled the blanket across them both then nuzzled at her neck, nipping at her sensitive spots, behind her ear, the corner of her jaw and along the edge of her collarbone. He rested on his left side, to keep her from toppling off the side and to keep his full weight off her.

Y/N whimpered at the way his cock teased at her entrance with each of the restricted ruts of his hips. His hands snaked down to her core, fingers rubbing at her clit, coating in her slick before two entered her pussy. 

Peter’s mouth continued the assault on her neck, leaving darkening marks while Y/N’s soft moans rang through the night. It coaxed the fire burning in her belly; the pleasure shivered to the tips of her fingers and the curl of her toes.

Y/N arched her back, her nipples grazing against the hard planes of his chest. Her head tipped back into the cushions; he was filling every part of her existence with ecstasy. The stars above them blurred as he added another finger; widening her ready to take his dick.

Peter entered her slowly; both adjusting to this new level of intimacy as his lips connected with hers and their tongues joined the fray. Y/N’s core twisted in desire and impatience as she ground her hips to encourage his movement.

Peter pushed and pulled against her body, his pelvis hitting her deliciously with each thrust. Her walls clenched around him as he continued to grind and dip and tug at her. Y/N surrendered her body to him, letting him take control, and relished in every second as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

Her hands gripped tightly to his shoulders, nails digging into his tanned skin as his thrusts slowed but hardened. Their bodies moulded together as one, the feeling of weightlessness reached every corner of their existence as they reached their climax.

Peter pulled Y/N to lie across him, her head tucked into his neck. Their bodies relaxing into the cushions, their skin glistening with beaded sweat and the moonlight shining delicately across them both.

Y/N felt the gravitational pull back to reality; he was going to leave. It was only a matter of time.

To Be Continued...

Everything Tag List; @reann-loves-sebstan​ / @aroyaldarknessblr​ / @thefridgeismybestie​ / @kitkatd7​

Marvel Tag List; @natasha-danvers​ / @musesforart​

[mourntheantagonist]

Please Don’t Jump (it’s Christmas)

tw; suicide attempt(s) and implied/referenced child abuse

read on ao3

“Another year’s over, the snow starts to fall.

Just like you would if you ended it all.”

It’s Christmas time in Hawkins. The Hargrove’s first in the new town. The new home. Billy wasn’t exactly prepared for just how different this year would be. Christmas morning is just him, his father, and Susan. Max lucking out and fucking off to spend the holidays with her Dad in California. While Billy is stuck alone in the house that doesn’t feel like a home. With a Dad that doesn’t feel like a parent. Feels more like a guard. It’s a prison. Six inch deep snow blockade surrounding the house requiring chained up tires if you wanted to go anywhere. Sun blocked by gray clouds. Breath visible against the cold air. It wasn’t California. It wasn’t his home. It was an icy Hell.

Susan tried her best to maintain the usual festivities, but she was clearly upset by not spending the day with her daughter. Believing her ex-husband to be out there corrupting her daughter. Teaching her masculinity and independence. She thinks that’s wrong. It’s bullshit. Billy hopes Max never comes back from California. At least one of them would make it out.

It’s a quiet and boring fucking day to say the least. Past Christmases were spent hopping from house to house. Their blended family resulting in many visitations to random families that you’d only see twice a year around the holidays. Billy only ever liked going to Susan’s brother's house. His son who was just a year older than him actually proving to be pretty fucking cool. Evenings spent out on the back patio smoking a joint, much to each of their respective father’s disappointment.

But that didn’t happen this year. Only being in the shithole for two months they didn’t know anybody. No family nearby. Left to their own devices and Susan’s shitty cooking. It was lonely. The dinner table is quiet. Sounds of cutlery clinking against the nice plates that were reserved for special occasions. His father sitting across from him, waiting patiently for Billy to do something so he could get his fists dirty.

It was lonely.

“But tonight’s not the night.

If only you’d answer my calls.”

Steve was alone. Completely and utterly alone. His house is empty and bare of decoration. The snow outside his house and the music on the radio being the only indication that it was Christmas at all.

He got a letter in the mail. A store-bought Christmas card that looked to have come from the same stack they send to all their colleagues. No additional message. Just signed ‘Mom and Dad’ with two hundred dollars inside.

He felt like just a name on a checklist. Not like he mattered. But maybe he should just be grateful they even remembered. They didn’t even call. The only person to wish Steve a merry Christmas this year was the guy behind the counter at the gas station. He must be having a lonely Christmas too.

Steve holed up in his room, working his way through a case of cheap beer trying to make himself feel warm inside despite the shivering outside temperatures. Numbing the pain and forgetting the fact that his parents won’t answer the phone. He eats a two day old turkey sandwich and calls it his Christmas dinner. No point in making a whole turkey for just himself to eat alone. Even if he knew how to make a turkey.

Last year he spent Christmas with the Wheelers. Years prior spent with Tommy H. and his family. This was the first Christmas Steve spent truly and utterly alone. He didn’t have Tommy or Nancy anymore. He didn’t really have anyone but Dustin, who was off in Chicago for the holidays.

Nancy had Jonathan. Tommy had Carol. Steve had nobody. But who’s surprised?

Nobody would care if he disappeared. Swallowed up by the deep snow.

He was just a name on a checklist.

An afterthought.

Forgotten.

He calls his parents one last time. A glimmer of hope that they’ll pick up.

But all he gets is ringing.

“Please pick up now.”

They got in a fight. If you could even call it that. More so Neil didn’t appreciate Billy’s nonexistent attitude and made it known with an open handed slap to his cheek. The skin breaking upon impact. Neil told him to get out and not come back until morning. His instructions were to ‘find another ungrateful queer to take you in’.

He left without hesitation. Getting into his car underdressed for the weather. Cranking the heat as high as it would go to end the teeth chattering. He just drove. Bumpy along snowy paths. Slower than his preferred speed. He just drove. Nowhere to go.

He turns down an unfamiliar road. It’s dark and there looks to be no sign of life near. Just trees upon trees covered in snow. Maybe he’ll get lost out there. Maybe the car will shut off. He’s heard freezing to death is peaceful.

But the car powers through over rough and tractionless terrain until it stumbles upon headlights in the distance. There’s a clearing up ahead where the car is parked. There’s a figure sitting on the hood. He doesn’t recognize them until he’s parked beside them.

“Harrington?”

“Oh no, another Christmas alone.

I would talk you down,

if you would answer your phone.”

“Not thinking of jumping are you?” Billy asks, it’s only supposed to be a joke.

But Steve doesn’t answer, which is concerning. He’s not answering the question and he’s at the quarry by himself at ten pm. Billy counts three beer cans scattered in the snow below. Steve is crying and staring at the frozen over water that is just a few steps away.

“You know they say it’ll only break bones if you jump in the water from here. You think it’ll work better when it’s frozen over?” He says it so bluntly. Like he expects Billy to cheer him on as he lets himself walk over the edge.

“Shut the fuck up Harrington.”

Steve gives him a determined look before he downs the rest of his beer and tosses the empty can over his shoulder. He doesn’t move his eyes from where they’re staring into Billy’s soul. Tear-stained with frozen lashes. He’s been out here for a while. He doesn’t remove eye contact as he takes a step forward, no longer resting on the hood of his car.

He looks away as he takes the second step. Back towards the cliff in front of him. Just a mere four feet separating him and the drop off.

“This isn’t fucking funny Harrington.”

He takes another step. This stride longer than the first two.

“Please,”

Billy grabs him hard by the shoulder before he can take another step forward.

“Let go of me.” He says it calmly. But he still struggles against Billy’s hold on him. But Billy’s grip is strong on him. His feet are planted deep in the snow. He’s not going anywhere. And neither is Steve.

“Don’t,”

“Let me go!” He cries this time. He’s pleading with Billy in between sobs. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!” He’s sobbing. Hot tears dripping down and melting the snow beneath him. Fighting as hard as he can against Billy’s grip.

Billy pulls him towards him and away from the cliffs edge. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just allowing basic instinct to take over.

He pulls Steve close. Arms wrapped tightly around him leaving him immobile. Steve is warm against him. In all the chaos Billy hadn’t noticed how cold he had gotten. Steve sobs into his jacket. A combination of snot and tears soaking the denim.

Steve is slamming a free fist into Billy’s chest as hard as he can. Whispering demands to free him. To just leave him alone. Billy squeezes tighter.

After about a minute of struggling against him Steve collapses to the ground bringing Billy down with him, knees buried in the snow.

Billy doesn’t recognize the weight of the situation until that point. He just stopped Steve Harrington from killing himself. He forcefully dragged him away from the literal edge.

“Let’s get you home.”

“Jump.”

Steve is silent the whole ride to his house. He failed at most things, why did he think this would have been any different? To make matters worse it’s fucking Billy Hargrove who manhandled him off the ledge. He definitely didn’t care about Steve. Probably just wanted to be the person to do the deed. Steve would probably let him at this point.

Billy holds him up as they walk in through the front doors of his house. Steve must be borderline hypothermic. His finger tips are still blue and absent of all feeling.

Billy guides him to his room and Steve just lets him do what he wants to him. No more energy to fight back. His last attempt proved unsuccessful.

Billy sits him down on the bed. Neither of them have said a word yet. Billy is shaking as he rummages through Steve’s drawers, unsure if it’s due to him still being freezing or the nerves and adrenaline from what just happened. What the fuck just happened?

He picks out a pair of pajama pants and a tshirt and tosses them to Steve. Wordless instruction to change. Steve however, makes no attempt to move.

“You going to make me dress you?” Billy asks. The first words he’s said to Steve since the breakdown at the quarry.

Steve still doesn’t move. Just stares intently at the floor. Physically and mentally numb.

Billy sighs as he moves toward Steve and begins by pulling his jacket off of him. Steve is cold to the touch. His arms are limp as he removes them from each sleeve. He pulls Steve’s sweater over his head. It crunched as it has been wet and frozen from the snow.

Steve starts to shiver as the article is removed from him and he is left bare chested. Billy grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and tosses it over his shoulders.

Steve moves for the first time to grip the blanket and wrap it around himself completely. Billy gets onto his knees and unbuttons Steve’s jeans. Both boys try to ignore the awkward tension in the room as Billy’s hands graze too closely to his dick. He lowers the zipper with careful hands and pulls his jeans down his legs by the waist band. Pulling off his shoes without unlacing them before pulling the jeans over his ankles.

Quickly he puts the picked out clothing on Steve. His eyes are still fixated on the pattern of the wooden floor below him. Memorizing each marking in each plank. Avoiding Billy’s gaze as best he can.

He has to be in some kind of dream. Or a nightmare. Because why else would Billy Hargrove be helping him out. So tenderly undressing him and acting so caring. So human. It’s not normal behavior.

Steve is right. It’s not. Billy could see himself just a couple months ago seeing Steve standing on that edge and just driving away. Leaving him be and not giving a shit about his death being on his conscience.

But tonight? It was different. The drive over he had those same thoughts in his head. It would be so much easier if he just died out there. Easier for him and everybody else.

But then he sees it. Sees that same pain inside of him eating at someone else that they’ve too reached that conclusion. And it freaks him out.

Because Billy doesn’t want to die. The thought is nice, but it’s also terrifying. He just needs someone to talk him down from that cliff. So does Steve.

Once the clothes are on Steve lays down on the bed and buries his face into the pillow. Billy just stands there, unsure whether it’s okay just to leave him like that.

“Stay.” It’s muffled under the pillow, but he definitely just asked Billy to stay. “Please.” This time he looks up at Billy with teary eyes. No use in shame now. He moves over, opening up a space on the bed for Billy.

And Billy doesn’t have anywhere to go. And he’s freezing and he’s exhausted and he doesn’t want to find that Steve died because he left.

