#uprooting my life. and getting here was hard enough!

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I still have a lot to look into on this but I heard that some universities have been or are planning to ban “study drugs” and I’m so pissed. Sure, I’m not sure if I’ll ever really get the chance to go to one, but even if I don’t, that’s still basically just banning a majority of medicated people with adhd, and possibly other issues. That is medical discrimination and I’m so pissed about it. This is what happens when the medications that many of us need to be functional are stigmatized and “abused” I have trouble remembering to do my own dishes without meds, and they expect people like me to go through college like that? Or, more likely in my opinion, do they just not want those “disabled drug addicts” in their fancy schools?

[dropsnectar]

Fawning Rose: Vine Monster x GN!Reader

The Adventures of an Elven Herbalist Part One

NSFW or NSFT

This is my first time writing anything in 6 years so keep that in mind. Also my first smut fic. Or monster fic. I literally learned about the sexual parts of plants for this fic. Don't know how I got here but this was fun! btw if you don't like oviposition, I marked the parts with three !!! before and after that scene, so you can skip it if you want.

WORD COUNT: 3167, or 7 pages on Docs

It had been a long journey from your home country, having to cross an entire sea to get to the sleepy elven town of Hairevick. An Herbalist, you could craft pills to treat a human flu, create a poultice for a dwarves sore, work-tired limbs; even brew potions to help a beastmen ease out of a mating season-- but it was still lonely. Their were no elves about, except for the rogue eccentric nomad. 

Feeling as you had fully mastered your craft in that area, and curious about your kind, you set forth in hopes of bettering yourself. However, when introducing yourself to your neighbors, you found everyone to be polite, but detached. As far as elves went, you were quite young, and the people of Hairevick were elder and not so trusting of outsiders. But worse of all, everyone here seemed to have an excellent knowledge of the local flora and fauna, and their uses in maintaining health. There was no need for an herbalist, especially one so unfamiliar with their lands. 

You spent the entire week mourning your state over glasses and pints of botanical alcohol-- The local tavern drinks were amazing!-- until you finally met a sympathetic face. 

He had long silver hair and the wisp of a ginger beard around his sharp jaw; a peculiar trait. He greeted you friendly enough, asking how you were settling in. It turned out that he owned a store in town, selling odds and ends. He even had a little apothecary in the corner, where those who couldn’t be bothered to make a forest run would buy herbs and tinctures. 

Starved for companionship, you bombarded him with questions about clients, and local herbalism. He was jovial, and after quite a few dregs of honey yarrow grog, offered you a book on the local flora. After some midnight bonding over stories of patients, he gave you a proposition. 

He was having some issues procuring some materials from a special plant, a Fawning Rose. It had incredible healing properties, but a bad habit of uprooting itself and fleeing from anyone who wasn’t a youth. If you could lure it out and bring back anything, be it petals, roots, greens, he would pay you handsomely. Maybe even give you some lessons on how to work with local plant life.

It was for this reason that you found yourself two days into a trip to the heart of the Haire Wilds bordering town. It was not going well. 

***

The cool air caressed your skin as you entered the grove. You had caught a peculiar sweet smell, somehow floral and buttery at the same time, and had followed it with hope filling your heart. The scent had gotten so thick you could taste it, strong as a tea on your tongue. Blue wildflowers covered the ground, interrupted by the common tree route or vine. 

Your eyes followed the vines or small roots, colored a sage with a speckled gradient to midnight blue. They traveled up into the middle of the grove. Sunlight, so rare this far into the Wilds, fell down in large delicious specks from the trees. They refracted off a large flower, almost two yards in width. Its petals were raspberry pink, turning blood red in the middle. Vines from its base led upwards and rested on the low boughs of the nearest trees, framing the flower and its various young buds like some sort of ethereal art study. 

You grew excited, feet tripping over roots as you ran forward, losing a shoe. You lost balance again and landed face first into the crook of a particularly large vine and hit your head. Hard. 

Hot pain crashed through you, making you curse as you steadied yourself. You tried to get up but the heat struck your temple like lightning as you moved upwards. Alright. Best to stay down then. 

As you waited, you were able to see past the stars in your eyes and notice a slight powdery substance on the vines. It, too, was pink. 

Maybe it was the thrill of finally finding the damn thing, or the head injury, but you felt different. You could hear your heart pumping hard in your chest, pleasantly tight. Your breath was ragged, the air pushing a hard, chilling heat through you. 

Like a particularly good run, your mind registered. A high. 

Your limbs started to tingle at the tips.

The rose’s perfume felt more like a mist now. You were only a few feet away from the base flower, and the scent had turned heady. Your hunger from a missed meal seemed to be surfacing, goaded on by the delectable smell the plant was giving off. While the pain eased and the stars disappeared from your eyes, you noticed that the lightheaded fuzzy feeling stayed.

Uh oh. Not a concussion.

You had to work hard to bring the fear into your mind. There was very little anyone could do to help you out here. The best you could do was not move around too much, and hoped the Fawning Rose would cooperate.

Suddenly, you notice some movement from the roots under your palms. 

No no no not now! Please, I haven’t harvested you yet! You thought as you tried to scramble up. 

The roots moved upwards with you, shoving you onto your side. Sliding around your feet, one took your other shoe with it as it slithered about under you. Another seemed to upend itself and squeeze cooly between your toes. You jumped a bit, but your gaze and mind were slow.

Something thick gilded itself on your shoulder making you look up. Vines, three, four, five of them descended and started rubbing themselves against you like cats. The movement was kicking up clouds of the pink pollen, making you sneeze as you wiggled against the plants outer limbs.

A part of you was horrified, thinking that perhaps you had scared the thing off. After all, you had been warned that this type of rose was particularly skittish. But the plant did not seem to be gathering itself to run away, rather it was pulling you closer to itself, the dragging tearing at the underside of your clothes.

Try as you might, you couldn't seem to think. Foggy, fuzzy, your mind was like cotton. The tingling in your fingertips has spread through your body, and an embarrassed part of your brain noticed your lower body was starting to awaken too. A warmth was beginning to pool in your gut, slow and lazy. Tingly. Fuzzy, like your head.

The vines continue to rub against your body, tearing the rest of your clothes away until only skin remains. They were relentless, cool against your hot skin. Their outer layers were textured but still smooth; a foreign sensation but extremely exciting. It felt almost like something was licking you, the powder giving a wet feel as it spread itself all over. Liquid heat glazed the innermost parts of you, much to your embarrassment. 

Aphrodisiac. You finally registered. You started to curse out that damned store keeper. 

You’d been played. 

You were now at the base of the flower, with even more roots and vines cradling and moving over your body. You were… pushed? Pulled? A foot into the air, close enough so that some of the smaller buds were leaning over you, as if they were getting a good look at you. You felt a knowing, a presence from this plant now. It really was looking at you.

Some desperate part of your mind, far far back in your mind, tries to set off danger bells. That you needed to get up and run.

Ooze started to secrete from the smaller buds, and the already overpowering scent of floral butteriness seemed to multiply. It dripped out onto your belly, warm and tingling, then your chest, your inner thigh, even a bit on your cheek.

The syrup dribbled down into the planes of your mouth as you wriggled under the vines. A particularly mischievous one pushes through the plush cheeks of your ass and moves up, poking at your entrance, causing you to gasp. 

The liquid touches your tongue. It tastes just as it smells, deliriously delicious. Sweet. Hot. It was divine compared to the little rations you’ve been eating the last few days. Like youd been starving and had sudden.ly been given free reign of a pastry shoppe. But no pastry could top this silky butteriness

What little heat that had kindled inside you was now a roaring flame, putting your past arousal to shame. You groan, and pull your head up, sticking your tongue out for more. A part of you is screaming to stop and run, but it is a stupid part that is buried instantly under your sudden overwhelming need. You are desperately horny, and you deserve to feel good after all the trouble you've been through lately.  

Still sticking out your tongue, you start to moan even louder as the vine messages your entrance with its thick girth. At the same time, one of the buds above your face seems to notice your desperation, and leans down to your lips.You lick at its plush petals and sweet sweet nectar seeps into your mouth. It tastes much like a floral pastry and you suck greedily as it pushes itself deeper in. 

The petals are so soft, yet still firm in your mouth as a river of nectar floods your throat. You giggled around it as it started to take its full effect. You felt light as air, so good. 

The vines had moved over to allow a bud to circle itself around your most sensitive part. You gasped out as it started to suck you, making stars flood your already glistening eyes. Your wet lashes fluttered as it began to suck wave after wave of pleasure out of your body.You had never felt so good, you noted somewhere in your sex drunk mind.  The whole time, the bud leaked nectar, completely soaking all parts of your groin.

The nectar left your skin feeling sensitive,  and completely soaked. This seemed to please the vines, which continued to massage the oil about you, then finally push in. You cried out at the sensation. Drool started to pool out of your mouth, mixing with the nectar.

 The vines rubbed lazy curving lines around your walls, making your hips jerk and shake. They seemed to know what they were doing as they started out slow for a time, then sped up their pace, thrashing about inside you. You clench around them, overwhelmed by the unyielding sensation. The pooling heat in you was building high, and you could tell the walls were about to break.

A rogue, mischievous bud had decided to examine your hole, tracing around your entrance in lazy circles. The petals were so soft, softer than skin. The texture made you feel desperate. As if to read your mind, the bud stopped. It must have been blooming because you felt little feelers, probably stamans, tracing about your genitals, wet with its lovely, delicious pollen.

 You swore and whined and pleaded for more as the vines fucked you through it, voice garbled by nectar. Another, thicker vine veined in indigo added itself to its companions and you finally came. The rush was like being tossed in the ocean, a shock that completely enveloped your entire body in cold, pulsing ecstasy. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your juices spilled down on the forest floor below. 

The echoes of the waves of pleasure were still rocking through you when the vines surrounded your body started to move you upwards again. The vines were slow and delicate as they handled you, as if you were precious cargo. You were brought upwards, almost as if they were about to set you on your feet. Your neck was out, as you were still suckling the addicting flower liquid. 

You noticed through your long damp hair that you were positioned just over the center of the Fawning Roses main flower. A drop of nectar slipped out from inside you and dribbled down and onto the flower's green pistil. The stigma was thick, with four fat lumps at the top. The stamen surrounding it swayed, almost as if there was a breeze. Their magenta anthers rained down more pollen, causing a beautiful gradient against the deep red at the middle of the large petals. It was a truly breathtaking sight. 

A single vine wiggled towards your face and pushed back your hair. You found the gesture almost sweet, leaning into its touch. You remained like that for a time, before the vines started to lower you on to the stigma. 

No no no, you tried to whisper, some understanding dawning; but the bud was being aggressive with its feeding, pushing further in your mouth. It had a job, and its job was to make you so desperately horny and stupid, you’d let this flower breed you. 

The stigma was a hard fit at first. Its lumpy texture felt so good rubbing against you, you couldn’t help but hump back into it. The vines around you squeezing your skin, tilting your hips this way in that, trying to make the fit. The surrounding stamen started to rub their anthers against you, two started focusing on your nipples. You continued to hump the stigma, smearing the nectars from your groin all over it. Then, finally, finally, You were able to squeeze it in. 

The vines had taken over the humping for you now, pushing you down harder and harder onto the pistil. The lumps dragged against your walls in such a beautiful way, that you screamed out babbling whines. Your skin was covered in nectar and bright pink pollen. Every part of you was being squeezed, rubbed, oozed upon with tingling liquid, that you weren’t even sure you had a body anymore, just pleasure. After you came for the fourth time, you started to feel a pulsing within the pistil.  It was like the thing seemed to grow within you.

! ! !

Ridges started to squeeze against your entrance, rubbing against your walls. They moved up, up, up, into the deepest parts of you. There was a sudden burst of warmth, then something small and squishy. You marveled at the texture, as the flower continued to lower you down on the pistil, now at a slower pace, in smaller movements. You ached so badly, but the new sensation of the objects and warmth inside you made you wanna keen louder. They felt sort of like eggs.

Seedpods. You registered lazily. You were being turned into a seedbed. 

This realization only seemed to turn you on even more. They felt so good, rolling about inside your walls. The warmth they brought rivaled the cool temperature of the pistil, a delightful duality. 

You moaned with every bulge, push, then pop of warmth and heaviness. It was getting to the point now where the vines were pulling you up off the pistil to make more room for the seeds. 

! ! !

You were cumming so much now you lost count. It was getting to the point that you were just continuously orgasming, as the seeds and the pistil dragged against your most sensitive parts. 

You may have been like that for hours, days even, the nectar kept you so dizzy you couldn’t tell time. But at some point you were so full that the pistil seemed satisfied. The wriggling stamen around you stilled, and the vines carefully lifted you off the pistil, giving one last drag within your walls.

The bloom inside your mouth slowly dragged itself out, making you whine in protest. The vines carefully laid you down at the foot of their roots, arranging your body in a comfortable position. The vines slowly retreated from your body. They lazily moved about, sometimes knocking into each other in a way that was almost comical. Their movements seemed lazy, almost like it too was spent. 

As the last vine left your skin, it caressed your cheek. Within you some affection of your own seemed to bloom. The haze that was in your mind was starting to dull, and replaced itself with the need to rest. Your heavy eyes closed and you gave into sleep.

***

You awoke without opening your eyes. You could feel that the curving mound of roots you’d been sleeping on had been replaced with fluffy grass and soil. The smell of freshly tilled earth flooded your nose, and you jolted upright, eyes wide.

The grove was quiet, and empty of the Fawning Rose. All that was left behind was you, the upturned soil it had left behind, and light dusting of pink pollen on the trees. Even the sweet pastry-like smell had left the grove.

You looked down at your naked, sore body and groaned. You could see a trail of bruises from where the vines had gripped you, along with dried out nectar and tons of pink pollen. Your stomach puffed out a bit more than normal, meaning all of this had NOT been a dream. Much to your surprise, nothing hurt though. Your body felt great, healthily spent like you had just run a marathon. Considering how hard you had been working there should have been some pain, but there wasn’t. Just the pleasant pressure of the seedpods against your insides.You recall the conversation with the shop owner at the tavern. Looks like this is the flower's healing abilities at work.

You continued to search around the grove. Your clothes were still in shreds on the forest floor, but your bag was safely tucked under one of the trees the flower had rested its vines in. With some effort, you managed to get yourself off the ground to pick it up, waddling the whole way. 

The pollen was still working its magic on you, but you guessed you had been exposed to it long enough to build a slight tolerance. Or maybe the growing rage within you was doing the trick. You pulled out one of the many glass bottles, and a silver knife. You went to work, scraping the dried nectar and pollen off your body, into the jars.

I’m gonna charge that asshole so much money, his kids will be poor. You seethed as you spent hours getting your money's worth off of every plane of your body. You’d have to birth those seed pods later too. Your insides grew warm at the thought. 

You tried not to think about how you were going to have to walk home naked, where you’d been and what you’d been doing laid bare upon your skin. It’d be free advertising tho, you tried to reason. 

You'd make a killing. Aphrodisiacs were rare, and extremely expensive, especially to a crowd of immortals. I think I'll sell these seed pods on my own though. You smiled. 

You’d make sure to be properly prepared the next time you went into the wilds.

Might do a part two, maybe with slimes next time? Also sorry about any switching of tenses, I have a hard time with that! Hope you guys enjoyed!

[solecize]

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.6k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. n/a

part three: the letters, the saloon and the second storm  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist

  vi. the letters

september 2nd 2008 (age 9)

dear jungkook,

  my mom said i should write you letters. i don’t really know what to say here. you better be visiting marshmallow and be nice to her while i’m gone. i miss her a lot. i guess i miss having you around since i don’t have anyone to play guitar hero with…

p.s. happy late birthday maybe i can visit and come to your party next year if my mom lets me

  from y/n

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  ***

january 19th 2009 (age 10)

dear y/n,

  i learned how to skate for the first time. it’s too bad the ice will be gone when you’re back and we won’t get to skate together. i can’t believe we’ll be in middle school soon. are you scared? hoseok and namjoon say it’s not a big deal. also, i saw your grandpa yesterday and he showed me how to use a tapper on a maple tree. so cool!

p.s. you should ask your mom if you can visit earlier this year

  from jungkook

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  ***

april 23rd 2009 (age 10)

HEY JUNGKOOK,

  look inside the box, i sent you a book with this letter. i told you in my last letter that i would send you one. it’s astronomy for dummies (because you’re a dummy). you better read it before i come back to grandpa’s, okay?? you have a month and a half loser.

from y/n

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  ***

september 30th 2009 (age 10)

hi y/n,

  jimin sprained his ankle during gym class. your grandpa told me to write that because it probably just made your day. i feel a little bit bad for him, the nurse at our school is really mean. also i know it’s a month away but i’m so excited for halloween. my dad got me this really cool goku costume. what are you gonna dress up as?

  from jungkook

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  ***

february 4th 2010 (age 11)

jungkook,

  i’m so tired of my parents fighting all the time. all they do is yell. i can’t wait to be back in amber valley so i don’t have to hear them all the time. i wish i had your parents, they’re so nice. also i hate my class. it’s so hard to be friends with the girls that sit next to me, they always leave me out of things. don’t you miss elementary school?

  from y/n

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  ***

may 17th 2010 (age 11)

dear y/n,

  guess what. my dad got me a skateboard!! it’s so cool. if you’re nice to me i’ll let you borrow it. we should see who can do the coolest trick. it’ll be me of course i’m better than you at everything LOL. you better hurry and come back!

  from jungkook

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  ***

november 25th 2010 (age 11)

hi jungkook, 

  i can’t believe i’ll only be living with my dad soon. do you think my mom doesn’t want me? honestly, i’d rather just live with grandpa all the time. then i could see marshmallow everyday all year! or maybe you can convince your mom to take me in. actually, i take that back, i could never live with you. you’re so messy. 

p.s. i got my own skateboard!! it’s cold now but i’m gonna practice and bring it with me next summer

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  ***

february 18th 2011 (age 12)

y/n,

  i know you’re super sad and stuff. i’m sorry about your parents. we’re gonna have the best summer ever though and maybe you won’t think so much about it. look at the bucket list i made!

eat breakfast for dinner

watch the captain america movie

ride the big kids ride at the midsummer fair (i’m tall enough now so you better be too)

stay up all night

make ice cream

  if you have any ideas, add on! hope you’re doing okay :( 

  from jungkook

  vii. the saloon

when jungkook mentioned the saloon to you, you thought it was a joke poking at the countryside life. 