So he crawls into the bed and lays down beside Steve, who clutches his jacket and pulls him in close to him and starts to sob again. Billy doesn’t know what to do so he just rubs his hands up and down Steve’s back until he eventually cries himself to sleep. Billy doesn’t fall asleep. Too focused on keeping this broken boy safe like it’s his responsibility. And he hates that. That soft feeling he’s letting creep through. The buried feelings rising to the surface he desperately wants to push back down.

When Steve wakes up in the morning, Billy is gone.

There’s a sticky note on the nightstand.

‘Merry Christmas Steve. Don’t kill yourself.’

“Another year’s over, you’re spent on the floor.

You burn all the pictures you hang from your door.”

Billy’s only been out of the hospital for a month once Christmas finally rolls around. Living at home has proven to be a worse Hell than the upside down. His father is constantly on his case about being lazy by laying around all day. Constantly threatening to kick him out on the streets. And that was hardly the worst of it.

Billy being gravely injured did not halt Neil’s abuse. It only aggravated it more. Plus the fear of leaving marks became less worrisome as Billy was not only bed ridden and wouldn’t be seeing anyone, but he was already so scarred up from the Mindflayer that nobody would even bat an eye anyway. His body was free real estate.

He stopped caring about whether or not Max was aware of everything. Billy was no longer a child. Nobody would care even if she told. Neil didn’t bother being quiet, sometimes didn’t bother taking it into another room. Disciplining Billy in his own unique way right before Max’s eyes.

Max would yell at first. Tell him to stop. To stop hurting Billy. But it just made things worse. Eventually she stopped. Stopped yelling at Neil and started yelling at Billy. Telling him he has to get out. That he has to fight back. It was a ridiculous idea.

“Don’t be stupid, Max.” Is all he’d say before locking her out of his room.

Christmas evening is when it all hits the fan.

“You’ve got family and friends,

But you don’t really talk anymore.”

Steve isn’t alone this Christmas. Not necessarily. The Henderson’s invited him over for a Christmas brunch before they headed off to Chicago for the rest of the day. It was nice. She even sent him home with a casserole for him to heat up for dinner. It was probably one of the best Christmases he’s had in a long while, which is really depressing when you think about it hard enough.

Steve can’t stop thinking about last Christmas all day. How he was too close to that cliff and Billy Hargrove had been the one to pull him away. Had been the one to dress and undress him in his number state. Had been the one to lay next to him in his bed while he sobbed into his shirt. Until he fell asleep.

And then they never spoke of it. It got to a point that Steve half convinced himself it was a dream. But it wasn’t. Because a dream couldn’t have conjured that note on his nightstand. The note he ashamedly taped to his mirror as a reminder. A reminder that someone out there cared if he lived or died. Even if that someone was Billy fucking Hargrove.

He never figured out why exactly Billy was put at the quarry that night. He vaguely remembers a cut on his cheek, but not much else. Figures he must have gotten into a fight, it’s Billy after all.

He’s sitting at his dining room table eating up the microwaved casserole and thinking about how Billy is doing this Christmas. The guy nearly died and Max had mentioned one time or another that their home life wasn’t exactly spectacular. Not the place for a speedy recovery.

He’s not expecting his phone to ring this year. His parents never called anyway. That’s why the sound causes him to jump and drop his fork onto the plate below.

He’s not expecting to hear Max’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Steve. It’s Billy. He- he left, and he’s hurt, a-and it’s cold out and he doesn’t have his car… he’ll die out there.”

Steve shushes Max into the phone. He can hear her sniffles over the receiver.

“It’s okay. Relax. I’ll go find him okay? I promise.”

“Don’t bring him home. Take him to yours. Promise me.”

“I promise Max.”

Steve hangs up the phone and drives straight for the quarry.

“Just like last year.”

Steve is there before Billy. Which, albeit, makes sense considering Billy is traveling by foot. But Steve is waiting just a little longer than he’d hoped and starts to get concerned that Billy has died somewhere out in the snow.

The traveling figure in the distance shouldn’t calm his nerves as much as it does. Because he knows exactly why Billy came here. When Billy gets closer to him and he can see him better he gets nervous again.

Billy is covered in fresh bruises and cuts. Bruises and cuts that had to have occurred in the safety of his own home. He remembers that the Hargrove home is not a safe space.

“Oh no, another Christmas alone.

I would talk you down,

if you would answer your phone.”

“What are you doing here pretty boy?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

Steve digs his heel into the snow, contemplating.

“Max called my house.”

“How’d you know I’d come here?” Billy asks, curious.

“Wishful thinking.”

Billy steps closer to where Steve is standing. “I’m not going to have to pull you from the ledge again am I?” His voice is deep and slightly pained.

Steve shakes his head.

“Good. Don’t want to be a part of a double suicide. They’ll start to think you’re a fag like me.”

Steve doesn’t know which revelation should shock him more. That Billy is queer or that he’s planning on jumping into the quarry. Steve steps closer to Billy, putting himself in between him and the ledge. This could quickly turn into a murder-suicide of he’s not careful.

“Don’t do that.” Is all Steve says.

“Just leave me alone Harrington. Just making snow angels.”

Steve steps even closer.

“Why should I? You didn’t have the same courtesy for me.”

“That was different.” Billy almost whispers.

“How so?” Steve inches closer, hoping Billy will take a step back. He doesn’t. The two are nearly chest to chest.

“People actually care if you live or die.”

“Max cares. She called me crying. And fuck you. I care too. You fucking saved my life. You expect me to just let you end yours?”

“You hit me with a car.”

“Shut the fuck up Hargrove.”

Billy pushes him away. Hard enough that he steps back, but not hard enough that he goes stumbling over the edge.

“I should have fucking died.”

“Please,”

“Billy stop!” Steve grabs onto Billy like he’d done for him last time. But Billy is so much stronger.

“Billy I promise it’s going to be okay, just don’t do this.” He’s trying to maintain his cool but Billy’s showing no signs of slowing.

“Don’t you dare,”

Steve tackles him to the ground. Showing no remorse for any pain he might’ve caused him because the alternative is worse. Billy’s body is buried in the snow and he’s sobbing beneath the weight of Steve on top of him.

Steve wipes at his tears with his thumb.

“I’m taking you home.”

“No. Please.”

“I’m taking you to my home.”

“Jump.”

Billy is sitting on the couch in Steve’s house wrapped up in the blanket and sipping on hot cocoa. Trying to figure out how he ended up here. Everything that happened at the quarry and before becoming one huge blur brought on by copious amounts of alcohol.

They’re watching a fucking Christmas movie side by side on the couch like nothing even happened. Like they’re friends. Which they’re definitely not.

“Was it your Dad?” Steve asks him when the movie goes to commercial. He’s not afraid of Billy anymore to ask the questions he has.

Billy sees no point in denying it now. He nods his head and takes another big sip of cocoa.

He’s not expecting Steve to take his hand. To rub circles into his palm. Something inside Billy melts at the constant. The warmth receding from his hand into the pit of his stomach.

“And what you said back there, about being… was that true?”

Billy nods again.

“Yeah. I’m a fucking faggot.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t let go of his hand like Billy expects him to. “About your Dad. Not the gay thing. That parts okay.”

“I didn’t ask for your approval.”

“I know. But sometimes it’s nice to have anyway.”

Steve adjusts his hold of Billy’s hand and interlocks their fingers.

“Merry Christmas Billy. Don’t kill yourself.”

“Don’t Jump.”

Note: Hello beautiful person reading this. I know things can feel rough this time of year and I want you to know that you are so incredibly loved. The hardships will pass, even if they feel like they won’t right now. Just keep on breathing because you are so much stronger than you believe you are.

Love, mandi

[wastelandcth]

I was wondering if you could write something where your cal’s gf and you and the other boys gfs decide to surprise them and dress up as them for Halloween and you wear like a bucket hat and one of his iconic shirts. Anyways sorry that it’s a bit specific, and I love your writing thank you!

this was such a cute idea! thank you so much! also thanks to @5sosstyleguide because i scrolled for like an hour looking at cal’s outfits and it helped with this! also - imagine calum dressed up as john deacon i would combust

Halloween

When Sierra had texted the girl's group chat with the idea, you had never been more excited for a Halloween get together. Halloween was a few days away and you had no idea what you were going to be dressing as. Calum and the rest of the guys had been set on dressing as the members of Queen, they'd all gone to a thrift store to look for everything they needed, so the panic to find a costume had set in a couple of days ago. You didn't think it'd be acceptable to show up to Michael's Halloween party and be the only one who wasn't dressed up, so you were grateful that Sierra had come up with such a brilliant idea.

Three nights before Halloween, you found yourself in Calum's closet, looking through the countless articles of clothing he had collected over the years. You found his custom jerseys from the countries he'd visited. You found his collection of Drop Dead Co shirts, some with holes that you had no idea how they'd gotten there and some that looked like they'd never been worn before. You looked through his vest, a mixture of white, black, and grey ones that he used while lounging around or when he went to bed. You debated on choosing one of his many hoodies, like the green empathy hoodie he'd loved to wear so much but the idea of wearing a hoodie all night at a party wasn't too appealing. But you were on a mission to find the shirt that everyone thought about when they thought of Calum. Hidden behind what seemed like hundreds of t-shirts, you finally pulled out the navy blue Maine shirt. Looking through the rest of the closet, you pulled out a bucket hat that Calum had been obsessed with wearing and grabbed your own pair of Doc Martens that Calum got you for Christmas the year before.

One night before Halloween, you four found yourselves at Ashton and KayKay's place, she'd kicked Ashton out for the night, telling him girl's night meant no guys allowed. You all talked about your outfits and laughed at how the guys had absolutely no idea what was planned for tomorrow's party. You were sat on the bed, watching as Sierra walked out wearing a pair of leather leggings and a silky leopard print button-up shirt with a blonde wig that was curled to match Luke's hair. It was very spot on, the only difference between her and Luke being the height. After a few bottles of wine were drunk between them four, the girls came up with a plan on how exactly you four were going to show up to the party and surprise the guys.

Walking into the party behind KayKay, who was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a silky pink shirt Ashton was known for wearing, you couldn't help but laugh at the band's reactions to your costumes. You could tell they were confused at first, but once you four all stood in a line and posed for a fake picture, their laughter filled the room. Calum, who was dressed as John Deacon walked over to you, a smile on his face as he pulled you into a hug.

"You look amazing! I was wondering where I had put the hat." Calum laughed softly as he tapped the brim of the bucket hat, "Think you look better than I do, and you're dressed as me!" he laughed and shook his head, holding you close as Andy came by to snap a picture of you both.

The party seemed to go by in a blur, countless pictures taken of you and the girls, you and the band, and you and Calum. After a couple of drinks, Calum's wig ended up on your head, the bucket hat still secured on your head as you both watched Michael and Luke attempt to dance along to the fifth remix of the Monster Mash that they'd found on Youtube. You laughed softly, laying your head against Calum’s shoulder as you mouthed along to the lyrics. Poking Calum’s side to get his attention, you looked up at him, laughing as you saw him squirm away from you. His outfit had consisted of the curly afro wig which now adorned your own head, a very colorful and dad like button-up shirt, and some light denim jeans that he had worn as high up as they could go. As he looked down at you, a smile on his face, you couldn’t help but lean up on your tippy-toes and press your lips against his, making sure you remembered this Halloween as one for the books.

[lonelyniqhts]

wow, lindsey is so attractive. anyway. hello, hello! i’m s, but you can also call me sora since s is just short for that. and i’m here with 2 muses!! one of them is morgana jones & the other is frankie sullivan (who’s actually an old muse of mine, but i still love her to this day). as for me, i’m 22 yrs old, i live in the est timezone, i go by she/her, and some interests of mine include overwatch, anime, doggos, and disney movies!

MORGANA JONES.

( lindsey morgan, she/her ) — hold on, was that morgana jones ? i heard that they do believe in the blackwater creeper and all the stories that come from the bayou. either way here in town they’re known to be rather fearless & optimistic, but also immature & eccentric. not unusual coming from a twenty-seven year old who’s lived in blackwater for all her life and who works as a cashier at the grocer. ( colorful sweaters, hot cocoa with mini marshmallows, posters of boy bands, clothes laying all over the floor. )

i. about

with parents who weren’t able to afford having another child, they sadly didn’t have any other option, but to give her up. after talking among mom’s siblings and dad’s siblings, it was soon decided that her dad’s brother would take her in. soon, she went from tba to morgana jones. however, if you look at the family picture, some wonder why a family of four would want to add another? especially when they weren’t well off? well, mr. and mrs. jones just couldn’t say no to adding another baby to the family. and that wasn’t the end of the family’s story. as years passed, the family continued to grow and sooner than later, the jones’ family had ten children in total. as for morgana’s biological parents, they moved out of louisiana and lived somewhere else in california.

morgana lived a pretty average life. she went to school, got good grades, had friends, joined clubs at high school, and went to school events. the only things that were quite different were having to share basically anything with her siblings. a bedroom, food, the bathroom, the tv, etc. it certainly irritated her at times, but she loves her family no matter what and thinks all of it is worth it. while the other thing is the blackwater creeper. she's heard multiple rumors and read various articles about it, but doesn’t have full proof on the creature. however, that doesn’t stop her from trying to find more details as she’s curious and enjoys the lure of it all.

tl;dr a girl who grew up in blackwater all her life with 9 siblings and is quite energetic, optimistic, & extroverted, but can be self-righteous & inconsiderate at times who believes in the blackwater creeper and wants to find out more about it.

ii. details

character inspo

mabel pines (gravity falls), star butterfly (star vs the forces of evil), phoebe buffay (friends), kyoko toshino (yuru yuri), usagi tsukino (sailor moon), the loud family (the loud house), lilo pelekai (lilo & stitch)

PINTEREST

aesthetic

bedhead hair, pouring milk into a bowl of cereal at 3am, making 5 alarms to wake up in the morning, bath bombs that smell like vanilla, pastel star stickers, socks with animals on them, make up tutorial videos, fairy wands, colorful sweaters, hot cocoa with mini marshmallows, posters of boy bands, clothes laying all over the floor

style

definitely a lot of pastel colors. she has multiple oversized, comfy hoodies and sweaters. as well as pleated skirts, dresses, patterned tops, anything with peter pan collars, etc. she also just has a bunch of girly-type outfits. and a few different types of overalls

misc

the reason she only works as a cashier is because she dropped out of college, felt like it wasn’t for her. however, she’s currently considering trying it again

she cares about animals so much that she volunteers at pet stores once in a while and she owns a brown holland lop named fluffy.

she has her license, but tends to prefer riding her pink bike.

for hobbies, she enjoys drawing, jogging, yoga, playing video games, watching cartoons.

her favorite food is basically anything sweet.

she doesn’t have any tattoos, but wants at least one or two.

FRANKIE SULLIVAN, chloe bennet fc.

( chloe bennet, she/her ) — hold on, was that frankie sullivan ? i heard that they don’t believe in the blackwater creeper and all the stories that come from the bayou. they’ve only been here for five months because she wanted a new scenery & she’s considering to open up a shop here. either way the locals said the twenty-nine year old florist owner from las vegas, nv tends to be rather bold & adaptable, but also aloof & stubborn. ( a hot cup of starbucks coffee, plants scattered throughout the bedroom, a person reading alone in a library, being the wallflower at a party. )

i. about

a girl who was born in las vegas, nv. she had wonderful parents that divorced when she was fourteen. however, she didn’t mind it at all. she was happy as long as her parents were. also, she wanted a bigger family, so if they were going to remarry to other people, she was okay with that too. eventually, that was what happened. her mom remarried and she had a step-dad who had children, which certainly made her excited because now she was going to have step-siblings since she was an only child. frankie cared about them and loved them because family meant everything to the girl. she was used to switching houses during the weekdays and weekends, spending time with her mom mondays to wednesdays and dad thursdays to sundays. what also should be mentioned is that she comes from new money in both families, except she doesn’t bother flaunting it. 

by the time she was sixteen years old, she was betrayed by her closest friends and now has a cynical view because she wasn’t able to forgive them. she was told multiple times to get over it, but couldn’t. she continued to wonder how people can be so close then do something harsh to another. it still astonishes her now and from that point on, she didn’t really let anyone into her life, thoughts, or feelings. frankie prefers to use her time indoors watching movies/tv shows, taking care of her plants, reading, or simply going on the internet. if anything, she’s mainly the type to have a one night stand, but has kept only three or four friends with benefits all her life. and has one or two close friends.

tl;dr frankie’s basically only into being friends with plants and she can be rude at times. she also tends to push people away.

ii. details

character inspo: n/a

PINTEREST

aesthetic

walk-in closets but wearing the same 5 outfits, walking through trails, smelling fresh air, having polaroids of flowers, black hair ties, not needing glasses but wearing them for fashion, stacks of books that were actually used and read, a hot cup of starbucks coffee, plants scattered throughout the bedroom, a person reading alone in a library, being the wallflower at a party

style

most of her style is denim and plain-colored tops. she also has a lot of neutral colors. she tends to leave her hair longer than her shoulders and either leaves them down or in a ponytail. 

misc

she has this tattoo on her side.

she owns a florist company, but wants to expand. although, she’s indecisive if blackwater is the right place for it.

her whole apartment is filled with plants, real and fake.

she has an ex who cheated on her when they were dating, but i got too lazy and i don’t have enough time to put it in her about.

[moonbeambucky]

The Price of Gold (Part 2)

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 2102 Warnings: fluff, flashbacks

Summary: As a sports journalist you’ve traveled the world interviewing famous athletes. You’ve loved your job up until you find out your next article is on the last person in the world you ever wanted to talk to, Lance Tucker.

A/N: This doesn’t follow The Bronze canon though some film details are mixed with real world events. Written for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction Dragon’s 3k Follower Creative Content Challenge. My prompt was “I can’t be in love with you!” gif source (x)

PART 1 | THE PRICE OF GOLD MASTERLIST

Adjusting the headphones in his ear Lance pulls his phone out from his pocket, standing in the center of a construction zone of his newly acquired warehouse, the building he refinanced his own house for and is now in great debt in the hopes of developing into a gymnastics center. Everything is on the line.

Debt is not something Lance ever worried about. By seventeen he won a silver medal for the US Men’s Gymnastics Team at the 2004 Rome Olympics and dove into fame head first where a plethora of endorsements were opened to him. It’s what he needed, seeking out fame like it was oxygen; he depended on it. Hearing praise and adoration from anyone filled a part of himself that was missing, no, the part he lost just before reaching his dream. The stadium was filled with faceless people, all blurs of a crowd that cheered him on– all but one.

That silver medal was worthless. It didn’t stop the pain, it didn’t fill the void. It wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t good enough. He set his sights on the next Olympics, pushing himself harder than before. His drive and dedication was unparalleled, sculpting his body to be even stronger, a perfect specimen, a God.

Winning the gold would prove that he was the best, that all of the sacrifices he made, everything he lost would be worth it. Four years later in Beijing he stood on the highest platform, proudly displaying what he worked so hard to earn. The gold medal weighed heavily around his neck and Lance would later learn that the price of gold was high.

Seeing the notification of a new email Lance opened the app, smirking when he saw the name of the sender. He held his breath as he read over the message, shaking his head as he could practically hear the sarcastic bubbly overtone in your words and he hated it. You were always kind and friendly but this was a show, this wasn’t you.

“Come on Lance,” his mother projected her voice towards his bedroom. “We have to introduce ourselves to the new neighbors,” she said, placing her homemade snickerdoodle cookies in a tin.

Emerging from his room Lance looked like a typical kid in the 90’s, his white t-shirt had a quintessential neon geometric design across the front, his light denim jeans had elastic cuffs at the ankle where they were met by the tops of his chunky white Reebok sneakers. Lance trudged towards the kitchen, huffing as he sat down at the table. He didn’t see why he should go meet the neighbors, that kind of stuff was for adults but his mother grabbed his hand anyway, walking them across the street to the single story ranch home to welcome the family that moved in to the neighborhood.

Running his hands through his mop of fluffy brown hair Lance waited impatiently, rolling his eyes around as his mother pressed the doorbell. Movement caught his eyes and he looked at the front window. In between the vertical blinds was the head of a girl roughly his age staring back at him. She smiled and disappeared. Just then the front door opened and the young girl was standing behind the legs of a taller woman.

“Hello, may I help you?” the woman asked, smiling to both Lance and his mother though he kept his gaze on the figure behind her. He smiled seeing that the red bow she wore in her hair matched her t-shirt, chuckling as he noticed the brown bear decal on her denim overalls.

“My name is Dorothy Tucker and this is my son Lance. We live right across from you,” she pointed towards the tan house they walked over from, “And we wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Dorothy smiled warmly as she handed over the tin filled with cookies.

Your mother introduced you both, inviting Dorothy and Lance inside your home. She offered them drinks, Lance taking her up on a request for lemonade and she prepared a small cup for you as well.

Finishing your drink quickly you set the cup on the table, making an audible sound to convey that your thirst had been quenched much to the disdain of your mother, though Lance chuckled. You shared a smile with him, giggling as a playful grin spread across your face.

As your mother and Dorothy got to know each other you and Lance went to play in your room, where it seemed like all of your toys were unpacked at once and scattered all over the place. Plush toys lined your bed, beside it was a toy box filled with balls, dolls and Barbie’s thrown about. There was a bright green bin filled with dress-up clothes and glittery plastic shoes and under your bed was where you stored classic board games, including your favorite Candy Land which you insisted part of the rules meant you had to eat candy while playing.

“Wanna play Lego’s?” you asked Lance who nodded in return.

You both sat down on a colorful play rug in the center of your room. Lance watched as you rummaged through the toy box to pull out a container of Lego’s, laughing as you dumped them out in front of him. He glanced at you every time he went to grab more Lego’s, watching how focused you were on building a large house.

Lance had a couple of friends from school, boys mostly. Girls were, well, if he took his father’s advice girls shouldn’t play with boys. Mitch Tucker thought boys should stick together, getting dirty and roughhousing. Girls should keep their Barbie’s to themselves while boys, his son in particular, plays with Transformers and G.I. Joe’s.

Mitch was a “man’s man” as he often claimed, believing that women should stay home and keep house while the man provides for the family. He would frequently give his son bits of his own skewed advice, telling him to stay away from girls. He would absolutely encourage Lance to be a lady-killer later in life, but for now his skinny son needed to toughen up.

Mitch saw Lance as soft and sensitive and did everything in his power to try to stop him from his favorite hobby, gymnastics. He thought it was for sissies and blamed Dorothy for letting Lance spend too much time around girls doing cartwheels.

“Cool!” You admired the large boat Lance was making.

“Thanks,” he smiled. “So… you live here now?”

“Yeah, mommy said we have to live by my Grammy so we bought a new house,” you replied, repeating the information your parents had told you. “Will you be my friend? I don’t have any friends yet.”

You asked him plainly as you focused on making a car to go along with the house you’d built, though Lance heard the tinge of sadness laced in your tone. It couldn’t be easy to be the new kid in town.

“Yeah I’ll be your friend, Y/N,” he replied, handing you a pair of wheels he knew you would need, somehow even then he was already willing to give you anything you needed.

You had eventually made friends especially once the school year rolled around but Lance would remain your best friend. He was a year older than you but that didn’t stop your routine. His mother would pick you both up after school, providing snacks as you completed your homework at the kitchen table. You both raced to finish so you could have time to play before your own parents came home. Sometimes you stayed over for dinner but you always preferred when Lance came to your house. His dad made you nervous, always raising his voice over little things.

Soon after your mother had to make different arrangements for you after school, signing you up for activities when you could no longer be picked up with Lance. Dorothy had signed him up for gymnastics at a professional school so you were only able to see him at recess and on the weekends when he wasn’t training.