  “oh, it’s actually called a saloon. like, unironically. that’s what the text said,” you rambled into your phone, edged between your ear and shoulder, as you stood in your kitchen in front of your laptop.

  on the screen, you were assembling an excel sheet of sorts to assist your navigation through the business side of the farm. thankfully, this was exactly the field you had long worked and studied in and knowing this before taking on your new role made the transition far easier. there was hardly any product to be profiting from, as you had just arrived, and you were preparing the document before the time came to deal with vendors and other local businesses.

  “oh, honey, that place has actually been called ‘the saloon’ ever since i was a little girl,” your mom’s voice chimed in from the other end.

  since the turn of your early twenties, your phone calls to your parents were far and few between and you could hear the surprise in her tone when she initially picked up. but, your grandpa’s letter seemed to be growing truer everyday, as your surroundings made drew you to reconnect with what you thought was to be lost.

  eyebrows furrowed, you continued to scroll through your work. “mom, do you think he meant it as a date? i can’t do a date, i literally just got here!”

  “calm down. it’s that amber valley hospitality. but,” your mom paused, “you did have crushes on each other growing up.”

  “mom, no way - “

  she merely laughed. “it was so obvious! you mailed a valentine’s day card to jungkook every year. one time, he punched little jimin because he called you ‘jungkook’s ugly girlfriend.’”

  “and then he screamed that i wasn’t ugly. huh, i do remember that,” you began to think. 

  spending time reminiscing with your mom momentarily distracted you from the anxiety you felt, waiting for the evening to come. jungkook did end up texting you, asking if you were coming down to the saloon for the birthday surprise. you looked away and closed your eyes when you pressed ‘send’ on the confirmation that you would drop by.

  the idea made you nervous only because it had been so long since you went out and met new people. there was no such thing as free time in your old life and you really only maintained surface-level friendships with your coworkers in your last year of the job.  however, knowing amber valley and the tight-knit community, it was only a matter of time before you got acquainted with everyone, whether you liked it or not.

  by the time it was six, you’d forced yourself to get changed and inspected your outfit several times before leaving. the last thing you wanted to do was stand out too much. so, you put on your favourite denim jeans and a plain long sleeve top, putting away your go-to strappy stilettos for the night. 

  making your way into town was quick and soon enough, you found the pub situated in between the flower shop and the hardware store. it definitely looked like it’d been around since your mom was a little girl, the exterior siding showing age with chips here and there. 

  “hey y/n.”

  you jumped, having not paid attention to your surroundings. turning around, it was taehyung holding a box adorned in magenta polka dot wrapping. he wore a similar outfit to the one from the day before, except a different cowboy hat. you wondered if there was a store in town that specialized in selling just these hats.

  “hi taehyung. is this for jin?” you offered a smile, gesturing to the box.

  a pleased grin formed on taehyung’s face. “yup. i’m pretty sure i got him the best gift out of everyone, but don’t tell anyone.”

  he walked ahead of you and opened the door, pausing. you realized he was opening it for you and you quickly thanked him, going right in. small town hospitality. 

  it was saturday evening, but to your surprise, there were hardly any patrons in the bar. taehyung then pointed to a sign by the door, which you missed completely. it read: ‘private event, invite only.’ 

  “oh, wow, am i v.i.p?” you joked, following him to the back of the room, where a stack of presents were grouped on one table. 

  “of course! you’re jungkook’s friend, after all,” he exclaimed, setting his box down with the others. “you guys go way back, huh? how long has it been since you guys since saw each other?”

  you counted in your head. “i think twelve or thirteen years. a while.”

  “what, no facebook back in the day?” he teased.

  “no, he was never nearly fond of that. after i stopped coming for the summers, we lost contact completely.” you couldn’t recall any attempts for continued communication afterwards, other than your grandpa offering updates here and there about him. “we used to write, but i don’t know what happened. . .”

  for a while, you wondered why jungkook never wrote you again after you stopped coming to the valley. admittedly, looking back, it hurt your preteen self that he never tried. but, eventually, you moved on and left jungkook in your childhood.

  taehyung nodded slowly. “so. . .you didn’t know about what happened?”

  you already knew what he was talking about and squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. “no. i felt really bad about it.”

  “it’s okay. since i moved to town, i’ve really admired jungkook. if there’s any sort of pain, he hides it really well for the sake of others,” he said, leaning on the wall.

  that sounded like the jungkook you remembered. he was always the type to put others before himself, no matter how small the issue. then, you began thinking about jiwon.

  “taehyung, can i ask you something?” you suddenly said. “jiwon. she’s only nine. and jungkook doesn’t have any other family. . .”

  the smile at the corner of taehyung’s lips was sad. “yeah. jungkook is her primary guardian and has been since he was nineteen.”

  the answer seemed to weigh a hundred pounds and you had to take a second to take it all in. there were so many questions that formed, floating around your head and you couldn't seem to find the words to articulate any of them. before you could even try, you jumped again at the sudden appearance of two new individuals, one of them being jungkook himself and forced you to put away your thoughts.

  “we’re behind schedule, did yoongi put the cake in the fridge?” this new person was turned to taehyung, carrying a case of beer. “we need - oh, hi! y/n! i totally remember you, i heard you were back!”

  you’d never seen someone with such energy, exhibiting positivity like a ray of sunshine. it seemed like he was genuinely delighted to see you. taking a closer look at his features, you recognized him to be jung hoseok - jungkook’s next door neighbour. he put down the case in his hands and immediately pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

  “hoseok, hi!” you winced, trying your best to hug him back, but it certainly made you burst into a giggle.

  he was the first person to remember you on the spot, which took you aback. a few years older than you, you weren’t as close with him as you were with jungkook growing up, but he was always around. you remember him as the big brother who showed you and jungkook the cool ‘older kid’ shows and games that your parents would have never let you watch at that young age. 

  “how have you been? you look so grown up! you’re really staying here for good?” the questions were rapid-fire, one after another.

  beside him, jungkook was smiling, but tapped hoseok to bring him back into the main conversation. “hyung. hyung! we’re behind schedule, remember?” he groaned, but grinned wider when you met his eyes. “nice to see you, though, bunny. really glad you came.”

  “oh, right.” hoseok quickly let go and cleared his throat, beginning to point to each of you with authority. “you, taehyung. go help jimin with the slideshow. namjoon has the pinata.”

  pinata? how old was this jin person, was he one of jiwon’s friends?

  “you, jungkook. jin said he’s five minutes away, we need you to distract him for a bit longer.”

  “can i help?” you piped in, feeling a bit out of place. “i mean, i’m here as a last minute guest, i’m happy to help in any way.”

  hoseok clapped his hands together in glee. “thank you, y/n! go help jungkook distract jin, you being there will give him a reason to yap on. let’s go team!” he raised his fist in encouragement and in the blink of an eye, he already dashed off. 

  at this, jungkook seemed unfazed and frankly, so were you. you remember hoseok’s personality to be like this - extremely vigorous and could never sit in one place. on the other hand, taehyung looked perplexed as much as he appeared amused. he only shrugged, picking up the case of beer that hoseok clearly forgot.

  “let’s go team, i guess. i’ll see you guys in a bit!” taehyung chuckled, walking off.

  you were expecting to be asked to move around chairs or help bring out food. this wasn’t quite in your cards. you turned to jungkook in confusion, who chuckled at your expression.

  “come follow me.”

  he led the two of you back out the saloon, hands in his jean pockets. the early summer air was stunningly humid and coming outside was like hitting a muggy and sticky wall. but, there was one thing that couldn’t be replaced.

  you couldn’t help but stare up at the sky, a fixed gaze. “you can really see the stars when you’re in the valley.”

  the stars, dotted across the night, twinkled and smiled down at you. it was a view that others only romanticized and dreamt of in carefully crafted paintings and poems made to move the soul. and now, this dream was your new home. 

  jungkook mimicked the way you tilted your head up, lost with his own gaze. “i’ve lived here all my life and i never get tired of it.”

  “i can’t believe i forgot about this. . .” you trailed off.

  he pointed out to the sky. “that one is ursa major and you can see - “

  “ - the big dipper,” the two of you said in unison, which led to a shared laughter. 

astronomy was one of your biggest interests growing up, having stacks of books and a tapestry of the night sky in your childhood bedroom. your bedroom in the farmhouse also had a shelf full of astronomy books, which your grandpa still kept until his passing. having ignored the task of organizing and arranging your new bedroom, which was the same room you occupied over your summers in amber valley, you made a note to go through this shelf when you arrived home.

  jungkook said, “you’re the one that taught me about that,” he turned back to you. “you actually used to randomly quiz me on constellations, it was really stressful.”

  you could see your younger self sitting on your grandpa’s porch steps with jungkook, who lazied on the hammock across from you. you would compile actual multiple-choice questions and threw pebbles at him whenever he got an answer wrong. eventually, your grandpa scolded you for that, so you changed your weapon of choice to toy balls.

  “i guess my lessons paid off, though,” you bantered.

  following this, you heard a person shout jungkook’s name. you looked over and saw a man walking in your direction. he was tall and handsome and his smile was inviting. a little too handsome, he reminded you of models you’d seen in high fashion ads. his clothes contributed to the image, a patterned short sleeve button down and t-shirt that gave off neat and put-together. he wore jeans like what seemed to be 90 percent of the town, but you noticed the luxury brand belt. 

  “oh, seokjin!” to this, jungkook nudged you, as if signalling for you to be ready for something.

  this was jin? the birthday boy with a pinata? he had to be around hoseok’s age.

  “hey! hoseok told me to meet him here, have you see him?” seokjin began looking around. “he is working tonight, right?”

  “uh, did he?” jungkook’s tone was not convincing and you couldn’t believe the hoseok made such a horrible liar be the distraction. “i think he is, want me to call him?”

  “um, yeah. he said he was returning something he borrowed from me.” seokjin looked at him strangely. “why don’t i just go inside and check? why are you just waiting out here?”

  “this is y/n!” jungkook suddenly blurted out, seemingly having no way around the conversation. his smile was painful and avoided making eye contact.

  your eyes went wide and seokjin turned to you, having not realized there was another person in his presence. “oh, i’m so sorry! i didn’t see you there.”

  “yeah, hi, that’s me. y/n.” this time, it was jungkook looking at you like you were the least convincing person in the world. you cleared your throat and offered a handshake to seokjin.

  seokjin didn’t seem to notice your awkwardness and took your hand. “it’s really nice to meet you. jungkook actually told me a lot about you!” it was subtle, but you could hear jungkook groan. 

  you raised your eyebrows at jungkook. “oh, did he?” 

  “you guys grew up together, right? and you’re taking over the old farm?” 

  although you could tell right off the bat that seokjin wasn’t from amber valley, his deamanour was just as welcoming and friendly. he asked you a few questions about where you’re from and how settling in was. 

  “i’m sure you’ll be a natural. it sounds like you already have a lot of experience!” seokjin exclaimed and his positivity gave you genuine reassurance. “we’re all friends around here, so don’t be shy to reach out if you need anything.”

  “thank you,” you replied.

  jungkook tried to regain his composure. “seokjin runs the bakery down the street.”

  “yeah! my wife and i used to buy eggs from your grandpa all the time, hopefully we can keep doing that,” seokjin winked at you. 

  then, the front door of the saloon cracked open just enough for hoseok to poke his head outside. there was no sign of activity from the inside, with the lights now off and all voices coming to a complete silence. 

  seokjin tilted his head slightly when looking at hoseok. “there you are. are you. . closed? the bar is closed on a saturday night?” he asked.

  “yeah, uh, plumbing issues,” hoseok’s eyes darted over to you and jungkook. “y/n, jungkook! what brings you here around this time of day? you should all come in!”

  despite the growing skepticsm etched on his face, seokjin glanced over to you two and shrugged. he followed his friend’s gesture to come inside. 

  you mumbled to jungkook, “you and your friends are all terrible liars.” to this, jungkook stifled a laugh and playfully jabbed his elbow into your arm. 

  hoseok opened the door wider and seokjin went in first, while you and jungkook trailed after. you were surprised at how well they made the interior appear deserted, with not a single soul in sight. you did noticed that they even stacked the chairs on the tables, as if the establishment was really closed.

  “by the way, hoseok is the manager of the saloon,” jungkook leaned into your ear and whispered. 

  the floorboards creaked with every step, only adding onto the heavy silence in the atmosphere. seokjin looked around, eyebrows furrowed. he cleared his throat, hoping to cut the awkward tension.

  seokjin started, “so, y/n, what happened with you and ju - “

  “surprise!”

  all of the lights flickered on and filled the room. upbeat music turned on suddenly, causing seokjin to jump and yelp. two dozen or so people popped out from random places - underneath the booths, from behind the walls, and from behind the bar. balloons and streamers began spilling out from out of nowhere.

  “happy birthday seokjin!” everyone yelled in unison.

  you awkwardly tried to join in once you caught onto what everyone was saying. despite that, the high energy ended up engulfing you and you couldn’t help but smile. some of the boys started throwing streamers at seokjin, while namjoon appeared from under the bar with a lit chocolate cake and began approaching the birthday boy in question.

  “thanks, y/n!” hoseok nudged you, as everyone began singing to seokjin. “it’s exciting that you’re around again!” 

  as the song concluded and seokjin enthusastically blew out his candles, you cheered along with everyone else. over the cheering, jungkook found his way to you again. he raised his hand, offering a high-five, which you immediately accepted.

  something about the atmosphere unlocked something inside you. within days, you were welcomed into the community and for the first time in a long time, saw people that could become your actual friends. maybe this was what your grandpa was talking about.

  “yeah,” jungkook added, “it is exciting that you’re around again.”

  “real connections. . .” you muttered to yourself, remembering the contents of your grandpa’s letter.

  the yelling got louder, as the partygoers chanted for seokjin to make a speech. “huh, what did you say?” jungkook shouted over the chanting. 

  “nothing!” 

  you weren’t prepared for the next part of grandpa’s wish for you. it was a surprise to you that you were able to ease into the town and become comfortable connecting with the people around you. at the end of the day, though, you had a farm to run and you were about to face the worst of it. 

  viii. the second storm

your grandpa’s last wishes for you were to reconnect with people and nature. nature. you didn’t realize what you were getting yourself into.

  “oh my god! why does mother nature hate me?!”

  the best thing about living in a big farmhouse by yourself was the fact that you could make as much noise as you wanted. you often found yourself yelling at the top of your lungs, shrieking like a bird when you came across anything frustrating. considering you were learning an entirely new job on your own, it happened quite often.

  you screamed into the void after your first phone call with a vendor, who kept on asking you if you knew what you were doing. you swore you almost broke your vocal cords when you sunk into the mud the first time you checked out the fields after a rainy night. at least you walked away several metres from the coop before you screeched in agony after the chickens gave you a hard morning on time. 

  when a soft knock on your front door interrupted your emotional breakdown, your heart stopped. 

  “fuck!” you whispered to yourself.

  who would be visiting you? what if it was someone important, like mayor kim? maybe they didn’t hear - no, they definitely heard. 

  you tentatively approached the door and took a deep breathe before swinging it open.

  “i didn’t know you started tending to hyenas on the farm.”

  it was jungkook with a lazy, shit-eating grin. it was early in the morning, about 8am, and he wore workout clothes. baggy grey sweatpants and a white nike tank-top, you felt like you were straining to keep your eyes on his face and not anywhere else. 

  “oh, shut it. good morning to you, too,” you shot back. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

  “sorry, i would’ve texted, but i was already passing by on my run,” jungkook said.

  it’d been about a week since you last saw him, though he was nice enough to check in on you every once in a while to see if you were doing okay with the farm. you hardly left home, used to the same routine of working and going right to bed everyday from your old life and the habit was hard to break. 

  he continued, “anyway, i saw your windows hanging from outside and i just wanted to make sure - “

  you opened the front door wider for him to see the state of your front entryway and his jaw dropped. there was water everywhere on the floor. the storm from the night before was aggressive and the age of the house couldn’t stand it. you didn’t anticipate for it to be this bad, having just shoved the windows closed before you went to bed.

  “yeah, they’re wrecked,” you sighed, looking over to what was left of it, considering most of it was on the ground. “actually, that’s why i was screaming.”

  “you know, i take what i said back. totally justified.”

  “thanks,” you rolled your eyes and sighed. he made a gesture as if to come in and you obliged, carefully stepping aside and making sure you weren’t stepping in a puddle. “i’m surprised this hasn’t happened before.”

  he let out a low whistle, as he walked inside and took in the sight of your floors. “honestly, me neither. you would think this would’ve happened already ages ago.”

  you didn’t know what else to do but shrug. “i can handle it.” despite your words, you certainly could not handle it. there were still a million things you had to take care of around the farm and dealing with broken windows and water was an incredible burden that you didn’t know where to start.

  “shit. look, i have to go to work in a bit, but let me help you out,” jungkook said. 

  you instantly shook your head. “jungkook, no. it’s fine, really, i got it.”

  “you’ve never picked up a screwdriver in your life.”

  “hey, you don’t know that!” you wanted to slap him upside the head like from when you were kids, but found the strength to refrain.

  it was only jokes and jungkook’s smirk showed it, but his tone then became serious. “okay, then, at least let me help you fix your windows. dude, you live alone in this big ass house on this big ass farm. just say yes.” 

  at this point, you could tell he was exasperated with your stubborness and you laughed at it. you weren’t one to turn down someone offering to do manual labour for you, but you were hesitant to show any lack of indepdence. though, something told you to say yes and it wasn’t jungkook’s annoyance with your persistence. 

  “okay, fine. you’re real annoying, you know that?” you had to add in the last part, it was only natural. 

  he shook his head. “thank you - oh, how lucky i am for milady to accept my lousy, peasant self to fix your windows!” at that, you shoved him playfully and when he barely moved from your push, jungkook couldn’t help but chuckle. 

  “i know you’re perfectly capable of doing things yourself, by the way. you just shouldn’t have to all the time,” he gave you a pointed look. 

  you nodded slowly, looking down at your feet. “thank you, jungkook.” 

  though it was only 8 in the morning, you decided to take a later start in the day, since you usually woke up at the crack of dawn. you had your entire day ahead of you and what felt like a hundred things to do and the last thing you wanted to add was a trip to the hardware store.