You looked forward to summer vacation because although Lance was still training you had much more time together than when school was in session. You spent every day together, with Lance attempting to teach you some gymnastics, laughing as your backwards roll was always lopsided, or sitting cross legged on the living room floor, playing with the Nintendo your Aunt bought you for the days that tropical storms roared outside.

One day you were swimming together in your pool as your mother kept her eyes on you.

“I’m gonna go to the Olympics!” Lance said as he pushed himself off the wall of the pool and swam before reaching the deep end.

“What’s an oh limp pick?” you questioned, laughing as you dunked your head back to wet your hair, his response slightly muffled as your ears went below the surface of the water.

“Oh yeah well when I grow up I’m gonna be a mermaid!”

“You can’t be a mermaid. They’re not real!”

“Uh huh they are real. I saw them. MOOOOOOM!” you shouted for her, “Tell Lance about the mermaids, we saw them!”

Chuckling under her breath at your response she told Lance she had in fact taken you to see mermaids but she didn’t clarify if they were real or not. You both came out of the water, wrapping towels around you as she brought out a plate of fruit for you to share. A smile graced her face as she watched you together knowing your friendship was special.

A few years had gone by and Lance had begun competing every few months. Though his father hated the sport (not that he ever considered gymnastics as a sport) he was at least able to tell his son the importance of winning despite his coach saying otherwise.

After a long car ride back to Spring Hill Dorothy gently woke Lance who stirred in the back seat of their station wagon. When he saw their driveway he ran out of the car and across the street to your house. Lance was buzzing with excitement as he waited for someone to answer the door. Your dad greeted him, allowing him in before waving to his parents across the street. Lance dashed across the living room, quickly shouting hello to your mother who could only laugh as he ran towards your room.

“Y/N!” he beamed.

Your head shot up from the book you were reading, looking at Lance and his proud smile. He held out a ribbon of red, white and blue with a gold medal dangling below.

“I won the gold!”

You screamed with excitement, jumping up and down with him. “That’s amazing! I wish I could have seen you,” you pouted. You had asked your parents to go to Lance’s competition but they had plans that day.

“Here,” he said, reaching his arm out towards you, “I want you to have it.”

“Really?” you said, your mouth dropping open in surprise.

Lance nodded back and you wrapped your arms around him for a hug. You grabbed your favorite teddy bear, draping the medal around it and placing it proudly on your bed. Lance’s heart began to swell, knowing how much you’ve supported him over the last few years. Even though you couldn’t be there for his win he knew instantly how much he wanted you to have his first medal.

Lance remembered that smile of yours, the way you lit up with pride and joy for his first win. He loved that smile, how it would light up even the darkest rooms and bring him happiness. He swallows harshly, remembering the day that smile faded. He hadn’t thought about it in a while, he didn’t ever want to remember. Memories came flooding back when he returned to Spring Hill, sweet and bitter. He didn’t want to come back here but he had to, and now after everything he’s been through he’s come too far to fail.

He exhales deeply, resigning to the fact that he needs you, or that he needs the coverage you can provide. He doesn’t need you, just like you didn’t need him. Your email was all business, not a single acknowledgement of your history, just the task at hand. So he buries the past away, covering up all of his emotions, bottling the guilt that kept bubbling up at the sight of your name. This was just business he reminded himself as he replied to your email in an equally blunt manner to make arrangements for you to meet.

PART 3

[surveysonfleek]

1041.

1: (truth) Who was your first major celebrity crush? (dare) Put your music player on shuffle and post the first five songs. dare: permission - ro james, so amazing - boyz ii men, when we - tank, over my dead body - drake, rock wit u - ashanti.

2: (truth) What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you in the past week? (dare) Refresh your dashboard and send an anonymous compliment to the person who posted whatever’s at the top of your dash. truth: my phone network sent me a message saying my payment bounced from my bank. i didn’t tell anyone i knew personally but it was still embarrassing.

3: (truth) What are your three favorite things about your appearance? (dare) List all nine of your tumblr crushes, and describe each blog/blogger in one word. truth: i have thick hair (no whites yet), full eyebrows and nice skin tone.

4: (truth) What is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you? (dare) Post the oldest selfie on your camera roll. truth: planned a surprise getaway for me.

5: (truth) If your parents knew everything you’ve ever done, what would they think is the worst thing? (dare) Tag the three nonmutuals you admire most. truth: definitely the drugs.

6: (truth) What is the last thing you purchased? (dare) Tag three people you’ve thirst followed. truth: money for my travel card haha.

7: (truth) How many hours did you sleep last night? (dare) Send an anonymous compliment to the last person who followed you. truth: eh... about 5.

8: (truth) If you could go on a date with any of your mutuals, who would it be and what would you do? (dare) Send an anonymous compliment to one of your four “Biggest Fans” on tumblr. ugh, i’m really not a tumblr person so i’ll skip this.

9: (truth) How did you meet your best friend? (dare) Refresh your dashboard. Open the blog of the person who posted whatever’s at the top of your dash. Reblog their most recent selfie. truth: at a house party through mutual friends.

10: (truth) What was your favorite band five years ago? (dare) Tag a blog that posts very different content from yours, but that you couldn’t imagine not following. idk.

11: (truth) Where did you get each article of clothing you’re wearing right now? (dare) Pick up the closest book to you. Turn to page 39 and copy down line 7. truth: jumper - best n less, undies - bonds, shirt and shorts - cotton on.

12: (truth) What are your five favorite girls’ names and five favorite boys’ names? (dare) Copy and paste the 14th line of text from the last document you worked on in Word or Google Drive. pass.

13: (truth) What’s your most irrational fear? (dare) Tag five mutuals who take amazing selfies. truth: cockroaches.

14: (truth) If you could only wear one outfit for the rest of your life (consisting of clothes you already own), what would it be? (dare) Tag someone you follow who has amazing fashion sense. if the weather didn’t matter probably my black dress with detailing on the front, denim jacket and ankle boots.

15: (truth) If you could rock any unusual article of clothing/makeup technique/hairstyle, what would it be? (dare) Go to the blog of the last person you reblogged a text post from. Reblog your favorite of their selfies. super colourful makeup.

16: (truth) What is your dream job? (dare) Post the four most recent pictures in your camera roll. travel writer. or vlogger even.

17: (truth) Where is the last place you went that took over two hours to get to? (dare) Post screenshots of your phone’s lock screen and home screen. work when there was a crazy traffic jam.

18: (truth) How old were you when you had your first kiss? If you haven’t had it yet, how old do you want to be? (dare) Go to the last app/tab you opened. Post a screenshot. i was 16.

19: (truth) What is the first thing you remember having to keep secret? (dare) Tag five bloggers who you associate with being obsessed with something particular, and list what each of them is obsessed with. my older cousin smoking in front of me and asking me not to tell  my parents. i was like, 4.

20: (truth) What does your bedroom look like? (dare) Take one selfie and post it. You only get one shot! (No old selfies or retrying, even if you think you look bad) messy.

21: (truth) What three fictional characters would you most like to meet? (dare) Write your name down on a piece of paper and draw a quick picture of yourself. Take a photo of it and post it idkkkk.

22: (truth) What are three things you’re looking forward to? (dare) Tag the last three people you reblogged posts from, and estimate how many followers they have. the weekend, weddings this year, concerts.

23: (truth) What are your three biggest turn ons, and your three biggest turn offs? (dare) Put your music player on shuffle. Without actually listening to it, write the lyrics to the chorus of the first song boring.

24: (truth) If you could only own five material objects (not counting life necessities like food/water/a house/etc) what would they be? (dare) Put your music player on shuffle. Post what the first three songs are, and for each one, tag a blog that the song reminds you of. a givenchy handbag, the biggest, flashiest engagement ring ever, a tesla, all the shoes and a new macbook.

25: (truth) What is the last thing you lied about? (dare) Tag three people you want to know better and ask them each three questions about themselves. i forgot.

26: (truth) What’s the last movie you watched? (dare) Reblog the most recent of your own selfies posted on tumblr, and in the tags say two things you like about your appearance in it? girls trip.

27: (truth) What are three things you like about yourself unrelated to your appearance? (dare) Post a picture from your camera roll that you’ve been meaning to post on tumblr. i’m funny, very honest and loyal.

28: (truth) How do you take your coffee? (dare) Post the last picture you posted on a social media platform other than tumblr. iced coffee.

29: (truth) What are your worst habits? (dare) Put your Top 25 Most Played songs on shuffle and list the first five. laziness.

30: (truth) What is the last thing you did that you have to keep secret from someone? Who do you have to keep it secret from? (dare) Tag five blogs with great URLs. just... not say anything?

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is This Jolly Enough Merry Christmas Pitbull shirt

Choosing to stay behind is This Jolly Enough Merry Christmas Pitbull shirt . The scenes instead of putting himself front and center is Obaweya to the core. His privacy is a conscious decision on his end; he wants the work of others to speak for itself. “Being behind the scenes, I feel like I’m actually doing something. The work should be the center and the image should be the center, not me,” he says. “It should be more about the work than it is about the person.” As Britney Spears and Destiny’s Child brought bootcut jeans, unnecessarily huge belts, and denim skirts onto the American red carpets in the early 2000s, a similarly gaudy sartorial story was playing out in Nigeria. In the late ’90s, Nigeria’s movie industry—or Nollywood, as it is often called—quietly began. The early 2000s saw the release of movies like Girls Cot, Sharon Stone, Blood Sisters, Abuja Connection, filled with the industry’s biggest stars from Genevieve Nnaji to Jim Iyke to Omotola Jalade to Regina Askia. Almost every movie focused on how being sexually promiscuous or otherwise vaguely immoral would lead to a sticky end as evidenced in Girls Cot and Billionaire Club. Though they were initially conceived as a cautionary tale, in retrospect, many of the “bad” boys and girls are some of the biggest style icons amongst young Nigerians today.is This Jolly Enough Merry Christmas Pitbull shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt

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The fads return

It's no secret that many of the styles that were popular in previous decades have since made a comeback. From accessories to shoes, let's take a look at eight fashion fads that are considered trendy even today.

1. Round Glasses: the ‘20s to now

Round glasses originated in the 1920s but became increasingly popular due to celebrity icons like Elton John, who wore them in all sizes and colors. The round glasses have made an increasing comeback in recent years. I got my first pair of round glasses strictly as a stylistic choice (no, I do not use them for any actual benefit). Urban Outfitters sells them for relatively cheap, and even in has an array of colors to choose from. Back in the '70s, it was fashionable for these glasses to be worn as sunglasses. However, now they are made as sunglasses, reading glasses and even blue light glasses.  

Then:

Elton John sports the infamous round glasses, in which he helped put into trend. Photo Credit: https://www.stylebistro.com/lookbook/Round+Sunglasses/uqdha8Shry4/Elton+John/angle/kd7je68B2AS

Now: 

Photo Credit: https://www.smoothradio.com/artists/elton-john/elton-johns-glasses-fashion-outfits/

2. Scrunchies: the ‘90s to now

It’s hard to think that scrunchies ever even went out of style because they seem like such a necessity these days. However, they did disappear after the 90s. In 2019, the scrunchie made a huge comeback due to the increasing revival of 1990s fashion. Goody, one of the oldest scrunchie brands said scrunchies sold eight times faster than the overall category of hair accessories in 2019. Nowadays, the scrunchie is made in all sorts of sizes, colors and designs.

Then:

Photo Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/415034921884870052/

Now: 

Photo Credit: https://finance.yahoo.com/news/hailey-bieber-showed-off-brunette-134435618.html

3. Bell Bottoms: the ‘70s to now

Bell Bottoms were first made in 1812 for sailors to wear during the war because it was easy to roll them up. However, bell-bottoms were made popular in the 1970s, which is when most women made them part of their closets. Now, in 2020, the trend has been reborn. I bought my first pair of bell-bottoms last summer, and they have become one of my favorite pairs of pants.  

Then:

The trendy bell bottoms from the 1970s. Photo Credit: https://clickamericana.com/topics/beauty-fashion/bell-bottoms-beyond-fashionable-70s-pants-for-women-hot-in-1973

Now:

Photo Credit: https://www.freepeople.com/shop/maddox-denim-bell-bottom-jeans/

4. Bishop Sleeves: the ‘60s to now

To be completely honest, I didn't know what bishop sleeves were before reading about them. However, after learning about them, I realized I owned my own shirt with bishop sleeves. These sleeves became popular in the '60s on dresses and blouses, and later became an integral part of the hippie look. The sleeves are full at the bottom before ending in a cuff.

Then:

Photo Credit: http://sewingthe60s.blogspot.com/2013/07/60s-fashion-elements-bishop-sleeve.html

Now:

Photo Credit: 

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/495396027761999714/

5. Oversized Blazer: the ‘80s to now

The ‘80s was known for big, bold and boxy clothing; this is especially true during the age of oversized blazers. Patterns were being utilized more than ever during this decade, which made a great pair with blazers. Many of these blazers had shoulder pads, which is what made them bulky. The oversized blazer I have is a plaid pattern with shoulder pads, too. This trend is one of my favorite reoccurring trends as it is also one of the newest. Nowadays, people are pairing their oversized blazers with matching shorts or a skirt worn with a cropped top or a turtle neck.

Then:

Sarah Jessica Parker sports an oversized blazer when they were first popular. Photo Credit: https://archziner.com/fashion/80s-fashion-total-disaster-or-genius-style/

Now:

Photo Credit: https://www.seenit.in/quest/show/49694

1. Dr. Martens: the ‘80s to now

What was originally made as a work boot has taken the world by storm. The trend became widespread in the ‘80s and ‘90s, but the sales declined rapidly when rock music also experienced its decline. Thankfully, the shoes made a comeback in the mid-2010s. The boots are no longer looked at as a style identity, but instead as a fashion statement. Dr. Martens is my favorite shoe brand by far as I now have four pairs.

Then:

A trio of doc marten wearing boys in 1981 during the punk era.

Photo Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/121315783690297892/

Now:

Photo Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/302656037456946024/

7. Go-Go Boots: the ‘70s to now

When you think of the 1970s, it is easy to think of the disco age. With this being said, the '70s is also often associated with go-go boots. Before this decade, boots were looked at as working shoes, not a stylistic choice. However, go-go boots changed the name of the game. Everyone was wearing them. They lost their popularity for a bit in the '90s and early 2000s, but in recent years have come in different styles. Now, the traditional go-go boots are made in different colors and different styles. I just recently bought my first pair of go-go inspired boots, which can be found at Urban Outfitters in both white and black. You can find my favorite pair of go-go-ish boots here. https://www.dollskill.com/public-desire-white-croc-payback-ankle-boots.html

Then:

Photo Credits: https://groovyhistory.com/go-go-boots-history-1960s

Now: 

Photo Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/290130400991846257/

8. Chunky Sneakers: The ‘80s to now 

The trend of the chunky sneakers started as an athletic sportswear style but became a social phenomenon in the '80s and '90s. The trend went away for a few years before just recently making a market-wide reentry. Now, almost every shoe brand has hopped on the bandwagon in creating some sort of chunky shoe. The most popular, because of its affordability compared to others is the chunky Fila. The chunkier, the better. I’m not going to lie; I wasn’t a huge fan of the chunky trend at first. However, when they are properly styled, I believe they can make an outfit pop. I have one pair of chunky sneakers from Jeffrey Campbell that can be found at any retail outlet that sells Jeffrey Campbell. I bought mine from LF. 

Then:

Photo Credit: https://www.google.com/search?q=platform+skechers+of+the+90s&rlz=1C5CHFA_enUS747US747&sxsrf=ALeKk00F2q1auMuyA6m1Q8IbpHTKJkSchQ:1586407913934&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjH7LaBxtroAhXqhHIEHW4yAiQQ_AUoAXoECAsQAw&cshid=1586407954748273&biw=843&bih=745#imgrc=RaDGKGi0wM0q8M

Now: 

Photo Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/102879172723350488/

Sources:

https://www.leaf.tv/articles/the-history-of-bell-bottoms/ https://marveloptics.com/blog/eyeglass-fashion-and-trends/another-round-for-round-glasses-making-a-bigger-comeback-with-marvel-optics/ https://www.npr.org/2019/12/16/787160693/scrunchies-are-cool-again-hairs-how-they-staged-a-comeback http://sewingthe60s.blogspot.com/2013/07/60s-fashion-elements-bishop-sleeve.html https://www.southernliving.com/fashion-beauty/80s-fashion-trends?slide=7bd103a9-7788-476f-94e8-ab3f7781abae#7bd103a9-7788-476f-94e8-ab3f7781abae https://www.grailed.com/drycleanonly/dr-martens-history https://groovyhistory.com/go-go-boots-history-1960s https://www.forbes.com/sites/forbes-personal-shopper/2019/02/26/how-to-wear-the-chunky-sneaker-trend/#7fb9f5c04936

[wordsonpages1-blog]

Omg how about the four times Betty and Jug didn't get caught doing inappropriate *things* and then the one time they did - you can choose by who!

hey anon! I got quite excited when I saw this here! I’m sorry it took so long for me to get around to it and I hope this is something like what you hoped for!

Ps. Part 6 of And Just Like That is coming I promise, but this has been in my asks for a while and demanded my attention haha xx

warning: smut, sin, smut, more sin, and oh did i mention smut?

CLOSE CALLS AND GETTING CAUGHT- 

1. Alice

“Juggie Stop!” Betty squealed through her laughter as herboyfriend’s hands crept up her sides, taking advantage of her ticklishness.

“Sorry Betts, this is my vengeance,” he replied casuallywith an evil grin, his hands moving under the hem of her shirt mercilessly tomake her squirm.

Betty thrashed as she continued to protest in vain throughher laughter, too enthralled with his playful side to regret stealing his lastfry.

The takeout container lay abandoned on her nightstand as hecontinued to make her laugh and kick on the bed.

After keeping up his assault for a while longer, Jugheadfinally relented, stilling his hands.

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” he sighed dramatically, leaning hisweight on his forearms as not to crush her form that was now beneath him.

Betty’s giggle died in her throat as she assessed their newpositon. Their bodies pressed together, legs tangled, breaths mingling, hisstrong arms caging her in. She bit a lip, loving the sight of his wildhair-free from the beanie which must have fallen off during their tickle fight-his sharp jaw line and darkening blue eyes.

Jughead swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing with themovement. Unable to resist the stunning vision of her beneath him with messedup blonde tresses fanned out over the pillow, sparkling green eyes and flushedcheeks, he moved his lips down to meet hers in a firey kiss.

Betty wasted no time slipping her tongue between his lipsand Jughead groaned as she skilfully entwined it with his. His hands strokedthe skin on her rib cage tantalizingly, drawing out a breathy sigh from her.

The dark haired boy playfully nipped her lip, before movinghis own across the expanse of her neck, lightly biting and drawing out alanguid moan from her. Betty moved her head to allow him better access to hersensitive skin and tangled her fingers in his dark locks, pulling lightly whenhe left a hot opened mouth kiss over her pulse point.

“Jug,” she groaned out as his hand slid higher, coming up tograsp her breast. And just as his hand was about to venture into her bra a doorslammed down the hall.

The teen’s eyes locked instantly, each set as comically wideas the other’s. Jughead quickly rolled off of Betty as she bolted upright,pulling desperately at her clothing to right her appearance as footsteps nearedthe room. He frantically searched for his beanie, pulling it onto his head andhitting play on the movie they were supposed to be watching just in time.

Alice Cooper appeared in the doorway not a split secondlater.

“Betty, I just had a wonderful idea for our next article,”she exclaimed, pausing to eye them with suspicion, making the pair squirmuncomfortably before continuing on with her brilliant idea.

2. Jughead’s Foster Mum

“Shit Betty!” Jughead swore as she dropped to her kneesbefore him.

They were in his room in his new foster home; he leaningagainst his desk while she looked up at him through thick lashes with adevilish smirk no one would believe “girl next door” Betty Cooper was capableof omitting.

“shh,” she whispered as she torturously slowly unzipped hisjeans pulling them and his boxers just far enough down his hips for her toreach her goal.

Without even giving him another second to process what shewas doing, Betty wrapped her dainty hand around the base of his erection in afirm grip and encased the rest of him in her mouth.

Jughead groaned from deep within his chest at the sensationof her warm mouth, his fingers grasping her ponytail, eyes rolling back at thesight of his beautiful girlfriend bobbing her head up and down over him.

“Fuck,” he cursed again as her tongue ran along his lengthand then traced back up and over his head. God she was good at his, too goodfor him to maintain the level of self-control he should’ve been with his fosterparents still in the house.

His hands gripped her hair harder as he tried his best notto thrust his hips forward and choke her. Betty moaned around him lightly as hetugged her blonde locks, the vibrations bringing him closer to the edge.

And then-

“Jughead,” his foster mother’s voice rang out through thehalls.

Said boy’s eyes widened in fear and apprehension at thesound, moving his hands to pull his girlfriend up now. Betty however, seemedunfazed. Instead of stopping her action, she merely looked up at him with acheeky sparkle in her green eyes and doubled her efforts, moving her lips overhim faster while her hand shared the work load.

Jughead choked back a groan as he heard footsteps begin toclimb the stair case.

“Betty,” he tried to warn, although the sound came out moredesperate than threatening.

She paid no mind, merely sucking harder and faster and thenhe was coming, his teeth biting down hard on his lower lip to muffle any primalsounds threatening to fall from his mouth.

The footsteps got closer and Betty quickly climbed to herfeet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as Jughead hastily pulled uphis boxers and jeans, looking at her with a dazed expression.

There was a knock on the door a moment later and his fostermum entered the room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began totally unaware of whatsorts of sinful things she almost did interrupt. “I just wanted to check ifBetty was going to join us for dinner?” Lynda asked with a warm motherly smile.

Betty offered her a winning smile in return. Acting asthough she hadn’t been on her knees seconds ago.

“I’d love to,” she affirmed politely and Jughead had toexercise all his will power not to roll his eyes at her easy transition backinto the good girl everyone thought she was. Oh how sorely mistaken they allwere. For Betty Cooper truly was a minx.

3. Serpents

They were seeking solace in FP’s trailer again, using thesmall abandoned home as their haven having become a norm. The town was going toshit, the people were acting crazier than usual and the young couple justwanted a few hours to themselves, free of the burdens of the civil war.

And it was that idea that had led them to the trailer forthe afternoon, which had somehow eventuated to Betty being hoisted up on thekitchen counter with Jughead kneeling between her thighs.

“Oh god,” she moaned as his lips trailed up her innerthighs, while his long fingers continued to work in out of her heat.

Jughead smirked against her now purple splattered skin,loving the sounds she made. His mouth moved higher with a persistent tug of herhands through his dark tresses, ensuring he was right where she wanted him.

“Yes Juggie!” Betty cried out as his lips enclosed aroundher sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked firmly, while his fingers hooked,stroking that delicious place within her. Jughead groaned in response, thevibrations making her feel even better.

Her nails ran over his scalp as she regressed into a pantingmess before him. Jughead revelled in her keening, his tongue lapping over herclit as her thighs began to quake and her inner muscles clenched.

And just as her head dropped back and mouth parted in asilent scream, Hot Dog began barking like mad, signalling the arrival of aguest. Jughead immediately vacated his position between her legs pulling herskirt down and wiping his mouth on his hand. He then pecked her lips and pulleddragged her to the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on the tv almost inexact synchronisation with the herd of serpents who waltzed through the door.

“Hey kid, hey kid’s girl,” one of the older members greeted,seemingly oblivious to what they had almost interrupted. Betty offered a weaksmile, feeling dazed, sated and embarrassed all at once.

4. Veronica

“We have to meet the other’s soon,” Jughead protestedweakly, as Betty trailed her lips over his jaw. They were in her living room,him pushed down on the couch, while she straddled his waist.