  “of course,” he carefully tiptoed around the water, moving back to the front door. “it’s what friends are for. i’ll come by tomorrow morning, how’s that sound?”

  this is not what you meant when you decided to “reconnect with nature” at all. with your fluffy indoor slippers soaked in rainwater, you were certainly more than connected with it. you made a mental note to visit the beach and call it a day, hoping that would fulfill your grandpa’s wish for you to be one with mother earth and that the forces of nature would leave you alone after that.

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822 @seokoutt @firelcrds @taiwan0618

[missmonsters2]

New Age vampire Tara trying to wrap her head around the fact that she won’t age and everyone else will…while also facing her undying love for her childhood best friend reader 😭😭 is it bad that want a slightly somber unhinged Tara. Like she wouldn’t know how to waft around reader but she’d be a total charmer. My goodness Van. I just love your versions of vampires and I agree with your other anon that you write them the best.

Pairing: Vampire!Tara Carpenter x Reader

Warnings: sexual tension. brooding!tara.

Notes: 😗

Count: < 1k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷🗡⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Everything as a vampire was overwhelming. 

The colors were too vibrant. The smells could be broken down into every single scent. She could taste every single ingredient in every single bite. Sleep was more intense with the dreams being so vivid as if she were awake.

So, one could only imagine what it was like being around you when Tara had feelings. 

The feelings started before her change, and only intensified after it. Half the time, Tara had to clench her mouth shut and will the urge to bite you to go away. 

Sam warned her that being close while Tara was still adjusting would be hard. But Tara stayed away for two years while you were gone for school and that was long enough. 

Of course, Tara kept in touch by texts and face time, but she always came up with excuses why neither of you could visit each other. 

But when you told Tara nervously that you were going to stay in Seattle after graduation, Tara uprooted her entire life—and Sam's—to move there. 

The reunion was just as Tara imagined. Long hugs, tender handholding, and quick quips. 

But you were still ever so clueless about Tara's feelings, and she wasn't sure if she wanted you to stay clueless or not. 

Tara was a terrible overthinker. 

What if you knew about her feelings?

What was the future supposed to be?

Would she watch you grow old or would she change you?

Would you even want to be changed?

What if...what if Tara accidentally bit you and then couldn't stop?

"You're brooding again."

Tara looked up and found you not even looking at her as you focused on your textbook. Finals were coming up and all their hangouts lately consisted of just studying.

Tara's thankful this is you're graduating after this. 

"I'm not brooding," Tara rolled her eyes.

But she was. She was brooding. 

"You should focus on your own studying rather than whatever you're brooding about."

Tara stared down at her notes disinterestedly. She's already memorized all of this to perfection, so studying more wouldn't do anything. 

"I'm just here to spend time with you," Tara drolled with a smirk. 

You scrunched your nose in annoyance. "I hate how easy everything comes to you. You were always smart, but I feel like you don't even have to try anymore to get A's."

Tara merely shrugged, slightly uncomfortable but pushed through. "Do you want help?" Tara teased as she moved closer to you, peering over your flashcards. "You might remember it better if I quiz you."

"You're more distracting than anything, Carpenter," you mumbled, flipping to your next flashcard. 

"Ah, I see," Tara nodded exaggeratedly. "Staring at my perfect face must be distracting."

Tara teased you all the time, it was her thing. Just like you rolling your eyes and throwing something soft at her was your thing. 

But then, you didn't. 

Tara could smell the blood rushing up your chest to your ears. She could smell your blood warming. 

Her nose flared and eyes darkened, but you didn't notice as you pointedly stared down at your flashcards. 

You still rolled your eyes but you were tense. 

Tara clenched her jaw, trying to calm herself down, but she couldn't. Every breath was filled with your scent and warming blood. You smelled so sweet, like ripe cherries and your blood was calling to her.

Taunting her, really. 

"No come back? How rare." Tara's voice came out low and smooth. 

Tara started to move closer until she was face to face with you, but you still hadn't looked up until her breath was on the shell of your ear. 

You pulled back, looking up sharply at Tara, shock in your eyes. 

Too many things were happening at once. 

Everything was overwhelming as a vampire. 

Tara could practically taste your blood and arousal on her tongue but she could also sharply smell your panic. 

Tempering the urge to bite you again, Tara moved back into her spot and smiled innocently. 

You rolled your eyes again, grabbing the cushion you were using to rest against and smacked it into the side of Tara's head.

Tara let you, of course, watching it happen in slow motion and laughed when you put the cushion back.

"You're so annoying," you stuck your tongue out at her. "Go back to brooding."

The tension bled out of the room and Tara got up to open the window and stayed standing near it, letting the outside air fill her lungs.

Tara looked over to you, running her tongue against her teeth. Your blood was quietly humming to her and she could still smell the lingering scent of arousal, but it was clear you were confused about what was happening. You were confused about why things were changing, and Tara didn't want to rush you. 

Besides, she was still brooding. 

[galatially]

❝𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 "𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧" 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — you called and i came, the history between us too broad to ignore; when he showed up on your doorstep five years after he disappeared in the middle of the night, logan howlett decided to clear the air

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 5K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, exes, angst, smut, soft boi™ logan, exes to tentative lovers

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — it is time to spread the agenda of logan howlett and his influence on my brain rot for most of my nerdy life. shout out to lizzy mcalpine for making "ceilings" and having me spiral over it for a year!

also also, y'all, i know. i'm horrible at deadlines. but it's what y'all love about me lol

also also first post of 2024!

as always, lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into his skin, your fingers both light and firm. 

“You have so many scars.” He grunted in response. “When you tell me, am I going to have to set a house on fire?”

Logan laughed. “And why would you do that, bubba?”

“To defend your honor, of course.” You laid across his back to whisper in his ear, the warmth of your breath making the hairs on his body erect. “Can’t have you being the hero all the time. My shoulders are strong, too.”

“…listening? Logan? Logan!”

He blinked, his vision focusing on Ororo’s concerned gaze. 

“What’d you say?”

A soft smile graced her lips. “I asked where you were going.”

Logan hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

Ororo hummed. “Would this have to do with a certain someone that lives in the Canadian mountainside?” He didn’t answer as he threw the bag in the back of his truck. “Do you think that’s the best thing for her right now?”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay, Munroe.”

“And then what?” Ororo crossed her arms. “What are you going to do when you see that she’s fine?”

He threw her a hard glare. “I just want to see her. Is that so fuckin’ wrong?”

Her features softened. “You had another dream about her.”

Logan turned back towards the garage. “What does it matter? I just need to see her, Munroe.”

She held her hands up. “I can’t stop you. I just worry that you’re about to uproot this woman’s life because you can’t let her go.”

He took in a sharp breath. She wasn’t wrong; he’d spent the better part of six years raking himself over the coals at how he ended things. If he allowed them, the memories of you screaming and your brown eyes red and puffy from crying haunted him more than any battle he’d ever been in. 

“Look, if you’re so hellbent on going to see her, then go. You’re an adult and you have to live with your decisions.”

He walked around to the driver’s side of his truck. “Tell our fearless leader that I’m goin’ out of town and I’ll be back when I can.”

Ororo nodded and waved, a sad smile on her lips. 

He shouldn’t fucking be here.

The second Logan crossed the border, he could think of nothing else but to get to you. Thirty-eight hours and he didn’t sleep for any of them. No, his mind’s eyes played memories of you: how soft your skin was, that fig and jasmine perfume you loved. The silken warmth of your cunt. He fucked his fist like a horny fourteen year old in that dingy hotel in BC. If he focused hard enough, he could get the tone of your voice just right — those breathy, pleading moans that you let out only for him. He could get lost in the memories, pretend that he was beside you in your bed, other people be damned. 

But that was thirty-eight hours ago. 

Now, here he was. His hands gripped the steering wheel of his truck until his knuckles went white, silently cursing himself for even showing up. He hadn’t seen you in, what? Six years? Who the hell was he to appear on your doorstep after the shit he pulled? 

His eyes scanned the forest surrounding your home. He hated that you lived so far away from immediate civilization. It took you thirty minutes to get into the nearest town for work and you essentially lived off the grid. When he’d happened upon your home that fateful October evening, he was amazed that you had a working phone, let alone Wi-Fi. Whenever you crossed his mind, he thought the worst. He used to beg you to get an apartment in the city, but you always refused. 

“I’m not ready to let get of this place just yet.” You looked up at him from drawing circles on his bare bicep. “Unless you want to give up city life and live out here with me?”

He didn’t answer; even back then, Logan knew that he was bound to hurt you. His refusal to give you more than idle pleasure was a point of contention for you both. Jean always said that he could be hard to talk to because if he wasn’t picking a fight, he was evading questions. But unlike Jean, you weren’t one to back down. When he’d divert or blatantly ignore your questions, you stood your ground. You didn’t give him the chance to distract you with sudden affection. You wanted to resolve issues as soon as they were made present. 

It’s something Logan both loved and hated about you. 

“Fuck this.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. He blew out a determined breath and opened his car door, his feet moving before he changed his mind. As he got closer to the house, he noticed the red “SOLD” sign on the lawn. His chest thrummed with…pain? Remorse? Fear?

What would he do if you left?

He was on your porch now, his heart hammering against his ribcage, fighting to get to you. He raised his hand to knock on the door as it was opening, being met with the face he’d been dreaming about for half a decade. 

Your brows were furrowed in confusion. “James.” 

His hazy memory didn’t do you justice; your eyes seemed more intense than the last time he’d seen you. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt — eerily familiar to an old Pink Floyd shirt he thought he’d lost years ago — and shorts barely peeking out from under the hem of the shirt. Your skin smooth and begging to be touched. Your dark coils were thrown into a bun, pieces falling out in various places. You weren’t outwardly upset but you could school your features better than anyone he knew. Your body was half-facing him and half-facing the tiny hall that led to the inside of the house. There was a solemnity to your face that he didn’t recognize. 

A voice in the furthest part of his mind whispered that it was because of him. 

“Y’know you’re the only person that still calls me James?”

Your features flattened. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just passin’ through Edmonton and ended up here .”

“You drove for three days on a whim?”

“I was on my way back from handlin’ somethin’,” he said, the familiar finality in his tone. His gaze went past your shoulders and into the darkness of your home. “Have you eaten yet?”

You blinked. “Not yet.” 

He nodded, his blue eyes back on you. “Can I come in? I’ll make you somethin’.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve slammed the door in his face and went back to packing up the rest of your bedroom. But instead, you moved to the side and let Logan inside. He thanked you and walked inside, toeing off his shoes, and heading back towards the kitchen like he’d been doing it forever.  

You looked out at his old, rusted truck one last time before closing the door and going to the kitchen. From the tiny hallway, you could hear him humming to himself; an old song his mother used to sing to him, he’d told you once. He’d put his hair up into a bun at the top of his head, a few strands falling to frame his face. His tan skin, the same skin that had scars that even his mutation couldn’t heal, glowed under the dull glow of your kitchen light. You used to always tell him beautiful he was, but he’d wave you off in that Logan way, telling you that no one was as beautiful as you. 

You leaned up against the doorjamb. “Last I heard, you were living in New York. You teach at some fancy school?”

Logan chuckled, mincing up onions and garlic. “I wouldn’t say teach.”

“So, what, you get paid to hang out with fourteen year olds in upstate New York? Sounds kind of sketchy.”

“I teach hand to hand combat,” he glanced over at you, “the kids that I teach it to are like me. Mutants.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I never liked that word; mutants. They make you all sound like failed experiments.”

“Aren’t we?”

“No.” You crossed your arms. “Far from it.”

Logan nodded, more to himself than your declaration, and moved to face the stove. He dumped his vegetables in a small pan to cook. He reached to the left of him — muscle memory, you reasoned — and grabbed a jar of maize. “You’d like it. New York.”

“You think?”

Logan lifted a shoulder. “Be better than livin’ all alone in the mountains.”

You let out a hum. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Where you headed?”

“I don’t know yet,” your eyes dropped to your fidgeting hands, “I didn’t think that I’d be able to sell the house, actually.”

“Why did you? Sell?”

“You know why,” you said, your voice lowered to a whisper. “I held onto it for her and when she died, I didn’t want to stay.”

“‘M sorry I didn’t reach out. Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

You made a bitter sound. “Yeah, well, you’re good at leaving when the wind blows.”

He pursed his lips, turning around to turn off the stove. “You got any plates or bowls left out?”

“James, I —”

“’S fine, Y/N. Bowls?”

You blew out a breath and walked over to the cupboard beside the stove and grabbed two plates, handing them over to Logan. Your knuckles brushed up against his but you kept your eyes on the oak wood of the cupboard. 

“Thanks.”

You rushed out a hushed “you’re welcome” and moved back to stand in front of the sink. The air was tense and you had to fight the impulse to pull Logan to you and let him consume you, if only for tonight. You tightened your hands into fists, feeling the bite of your nails as they embossed your skin. 

Logan handed you a plate and walked to your tiny kitchen table in the far corner of the room. He sat in his chair: close enough to the back door and facing towards you. Where before it was to smile and regard you with tenderness, now there was unease in his eyes. 

You’d forgotten that you didn’t ask what he was making, so the spread in front of you gave you pause: it was your mother’s polenta recipe. “You remembered.” The words came out airy, surprised. 

“You’re the last thing that I’d ever forget, bubba.”

“Don’t do this, Logan.” You set your spoon down. “Just…don’t.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, either!” You pinched the bridge of your nose. You pushed your plate away and looked away from your former lover. 

What were you doing? He showed up, out of the blue, making you dinner…to do what? The question had been clawing at you the entire visit. Why now? What could Logan possibly want from you after all of these years?

Logan leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking in protest against his broad frame. You kept wanting to speak, break the tense silence, but you couldn’t find the words. Looking at him, he seemed too still. Like a marble statue molded to the chair, anchoring him to this room with you. 

“I fucked up, bubba.”

Your brows canted. “What do you mean?”

“That night…the last night that I was here, I said some things that I shouldn’t have. Made promises that I didn’t know if I could keep.” One of his large hands scrubbed down his face, his eyes still on the ceiling. “I told you that I’d leave everythin’ behind to stay.”

Your bottom lip quivered. You remembered; he’d come here that night more impassioned than usual. His hair wind-swept, his cheeks wind-whipped and red, he pulled you in for one of the most passionate kisses you’d ever had in your life. A clash of tongue and teeth against fleshy lips and curves of skin that left you a shaking mess beneath the thin sheets of your bed. You laid in his arms, running your fingers along the lines of his collarbone, when you’d asked if he’d stay. You weren’t begging, didn’t even lower your voice to a low hush to persuade him. You were as direct as you always were, determined to know where you stood in the universe that was Logan Howlett. 

“You lied.”

His eyes, darkened with sorrow, finally found yours. “I lied.”

You blinked back tears. “Why? If you knew that you weren’t going to make space for me in your life, why make me believe you would? I uprooted my life for you, Logan! I was going to sell my mother’s house and ride off with you into the sunset! And for what? For you to leave me alone?”

“I couldn’t take you with me then, Y/N. Somethin’…came up.”

“I know, Ororo told me.” Logan shot forward, his eyes wide. “She came and found me two years ago. She said that there was an incident and that you almost died. Said that you kept murmuring my name, telling them to make sure that I was safe.”

He scoffed. “Always meddlin’, that woman.”

“At least she cared enough about you to come find me.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re walkin’ a thin line, bubba.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore, Logan.” You stood up from the table and opened the back door. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out,” you hissed. “Thank you for making me dinner, but I want you to go.”

Logan crossed his arms, throwing you a hard look. “No.”

Your nostrils flared. “James, get —”

You’d forgotten how fast he was. He was out of the chair and in front of you in an instant, your next retort dying on your tongue. One of his large hands cupped your chin and the other slammed the door shut. His blue eyes roamed your face, searching for something. 

Though he towered over you, hell, he overpowered you, you didn’t back down. “I want you to leave.” 

“I’m not leavin’. Not until I say what I have to say.”

Your eyes brush along the seams of his lips, lingering, before meeting his smoldering gaze again. “Then say what you need to say and go. I’m done with this.”

Logan’s fingers gripped your chin harder, his gaze hard. “We’re not done talkin’, bubba.” There was an intensity to the nickname as it left his mouth that made your thighs clench together. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing up against yours. 

You gripped the sleeve of his flannel, your pulse fluttering in your ears. The hand that had closed the door moved to the small of your back and pushed you into his pelvis. You gasped at his hardened erection against your thigh. 

“You can yell at me, you can fuckin’ hit me if you need to.” He rested his forehead against yours. “But don’t tell me to leave. I don’t know where to go if I’m not with you.”

“You haven’t had me in years, James,” you said, roughly. You knew that he caught the desperation in your tone, your words. You tipped your head back and lifted up on tiptoe to press your lips to his. When you finally noticed that he hadn’t returned the kiss, you started to pull back, a pit growing in your stomach. 

“I’m —”

His arm tightened around your middle to keep you still. His mouth molded against yours, hungry and desperate. 

You pawed at his flannel, helping him shrug out of it. Logan cupped his hands under your thighs and lifted, wrapping your legs around his waist. You sucked a bruise along the curve where his neck and collarbone meet, relishing in the hiss he let out. 

“Wait, wait, wait.” He pulled back, his gaze intense. “I need to say this before anythin’ else happens between us.” Your brows creased. “I hurt you. I hurt you and it fuckin’ killed me, Y/N, and I’m sorry.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know Logan enough to know his favorite color or his mother’s name, but you knew enough about him to know that he didn’t apologize. Didn’t matter if he was wrong or right, he just didn’t. But the man before you wasn’t the man you knew six years ago. Now that you were looking at him, you could see it all: the dark circles, the stiffness of his body that only came from being nervous. 

Despite your assertive nature, you didn’t hold grudges. Those types of feelings need to constantly be fed into and that was energy you couldn’t spare. Not even for men that you fell in love with too quickly.

You put your lips to his again. He mirrored your movements and carried you to your bedroom. He sucked a bruise onto the skin between your ear and shoulder, making you let out a whimper. You ground your hips against his hardened erection. 

“Fuck, honey,” he hissed. 

“I need you inside of me, James.” You nipped at his earlobe. “Please.”

He kissed you, long and hard, before helping you out of your thin shorts. His thick fingers glided through your puffy folds, a guttural groan leaving his throat. 

“You this wet for me, Y/N?”

You mewled in response, your hips moving against his digits, begging for pressure on your swollen pearl. 