“We’ll be quick,” Betty whispered in his ear, her voicedripping with sexuality and her teeth playing with his sensitive lobe.

The dark haired boy wanted to argue further, but the feel ofher hands trailing under his shirt and her crotch pressed so firmly against hisown was severely hindering his will power.

Their mouths connected in a heated exchange all lingeringhesitancies well extinguished by now. His tongue runs along the seam of herlips, tasting strawberries, and it’s so intoxicatingly sweet. He wants more andrepeats the actions swallowing her breathy sighs which taste just as sweet asher lips.

Betty’s teeth tug at his bottom lip, teasing him andalighting his every nerve. Her blonde hair is falling around them like acurtain and when he pulls away and looks into her hooded eyes, he swears she isthe truest most contradictory vision of an angel and a seductress all in one.Her own tongue darts out to lick her lips, eyes falling shut again as his tastelingers on them- nicotine and coffee.

His hands slips dangerously down her back, gripping her assand dragging her hips over his now prominent bulge, making them both groan- himinto the skin of her neck, her into the heavens above them.

His mouth trails over her delicate skin, teasing and abusingmaking her grind her hips down harder against him.

She’s ready for him. He feels how ready she is even throughthe flimsy fabric of her panties and the rough denim of his jeans and theknowledge makes him jut his hips that much more forcefully into hers to showher that he’s just as ready.

She moans as the denim creates delicious friction where shewants him most and rises up on shaking legs quickly to discard her underwear,while he hastily unzips his jeans and frees his now painfully hard erectionfrom the confines of his boxers. His breathe catches as she looks him dead inthe eye- a storm brewing in their gaze- and places her knees either side of hiships again.

Just the thought of what they’re about to do, right here onthe Cooper’s couch makes him swell even more and thrust his hips towards hercore. Betty smirks at him, bringing her hands to his shoulders as she lowersherself down onto him.

Their lips meet yet again in a familiar primal dance as herhips grind down, letting him fill her deeper. She breaks the connection oftheir mouths and tilts her head back as a sinful moan falls from her equallysinful mouth.

Jughead grunts in response to the sound, snapping his hipsup to create friction that leaves them both panting wantonly.

“Fuck,” he groans into her ear which only makes Betty throwherself down on him harder and faster. She loves it when he swears, a turn onshe wasn’t aware of until his lips spoke filth in her delicate ears in heatedmoments.

“Yes,”she hisses through her teeth as his hand comes betweenthem to rub her neglected bundle of nerves.

And then her phone begins to vibrate harshly on the tablenext to them, ”Veronica” appearing on the screen.

“Don’t stop,” Betty commands although it comes out brokenand stuttered as his free hand brings her hips down hard, and perfectlysynchronised with his sharp upward thrust. Jughead doesn’t respond, merelycontinues on with his corruption of her body.

She’s so close and she lets him known, Jughead breathingconfirmation that he’s almost there too.

He rubs her clit more harshly and stars begin to form behindher eyes and she’s just about to-

“Betty! Jughead!” Veronica’s voice echoes from the otherside of the door. Heels click and she’s never one to knock.

“Fuck!” She exclaims with exasperation and frustration as hestops thrusting, pulls out of her and painfully tries to tuck himself back intohis pants.

Betty wants to scream, because it was so good and she washanging right on that edge, seconds away from falling over it and now shedoesn’t even know when she’ll get a chance to finish up.

She has just enough time to pull her skirt back down andmove off his lap before the raven haired princess enters the Cooper residenceto usher them across the road to Archie’s but not enough time to pull herpanties back on; they’re pocketed in his jacket.

5. Archie

In a disgruntled and wound up state they found themselves atArchie’s. An obligatory movie night being the reason. With the craziness of theirlives at the moment and all of them having something worthy of seeking escapismfrom, they had agreed on attempting teenage normalcy that Friday- well theother four had agreed and Jughead had more or less been informed.

The thought filled Betty with loathing now. She was wellaware of the fact that if she hadn’t made him attend they could easily be inher empty house or his empty trailer right now engaging in much morepleasurable activities. She wanted to seek escapism in a more explicit way andher nerves and hormones were still hyped up from their unfinished trystearlier.

Her desire for him had reared demandingly as soon as hestrolled through her front her door that afternoon, sporting ripped jeans,combat boots, and a dark jacket. That one curl hanging lazily over his eyes,which were so enticingly blue making her incapable of resisting the persistentpull she felt toward him. It had been a few days since they’d been able to seeeach other and being in his vicinity just reinforced how much she had missedhim- all of him.

“Okay  The BreakfastClub or Dirty Dancing?” Veronica asked in her authoritive Lodge tone.

Betty who was perched on Jughead’s lap in the armchaircouldn’t help but narrow her eyes at her friend-still irritated from the interruptionearlier- who was appraising the DVD covers. Catching herself and altering herexpression just in time as Veronica looked at her expectantly.

The blonde shrugged, “I don’t care just pick one.”

Veronica’s brows furrowed, and Betty almost felt bad fordirecting such an exasperated tone at her friend.

“Wow, someone’s in a mood,” Veronica, quipped before turningher attention back to the decision at hand.

Almost.

Betty’s eyes narrowed again and she turned her head to lookat her boyfriend, who had his head tiled back against the chair’s cushion. Hisjaw was set in a hard line, and his eyes were an impossibly dark shade ofIndigo when they met hers. Jughead shook his head, as they silentlycommunicated their frustration toward the New Yorker.

After Kevin finally convinced Veronica that The BreakfastClub was the way to go that evening, Betty sighed getting ready to immerseherself in the film and hopefully enabling her to be distracted from the achebetween her thighs; a task that was proving hard with Jughead’s firm planes ofa body so close to her, although the torture was better than the alternative ofsitting apart from each other.

Just before hitting play, Veronica turned to the cosied uppair, settling her own body between Archie and Kevin on the couch.

“No making out under the guise of film and darkness please,”she teased.

“I don’t think you have to worry about them Ronnie,” Archieappeased, shooting his friends a good humoured smile, to which Jughead merelyrolled his eyes at huffing out an exasperated sigh.

Betty on the other hand couldn’t even dignify the commentwith a response, her mind instantly retreating to the compromising position herand Jughead had been in earlier.  Sheclosed her eyes as the movie began , willing the heat in her body to calm. Itproved a useless venture though as her too sensitive nerves were running rampantagain, as she couldn’t help but recall the feeling of his mouth on her skin andhim inside of her.  

She bit her lip hard to prevent the groan bubbling in herchest from spilling out and again turned her gaze to Jughead. His body wasrigid, tense in his own state of supressed arousal. Her tongue darted out tolick over said lips, because his perfectly symmetrical face was so close to herown and god, he was attractive; her raging hormones made her well aware of thatfact as new tingles flittered down her spine.

Fuck it, Bettythough, eyes glancing around the room before positioning herself more firmly inhis lap- her ass over his groin, one arm curled around his neck, fingersgripping his hair beneath his beanie, while the other fiddled with the hem ofhis shirt.

Jughead’s eyes immediately shifted to her own, eyebrowsraising not in question but in warning. Betty met his stare evenly, refusing toback down. Her lips moved close to his ear, where she proceeded to deliververbal sin just shy of a whisper.

“You know, I still don’t have any panties on.”

His breath hitched, his body tensing impossibly further asshe attempted assassination with her words. His hands, which had been languidlydrawing patterns on her hips, tightened their grip harshly. His member twitchedin his pants and she didn’t miss it. He knew she wasn’t wearing underwear- saidscrap of lace was currently tucked firmly away in his jacket pocket, a fact hewas trying really , really hard toignore since they arrived at Archie’s.

“Betty,” he whispered in warning, already feeling hisrestraint crumble under his tsunami of testosterone and the wicked gleam in hereyes.

Betty held his gaze steady, subtly shifting in his lap againso that her ass grazed across the bulge beginning to form in his jeans all overagain.

His lust infused stare, swirling with danger, and thenaughtiness of it all exciting her already hypersensitive body and making herbrave.

His chest heaved in heady exhale, his hips rocking up on theirown accord.

The air around them was coated in sexual tension, thick andheady and Betty wondered briefly if the others were suffocating in the passionatesmoke they had created in the room.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish… again,” he growledlow and warningly in her ear. Her own breath hitched now at the rough tone ofhis voice. That accompanied by the reminder of her stolen orgasm making herthighs clench in memory and causing wetness to trickle down them.

Jughead bit his lip restraining a groan as he felt herarousal on the front of his jeans.

“I need to finish,”she breathed, her eyes quickly darting around to make sure the others werestill absorbed in the film.  He swallowedthickly at her words, waiting with anticipation for the next sentence she uttered.

“I need you tofuck me right now.”

His breathe stuttered, and his eyes closed briefly. Whenthey opened Betty was taken aback by the raw desire she saw then, burning, and passionate,promising and dangerous.

His strong hands lifted her to her feet, and he stoodquickly after. Archie’s eyes drifted to them as he sensed their movements fromhis close proximity on the end of the couch. The red head raised a questioningbrow at his longest friends.

“Snacks,” Betty mumbled quietly not quite meeting his eyes,worried her blown pupils would give them away if her flushed cheeks and sweatyskin didn’t.

Jughead strategically positioned himself behind her. Hisfingers flexing on her hips, making her bite her lip.

They hastily made their way to the kitchen, too caught up intheir desire for one another to realise the impracticality of the location. It wasclosest and they were desperate.

As soon as they made it through the door way she was pushedup against the counter, his hands gripping the edge of the marble in a deathlytight hold, caging her in. Their lips crashed together almost violently, mouthshot and yearning, tongues ravishing and teeth clashing.

Betty whimpered against his lips and wasted no timeunzipping his jeans and pulling his hard, pulsing member free from his boxers.He groaned in her mouth, and she greedily swallowed the sound.

His own hand strayed down below her skirt, any semblance ofteasing discarded as it instantly went to the apex of her thighs, fingersrunning through her soaked folds before circling her clit. She bit his shoulderhard to keep from crying out, tears of pent up frustration gathering in hereyes because finally.

Her hips desperately bucked up to follow his hand as heremoved his fingers, and his eyes flashed with all-consuming desire for her.

Moving his hands back to her hips, Jughead spun Betty aroundand bent her over the counter, revelling in her gasp of surprise. He stepped upbehind her, grazing his erecting over her soaked core, as she whimperedwantonly.

“You still want me to fuck you?” he asked quietly, makingher shiver.

“Yes,” and with that he entered her. She almost came at the feelof him inside her alone.

His thrusts were hard, their pace furious. Her hips wererocking back to meet his as her knuckles turned white where they gripped thecounter in a feeble attempt to stay on her feet.

His lips trailed sloppily over the back of her neckoccasionally muffling a groan their.

Her own breath was coming out in pants, her desire makingeven moans too difficult to conjure.

Her head fell forward against the counter with aparticularly well angled thrust of his hips and she found enough coherence tomutter, “Shit Juggie, right there!”

He complied hitting the spot over and over again.

One hand released the bruising grip of her waist, findinghome between them to toy with her swollen clit.

And just as he did, three things happened.

1)     She found release, with a breathy “Fuck Jug!”

2)     Her clenching walls drew him over the edge withher; and

3)     Archie walked into the kitchen.

The red head’s mouth dropped open in utter shock. His feetfroze to the spot as he took in the scene before him with wide eyes; Betty bentover the counter, Jughead behind her. And if the way her skirt was hiked up andhis belt dangling around his legs wasn’t enough of an indication of what theywere up to, the expletive slipping from Betty’s lips and the teeth sunk intoher shoulder made it pretty clear.

“OH MY GOD!” Archie exclaimed in horror finally coming outof his paralysed state, his face instantly heating in what he couldn’t decidewas embarrassment or rage.

Betty and Jughead looked at each other, their exhaustedbodies quickly going rigid, eyes wide and panicked.

“Did you guys? In here? How could you… I didn’t even knowyou were- I didn’t even want to… what the fuck!” Archie ranted, pacing confusedand pissed and stunned.