He gulped, his eyes hungrily tracing over your lust-drunken expression. His cock was straining almost painfully against the denim of his jeans but he couldn’t stop staring at you. He drew the pad of his thumb along the curves of your parted lips, sucking a breath when the tip of your tongue barely swept against the skin. 

He dipped the digit between your lips, watching with rapt pleasure as you suckled and moaned around it. He groaned and curved his free hand around the base of your throat. “Such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You shuddered. “I can be.”

“Oh, yeah?” He suckled a love bite onto your skin. “You think you can be mine tonight?”

You nodded eagerly. 

Logan chuckled and threw you over his shoulder, taking what seemed like three large steps into your bedroom and tossed you lightly onto the bed. He took hold of your face and slotted his lips over yours, licking deeply into your mouth. 

You pawed and pulled at his flannel, clumsily helping him out of it while trying to keep kissing him. He hummed against your lips and worked your thin shorts down your thighs before ripping them down the middle. The cool air against your bare cunt gave you gooseflesh. Your hands moved to work at his belt buckle as his own pulled at the shirt you wore.

“Was wonderin’ where this went.”

You chuckled. “You barely wore it.” You made a triumphant noise upon getting his pants undone and to the floor, looking up at him from beneath your thick, dark lashes. 

He wanted to devour you. One of his big paws cupped your face and he ground out, “Are you sure, bubba?”

You took his heavy cock in one of your hands, moving up and down the length of it. You smirked at his sharp breath as you eased down to your knees. Without breaking eye contact, you took him into your mouth, a low groan vibrating against your tongue. 

“Jesus,” he gripped your curls into one fist and threw his head back, “just like that, sugar.”

You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, the tip of your nose pressing against his pubic mound. The hand that wasn’t giving gentle squeezes to his thigh when to massage his heavy balls. 

A low groan, bordering a growl, tumbled past Logan’s lips. “You have to move, baby. ‘M dyin’.”

You moved your hand from his balls to curl around the base of him, slowly working in tandem with your mouth. You moaned around his cock, spit dribbling down the sides of your mouth. You lightly scraped your teeth along the length of him. Logan hissed and gripped the sides of your face and started fucking your face. Your eyes were rimmed red, tears streaming down your face, and yet he looked at you with the reverence reserved for altars and gods. 

“‘M cummin’…’m —”

He came in thick ropes into your mouth, his hips stuttering as he was coming down. His hands fell from the sides of your face to rest them on the tops of his thighs. 

You pushed off of Logan with a faint “pop” and sat back against your calves. Your eyes trailed up and down Logan’s frame; you’d forgotten how big he was. Broad shoulders and back, large hands, thick, corded muscles. He could sometimes be as foreboding as he looked. 

Then, post nut clarity smacked the shit out of you. 

“Shit.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, me, too.”

“No. I mean, shit like we shouldn’t have done that.” You pushed yourself onto your feet. “Where’s my shirt?”

“You mean my shirt?”

You ignored his jibe and scanned the room for the garment. One of his hands shot out and pulled you onto his lap. 

“I can smell ya, sweetheart.”

Your brows creased for a few seconds before you understood what he’d meant. You gulped, your chest rising and falling in hard pants. “Doesn’t matter, James. This was a mistake.”

His eyes — those intelligent, ever-searching eyes — darkened, a hunger in them that you hated that you missed. “Was it? What’s so wrong about two people findin’ each other again?” His thumb swept along your bottom lip. “‘M all yours to do whatever you need, baby.”

Your tongue darted out, barely pressing against his skin before his mouth claimed yours.  He eased you onto your back as his hand traversed the expanse of your torso. His hands pawed and kneaded at your breasts, rubbing and twisting your nipples into stiff peaks. Your back canted towards his touch. His mouth suckled at your right nipple, his other hand still playing at the other.

“James,” you pleaded.

“What, bubba?” He chuckled darkly. “Use your words.”

Every word that flashed in your mind died in your throat. Only incoherent pants and groans left you. Logan switched to your left breast and one of his free hands cupped your mound. Your eyes screwed shut. The rough pad of his thumb brushed up against your clit, sticky with your slick. 

“So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

Your hips bucked and he rubbed the bundle of nerves again. Slow, tortuous swipes that sent shocks to your system and tightened your belly with need. Just before the coil snapped, his cock drove into you. Tears fell from your eyes and a choked gasp ballooned in your chest. 

“Fuck, honey, s’good.” Logan’s voice was hoarse and desperate. He fucked into you like a man possessed; his big hands gripped your hips, surely leaving bruises behind. He moved one hand to curl at the base of your throat. Vignettes of memories past played in your mind’s eye and you let out a ragged keen, moving your hips to meet his thrusts. His name passed your lips. “Yeah, baby?”

You gripped one of his forearms. “‘M close.”

Rough skin swept across your clit. “Let go for me, bubba. C’mon.”

Your back canted as a guttural moan ripped from your throat. Logan pulled you into his chest, whispering my good girl and I’m here in your ear as you came down. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. He’d never left you behind six years ago and this was just another evening for the two of you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you buried your face into his chest. 

“Hey.” He lifted your chin to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate this,” your voice quivered, “I hate that you came back. I hate that I still — ” You shook your head. “We shouldn’t have done that, James.”

Logan cupped your face in his hands. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anythin’ you ask me to, Y/N, you have to know that.”

“Do I?”

He pulled out of you and gathered you in his arms as he tucked you both into bed. His deep, even breaths reverberated up your spine. You sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. 

“I never meant to hurt you. Hurtin’ you was the last thing that I wanted to do and there’s nothin’ I could do to fix that.” He pressed his lips to the nape of your neck. “Just…talk to me. Please.”

“You broke me, Logan, do you know that? I broke all of my rules for you and it broke me. I was already grieving my mother and you made me grieve you when I never had you to begin with.”

“I know,” he rasped. 

“Do you?”

“When Storm came to visit you, she wasn’t jokin’. I almost fuckin’ died.” He ran the backs of his fingers up and down your spine, his tone faraway. “I was slippin’ away, could barely focus on anythin’ in front of me for too long. Then suddenly, your face was the only thing I saw. I could picture you so clearly, down to the micro expressions that I didn’t even realize I’d paid attention to.” He rested his chin atop your head. “I’d made sure that I never thought of you too often or I’d leave everythin’ behind to come back to you.”

“And yet, here you are.” Your voice wobbled at the end. “You broke the one rule you shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, rules are meant to be broken. I don’t regret showing up. Even if this is the only thing I could get, I’d fuckin’ do it all over again just to see you, bubba.”

You turned over to face him, your brown eyes hard. “Yeah, but bodies weren’t, James. You shouldn’t have to nearly die to decide that I’m worth seeing again.”

“You really love half-listenin’, don’t you?” He held your chin between his fingers, lifting your eyes to his. “I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left, Y/N. The only reason that I didn’t keep in touch was because I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me. Like you said, bodies weren’t meant to broken.”

“Neither were hearts,” you murmured. 

He nodded. “And would yours consider lettin’ me back in? It’s selfish to ask, I know, but I don’t want to let you go again, bubba.” 

You threaded your fingers between his. “I want to. But how will I know if you’ll stay this time, James? What’s changed in the last six years?”

Logan brought the back of your hand up to his lips. The warmth in his eyes, while not unfamiliar, made your breath catch. For a split second, you remembered that he could hear your heartbeat fluttering madly in your chest, your pulse against his forearm. 

“When do you leave for New York?”

Your brows knitted together. “I should be done packing in a few days. Why?”

He pulled one of your legs over his hip, laughing when you sucked in a breath. “We’ll go into town tomorrow, pawn all the stuff you’re not usin’ anymore, and pack up the rest in the truck. We’ll make a trip out of it.”

“And where would we go after that? I’m not living in a boarding school.”

“I have a place of my own, thank you very much,” he said, smirking, “it’s not much but it’s mine. It could use a…softer touch, I think.”

You sat up on your elbow. “Yeah?”

“‘M gettin’ old, bubba. Like, obviously not so much physically, but mentally? I’ve seen wars, watched people that I care about die. Walked away when I should’ve stayed.” He threaded his fingers through your free hand. “I’m sayin’ all this to say that, if you’ll have me, I want to stay.”

You hummed, looking down at your joined hands. If tonight proved nothing else, you and Logan were tethered each other for better or worse. There would never be a moment where you wouldn’t think of each other and that scared you. But if you knew nothing else, you knew that you loved him. You loved James Howlett. 

“Will you want to stay? I’m not about to uproot my life just for you to leave me again.”

He pulled you close, putting his forehead to yours. “The worst mistake I’ve ever done is leave you behind Y/N Y/L/N. I should’ve told you that I loved you five years ago.” You gasped. “I love you, bubba, and I regret everyday not that I never told you.”

“Say it again.”

He took your face in his hands and smiled, the peach hue of the sun warming his face. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve loved you for the past six years and I will never stop lovin’ you.”

Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. You wanted him to say these words, waited for them for over half a decade. But they were…heavier than you anticipated. Though your own confession sat on your tongue, too much clung to them; the last fight you had, your mother dying shortly after and how you resented him even more for leaving you alone at a time like that. More than anything you hated that you cared about him so quickly just for him to leave. 

“You don’t have to say it back yet.” Logan smiled some. “Five years is a long time to grieve something.”

You put a hand to his cheek. “You know that I want to, though, don’t you?”

“I know,” he kissed you again, “and we’ll get you there. One day at a time.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — given the fact that i haven't written in literal months, y'all have no idea how happy i am to have churned this out. happy 2024!

[themaevethcometh]

okay i've had this scene from an au stuck in my head recently so here's 3k of timkon identity shenanigans where kon has been recently taken in by luthor for nefarious reasons and is forced to attend a gala where tim and bruce show up. robin hasn't revealed his identity to the team yet even though they've been friends for years. canon/timeline has been put in a blender and liquified.

Kon takes a deep breath in through his nose, holding it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out of his mouth.  It’s a technique that Robin taught the team when he was trying desperately to get them on a more bat-approved training regime, including meditation and an acrobatics routine that Nightwing allegedly used on the Teen Titans years ago.  Kon is fully aware that he’s got weird stuff going on with his body’s organs and systems compared to humans, but the slow, rhythmic breathing still brings comfort and helps center him, slowing everything down enough so he no longer feels like he’s going to accidentally fry someone with his heat vision.

He tugs at the collar of his dress shirt, gulping and taking a deep breath again.  The shirt and tie feels so much more restrictive than his Superboy uniform, tightening like a noose around his neck, and the inflexibility of the suit coat makes him feel like a stiff, awkward mannequin.

“Stop that,” Luthor says, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.  Kon immediately stills, straightening and trying to relax at the same time.

“These people are vultures,” Lex says, voice low.  Kon tries to focus his super hearing on him, rather than the woman with the loud laugh across the ballroom or the clink of glasses down the hall where the staff is continuously loading and unloading equipment.  He can hear the steady beat of Lex’s heart, the rhythmic whoosh of air traveling in his lungs, the slight gurgle of his stomach (gross!).  Kon decides he doesn’t like listening to Lex Luthor very much.

“Remember what I told you,” Lex is still saying.  “Be on your best behavior.  Today is about getting your name and your face out there.  Be polite, but not a pushover.  Never let them see weakness.”

Kon forcibly bites back the retort that his only weakness is kryptonite and makes himself nod instead.

Luthor leads him over to a group of people with his hand still clamped on Connor’s shoulder like a shackle.  From there, it’s an exhausting parade of schmoozing with millionaires and billionaires, shaking hands firmly (but not too firmly!), laughing at unfunny jokes, and pretending that he loves dear old Dad instead of wanting to punt him through the nearest wall.

Kon is charming.  He knows this.  It’s something that he’s known since he freshly came out of a test tube, and it’s something that he’s perfected with smiles and body language and a well-placed word or phrase.  Kon can get most people eating out of his hand with barely any effort, but it’s usually normal people a little closer to his age, not rich, egotistical, out-of-touch old people who want to pinch his cheeks but absolutely cannot be allowed to due to his invulnerable skin.  Kon forgets everyone’s name almost as soon as he hears it, clutching his flute of sparkling cider like a lifeline (but not hard enough to shatter).

Kon doesn’t know how long he gets paraded around as Luthor’s newest pet, but it feels like forever.  Everyone talks around where he’s been for the past 17 years of his life (nonexistent and then in a lab and then gallivanting around with superheroes and then, finally, as of two month ago a little farm in Kansas until Lex Luthor uprooted everything with a few well-placed threats), and Kon lets Lex tell the cover story about how he didn’t find out about Connor until recently, but he’s happy to be reunited with his son now.

Son.  Connor isn’t anyone’s son.  He was maybe getting to be a family member to the Kents finally, but Luthor threw a wrench into all of that.

Connor had a room at the farm.  He had a chore list to do and homemade meals to eat, and Clark has finally stopped flinching when he sees him.  Clark grinned at him the other day, not his public smile or a small, polite thing, but an actual, honest to goodness grin.  Connor bets he can kiss that goodbye now, just like he can kiss goodbye ever knowing Robin’s real identity, because there’s no way that Batman will let him tell Kon now that Kon is semi-legally under the guardianship of a supervillain, and just like there’s no way that Kon can have anything remotely resembling a normal teenage experience as the ward of a billionaire and forced showpony, and just like–

“I’ll be damned,” Lex breathes next to him, interrupting Kon’s spiral.  Kon follows his gaze to the entrance of the ballroom, ears picking up the loud, boisterous laugh of Bruce Wayne clapping someone on the back a little too forcefully.  Kon has never seen Bruce Wayne in person, but he’s difficult to miss in the papers, especially with how often he finds himself in trouble.  Robin has told him of a few instances when he or one of the other Gotham vigilantes has had to rescue him, and Kon knows that Lois interviewed him once and Clark has informally run into him at a gala such as this.

Clark says he tried really hard to be the journalist from the Planet here tonight once Lex demanded that Connor be there, but it was too late notice.  Neither Clark nor Lois are among the reporters clustered in the corner.  Kon is alone.

“He didn’t RSVP,” Lex says, miffed.  Kon immediately likes Bruce Wayne significantly more because of it.  “Oh, and he brought a friend.”

Kon peers around the crowd that has quickly amassed around Gotham’s favorite billionaire and finally spots the person Bruce Wayne has a hand on the shoulder of.  It’s a teenage boy, dressed in a dark suit with dark hair parted in the middle to keep it out of his eyes.  He’s slight, but not skinny, and he’s not overly tall, probably closer to Robin or Bart’s height than Connor’s.  He doesn’t show any signs of discomfort at the press of adults around him, offering polite handshakes and letting the women kiss his cheeks the way some of them have tried with Kon.  Bruce doesn’t stray far, taking the boy with him when they finally finish with the crowd near the door and head to the bar.  The boy doesn’t seem to mind the attention.  Kon, however, does not appreciate the tone of voice that Lex used when he said friend.  He’s ready to do some superheroing if he needs to.

“Let’s go,” Lex says, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder again to steer him through the crowd.  “Let me handle Bruce Wayne.  The kid is Timothy Drake.  He recently became the head of his parent’s company when his father died.  This is the first time he’s been seen at an event since the death.  Bruce is almost certainly going to adopt him.  Timothy stayed with him when Jack Drake was in a coma, plus he has the dark hair and light eyes and Brucie favors in his kids.  He’s your focus for the rest of the night.  Forget about everyone else.”

“Lex!  I didn’t know you’d be here, you old dog!” Bruce calls before Connor has time to process all of that, slinging an arm around Luthor’s shoulders and seemingly crushing all of the air out of him in less than a second.

“It’s my party,” Lex wheezes.

“Good thing I’m here to liven it up, eh?” Bruce asks, elbowing Luthor in the ribs.

Kon really hopes that Bruce Wayne’s obsession with dark haired, light eyed boys is an innocent coincidence, because he doesn’t want to apprehend him for being a pedophile when he’s pissing Lex off so easily.

“Hello, Timothy,” Luthor greets, holding out his hand.  Bruce pouts at being ignored while Timothy shakes politely.  “May I just say, it’s refreshing to see you out and about.  I’m sure running your parent’s company is stressful all by yourself.”

Timothy tilts his head, reminding Connor vaguely of a bird.

“I’m happy to do it,” he says, polite but firm.  “It’s what my parents would have wanted, and they left things well organized for me.”

“And I suppose Bruce here has been giving you advice?”

“Now Lex,” Bruce says, wagging his finger at him, “you know that’d be a conflict of interest.  Besides, Tim could run circles around me.  I should be asking him for advice!”

Connor feels his eyes start to glaze over as Luthor and Bruce volley back and forth, seemingly forgetting that he’s even there.  Having Lex’s attention off of him and on someone else is a much needed break, so he’s not about to complain, but it’s also really fucking rude.  Connor hasn’t even been introduced to these two.

Timothy catches his eye, sweeping his gaze over to Luthor and Bruce and rolling his eyes.  Connor smirks.  Timothy raises an eyebrow and Connor mirrors him, just a slight quirk.

Timothy looks pretty nice, up close.  His eyes are the promised light blue, but his dark eyelashes are long and thick, framing them beautifully.  He’s pale, almost reflective in the glittering chandelier light, and he carries himself with a self-assuredness that Connor envies in this environment.  The suit fits him really nicely, hugging his shoulders and accenting his trim waist and long legs.  When he raises his flute to take a sip of the drink inside, Kon finds himself tracking the liquid as it disappears past his pale pink lips, his throat flexing as he swallows.

He’s not bad to look at.  He could easily turn out to be dull as a brick or a total douchebag, but so far first impressions are good.

“And who is this young man?” Bruce asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.  Luthor puts a hand on his back to push him forward a step, and Kon doesn’t have to move, but Lex is going to be mad if he doesn’t and the situation is delicate.

“This is my son, Connor,” Luthor introduces.  Kon offers his hand with his most charming smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking first Bruce’s hand (better grip than he expected) and then Timothy’s (rougher than he thought it’d be, skin warm).

“Son, eh?  He must take after his mother!” Bruce laughs.  Lex’s face pinches, but Connor doesn’t have a chance to relish in it before Bruce is sweeping Luthor away with another arm around his shoulder, talking loudly about secret children and parenting hacks.  Luthor tries to protest, but it’s quickly drowned out by Bruce, and he doesn’t have a chance to so much as glance back at Connor before they’re swallowed by the crowd.

Kon blinks.