Jughead groaned hiding his face in her hair while Bettybanged her head on the counter in embarrassment.

The sudden change in the angle of her body made her eyes gowide again. Jughead was still buried within her and with Archie bumbling andcursing around the room she didn’t quite know how they could discretelyuntangle themselves.

[aridinosnore]

Erase My Regrets

continuation of this fanfiction! this is chapter one, i’ll just put the whole thing on here lmao

Veronica Sawyer was never one to receive letters. They had phones now— well they were merely attached the walls or used in houses but why write letters when a new source of communication was right there? The 17-year-old asked herself this as she looked at the envelope her mother had given her, “It’s for you,” she had told Veronica. She flipped over the envelope and her dark hues blinked in confusion as she read the words on the front of the white paper. ‘From Veronica Sawyer’ was written down in her very own handwriting.

“This has to be a prank,” Veronica scoffed to herself as she stuffed the envelope into her backpack. It had to be a joke, hell, Veronica could forge handwriting so that means anybody else could right? It still irked her and protruded her thoughts, what was the letter about? She didn’t remember writing a letter to herself, who does that? The teenager decided to put it aside for now, today was the first day of senior year. She wasn’t exactly excited about it— it’s high school why would she be enthusiastic? Veronica was nothing special in the school’s caste system and hung out with her best friend, Martha. She couldn’t help but long for the feeling of popularity and attention. The exact feelings the Heathers felt. Heather Chandler, the one who always wore her signature crimson red and was in all honesty, a mythic bitch. Heather Duke, green for her envy of Heather Chandler’s power. Then Heather McNamara, yellow for possibly the nicest out of the three. She still did shitty things but seemed to be the Heather that at least held sympathy.

Veronica’s envious thoughts were interrupted when the bell rang to signal first period was starting. Ten minutes had passed and it seemed that their teacher wasn’t showing up any time soon. Many students cheered and ‘whooped’ as they began to move around to socialize due to the lack of supervision. Veronica thought it was a reasonable time to observe the mail she had gotten, she assumed it was a letter of some sort. Her hands pulled out the envelope and she opened it up almost eagerly with curiosity.

‘Hello myself from ten years ago, how are you?’, was the first sentence that caught Veronica’s attention. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she read on. Ten years ago? Was this letter from herself ten years in the future?

“Oh my god,” Veronica said under her breath.

‘You must be very confused, I know. But please, listen to this letter. Ten years in the future, I have many regrets that I would like to erase. It starts with the first day of senior year. There is a page for each day. I will list events that happened that day and what I want you to do that I regret not doing/doing. You will understand soon.’ Veronica’s eyes glanced at the bullet points listed below.

It’s September 1st, 1989. First day of senior year.

I wore a floral-like dress, a denim jacket, my flats, and a scarf that I stuffed into my backpack.

Veronica looked down at her outfit and she nearly gasped out loud, the letter was right. It was exactly what she was wearing.

Today is the day I become part of the Heathers.

I’m now seen as ‘”the blue one”, we became acquainted after saving their asses from Ms. Fleming in the bathroom.

Veronica snorted to herself, “Yeah right. They would never want good ol’ Roni in their little clique off theirs.” She put the letter away into her backpack once again as the teacher walked in hastily.

The teenager didn’t glance at the first task she was asked to do in the letter;

‘I always wondered how things would’ve ended if I had stayed in the bathroom stall, if I had not forged that hall pass, if I had not gone to the bathroom at all. Maybe my regrets would not be as painful. Do not go to the bathroom during third period.’

Veronica’s eyes never read that request until after school. The teenager had completely forgotten about the letter that was sent to herself that morning and strode over to the school’s bathroom during third period. It was the class that seemed to bore her the most, mathematics wasn’t in her area exactly. She pushed open the door to a bathroom stall and feminine voices began to ring out as the door of the bathroom opened up. Veronica’s eyes widened as she realized the voices were coming from the Heathers who had visited the bathroom to pamper themselves.

“Grow up Heather, bulimia’s so ‘87,” Heather Chandler scoffed to the female who had rushed into a stall beside Veronica, vomiting horribly. Veronica’s face scrunched in disgust as Heather Duke threw up, the sound echoing throughout the bathroom. Heather McNamara’s voice could be heard but it was in a soft and genuine tone, much different from Chandler’s tone.

After a few more moments of Duke throwing up, Ms. Fleming and Veronica’s face brightened as she heard this, this was possibly her chance to communicate with the powerhouses of Westerburg. She hastily scribbled a ‘hall pass’, the handwriting matching the yearbook teacher’s exactly. Veronica cleared her throat awkwardly as the Heathers and Ms. Fleming turned to face the brunette with surprise. They had not noticed her.

“Uhm, Ms. Fleming! All four of us are out on a hall pass. Yearbook committee,” Veronica trailed off as Ms. Fleming examined the piece of paper, glancing at Veronica suspiciously. Heather Chandler eyed her up and down with an expression that Veronica could read as shock or confusion.

“I see you’re all listed… hurry up and get where you’re going.” Ms. Fleming gestured with her hands as she clicked her tongue and stepped out of the bathroom. The note Veronica had forged was instantly snatched from her hands by Chandler who looked at the hall pass, then Veronica, then back. Her dark green eyes settled on Veronica as she held the note in her hand.

“This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?” Heather demanded as McNamara stood behind her almost timidly, Duke soon came beside the two teenage girls.

“Uhm— Veronica Sawyer. I crave a boon.”

That was how it all started.

The Heathers gave Veronica the ultimate makeover. She couldn’t help but feel like a Barbie doll who was being poked and penetrated by little girl’s  hands. Veronica reminded herself that they were making her beautiful. She would finally be viewed as one of them. Top of the school, powerful, popular, somebody who was worth everybody’s eyes. Veronica felt absolutely amazing as she walked out to the school’s halls beside the Heathers, clad in a blue blazer along with a very short skirt. Her hands kept fidgeting with the article of clothing for the length made the teenager uncomfortable at the slightest. Although, boys seemed to be interested. It made Veronica’s confidence spark as people seemed to cheer for her but a wave of guilt rushed over the brunette whenever she caught a glance of Martha in the corner. Whenever their eyes met, Martha gave Veronica a sweet and kind smile. Veronica always returned it.

When Veronica had arrived at her humble abode later that day, a big grin was plastered on her porcelain face. Her mother was glad to see Veronica in such an enthusiastic mood yet her father eyed her short skirt suspiciously.

“Veronica, where’d you get that?” He had asked which lead to Veronica rolling her dark hues that were very much similar to her father’s.

“Relax dad, I made new friends. This is the new thing!” Veronica exclaimed with a giggle. Her father’s eyebrows shot up as the teenager bounced up the stairs to her room.

“Honey, she never giggles. Hell— I’ve only heard her giggle when she was a baby,” her father told his wife with a worried expression.

“She’s a girl, Robert. Let her be,” Veronica’s mother said with a smile as she placed her hand on Veronica’s father’s shoulder. He was always protective over his little girl.

Veronica sighed as she overheard this reaction but the grin never left her face. It was a beautiful day. It truly was. Her hands rummaged through her book bag and they grabbed a hold of the envelope that was now creased and folded at the edges. She threw off her blazer and delicately placed it on the edge of her bed. Veronica pulled out the multiple papers from the white envelope and she furrowed her dark brows as she read the last bit of the letter that had today’s date on it. Veronica hadn’t seen that exact part before shoving it into her bag. She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought to herself, this was what happened to herself ten years in the future, right? If she had asked Veronica not to go to the bathroom; it meant she had become a Heather. Veronica was conflicted about whether she should listen to the words inked on the paper, it could’ve been some stupid practical joke. Her eyes flicked back to the bullet points listed and she cursed mentally, it couldn’t have been a prank if the events listed actually occurred.

“Today is the day I become part of the Heathers.”

“I’m now seen as ‘”the blue one”, we became acquainted after saving their asses from Ms. Fleming in the bathroom.”

That had all happened at school, Veronica realized. She was now apart of the Heather’s and Chandler had ‘assigned’ her the color blue. It didn’t make sense and simply wasn’t logical. How would herself ten years from now send a letter to the past? Veronica groaned and flopped onto the bed, laying an arm across her face in distress. Maybe it was best to follow the letter’s commands and requests. She remembered the whole purpose for the goddamn thing. It was to erase her future self’s regrets.

“What will I regret?” Veronica said under her breath and she sat up hastily, picking up the rest of the paper. There were at least ten sheets of the white material, sweet Jesus. What if she looked ahead…? Her fingers skimmed the edges of the paper cautiously, would it affect anything? “Fuck it,” she cursed out and read the date in the left hand corner on the next paper. Veronica raised an eyebrow in confusion, it had skipped 3 weeks.

Shit, had she lost some of the letters? Three weeks worth of warnings and requests from her future self? Veronica picked up the inked paper and her eyes skimmed the words effortlessly.

‘You’re probably freaking out over how it suddenly skipped three weeks ahead. This was intended, Veronica. Nothing was lost. I promise.’

Veronica sighed in relief as she continued to glance at sentences, barely getting the context from skipping over paragraphs and bullet points. Although, one sentence stood out to her.

Today is the day Jason Dean walked into my life.

whoop! this is also on my archive of our own account and fanfiction.net account!

[bts-story]

[VALENTINE’S DAY SPECIAL]

One – Two – Three – Four

– Five –

There was a reason she evaded people like Namjoon. With their lanky, uncoordinated limbs, they were inevitable when it came to avoidance in narrow university hallways, and there always seemed to be a flock of people around them. They were like a plague – and if she had met Namjoon before he had tripped over his own two feet and dowsed you in fake Ranch dressing and gloppy pasta, maybe she would have found a way to address her words in a kinder manner. Before she could, the tables around them were giggling into the palms of their hands, not without memorizing her face for a later time, and it only made Jungkook grip on his bow tighter that hanged loosely by his sides.

Namjoon had stood there, mouth agape and skin frowning downwards, without so much a word. When she – a student with no friends and little knowledge of how to get to her next class or even what to wear for her second day – stumbled back a moment later, nearly knocking into someone behind her, the feeling in Namjoon’s fingertips was steadily climbing to send signals to his brain. As soon as his mouth opened to apologize, or laugh, Jungkook couldn’t be sure of which, she was turning on her heels and sprinting through the exit doors. 

The encounter came fifteen minutes later when Namjoon, with brown eyes and fumbling hands, was leaning against the opposite wall in the hallway when she emerged from hiding in the bathroom. The bell had already rung and who she assumed she could call her peers were lazily making their way to their second to last class of the day.

“Hey,” he breathed out when she stopped a few yards away, crossing her arms across her chest. Jungkook could see relief emanating from the contours of his body – the medium-sized, yet only subtly defined, muscles of his biceps relaxing at whatever expression was spread across her face. “I am so, so sorry. I swear that the minute the mess was cleaned up, I came looking for you. I wanted to make sure that you were alright. I asked anyone if they might have seen someone who looked like you.” 

It was rather cute, Jungkook thought, if he dared to categorize anything with that adjective. She said nothing much, just lowered her head for a moment and mumble something along the lines of, “It’s okay,” though neither are Jungkook or Namjoon very sure because they can’t quite hear the sound of her voice under the sheet of shyness covering her voice.

“Here,” Namjoon murmured after a few seconds of silence. In his hands was a blue, denim-like shirt. It was large and comfortable looking, and resting in Namjoon’s hands, it was his color, bringing out the bright tan of his skin. “I meant to use it after basketball practice but it looks like you need it more than I will.” He sent a guilty look at her white shirt painted in nothing else but pasta. “It’s clean, if that’s what… you were wondering,” he explained once the article of clothing was placed against your opened palms. “Don’t mind the paint stains, it’s an old shirt, I used it once to help my hyung painting his new apartment, but I guess it’ll better than what you have on. Anyway –”

He was rambling. The boy was rambling and it was cute, the way the top of his ears burned red. She folded the makeshift shirt neatly against her chest and nodded her thanks, shuffling her feet in goodbye. He was watching her with a steady gaze, warm eyes, and a soft smile that lit every nerve in her body. 