“Bruce will keep him busy for a while, sorry,” Timothy says, not sounding very sorry.  He takes another sip from his glass, then leans in.  Cologne tickles Connor’s nose.

“Hold your drink by the stem, not the glass,” he says quietly.  “It’s supposed to keep your drink from getting warm, an old etiquette thing.  It’s small, but it’ll help you blend in a little more.”

Kon looks around the room, taking in the people with flutes like him and where they’re holding it.  The majority are holding the stem, and the ones that aren’t are people that Luthor hasn’t bothered to introduce him to yet.  Kon adjusts his grip accordingly, off-balance and embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he says.  Timothy tilts his head.

“You want to get some air?  There’s a balcony over there.  Your father will be able to find you easily once Bruce releases him.”

“Yes,” Kon agrees immediately.  He’s used to not fitting in, but having the eyes of so many judgy rich people on him when he’s pretending to be Lex Luthor’s human son has been exhausting.  No one has been too rude so far, but the weight of Lex’s hand on his shoulder is heavy, and this complicated set of social rules that he still doesn’t understand puts him on edge.

Normally he’d say fuck the rules and do what he wants, but the situation is too delicate for that.  Clarke and Robin both told him that he needs to be careful and think twice about every move he makes, and for once neither of them sounded condescending about it.  He could tell that they don’t like the situation, either, worry and sympathy clear in their faces.

“Come on,” Timothy says, heading towards a set of double doors.  He doesn’t glance back, trusting Connor to follow him, and Connor does, stepping in his footsteps as he expertly weaves through the crowd, deflecting anyone trying to stop to speak to them with smooth excuses and a well-placed smile.  In no time at all he’s pushing open the large french doors, releasing them from the ballroom and into the cool night air.

Kon tilts his head up, blinking at the night sky above him.  It’s cloudy, obscuring what few stars manage to make their way through the light pollution to reach Metropolis.  Connor wishes he could fly up there, feel the dampness of early rain on his face, burst into the dark and escape everything.  For now, he keeps his feet on the ground, instead joining Timothy by the railing.

“So, how often do you come to these things, Timothy?” Connor asks, leaning back on his elbows.  The other boy perches with a hip pressed against the railing, arms crossed over his chest.

“Tim, please,” he says.  “Timothy makes me feel like I’m in trouble or you’re trying to swindle me out of a business deal.”

“Okay.  How often do you come to these things, Tim?” Connor corrects, testing the feel of it in his mouth.  Tim relaxes at the sound.

“Decently often, but I usually stick to Gotham,” he says.  “I’ll have to start coming to more now that I’m in charge of Drake Industries, but I grew up going to galas.  Is this your first one since Luthor found you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Connor asks.  Tim smirks, but shakes his head.

“I think I’d remember if I’d seen you at one of these before.”

Connor flashes him a charming smile.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”  Tim’s cheeks turn pink, his blush noticeable against his pale skin even with the limited light out here.  Kon takes a sip of his sparkling cider, satisfaction making it taste sweeter on his tongue.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re probably the only people under thirty in the whole building besides some of the catering staff,” Tim says. 

“You missed the toddler earlier,” Connor hums.  “She was throwing a tantrum.  I very much sympathized.”

“Did I really?” Tim asks dryly.  “What a pity.  Oh no.  How unfortunate that Bruce likes being fashionably late to everything.”

Connor snorts.

“Bruce Wayne, huh?” he says.  “How’d you two meet?”

Tim shifts so he’s leaning back against the railing like Kon.  Kon takes a moment to drink in his profile, tracing the sharp jut of his nose, the hair shielding his eyes from him at this angle.

“He’s my neighbor,” Tim says.  “I’ve kind of always known him, but our families weren’t really close until a few years ago.  When my dad was in a coma, Bruce took me in.  My uncle was supposed to get custody of me now, but…”

Tim trails off, searching for words.  Eventually, he shrugs.

“He’s fostering me right now.  We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Do you want to stay with him?” Kon asks.  Tim considers his words carefully.  Connor’s mouth is always running away with him, but Tim seems to have the opposite approach.  Everything is measured and careful, cold and tactical.  It reminds Kon of Robin in the middle of missions, keeping his reactions even and methodical to counteract the impulsiveness of the rest of the team.  Kon wonders if Tim is the type of person to let himself be stupid and emotional around friends like Robin is, or if he always keeps everything bottled up.

“Yeah, I do,” Tim breathes eventually.  “But it’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

Another pause.  Kon does Robin’s breathing exercise, staying patient.  Some people need time to talk, and Kon can’t help if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“I guess I don’t want him to adopt me because he feels obligated,” Tim says.  “He has a family.  There’s–It’s a long story, too long to explain now.  Sorry, this is a weird first impression, huh? But enough about me!  What about you?  Where were you before Luthor found you?”

“Uh,” Connor says, still recovering from the whiplash of topics and searching for Luthor’s cover story.  “Kansas.”

“Kansas?” Tim prompts.

“Yeah, Kansas. I was in the foster system for a while, then I got adopted by this nice old couple who live on a farm in Smallville, which is just as small as it sounds.  I didn’t know anything about my birth parents until Lex showed up.”

“Wow,” Tim says.  “This has to be a big adjustment, then.”

Connor scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, kinda.”

Kon’s whole life feels like a big adjustment, from adjusting to existing and Clark’s negative feelings towards him, to adjusting to working for Camdus and living in Hawaii, to adjusting to Young Justice and Teen Titans, to finally trying to adjust to Smallville, only to be ripped away from that and forced into Metropolis high society.

“Do you miss them?” Tim asks.  “The old couple who adopted you?”

Kon swallows against the unexpected pang that rolls through him.  He can almost taste Martha’s pancakes on his tongue and hear the crinkle of the newspaper as Jonathan hands him the cartoons.

“I wasn’t with them very long.  Only a few months.”

Tim tilts his head.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Connor shrugs.  He doesn’t know what the right answer is here.  Martha and Jonathan are the closest thing he’s ever had to parents, but part of him never expected to stay with them.  When Luthor ripped him away from them, there was a part of Kon that wasn’t surprised at all, even if a bigger part was in agony.

Martha kissed his forehead when he left the farm and gave him a sad smile.

“You can always come back here, okay?  This is your home, no matter what Lex Luthor has to say about it.”

“If they formally adopted you, Lex Luthor’s claim as your biological father isn’t enough to force cut contact,” Tim says, pushing off the railing and taking a few steps closer.  “Trust me.  I researched this stuff when my dad came out of his coma.”

Kon frowns.

“He didn’t like Bruce?”

Tim wavers.

“It’s complicated,” he offers.  Kon snorts.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Tim’s mouth quirks up, giving Connor the shadow of a smile again.

“It’s not really a first meeting story.”

“Guess we need a second meeting, then,” Connor says.

“Yeah?” Tim asks.  “My weird family dynamic really captivated you, huh?”

“It was your eyes first, actually,” Connor says.  Tim opens his mouth, then closes it again, eyes wide.  Kon holds his breath.  He says flirty things all the time, both to his friends and to people he rescues who seem like they need a pick-me-up, but it’s been a while since he sincerely flirted with someone he plans to see again.  He almost never does it with someone who only knows him as Connor rather than Superboy, much less a boy.

If this goes badly and Tim tells the entire Metropolis elite that Lex’s son is a homosexual, maybe the scandal will be enough for Luthor to send him back to Smallville.  If it goes well…

“You have… very nice eyes, too,” Tim says eventually.  Connor beams, then beams even more at the sharp inhale Tim draws in response.  Tim shifts.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he asks.  “There’s a decent ice cream place open late a few blocks away.  We can be there and back before anyone misses us.”

Connor glances towards Luthor in the ballroom.  He’s still talking to Bruce Wayne, and they’ve amassed a small crowd around them.

“Bruce will keep Lex busy for a while.  He likes to talk.  Besides, you can always tell him that you were networking,” Tim offers.

Luthor said that Tim should be his focus for the rest of the night.  He never said that they had to stay at the gala.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing grandly towards the French doors.  Tim blinks once, then again, then smiles.  His eyes light up with it, and Kon suddenly understands why Tim had to inhale before.

“Come on,” Tim says, leading the way.  Kon follows just as closely as he did before, trailing him until they spill out into the Metropolis night and he can stand next to him, almost close enough for their arms to brush.

Maybe living with Lex Luthor won’t be so bad if comes with seeing Tim Drake, too.

[aboutescapism]

enjoy the silence | ao’nung.

ao’nung x fem!sully!reader

part one | next part

synopsis: Nothing could break your sunshine personality, not even your family’s abrupt move to Pandora’s reefs. But, the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik’s son of the Metkayina, who you’ve fallen at first sight for, greatly tested that. 

genre: fluff, angst.

contains: pining from reader; toward ao’nung, mentions of bullying, name calling, feeling alone. ao’nung being a bully (what’s new). unrequited love.

a/n: welcome to my first piece of writing ever! i had to give the honors to my bf ao’nung. this isn’t exactly canon to ao’nung in atwow, he doesn’t outwardly bully the sullys like he does in the movie. but still angsty. let me know if you guys enjoy this!

The Metkayina's way of living was definitely strange to adapt to, but not difficult. Your new life was filled with training your breathing, riding your Ilu, or exploring underwater. Pandora’s enchanting reefs made it hard to dislike living in Awa’atlu, and despite having to uproot your life from the forest so suddenly, you really enjoyed living here. Every day you found something that made your life here greater. Finding an especially pretty shell, weaving your first top with pretty pearls, and even finding a pretty boy to crush on.

The son of the Olo’eyktan and the Tsahik of the Metkayina had caught your eye. When your family first landed here, being picked, prodded, and eyed at by the people, your attention couldn’t help be on him. You were ecstatic when Tonowari put his two children to help your family learn the way of the Metkayina. Ao’nung, not so much.

His death glare scared you, sure, but despite that, he was gorgeous. His braids that tie up into a bun of dark curls, his tooth necklace that dangles off his chest when he bends over, his glistening skin when he’d emerge from the water. Everything about him was admirable, you’d bet his personality had to be wild and free. You’d just have to get close enough for the heir to notice you.

Just your luck, Ao’nung was most often paired with you when you were training. Tsireya was too enamored with your brother, Lo’ak, to pick anyone else. 

“Breathe deep from here,” Ao’nung instructed you, hand on your upper stomach. Your breath couldn’t help but hitch, soon quickening.

“Your heart, it’s beating fast. Calm your breathing, feel the water,” Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Tsireya all shared a knowing look.

“Sorry, Ao’nung,” he gave you a small smile, but it soon disappeared and the lesson moved on.

“Just focus, m’kay?”

His smile was your glimmer of hope. Maybe he did take the same liking you had with him? No, he’s just following orders. But, did his father’s orders entail being friendly, too? 

Still, you had hope. He had to be your someone, by Eywa, you felt it.

You spent your free time practicing your weaving to make gifts for him, or practicing your breathing and sign language to impress him. Always at the shore to collect sea shells for him. Never not around the Tsahik, his mother, listening to her speak with the fellow healers. Ronal had even grown to like you. Such an attentive, obedient girl. Just what Ao’nung needed in his life, your attention would put a pause on his recent bad behavior. Perhaps it was fate that a Tsakarem was brought to their clan, the perfect mate for her son.

In the Omaticaya, you trained everyday for your whole life on how to rule next to the Olo’eyktan and interpret the will of Eywa. You couldn’t help but believe that, maybe, Ao’nung was the Olo’eyktan you’ve been training for. The one to look after the people with. The one to be by your side for the rest of your life. Your mate. You would be perfect together.

Of course, he didn’t see you the same way. But, you didn’t know this. He saw you as a measly forest girl with “demon” blood flowing through her veins that didn’t belong. Your five fingered waves of hello to him every morning were nothing but offensive. How could you be so content with being part enemy?

You were familiar with the uncertainty people felt toward you being half human. You felt it in your own clan. The Omaticaya didn’t take your extra fingers and the hairs on your brow bone with delight. They had been nothing short of disappointed when Toruk Makto’s children came out looking like dream walkers and not pure Na’vi.

The children of the clan specifically acted on their distaste quite boldly throughout your life. The teasing, name calling, bullying, it wasn’t new to you. “Freak,” “demon,” pushing around, leaving you out, pranks being pulled. Jake had always said to not give them the reaction they’re looking for, and after a while it worked. You gave them nothing, they left you alone.

But you didn’t like being alone. That wasn't what you wanted. You didn’t like not fitting in, not belonging. It hurt, at first, having no one. No one to talk to, to hang out with. All you had was yourself.

Your family made up for it, though. How could you not be happy with them? They filled the hole in your heart made from loneliness, all you could see was the good things in your life when you had them.

“You’re always lookin’ on the bright side, honey. Always makin’ my day better. It’s something we should all take after you,” your father, Jake, always said to you.

Everything was yellow and bright in your life. The way you and your siblings could all fit on your hammock back home, sleeping together. Learning how to shoot with a bow. Your mother, Neytiri, making arrows and weaving tops with you and your sisters. 

Coming closer to becoming an adult in the eyes of the Omaticaya every passing day. The pretty flowers you’d harvest to bring to Jake, the close-knit bond of your family. All good things, always good things. Nothing, not even the loneliness, could break your sunshine.

So, you saw your move to the reefs as a chance to explore the world and make it exciting rather than sad. Maybe you’d find people to fit in with, even though this clan was so drastically different from yours, there has to be someone here for you, right?

“Are you a freak?”

Startled, your gaze on the bright blue water shifts to look around, “What?”

It was Ao’nung, your demeanor calms. “I said, are you some sort of freak?”

You smile at him, standing from your crouched position on the sand, “No, Ao’nung, m’not.” Even this close up, he’s breathtaking. His face is inches from yours.

He falters but rebuts, “what about your hands, huh? You’ve got demon in you. Five fingers.”Ao’nung takes your hand, emphasizing his point by shoving your own hand in your face. But he’s holding your hand, so softly, too. Not squeezing  or gripping it harshly. Your heart is swelling and you wonder if he’s feeling the same electricity from the contact.

You reluctantly pull your hand from his grasp, a small smile present on your face. He must be teasing you, no harm in a little banter. 

“Got five from my dad. Used to be a human and now he’s Toruk Makto. He’s the greatest warrior on Pandora.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s the mighty Toruk Makto hiding out here in the reefs, then? Must still be human, running away from his own battles. It’s pathetic,” you understand, now, he’s not teasing. He’s speaking from disgust.

“No, he’s Na’vi. Has been for years now. We’re Na’vi, not Sky People, dream walkers.” You see him, you understand his confusion, his distaste, his ignorance. You want him to see you, too.

Maybe he will see you as more than a forest girl, more than a demon. Maybe he will see your qualities, your fast learning, your fascination with the water, your adoration for him. Maybe he will see you the same way you see him, as a future mate. His girl.

“But you aren’t Na’vi, can’t you see that? You don’t belong in this world, here, with us. You’re meant to be with the Sky People, not here, bringing your war to us. It’s selfish, just what Sky People would do. Cower and destroy. You don’t see like Na’vi, you don’t understand like Na’vi. You don’t belong,” he finishes, stalking away back to the village.

Your heart can’t help but shatter. Each of Ao’nung’s harsh words pricking at your heart and tears from your eyes. And still, you can’t help but yearn for him.

[robthegoodfellow]

I'm Glad My Dad Died

mungrove | slightly expanded version of fic written for @strangerthingscharityzine | ao3

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy had a secret: he was glad his dad was dead. So glad that even when his mom sold their house in Ocean Beach and moved them to Hawkins, Indiana, uprooting him from his friends and the sea and everything Billy loved, he still wouldn’t go back to the way things were. Given the options—California, dad alive; or Indiana, dad dead—he’d pick the second every time.

He would, even though Hawkins was its own hell. Learned the hard way that among prepubescent country bumpkins, embroidered roses on your shirt and hair like Shirley Temple bought you a one-way ticket to Loserville.

It was the fall of 1979. Disco was dying and former flower children were gearing up to vote for Reagan. Kumbaya over, time to make America great again.

So, yeah—sixth grade sucked, but stuff at home was world’s better. They were living with Aunt Doris—because San Diego was too expensive, his mom said, and wouldn’t it be nice to get a fresh start?

Mom was really into the whole fresh start thing—which Billy suspected was fueled by guilt and determination to be the kind of mother she hadn’t been before. And… he appreciated that. He did.

But—he wished she would stop? Put down the pen, step away from the extracurricular sign-up sheets.

Because if the outfit put a target on his back, swim team aimed the bow, and band fired the arrow. 

You’ll miss the water, honey. And you love music! 

She wasn’t wrong. He did love those things—but not enough to willingly wear a Speedo in public or blunder through some Beethoven on the flute. Also in public.

Oh—why the flute? Because she’d fed him a steady diet of hippie tunes from the cradle and knew how much he dug Jethro Tull. Perfectly reasonable explanation—his peers would definitely understand.

Here lies Billy Hargrove, innocent victim of social homicide. 

The bullying was relentless, but Billy figured he could take it. No middle school bully could come close to the one he’d lived with all his life. 

You know, the one he was glad was dead.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy hadn’t wanted to attend the talent show, but Mom insisted it was important to support his friends. By which she meant her friends—women she’d been palling around with who had kids in said show.

Kids she’d been aggressively arranging playdates with like Billy was five. 

Patrick’s talent was making twenty free-throw shots in a row. Robin’s was singing “This Land is Your Land” in four different languages. His mom and Mrs. Buckley had laughed about keeping the less than patriotic lyrics, assuming the Spanish rendition would fly over people’s heads.

Billy felt bad even thinking it, but he did wonder if his mom pushing these particular friends at him was part of her fresh start campaign.

Pat was black. Robin was a girl. And his dad had a habit of muttering snide remarks about anyone who wasn’t a WASP packing a sizable stinger—who wasn’t a clone of Neil Hargrove, basically.

And look, Pat and Robin were—fine. But he knew and they knew that they were only hanging out because their moms wanted them to, which was awkward as hell. Made his palms sweat whenever they were together or whenever they said hi at school despite him being a fairy freak according to kids whose opinions mattered. 

They were nice, but it felt like pity. Embarrassing in a way that made him shrivel up inside.

So he wasn’t in the best mood, slumped in the auditorium between his mother and Doris, praying no one pelted him with shit from behind. Mom felt crappy enough about all those years with Neil—Billy didn’t need her kicking herself for scooping him out of the fire and into a frying pan.

Pat set a record—28 in a row—and Billy clapped. Robin sang her song wearing a daisy crown, and Billy clapped. Dully, he watched as stagehands set up the next act, hauling out a drum kit.

Gareth, this shrimpy sixth grader, sat at the drums. Then an eighth grader came out, followed by a couple kids in seventh, the former bearing an electric guitar, one of the latter a bass. The guitarist waved, leaned into the mic—skinny guy with a buzzcut, eyes big and dark as an alien. 

We are Corroded Coffin—paused as a contingent of the audience went nuts—and this song is called Paranoid.

In the next row, a kid whispered, excited: Think they’ll make Coleman pull the plug again?

Gareth banged his drumsticks, counting them off. 

The opening riffs were like nothing Billy had heard before—this grind of chords that rattled teeth, thrummed in the chest. He straightened, compelled forward, a fishing line hooked deep.

Buzzcut was bent over the strings so low that all you could see was the top of his head, a fuzzy cue ball. Then Gareth kicked in, and the front man wailed the first verse, this nasal staccato, sort of speak-singing.

Billy scrambled to decipher the rapidfire—caught bits of the first verses. Then the bridge begged for help, and the rest landed loud and clear.

I need someone to show me The things in life that I can't find I can't see the things that make       true happiness I must be blind

The words were meant for him—just for Billy. It’s me. The guitarist leapt, plunged into a driving solo. The song’s about me.

Make a joke and I will sigh And you will laugh and I will cry Happiness I cannot feel And love to me is so unreal

Helpless, Billy turned to his mom, who grinned, whispering they’re great, aren’t they? He could only nod, swinging back to the guitarist, riveted until the final blaring note.

For Christmas, Billy unwrapped the smallest package under the tree—a cassette. It was all he’d asked for: Black Sabbath’s greatest hits album.

Because that night of the talent show, he sold his soul for rock n’ roll.

More specifically, for heavy metal.

More secretly, for the boy with the big brown eyes.

Eddie, he’d found out at school the next day, gossip overheard at lunch. The boy was Eddie.

Eddie Munson.

And whenever Billy caught a glimpse of him, the rest of that year, he thrummed like an electric guitar.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Unfortunately, his passion for headbanging and powerchords did not meaningfully improve the remainder of middle school, and by the time he walked the stage at eighth grade graduation, Billy resolved to make a change—give himself a fresh start on his terms.

First, he mowed endless lawns and bought a new wardrobe: bootcut jeans with matching boots, which lent him some height and a certain swagger; button downs in dark colors worn open to his sternum and white tees like the crew from Outsiders; a bitchin’ leather jacket.

His hair had progressed from Shirley Temple to Farrah Fawcett, so he trotted to the barber for a Bon Jovi bi-level. Almost chickened out at the mall when he got his ear pierced, but loved the way the earring swung from his left lobe… though the right would’ve been more accurate. 

He quit band and swim. Thought maybe he’d try basketball instead, and enlisted Pat to help him practice.

They were actual buddies by then.

Lastly, he took up smoking. Marlboro Reds, because they were badass. Soldiered through the pack all summer, suppressing a gag on every pull till he was puffing like a chimney.

August before ninth grade, Pat’s brother let them tag along to a party at the quarry; if Billy got in good with upperclassmen, it could pave the way to social acceptance—maybe even… popularity?

Total pipe dream, but then… it worked.

That night was one for the record books: first time smoking dope, shot-gunning a beer… first time a girl went down on him.

First time he’d seen Eddie in two years. Wouldn’t even have recognized him, except the eyes hadn’t changed. Eddie was a junior and looked it: taller, wild dark hair to his shoulders, tattoos peeking from his sleeves. He made a brief appearance and vanished—there to sell some supply, not socialize.

Billy wished he’d stayed. Admitted then what he was most excited about for high school: the chance to see Eddie Munson again.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Ironically, the object of Billy’s obsession had suffered a fall from grace in the transition to the big leagues: swirling rumors swore he was a Satan-worshiping anarchist and a burnout to boot. A weirdo who played geeky games with his loser friends.

Except—unlike Billy, Eddie didn’t give a fuck. While Billy strutted around vaguely unsettled, ill at ease with his costume, this immersive performance for the foreseeable future, Eddie had unveiled his freak flag—reveled in it, let it fly.

Regret gnawed at him, grew in Billy’s gut—knew if he were a little braver, he could trash this cool kid stuff and… 

End of Eddie’s senior year, Billy was sick at heart. Knew he’d missed his shot.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

So imagine his confusion, surprise—his hidden euphoric delight—when Billy spotted that dark mop atop a wiry frame loping across the parking lot on the first day of eleventh grade.

Eddie should have graduated, but for whatever reason… hadn’t.

Thus, a new resolution: seize this chance. Be Eddie’s friend.

By second semester, Billy had worked his way up to casual chit chat and also, incidentally, was a raging pothead—so much so that his mother was worried, and she had spent the 60s stoned out of her gourd.

Let him experiment, Doris advised, winking at Billy over dinner. His grades are fine. What’s the harm?

The following evening, Doris showed him her special cookies stashed in the freezer, cautioning him to only ever take one bite and be patient. Billy asked if he could give one to his friend.

Top tier moment, right up there with Dad dying. Eddie’s eyes lit up all starry, demanded Billy come hang so they could make like Keebler—try the old elfin magic—and Billy was blessed to learn that Loaded Eddie = Handsy Eddie.

Blessed and cursed, because Eddie learned that Blazed Billy = Honest Billy. Tell me a secret, Eddie said, tickling. Tell me a secret.

Nothing happened. Eddie was just… affectionate. Bit of a snuggler. Who now knew he was the reason Billy was such a metalhead. 

And that Billy was glad—about his dad.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Eddie was held back again, and suddenly math and history were Billy’s favorite classes because Eddie sat next to him in the back row. Seemed to do decently with Billy there egging him on.

Thus, his final resolution: graduate with Eddie. Drag him across the finish line if necessary. Billy held study sessions he didn’t need at the library after school, invited Eddie to join—and Eddie did.

Eddie invited Billy to come see his band play at a local bar on Tuesdays—and Billy did.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said one weekend, when they were sharing a bowl, and Billy snorted, gazed into bloodshot eyes. Glad you got held back. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing this. Eddie smirked, soft. Getting high? Billy laughed. Hanging out.

Billy turned eighteen that March, and the Buckleys and McKinneys came over to celebrate, as usual. Unusual was the doorbell as they were about to eat, Eddie and Wayne trooping in, sorry for being late.

Robin picked up on something that night—cornered him in the bathroom. Are you and Eddie…? Billy went tight, and she rushed to reassure. It’s okay if you are. I am, too. So Billy breathed, calmed. I am. I dunno if he is. Robin arched her brow. From where I’m sitting, odds are good.

Billy spent weeks yanking hope by the roots.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Come May, they walked in green cap and gown—hugged in the milling crowd, Eddie cackling wet in his ear, a clinging koala. Didn’t think I could do it.

Billy brought him along to Robin’s graduation party. In the backyard, her old childhood treehouse beckoned, and they heeded the call.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said, sitting back against mossy boards. They weren’t even high. He flicked Billy’s earring—set his heart swinging. That should be on the other side, Billy said, and stared until Eddie flushed red, understood. I got a secret, he said, and Billy didn’t dare to know but did. 

Eddie said it: I’ve wanted to kiss you all year.

A click as Billy swallowed, bone dry. Then do it.

And Eddie did.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

[swiss-mrs]

EDDIE MUNSON X SINCLAIR!READER

just me rambling on again about how Eddie loves a black woman from infinity to infinityyyy

there's a 'face claim' under the cut because i said so. you've been warned

okay, listen here.

Ever since your family moved to Hawkins, life has been... different

You just turned 13 when your family uprooted to the small town in Indiana. Lucas was 10, and Erica was only 6.

It was a bit easier for your younger siblings to adjust, but you had to start fresh during your last year of middle school, going into high school. That sucked like a bitch.

Transitioning from a larger city with a decent mix of races to a predominantly white town was about as smooth as it sounded, not at all.

Though racism was not terrible, there were plenty of backhanded compliments, passive aggressiveness, and snarky comments.

You were always so "well-spoken", "well-mannered", "presentable".

You didn't "sound black".

You didn't "act black".

You were "pretty for a black girl."

Whatever the fuck that means.

You knew that begging your parents to move elsewhere was not an option, waste of time, so you always knew that the moment you had the chance, you weren't gonna stick around for too long.

Going into high school at the end of '82, just shy of a year after moving into Hawkins, was how yours and Eddie's paths crossed, just barely.

Since you could practically count on one hand how many black families were in Hawkins's population, not knowing one another by name was near impossible.

You know Jeff by proxy.

Your parents knew each other, and you were the same age, so of course you knew each other.

You wouldn't call him a friend per se, but you were friendly enough to exchange quick greetings in passing.

Jeff was with three older kids when you passed him in the hall.

A chubby, curly haired, white boy, a pale brunette girl, and a slim, lanky kid who looked like he was trying to grow out a bad haircut, all of which were decked out in jean and leather.

The polite smile and wave he gave made the lanky boy to turn and see who Jeff was waving at.

As soon as you caught each other's eyes, his curious expression turned into a lovestruck one.

You didn't pay much attention to it, though.

"Who is that?"

"Oh, no one. She's just the daughter of some friends of my parents."

Since you were in separate grades, you didn't regularly cross paths with any of the people you saw with Jeff often, but you did end up having an elective class with the brunette girl.

It was a couple of weeks in when you were partnered up with her for a project.

"Veronica is my government name. Call me Ronnie."

During lunch, Ronnie mentioned to Jeff how adorable you were.

"You got to meet her?!"

Ronnie would then go on about how you were so nice and polite, but you were also extremely smart and sassy.

She got to witness your wit first hand when you made a sneaky comeback at someone who gave one of those stupid 'for a black girl' comments.

"I think Eddie is going to blow a fuse."

"You got to meet HER?!"

The boy was starstruck every time you would unknowingly pass him in the hall or when he saw you from across the cafeteria.

"Would you just go up and talk to her, numbnuts?" Ronnie would say as she smacked the back of his head when she caught him staring a bit too hard.

"I can't just 'go up' to her!"

"The fuck not?"

He'd reply with silence, not really knowing what answer to give.

You were too good for him? He'd have no chance? You'd dismiss him? Reject him? What would he even say?

"I wouldn't know what to say..."

"Maybe try, 'Hello'."

He spent the next four years pining over you from a distance.

Now, in your senior year, you were more excited than anything to get out of this shit hole.

The cute super super senior with the loud mouth, long hair, and less than stellar reputation had always caught your eye, but you both still had yet to actually say anything to each other. Paths never crossing further than beyond the hallway.

You never bothered to make a move on him.

You were convinced that you weren't his type, or anyone's type for that matter, especially not here.

But you're both seniors now.

Much to Eddie's surprise and delight, you now had classes together.

He never once liked being in high school for longer than necessary, but here he was, oddly thankful for being held back.

Your schedules are almost completely aligned, save for the fact that you had a couple honors classes.

For the first few days of your senior year, Eddie was a ball of anxiety every time you were around.

He sat either behind or beside you in the back of all your shared classes.

It wasn't until one fateful Tuesday, in the second week of that school year, that your pen ran out of ink, and you finally said your first words to him.

"Hey, do you have a pen I can barrow?"

You were turned around in your seat to look at him behind you. He was stuck for a few beats before he blinked away his shock.

"Uh, y-yeah. Here." He handed you the very pen he was using to doodle in his notebook instead of actually taking notes.

The small smile and the gentle brush of your fingers against his nearly made his heart stop on the spot.

He was absolutely gone.

It was in that moment that he realized he'd never properly heard your voice before.

He wanted to hear it again.

You even remembered/bothered to give him his pen back at the end of that class.

He spent every single one of his classes for the remainder of that day coming up with a full ass tactical plan to approach you.

Every day that passed, he for some fucking reason just couldn't find the right moment to put his plan in action.

It wasn't until a few weeks later when you threw his plan through a loop.

You showed up to a Hellfire meet just as they were all leaving out the drama room.

He heard your voice coming from outside once some of the freshman members walked out the door.

"Hey, Baby Bro! How'd it go? Have fun?"

Eddie eyes widened, and he stilled for a second before he dropped what he was doing to rush out the door.

He tried to play off his stumbling by leaning against the wall right outside the door.

"Oh, Hey! You're in this club too?"

"This is Eddie. He leads the club." Your little brother's curly haired friend, Dustin, clarified immediately.

Before Eddie could give Dustin a look to 'shut the fuck up before he ruined his shot', you raised your brows with somewhat of an impressed look on your face.

"Oh, so you're Eddie."

The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him want to melt into the floor.

All the false confidence he once had completely depleted, and he was back at a loss for words. Thank God you didn't leave room for him to make a fool of himself.

"The boys talk so highly of you. Thank you for looking after them for a couple hours after school. See you tomorrow!"

He watched, awestruck, as you walked away with your brother and his friends.

"Y-Yeah, no problem!" He'd finally yell after you a you made it to the exit doors.

You turned to wave bye before fully exiting the building to the mostly vacant parking lot.

Eddie waved back weakly.

"See you tomorrow." He says to himself in the empty hallway, still waving even after you couldn't see him anymore.

A cheesy grin would grow on his face as he went back into the drama room to collect his DM stuff.

"Holy shit. You actually exchanged words!" Jeff would say.

"~See you tomorrow~" Gareth mocks, clasping his hands together, resting them on his cheek and batting his eyelashes.

Eddie glares at the younger drummer. "Shut up, asshole."

Early October is when he finally leaned forward to ask you a question.

"Hey, I don't really understand what's going on. Could you help me?"

There it was.

You accepted, falling right into his hands.

His plan was now officially in motion.

You were smart and nice. Of course, you would help tutor him.

Eddie knew that would work.

You were well aware of his academic status, or rather lack thereof.

You couldn't help but let that little 'I can fix him' part of your teenage brain take over.

You really wanted to help him pass and graduate, ESPECIALLY since he reached out to you for help.

You couldn't say no. wtf

You two had spent all of October studying together.

Even though he was distracted by you most of the time and always going off topic to get to know you, he actually was kind of learning something.

A win-win for him.

"Hey, so, uh, you know, Halloween is right around the corner, and, uh, there's a special rescreening of 'Alien' this weekend. Would you, uh, you know, if you're into it, would you like to go see- watch it, like, with me, I mean?"

The question came at the end of your recent study/tutoring session.

Over the last few weeks, you had shown nothing but kindness towards Eddie. You two even had conversations with one another out in the open, outside of the safe privacy of the library.

He finally had the courage to ask you out.

You hesitated.

"Oh, uh..."

Your apprehension was not for the reason he was thinking, but it was enough for his mind to start caving in on itself.

"I mean, I just want to show you my appreciation, you know, for all your help. There's no- no pressure at all. I get it if you don't wanna be seen with me too much. I won't blame you."

His response takes you aback.

"Hold on. That's not what I was trying to get across at all."

Your firm tone made his chest tighten with anxiety. If that wasn't it, what was it? Did you have plans already? Maybe with a boyfriend? Shit, why didn't Eddie make sure to get your current relationship status out of you before asking.

"It's just that, uh, I'm kind of a... wuss... with scary movies. The sci-fi part of it seems intriguing enough, but I heard that it was pretty scary... The Boys snuck the VHS during one of their movie nights a couple years ago. I just remember Lucas being on edge for weeks after watching it." You chuckled nervously.

Eddie chuckles, relieved by your answer.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there to protect you from all the monsters." The use of his DM voice at the end goes straight to the pit of your stomach like hot coals.

You hold back a girlish giggle, not wanting to show how much that effected you.

"Okay, fine, but if I fail our test due to a lack of sleep, I'm blaming you."

After you agree to go on a date with him, he fully unleashes his inner flirt.

His surprising change in attitude towards you makes butterflies erupt within you.

His overt flirting brings out your sassy side as you two go back and forth.

That movie-dinner date was the first of many.

Eddie wasn't huge on physical PDA.

He was always super respectful and reserved in public, but he almost always made a show of you.

"There she is! The most beautiful woman to ever exist!"

"Look at her. A goddess among us mortals!"

"Here she comes! Make way for the queen!"

You eventually got used to his over the top antics, going from telling his to "shut up" with a shy grin to just embracing your new 'royalty status' with your head held high and a bright smile.

You'd been dating for months.

Your tutoring actually helped raise Eddie's grades, especially after you told him how much you wanted him to graduate with you this year.

Come spring, Lucas is now unsuccessfully splitting his time between Hellfire and basketball.

When Dustin and Mike bring in the third Sinclair into the drama room, Eddie can't help but cave quickly once she shows off her dnd knowledge.

Erica definitely gets her sass from you, though she's a lot more blunt with it.

Eddie can't help but form a huge soft spot for her, even after the game is over.

While Erica, Dustin, and Mike were waiting in your car to leave, Eddie stopped you.

"So, you know, we've been dating for quite a while now-"

"Five months and counting." You beamed.

Eddie grinned happily. So, you were keeping count.

"Yeah, soon enough it'll be six, then seven, then ten, then 12, then-"

"OK, OK" you giggled. Eddie's smile only got bigger.

"So, I was wondering..." That shy boy who could barely ask you on a first date returns, bringing a soft grin to your face. "Do you... Would do... I... Will you be my... my girlfriend?"

"Of course." You smiled without missing a beat.

"Really?!"

As the news sunk deeper and deeper, it became harder and harder for him to physically contain his excitement.

He jumped up and down, grabbing you by the shoulders to pull you into a hug, bouncing up and down with you in his arms.

Your shared laughter filled the empty parking lot of Hawkins High.

From that moment on, the word 'girlfriend' was used in place of your own name for months.

"I'm convinced you've forgotten my name."

"I could never forget such a thing, girlfriend~"

He introduced you to metal music.

You introduced him to leave in conditioner.

You two were high school sweethearts, ones that would last forever.