And that was Jungkook’s cue, to his own mind. He picked one arrow on the basket hanging on his shoulder, raised his bow and placed the spike in position, a move that he made countless of times before. The short silence was broke by the swift shooting of the arrow, crashing on Namjoon’s back, transpiercing through his heart. The atmosphere changed almost completely, when it was awkward, the following giggle escaping her lips left the air with a charming aura. 

Namjoon looked on quietly as she backed her way to the door, still clinging onto the shirt for dear life. “Do you… do you know how to get to your next class?” he asked. It wasn’t unkind or all-knowing, the way he asked it. It was like he knew all the faces in the school, along with their names and random facts about each of them, but he did not know hers yet. 

“No,” she answered honestly, shaking her head in defeat. “I was just hoping to head to the front office. The girl who I was with this morning was nice, she just talked fast.” 

A grin broke out upon Namjoon’s face, mirrored by Jungkook, still at his sides. The man hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder, the broad expanse to them tightening with the moment. “Well then,” he was saying softly, “Lucky for you, I’m a bit slow when it comes to doing just that – and also from catching lunch trays when they fall.” 

“Yeah.” she smiled; walked out in front of him before he began to glance at her schedule and sneak multiple of the side of her beaming face. “I know.” 

And Jungkook vanished.

Six

There’s only one left until Valentine’s Day. What did I write for you.. I wonder. 

- Nageoire 

[vescoisland]

Daybe's Thoughts on The New Jason Isbell Record, Without Research

H/T to Mr. Thoughts on The Dead

I wanted to like this album. Well, at first I was wary, but by the time they FINALLY released it, after holding it for 8 weeks during national quarantine, the whole time which the record had been finished, mastered and pressed, I had talked myself into wanting to like it. 

  I don’t hate it so much as….

  I WANTED TO LIKE IT. 

  I have a friend who hates slow music. This isn’t the thing where I’m “asking for a friend.” She really says “even fast songs that are actually slow music are terrible.”

  About 86% of the time I 100% agree with her. This is where we get to the heart of my problem with Jason Isbell solo records. 

  This is boring music. 

  I get it, it’s Poignant. Keep mining the purity of the south with a gothic twist. Tell me again how sobriety is hard. 

  Either that or have the courage to be a drunken buffoon – which makes you poetic. 

  Overall this is a boring samey-sounding album, and I would argue his second misstep in terms of music that I’ll return to, after The Nashville Sound, which is a fucking snoozer.

  After his dig in the press about Ryan Adams, I learned that there is a song on The Nashville Sound called “Chaos and Clothes” which is about Ryan Adams. I had to look up the song and listen to it upon hearing the title, because I didn’t have any recollection of having heard it. 

  It’s not a good song.

  Or a remarkable song.

  Despite being about a guy he’s obviously obsessed with, amirite?

  I do like the line about “Death Metal T Shirts” though. 

  Be better if it was The Eagles of Death Metal. 

  Or All Night Drug Prowling Wolves. 

  You were doing a good job of keeping this on track

  Oh yeah, Reunions. New album by Mr. and Mrs. Jason Isbell and The 400 Units

  That’s not fair. You barely mention Yoko Tammy in your song by song review bit you stole from Thoughts on The Dead after Chrid and Chaz made fun of you. 

  AHEM

  Released to much fanfare and press ogling. 

  So much press ogling that I got caught up and started to ogle. 

  In politics there’s The Full Russert. 

  So what do we call Koppleman Pod, Hyden Fawning, New York Times Article and a full length story on The CBS Sunday Morning Liberal Good Time Power Hour?

  “Pay attention to this one Southern guy who let’s you in on the jokes we tell about our neighbors?”

  You’re such a dick 

  I didn’t love any of the songs I heard that were released as a teaser. I thought they were all pretty meh, for pretty much the same reasons.

  They weren’t terrible but they also led me to not pre-order the album. 

  I pre-ordered it but you heard it before me!

  Howzat?

  I ordered direct from the label and it finally just got here yesterday

  Shoulda ordered it from an Indie™ Record Store, from the approved list of Stores Tammy Likes

  Shouldn’t the label be treated the same way? It’s direct from them. No Middleman. More change to jingle in the coin purse between her tits!

  Now you’re starting to sound like me.

  Quiet you. I still haven’t listened. Sorry they changed the rules on my halfway through not releasing their album. They sure weren’t in a hurry.

  It’s a slower pace of life down here, Gar. 

  I hate you – I’m just saying they could have included people like me who ordered direct from the label and gave them more money for her Tammy Tops and his terrible sneaker habit

It’s not about MONEY, MAAAAANNN! They’re supporting indie shops. The Plandemic is wreaking havoc on the economy, and we gotta save the dudes who made enough in banking during the last crisis to open over priced record stores to sell hipster douchebags like us vinyl copies of stuff we used to own on CD. 

  I’m losing patience. You told me you had “some thoughts” on the new record. I accused you of having a weird obsession, to show me you don’t you stole an idea we gave you about a dumb blog…

  Yeah

  I only listened to three of the four songs released before the full record was put out.

  I didn’t listen to Only Children. Keep reading – I guess I still haven’t.

  THE POINT! 

  Oh yeah. 

  The other day, in the run up to the release, I flashed to a long forgotten review of Wilco’s “Summerteeth” from the time it was released that said something to the effect of “Jeff Tweedy still thinks repeating the name of the same over and over is a good stand in for a real chorus” 

  The same might be said for Jason Isbell on Reunions

  What Have I Done to Help? 

            Jesus Christ Trump has broken everyone’s brains. 

This song was written after reading the Mr. Rogers anecdote “Look to the helpers too many times”

            This is better than I thought

            The lyrics are better than I thought 

            It’s too repetitive

            It’s too long 

  Dreamsicle

            Did they make the vinyl orange because of this song?

            Or is it called dreamsicle because they wanted Orange vinyl?

            This is very dangerously close to being a Cracker Barrel country song. 

            Did granddaddy take you fishin? 

            Lightning Bugs?? 

            Where’s Dave Daniels?

  Only Children

            I’m listening to this as I write my thoughts in real time

            I forgot to write anything down here

            Unremarkable

  Overseas 

            The sound is interesting at first 

This is where I can hear what he was talking about in interviews about chasing an 80s sound 

            Whooo boy 

            Lyrics bad

            Chorus worse

  Eyes Closed

            80s Soundz!

            Are we sure this isn’t produced by Ryan Adams?

            Sounds like Isbell cum Kcor and Llor Era DRA 

            Still just repeating the name of the song as the chorus 

  River

            He’s a slave owner?

            CANCELLED!

            OK he’s some kind of rich guy who did bad things to get money?

            But tries to take care of his people?  

            Guilty Conscience Melodrama

            Not the worst song on here 

            Is there a Spanish guitar undertone?

“Wake up staring at my wife”à Fiddle Lick is either self-awareness or a complete lack of awareness about Yoko Tammy. 

I’m gonna go with B, because say what you will about them, he is very dedicated to her and that’s nice to see. Especially after she offered to by McAllan for his not quite relapse so he didn’t have to drink Listerine. 

  Be Afraid

            What Have I Done to Help Redux?

            Two sides of the same extremely repetitive recitation of the song title as chorus coin

            It actually sounds a little like a Truckers song at the beginning

            Morphs into that 80s/Springsteen/DRA sound 

  St. Peter’s Autograph 

            Is this in a higher key than it should be? Is that what they call it? I’m not a musician

WAY TOO SLOW. I heard him talk about this on Koppelman, so I was prepared for it  to be slow. But it’s like not slow enough to be a dirge. Maybe they shoulda made it a dirge?

Nails that folk singer thing where it’s like mumbly and then clear tho.

  It Gets Easier

            I haven’t had a drink in almost a year. 10 ½ months. I’ve had 2 drinking dreams.

            I’ve never really been tempted to drink 

            So this doesn’t ring true to my experience

            DON’T MAKE IT ABOUT YOU 

            Who dreams about anything twice a week? 

            What adult remembers their dreams?

            It’s for effect, you dummy! 

OH, well, the effect it had on me is “I guess I was never an actual alcoholic. Maybe I’m just a real partier?”

This gets to the heart of my question about mining sobriety for too much? 

MEH. AS FUCK 

It’s been remarkably easier to not drink than to make it through this record

That’s a cheap shot! 

I know. 

  Sometimes in reviews and in our terrible internet meme-based culture you have to stake out one side and die on that hill. 

  That’s a mixed metaphor 

  Tammy wouldn’t allow it

  She was gonna be an English teacher before the rack job.

  That’s made up, isn’t it?

  Maybe

  Where were we?

  Oh yeah, I don’t hate this song, or any song on this album 

  I just expect more 

  That’s your problem 

  What is?

  Expectations! 

  It’s True

  I tried very hard to set the bar low, figuring it might surprise me

  Then I read reviews and interviews.

  The one where he talks about over producing his first album really got to you didn’t it? Celebrities – they’re try hards just like us! 

  I like Jason 

He’s witty and funny

And a Great Musician

He’s a good ambassador 

For the region 

For getting cleaned up

For the Bitter Southerner Meets Stoner Dad Who Watches Southern Charm and Likes Expensive Sneakers set

  You mean you?

  OF COURSE!

  I want to like this more

It’s very slow

And doesn’t do much for me

  It’s…….. a Jason Isbell Record. 

  I cued it up again, trying to focus on the sound on my second run through.

  Ya know The Vibe? The thing that you can’t put your finger on that makes a thing a thing. 

  Sure.

  Anyway, my mind drifted to seeing him in concert again.

  The setting was definitely more Lyric Theater than MPAC. 

  The crowd was a lot of selvage denim, beards and elaborate barbershop hair cuts. Work boots, but like, $250 work boots. Belt buckles. 

  Like you’d dress if you were 4 inches shorter and had muscle tone?

  You’re not my real dad!

  A lot of dudes with their eyes closed, singing along to these songs like they’re hymns. Drinking in the “depth” of Saint Isbell. 

  House lights are down. Stage lighting is just a spot on him 

  Don’t forget the soft lighting on Tammy!

  Did you notice I barely mentioned her in the review? She really takes a step back here, IMO. 

  Strangely that might not be a good thing?

  Jesus now you’re a Tammy apologist?

  She don’t gotta apologize for them titties!

  GET BACK TO THE FAKE SHOW YOU CONJURED UP, YOU DUNCE

  Right after he sings “It gets easier”

  He says “But it never gets easy!” and the house lights come up, and his voice goes up 3 notches in volume, and the stoned dads (some of whom are sipping 1-3 canned IPAs) cheer. 

  Rinse Repeat

  JESUS, YOU HATE FUN

  Kind of 

  There’s another song on here

  What?

  Yeah – Letting You Go

  Oh yeah, the bro country sounding joint about his daughter?

  I actually like this and give it a pass for being a cheesy dad song.

If I still drank, I’d cue this up and get weepy!

You just said you don’t think about drinking!

I said I don’t DREAM about drinking!

  You are so fucking awful

  The. Worst. 

  Also, this sounds like something I know. 

  The cadence. The flow of the song. 

  Jesus you do this all the time

  I DO NOT 

  Remember the time you got blotto at Springsteen and insisted that American Land was the same as The Georgia Tech fight song?

  It is!

  It is not! 

Well, it sounded like it that night

  We know, you sang it the whole way home

  I was dreaming about drinking! 

  God you’re a dick, but I’m going to let that one pass before this ends up being 5000 words

  Why does a Dawg know the words to Rambling Wreck?

              We are both going to have to let some things pass if you ever want me to end this

                           ……

    (this sounds weirdly like Seven Years in Michigan in parts)

(the fiddle really ads something)

(Super 8 is still his best song)

      KILL. YOUR. SELF. 

             Check out this episode!