🥹🥹🥹

[crazydaymycrazyway]

Song Taewon is an amazing character. But I kind of hate him. I mean, I get where his actions come from. Like, in the end it's for the safety of Yoojin. I hated how obsessively protective Yoohyun was of Yoojin. But it mellowed down somehow, and ultimately, he learns how to be protective without having to think if chaining up his brother. And Yoojin was also able to convince him to change his ways. But this man, Song Taewon. I understand how he is afraid of himself and hates himself amd think he's a monster and all, and I do feel for him. I kind of understand him too, like where it's all coming from. But like, it's for your own good so let me just choke you so that you know how dangerous S classes can be, and by giving you this trauma, you'll stay away from them. I understand there's a power imbalance between Yoojin and Yoohyun, and the S class brother can easily abuse the frail one. Taewon's right on that part. But his actions somehow make me think that he wants Yoojin to stay away and be afraid of his younger brother. Like, think about Yoojin's wishes here? Man knows how dangerous it is and he still chose to take the risk, because he knows it's worth it. And it's not like he was fairing any good without Yoohyun anyway. Drinking and smoking away, depression amd stuff (Eventhough it was mostly because of Yoohyun's later actions)

Song Taewon's like, lemme reduce the rank of your skill and proceeds to reduce the one skill that keeps him mentally sane? Like dude, do you know how many nightmares and trauma that fear resistance helps to keep at bay? I know he doesn't know it. But still. He did it so that Yoojin wouldn't come near the S classes and also so that the S classes won't salivate over his doubling skill. He felt the power and exhilaration and he liked it, it was addictive and he got afraid of it because it's hard to control his desire. But dude, it's Yoojin's own skill and he decides what to do with it. I understand if he was going around and murdering everybody or something. But he's literally what? Helping so that dungeon raids become easier and the society could be more at ease? Uprooting the association's corrupt parts? He's using his skills as he pleases without negatively affecting the world. And like, you come and do this sh*t? Who is he to decide this? For Yoojin's protection? Well congrats man, you just made his life more miserable. More nightmares, more trauma and anxiety. Yet he continues to do what he does, this time struggling even more. As if what he faced isn't already enough. You use your skill on another guy for his 'protection' but he cleary doesn't want you to, and you forced it on him. Like, dipsh*t, where's a person's freedom of choice here? What if the skill he deranked was one that reduces the pain he feels and what if Yoojin had some kind of chronic pain? Well, your decision to 'protect' him will cause him to go through hell! Isn't he a guy with self control? Can't he think?! I hated this about him.

But I do understand where he comes from. Doesn't make me hate him any less. It might've been the paranoia or something. And he might've thought it to be the best course of action.

But dude, if I had a dream of being a model, and my dad goes and says it's dangerous for you and there will be creepy people staring at you so you can't be one and forcefully make me chose another path, saying it's for my own protection, am I supposed to feel good? What about what I want to do? My freedom of choice? You can't just force me to do something I don't want to. It's not like I'm causing the society any harm by pursuing my dreams? (Just an example)

Song Taewon's a civil servant, he has duties and a very important role in the stability if the society. I understand. I also understand the inner turmoil he faces. But I hate him.

His dynamic with Yoojin and Sung Hyunjae is quite amusing though. I'm not shipping the three of them, I will never. But it is cute, like I'm introverted and unworthy of love, I'm a monster and the other two go aigoo, who's my little monster, my cuddly bug, you're so sweet, so big and intimidating but so cute. It's funny.

But I hate him to guts. Just my opinion though. I think his character is intresting and a little funny, but that's it.

[lumosandnoxwriting]

say my name and everything just stops || George Weasley

Title: say my name and everything just stops Pairing: George x Reader Summary: George didn’t expect being fake engaged to the love of his life whose heart he broke would be this easy. But as they put their plan into action, he’s surprised at how seamlessly she fits into his life. It feels as if no time has passed as they settle into a routine, and it feels like she was always meant to be there by his side. It’s hard to keep a grasp on the original goal, when all he can think about is how much he’s already dreading having to say goodbye. But as a new scheme starts to come together in his head, there may be a way for George to get everything that he wants.  Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, a scene takes place at a bar and one mention of a hangover!  A/N: part 2 of hockey!george is here! I did a bit of restructuring to this part and the next, but I’m very happy with the way the story is coming together! As always feedback is welcome! <3

-

“Thank you again for doing this,” George says for what feels like the millionth time today. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. Y/N has upended her entire life for him, and he still has no idea why she agreed to this whole charade. 

After spending a few days in Washington to figure out some of the logistics of Y/N moving, which included George getting on his knees to beg Fred to take over her lessons at the rink, they’re finally back in Chicago. Thankfully Y/N’s actual job in marketing is remote, and George already arranged to have a desk and whatever else she may need delivered sometime this week. 

He had his assistant stock the apartment with all of the things Y/N used to love, including her favorite snacks and several fuzzy blankets, and he signed the contract for Y/N’s car service this morning before they got on the plane. George has even already added her to his Amex account, and the black card with her name on it should be here any day now.

George has money to spend, and there’s no one else he’d rather spoil than Y/N.

”You really can stop saying that,” Y/N reminds him as she follows him through the front door. “It was cute at first, but now it’s just kind of annoying.”

”Sorry, I know. You’ve had to sacrifice way more than me for this stupid arrangement and I feel bad that I’ve basically uprooted your life. I don’t deserve any of the shit you’re doing for me and I just wanna make sure you know how much I appreciate it.”

”George, it’s really okay. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to be here.” 

In all honesty, Y/N feels a little guilty over how accommodating George has been. She’s not really here to help him out, but to figure out whether her life has become the plot of a book and she’s about to get her second chance at love or if she’s about to break her own heart. Either way, she’s not here out of the goodness of her heart, and George’s kindness is undeserved. 

“Right, okay,” George gives Y/N a grin, before motioning for her to follow him. “I had my assistant clear some of my stuff out of the dresser and closet so there should be plenty of room for your things,” he explains as he leads Y/N down the hall towards his bedroom. “This space is ours now, and I want you to feel like it is too.”

As soon as they step through the door Y/N is hit with the scent of him and it nearly knocks her on her ass. Because George still uses the same cologne he did in high school, and it reminds her of home. She used to steal the bottle when he went away for games, covering her bed in it so it would feel like he was there with her at night. Now she’ll be surrounded by that scent 24/7 and she’s not sure her heart is ready for that. 

George drags the suitcase he’d been rolling into his closet disappearing for a second before he pops back out. “I only have a one bedroom, I uh, never really thought about having to share my space with someone,” he admits sheepishly. “But you can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, George, I’m not taking your bed. The season’s about to start, you need to be well rested and there’s no way sleeping on a couch for weeks will be sufficient.” She gives him an appraising look, taking in his broad frame. George has always been big, but time has done him well and his build has really filled out. 

“Besides, I don’t think there’s a couch in this world big enough to fit all of you,” she continues, and Y/N can feel the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “You stay in your bed, I can sleep on the couch.”

”Absolutely not,” George insists, taking a step closer to her. “You’re my guest, and I’m not going to have you sleeping on the couch.”

Y/N bites her lip, already regretting what she’s about to suggest. “Well then if you’re not going to let me sleep on the couch and I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch, we’ll just have to share the bed.”

Her suggestion takes George by surprise, and his jaw clenches to keep it from dropping. He was already questioning whether he’d be able to survive sharing space with Y/N, but sharing a bed? His cock is rock hard at just the thought of smelling her shampoo on his pillow. 

“Are you sure?” He manages to stutter out, running a hand through his hair. 

“I mean it’s big enough,” she responds, gesturing towards the bed. It’s got to be King sized, with a thick black comforter that’s sure to reek of George that Y/N wants to wrap herself up in. “We’ll probably barely even touch.”

“As long as you’re fine with it, I am too,” George agrees. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

”It’ll be fine George,” Y/N lies, giving him a grin that she hopes is genuine. 

Fake engaged to and sharing a bed with the man she loves that broke her heart? Yeah everything is definitely not fine. 

-

After a torturous first night together, Y/N thanks the heavens that George is up and out early for the first day of training camp the next morning. Because despite all of her reassurances yesterday, sharing a bed with George Weasley is the worst idea she ever had. 

Despite the size of the bed, George is massive, and as soon as he laid down next to her she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. It doesn’t help that she was completely enveloped in his scent, and her pussy was throbbing with need from the moment she crawled under the blanket. It took her hours to fall asleep, her body rigid as George tossed and turned as well. It wasn’t until his breathing evened out that Y/N finally managed to close her eyes and relax. 

Only for her to wake up a few hours later to George’s arm wrapping around her waist before he pulled her into his chest. Turns out all these years later he’s still a cuddler. Being back in his embrace was too intoxicating to deny, and Y/N laid awake for over an hour, just letting George hold her as his breath ghosted across her neck. It felt achingly familiar, and she didn’t want to give it up. 

But she knew things would be awkward if George woke up to find her in his arms, so after getting her fill Y/N wiggled her way out of his hold. She stuffed a pillow into his chest for good measure, needing to keep his arms occupied so she didn’t find herself caught in his embrace again. Y/N doubts she would have had the willpower to pull away a second time. 

Y/N is up and out of bed the second her alarm goes off, electing not to stay buried under the covers while she scrolls social media like she usually does. Just the smell of George has her wet and if she lays there for another moment Y/N knows she’ll have her hand down her pants, touching herself as she buries her nose in George’s pillow like a weirdo. 

She wanders out to the kitchen, taking advantage of being alone so she can snoop around. Last night George had assured her that this is her space now too and she’s welcome to anything, but it felt weird going through his things with him around. Apart from finding where he keeps his dishes and a cursory look in the fridge for a drink Y/N didn’t do too much exploring. 

So when she opens George’s pantry, she’s surprised to find it filled with all of the things she loves. A brand new box of her favorite cereal sits right next to the granola George puts in his yogurt in the morning, and her favorite chips and cookies are mixed in with the kinds that George prefers. It all feels so natural, and Y/N slams the door shut as she struggles to catch her breath. 

Because fuck, this is the life she always imagined having with George, and none of it is real. This is the life Y/N has always wanted, and yet it’s still not really hers - something she has to remember. There’s a very real possibility that once George makes Captain they will go their separate ways for the last time, and she has to be prepared for that. 

Deciding to avoid the pantry for now, Y/N wanders to the fridge and pulls out the things to make an omelet. She’s just starting to whisk the eggs and deciding whether she should work from the kitchen island or the couch when the doorbell rings. George hadn’t mentioned anyone stopping by, and Y/N remains cautious as she goes to open the door. Some part of her fears that some crazed fan or ex-lover of George’s will be waiting on the other side, but a sigh of relief leaves her body when she checks the peephole and it’s just a few delivery people. 

No more Criminal Minds for her. 

“Hi Mrs. Weasley,” one of the men greets when Y/N opens the door, and she’s too shocked to correct him. Her knees shake as she steps aside to let them in, her mind still focused on how good it felt to be called by George’s last name. “We’ve got the things your husband ordered, it shouldn’t take too long for us to set it all up.”

“Okay,” Y/N says hesitantly as the men start to bring a few boxes into the apartment. She’s a little unsure about letting these people in since George didn’t say anything about a delivery, but Y/N knows the security here is intense and they wouldn’t have been let into the building if there was something weird going on. “You know where everything is going?”

The first man nods, giving her a smile. “Yes, your husband was very clear when he placed the order a few days ago. We’ll be in and out so quickly you’ll barely even know we were here.”

Y/N nods, gesturing towards the kitchen as the men head towards the dining room. “Alright, well, if you need anything I’ll be in there.”

She shoots off a quick text to George as she walks, knowing she’s unlikely to get a response. But it makes her feel better that at least someone will know other people came into the apartment in the event that this really is an elaborate ruse to kidnap her. 

Y/N: hey! Hope hockey stuff is good - just wanna let you know the delivery people are here setting up whatever you ordered

When a response doesn’t come through Y/N tucks her phone back into her pocket and refocuses her attention on breakfast. She’s just plating up her omelet and toast when the man from before appears in the kitchen. 

“We’re all done here if you just want to take a look to make sure everything looks good before you confirm delivery.”

“Uh, sure,” Y/N agrees, following him into the other room. 

When George gave her a tour last night the dining room had virtually nothing in it. There was some artwork on the walls, a small table with a few chairs with a fake plant tucked in the corner and a lamp in the other. Which made total sense to Y/N, since George lives alone and has an island with barstools for him to eat at, he hasn’t really needed a fully functioning dining space. 

Which is why her jaw practically drops when the man leads her into the dining room. The small table is gone, and in its place is a gorgeous wooden desk with the softest looking chair Y/N has ever seen behind it. There’s two large bookcases against the back wall, and there’s a plush carpet covering the floor. Tears prick the corner of her eyes, and Y/N runs a hand along the glossy desk just to make sure it’s real. 

“Does everything look okay?”

Y/N spins around to face the man who she forgot was even there. Swallowing the emotion crawling up her throat, she gives a curt nod. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

The man gives her a smile and thrusts out a clipboard. “I just need a signature and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

She signs without even looking, her attention back on the office George created for her. After their breakup Y/N couldn’t fathom when her sweet, loving boyfriend turned into the heartless person that dumped her so carelessly. It’s just starting to hit her that maybe the George she knew wasn’t really gone after all, just hidden behind a facade. 

Once the door shuts behind the delivery crew Y/N makes her way behind the desk, sinking back into the plush chair. Her apartment back home isn’t big enough for her to have a dedicated office space and she often works from her kitchen table or couch, and Y/N had been totally fine with doing the same at George’s. So the fact that he’s gone and made Y/N her own space in his apartment has her heart pounding in her chest. 

She fires off another text to George. 

Y/N: the delivery people just left and holy shit, George. You really didn’t need to do this for me. I love it, thank you.

They must be on a break, because a few minutes later as Y/N is opening her laptop to start working George responds. 

George: ah shit, sorry, i totally forgot to mention the delivery last night.

George: we can go out and get different artwork or decorations or whatever. I meant what i said last night, this is our space now and i want you to feel at home

George: and i know i didnt need to, i wanted to :)

She’s already starting to fall back in love with George Weasley, and Y/N is not sure she’ll be able to stop.

-

Things get easier to navigate as the week goes on. 

That first night when George got home from training camp it had been awkward, neither of them really sure how to navigate this interesting relationship. On one hand, they’re technically engaged and it should be expected for them to act somewhat like a couple while at home. But on the other hand, they haven’t been around each other in years and it kind of felt like two strangers living under the same roof. 

But they slowly started to get into a routine. George is always up first, and before he leaves for camp he puts on a fresh pot of coffee so it’s still warm and fresh by the time Y/N gets up too. They usually text throughout the day whenever George has the chance, discussing what to do for dinner or to just share something about their day. George gets home at 4 everyday, and Y/N has a protein shake waiting for him on the counter while she finishes up with work. Then they cook dinner together, moving around the kitchen effortlessly while they talk about their days. 

Dinner is always eaten in the living room while they watch something on TV. George cleans up the kitchen while Y/N empties his hockey bag, throwing his sweaty gear into the washing machine before repacking his bag with fresh athletic gear and a clean practice jersey. They get ready for bed together, standing at the his and hers sinks in the bathroom as they brush their teeth. George is usually the first to fall asleep, and Y/N will read or scroll on her phone until she too goes to bed, and then they wake up in the morning to do it all over again. 

George didn’t think they’d fall into a routine so easily, but he’s been pleasantly surprised so far. He finds that every night after a long day of camp he’s looking forward to seeing Y/N at home, and the little texts they exchange during his breaks have become his favorite part of the day. Even falling asleep next to her has become second nature, and George will never get tired of the fact that his bed has started to smell like the both of them. 

He figured it would be an adjustment, having someone else and their stuff in a space that has always been just his. But George loves seeing the touches of herself that Y/N has started to leave around the apartment. It’s always a thrill when he enters the closet and her clothes are hanging up next to his. He loves the rumpled blanket she always leaves on the couch, and the sight of her coffee mug in the sink next to his in the afternoon always makes him happy. 

They’re living the life George always wanted, and he’s already dreading the day it comes to an end. But the inevitable heartbreak is worth it to see the way Y/N lights up when he gets home in the afternoon. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood, Weasel,” Thomas, the Rebel’s goalie, states as he slides into the seat across from George. 

They’re on break for lunch, and George was taking advantage of the opportunity to text Y/N back. 

“Yeah, you’ve been a lot more smiley, Weasel,” Adam, a defenseman, adds as he sits next to George. 

“What? Is it a fucking crime to be happy?” George asks with an eyeroll. 

Before he has a chance to even react Thomas is reaching over and snatching George’s phone out of his hand. “No it’s not a crime,” he starts, scrolling through the texts on George’s phone. “But I’m sure it has something to do with Y/N and why she’s asking you what you want for dinner tonight.”

“Fuck you,” George grumbles as he grabs his phone back, and he can feel the flush on his cheeks. He knows that the whole point of Y/N being his fake fiance is so he can show everyone how responsible he is, and in order to do that people have to know about her. But a part of George was hoping to keep Y/N to himself for just a little bit longer. 

“Weasel’s got a girlfriend!” Adam exclaims, ruffling George’s hair. “You’ve been holding out on us George, when the fuck did that happen? Who is she? Where’d you meet?”

“Yeah, give us all the details George, you owe it to us,” Thomas adds. 

“You two are worse than a couple of school girls for christ sake.” George takes a sip of his water, needing a second to compose himself. “It happened during the off season. I went back home for a bit, you know, to see the family and everything. Y/N and I dated before I was in the league and we reconnected. We didn’t want to be apart when I had to come back for the season so she moved in with me.”

“Holy fuck, look how red his cheeks are,” Thomas teases. “Our little Weasel’s in love.”

“Little lover boy,” Adam joins in, ruffling George’s hair again. “Fucking finally, Jenny has been dying for you to get a girlfriend, she said her and Olivia need a new drinking buddy.”

“Hell yeah, bring Y/N to team drinks tonight,” Thomas suggests with a grin. “You can’t keep her from us forever, and Olivia will castrate me if she finds out you have a girlfriend and I didn’t try to get you to bring her out.”

George huffs, thinking it over. They have a day off tomorrow, and he was kind of looking forward to doing nothing but hanging out on the couch with Y/N. But introducing her to the team and their partners is probably the most natural way for him being in a relationship to get back to Coach, and that’s the whole reason Y/N is here in the first place. 

“Alright fine,” he relents, causing the other men to cheer. “But you fuckers are on a short leash, you hear me? Say any weird shit and we’re gone.”

“We’ll be on our best behavior,” Adam promises, placing a hand on his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

-

“Are you sure I look okay?” Y/N asks again, pausing just outside the entrance to the bar. 

It physically pains George to look her over, because the pair of jeans clinging to Y/N are so tight they look like they’ve been painted on and it’s taking all of his willpower and thoughts of his grandmother naked to keep him from popping a boner. The fabric showcases every single curve on her, and all he wants to do is plant one hand on her ass while the other grips the back of her neck as he kisses her senseless. 

But he can’t do that, so he settles for grabbing her hands to stop the way she tugs at the hem of her shirt. It’s just barely too short, letting a sliver of skin peek between the top of her jeans and the bottom of the shirt, and Y/N has been tugging on it constantly. As if another few inches of fabric will suddenly unravel and cover her completely. 

“For the millionth time, you look incredible, baby,” George reassures her, taking too much pride in the way her cheeks flush. “You have nothing to be nervous about, Y/N. This is just a casual hang out with my friends.”

“I know, I know. You’re right,” Y/N agrees. George intertwines their fingers, squeezing her hands and it sends butterflies fluttering through her tummy. “I just want your friends to like me, and I don’t want to fuck up this whole fake fiancé thing.”

George can feel the cool band of Y/N’s engagement ring pressing into his skin, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t send a thrill through his body. He thought it would be strange, seeing the ring on her finger knowing that he’s the one who put it there. But every time he gets a glimpse of the diamond it feels like it has always been there, a feeling which George has carefully boxed up and stuffed to the back of his mind. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” George soothes, releasing one of Y/N’s hands so he can pull her behind as he pushes through the door to the bar. “All I told the guy’s is that you and I dated when we were younger and reconnected when I went home during the off season. Technically none of that is a lie.”

Y/N nods in agreement as George drags her into Maynards. Except for the rowdy crowd in the corner that is very clearly George’s teammates, it’s practically empty and she feels some of her nerves drift away. Pretending in front of people George knows is one thing, but having to put that facade up in front of fans with phones is a whole nother story. On the drive over George had explained that Maynards was the team’s go to spot because it’s close to the arena, but is so dingy and outdated that not too many people come in. The boy’s like the anonymity that Maynards provides, and it’s often the place they go when they just want to hang out for the night and spend some time together. 

Y/N feels honored to be let into that special club. 

It’s one of the guy’s girlfriends that notices them first, and the rest of Y/N’s nerves float away at the look of pure joy that crosses the stranger’s face. 

“Holy fuck, Thomas wasn’t lying!” The girl shouts excitedly, causing the few people standing with them to turn and look their way. She abandons her boyfriend, bounding over with her arms stretched out for a hug.

Except much to Y/N’s surprise she walks right past George, wrapping her arms around Y/N instead. “I’m Olivia, it’s so nice to meet you.”

Y/N returns Olivia’s hug with the arm that isn’t attached to the hand George is still holding on to, returning the tight squeeze. “It’s nice to finally meet you, George has told me so much about you.”

Which isn’t a total lie, from the time George got home until they reached the bar he’d given her a brief run down on everyone she’d be meeting tonight. He’d spent the most time talking about Thomas, Adam and their girlfriends, since they are who he’s closest with on the team and who he spends the most time with off the ice. 

“Well he’s told us absolutely nothing about you, so we’ve got a ton of catching up to do.” Olivia releases Y/N from her embrace, grabbing her hand instead. Except as she starts to drag her away, George keeps his own grip on Y/N tight, catching her in the middle. 

“Y/N is my date, Olivia, you just can’t steal her,” George huffs, pouting at them. 

Olivia rolls her eyes, clearly used to George’s antics. “Sharing is caring, Georgie,” she mocks, tugging on Y/N so George has no choice but to release her hand. “You’ll get her back, I promise.”

Before she disappears into the crowd with Olivia, Y/N shoots George a reassuring smile over her shoulder, a silent signal not to worry about her. 

If only she knew that George’s reluctance to let her go has nothing to do with worry, but his overwhelming need to feel her hand in his. 

-

“So what was Weasel like back in high school? Was he always such a little shit?” Thomas asks with a grin. 

They’ve been at the bar for a few hours, and despite her initial nerves, Y/N is actually having fun. Olivia had dragged her over to where Jenny, Adam’s girlfriend, and some of the other player’s partners were huddled together and it was as if they were old friends. After a few margaritas and getting to know each other the guys had wandered over. George had immediately wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing Y/N in close so her back was pressed to his front. That’s where she stayed as his friends asked her what felt like a million questions about George. 

“Weasel?” she responds, wrinkling her nose. Y/N tilts her head back so she can look up at George. “That’s what they call you? I’m ashamed, it’s not very creative. Woody was way better.”

George’s cheeks immediately flush at the reminder of his old nickname, causing Thomas and Adam to whoop in laughter. “You’re a little menace, you know that?” he murmurs in her ear, squeezing her waist. 

“Woody? Now that’s a story I want to hear,” Adam says, his eyes lit with excitement. 

Y/N goes to tell the story, but before she can even utter a word George claps his free hand over her mouth, muffling her words. “No, nope. I will not let you hooligans rope my fiancé into your shenanigans.”

 Everyone around them goes silent. When Olivia had referred to Y/N as George’s girlfriend earlier she didn’t correct her, figuring there was a reason why he hadn’t told his friends about the engagement. So she went right along with it, keeping her left hand tucked into her pocket as much as possible. 

“I’m sorry, did you say fiancé?” Jenny asks, her voice loud enough to draw looks from those around them.

“Um. Surprise?” George responds sheepishly, dropping the hand he has over Y/N’s mouth to grab her left hand instead. He lifts it up to show everyone the ring, and even in the dim light of the bar the diamond shines. 

“Oh my god! Congratulations!” Olivia shouts as Jenny giggles, and the girls take Y/N’s hand from George so they can examine the ring more closely. 

“Damn, Weasel. You’ve broken the hearts of female hockey fans all over the country,” Adam teases, clapping George on the shoulder. “No wonder you’ve been in such a fantastic mood lately. Congrats.”

Thomas winks at George. “Yeah, congratulations or whatever, but let’s get back to the conversation.” His eyes sheen with mischief and George lets out a groan. “Why the fuck did they call you Woody?”

The girls dissolve into a fit of giggles as Y/N looks up at George for approval. But when he gives her a pleading look all Y/N does is wink before she refocuses her attention back on the group and launches into the story.

“Well you see, it all started back when we were in high school, and George was away with the junior team for the first time.”

George tunes out the rest of the story, not needing to listen as Y/N recounts the story of how he got caught jerking off in his hotel room the night before his first game in the junior league. Instead he focuses on the bright smile on her face, and how the people he cares about most react to her. He can already tell that Jenny and Olivia have accepted Y/N as one of their own, and he knows she has Adam and Thomas’ stamp of approval too. 

Y/N fits into their group flawlessly and it makes his chest feel warm. George tightens his grip on her waist, and he never wants to let her go. 

-

They spend a large part of the next day on the couch. Y/N is too hungover to move and George wants to be wherever she is. With each of their heads at one end of the couch their legs are intertwined in the middle, both of them content to just watch movies and eat snacks all day. It isn’t until the sun is starting to get lower in the sky that George finally speaks. 

“We should go out somewhere for dinner tonight.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow as she raises her eyes to meet his. “You suddenly get bit by the going out bug?” she teases.

George chuckles. “No, I’d much rather lay around all day with you. But if we want people to believe we’re engaged we should probably be seen out and about together.”

At least that’s the excuse he’s come up with. In reality last night he started to come to the realization that he doesn’t want this engagement to be fake. Y/N had fallen asleep as soon as they crawled in bed but George had laid awake watching her closely as he reflected on the night and the last several years. 

Because being at that bar with Y/N is the happiest he’d been in a long time, and when he really thought about it, the last time he remembers being truly happy was before he ended things with Y/N. Even the day he was drafted and his first game in the NHL didn’t come close to being his happiest memory, because she wasn’t there with him. 

So George made a decision last night. Fuck being named Captain, his one and only goal is to make Y/N fall in love with him again. That way he can marry her for real, and he never has to think about what life will be like without her by his side. He’d stayed awake for hours formulating a plan, and this is just step one. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Y/N agrees. “But nowhere fancy, okay? I still feel like shit. You weren’t kidding, Olivia and Jenny go hard.”

George agrees to her stipulation, and he finds himself returning the grin on Y/N’s face. Operation Get Y/N to fall in love is officially a go. 

-

“Remember that time at Rosie’s when Fred made you laugh so hard milkshake came out of your nose?”

George attempts to laugh at the memory, choking on the sip of milkshake he’s just taken. “Oh god, don’t remind me,” he spits out once his coughing calms down. “I smelled vanilla for weeks after that.”

Y/N giggles at the grimace on George’s face as she settles back into the booth. To comply with her request not to go anywhere fancy, they’re at a dingy dinner a few blocks from the apartment that George swore has the best milkshakes in all of Chicago. And as Y/N takes a sip of hers, she can’t help but agree. 

“That was also the first time we held hands,” Y/N reminds him, blush coating her cheeks. They were twelve and George had been so embarrassed that Y/N had reached out to squeeze his hand and he never let go. Two weeks later they went on their first date, and a week after that they were boyfriend and girlfriend. 

“I was so nervous that I threw up when I got home,” George admits with a grin. “I told Fred it was because I could still feel milkshake dripping out of my nose, but really it was because the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen had held my hand.”

He lays his arm across the table, palm up in invitation. Without a moment of hesitation Y/N places her hand in George’s and a shiver runs up her spine when he grasps her fingers. George brushes his fingers over her knuckles, and they sit in silence as George looks at their intertwined hands and she looks at him.

“What happened, George?” Y/N asks suddenly, her voice shaky. “I thought things were going so well and then suddenly they weren’t.” 

“I was scared,” he admits after a few moments of silence, still refusing to meet her gaze. “I always knew the NHL was my future, but getting that call, that Chicago was going to offer me a rookie contract, scared the shit out of me. I still had two years until they were going to call me up, and so much could have happened. They could have decided to drop me, or I could have had a career ending injury. And I had no Plan B. Hockey came first, my grades were barely passable and I had no passion for anything else. Without the NHL I would be nothing, and I couldn’t burden you like that. I figured letting you go so you could find someone worthy of your love was better than dragging you down with me.”

“George,” Y/N whispers, at a loss for what to say. Her heart aches in her chest, because George may have been the one to break them, but Y/N didn’t fight hard enough to save them. She knew something was wrong with George, and that he hadn’t suddenly become a heartless asshole after nearly ten years together. Y/N wishes she had stayed that day, refused to leave until George talked to her about what was really going on. 

Maybe if she had the engagement ring on her finger would be real, and it would have saved them both years of pain and longing. 

Before she can say anything else the waitress is back with their food, and they pull apart as she places the plates down in front of them. She’s gone in another instant, and even though everything smells and looks amazing, Y/N has suddenly lost her appetite. 

-

The next morning there are pictures of them all over social media, with several different sports sites publishing articles about how hockey’s hottest bachelor is officially off the market. Y/N hadn’t even noticed people taking their photo, but she’s glad that they all seem to have been taken before things got awkward. In each photo they’re both smiling, and there’s even a few where you can clearly see a blush outlined on George’s cheeks. 

They actually look in love, and it makes Y/N feel sick. 

Things were weird between them the rest of the night and George was up and out of the house to head to camp before Y/N was awake. Her only shred of hope has been the fact that George had still left a fresh pot of coffee for her. Maybe this whole thing isn’t over before it really even got started. 

Because Y/N has decided it’s time to stop playing the long game and merely hoping that this whole thing ends with her and George together for real. Y/N is going to get George Weasley to fall in love with her again even if it kills her. After his confession yesterday, Y/N knows now more than ever that George is the man she is supposed to end up with, and she is not going to give him up again without a fight. 

Will she ever forget how he had hurt her that day? Of course not. 

But what matters is that she’s forgiven him, and she’s ready to show George that what they have now can be real. 

She barely focuses on work all day, formulating a plan and figuring out her next steps. By the time George gets home that afternoon, his usual protein shake is waiting and Y/N is ready. Operation get George Weasley to fall in love with her is a go.

-

Y/N decides to make her move that night when they’re in bed. The awkwardness between them had started to fade as they fell into their evening routine, and by the time they were eating dinner on the couch together they were laughing and joking around again. While they hadn’t talked about what George said at the diner, it seemed they had come to a silent agreement to leave the past in the past and to keep moving forward. 

With only one week of training camp left before preseason starts, the focus of camp has shifted from running drills to starting to run plays, so when Y/N crawls into bed that night George is still awake, sitting up against the headboard as he reviews his book of plays. 

She mirrors his position, keeping only a few inches of space between them as she starts to read her romance novel. Y/N keeps glancing at George out of the corner of her eye, not really paying attention to the words on the page. After a few minutes she gives up, huffing as she shuts her book before angling her body to face George. 

“I’ve been thinking,” she trails off, waiting for George to give her his full attention. 

“That can’t be good,” he jests, placing his playbook on the nightstand before he turns to face her as well. “What’s been going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face. “Well I saw all the pictures of us people were posting this morning, and I was thinking about that family skate thing and the team dinner you were talking about and how if we’re going to be out and around people, there’s probably certain things they are going to expect from us.”

“Like?” George asks, urging her to continue. 

“Like PDA things,” she explains, swallowing the nerves threatening to creep up her throat. “Holding hands, touching, cuddling. Kissing.”

“Oh,” George murmurs, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So I was thinking maybe we should practice. Doing all of that stuff. That way when we’re in front of people it doesn’t look weird or awkward. It looks like something we do all the time.” When George doesn’t say anything Y/N feels her stomach drop, and embarrassment flushes her cheeks. “Nevermind, forget I said anything,” she dismisses, kicking herself for even bringing it up. 

But before she can turn her back to George and pretend to sleep he grabs her wrist, using his grip to pull Y/N even closer. “Sorry, I was just processing. You’re right. No one will believe we’re engaged if we look like two chickens pecking at each other when we try to kiss or if you flinch every time I touch your ass.”

Without giving her a chance to respond George grips the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her into a kiss as his other arm wraps around her waist. There’s no hesitation as they kiss for the first time in years, and Y/N feels fireworks as George’s mouth melds against hers. 

George breaks their kiss for a moment, muttering a quiet fuck before he’s kissing her again with more force. Angling her head back, George deepens the kiss and Y/N moans as he nips at her bottom lip. She shivers as his tongue soothes the sharp pain before letting him lick into her mouth. 

Next thing she knows George is pulling her closer, dragging her so she’s straddling his lap. Her own hands grip his shoulders as George massages the back of her neck, his other hand wandering down to cup her ass. He drags her even closer, and they both let out a gasp as his hard cock presses between her thighs, nestled just where she needs him most. 

As Y/N rocks against him, moaning as his cock nudges her throbbing clit, the reality that they are about to cross a line that they will never be able to come back from hits them both. In the blink of an eye Y/N is back on her side of the bed, hair tousled from George’s grip and her breathing heavy. She spares a glance at George, happy to find that he looks just as affected. 

“So I think that was enough practice, yeah?” George doesn’t even wait for Y/N’s response before he’s up and out of bed, one hand trying to cover the tent in his sweatpants as he rushes into the bathroom. A second after the door closes Y/N hears the shower turn on, and she can’t help but slip a hand under her sleep shorts. 

Phase one complete. 

-

They haven’t kissed again since that first night early in the week, but much to both of their delight, physical touch starts to become a regular part of their relationship. When they’re out in public George doesn’t hesitate to grab Y/N’s hand, and he often keeps a hand on her lower back to guide her. Now when George gets home he seeks her out, sometimes content to rub her shoulders as she works, sometimes so desperate to feel her close that he hauls her from the chair into a hug. While they cook dinner together they’re constantly brushing against one another, and Y/N is practically in George’s lap while they eat. 

The space they try to keep in bed at night has been completely erased, with George refusing to fall asleep until Y/N is wrapped in his arms. Her plan is working even better than she could have imagined and she can’t wait to show off their new found closeness tonight at the Rebel’s family skate. 

Training camp is officially over, and every year to celebrate the team hosts a family skate night. The guys get to bring their wives or girlfriends and their kids, and everyone just gets to have fun together on the ice before the craziness of the season starts to take over. Preseason starts next week, and after the first game at home on Tuesday, the team will be gone for the better part of the next three weeks. Which makes tonight at open skate and tomorrow’s team dinner Y/N’s last chances to really get close to George before they are apart again. 

“When do you think is the last time we skated together?” George asks as he steps out onto the ice, holding his hands out so he can help Y/N enter the rink. 

In years past George never really cared for family skates considering the fact that he never really had anyone to bring with him, but he’s been looking forward to this all week. Not only did he and Y/N meet on the ice, but ice skating was their first date, making this the perfect next step in his plan to get her to fall in love with him again. 

Y/N thinks about it as she grabs George’s hands and joins him. “Probably a family skate back when you were in the juniors. You used to have to bribe me with kisses to get on the ice.”

George keeps Y/N’s hands in his, starting to slowly skate backwards, pulling her along. “Mmm, that reminds me.” He pulls her in closer, leaning down and kissing her briefly. “Thank you for skating with me.”

She knows it’s for show, but it makes her heart rate pick up anyway. “You’re welcome. But I think I deserve one more kiss for being so brave.”

“Y/N, you can have as many kisses as you want,” George murmurs as he leans down before pressing their lips together again. 

Their kiss is much longer this time, and Y/N is just about to open her mouth for George’s tongue when someone skates by, stopping sharply to spray them with ice. 

“Adam, fuck you,” George growls as they pull apart, glaring at the other man as he skates away. 

Y/N laughs, pushing George away to put some distance between them. There are children present after all. “You look so cute when you’re mad.”

“Only when I’m mad?” George pouts playfully, bringing his attention back to her. 

“Nah, you’re cute all the time,” she reassures him, momentarily releasing one of his hands so she can boop him on the nose. The smile that graces his lips takes her breath away, and Y/N tilts her chin, silently requesting another kiss. 

George immediately obliges, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss. It’s over far too quickly for Y/N’s liking, but George keeps her close as they continue to skate around the rink. It’s nice, just being there with him, and Y/N lets her gaze wander around as they move. 

It’s funny, watching these guys who are so big and broad glide around with their kids. The ones who are too young to skate are just being held in their dad’s arms, bundled up in little snowsuits. There’s a few toddlers too, wearing little skates and a tiny version of their dad’s jersey as they’re guided along the ice. Some of the kids are even old enough to hold sticks, and they’re skating around passing pucks with their fathers before taking turns shooting on the goal. 

It hits Y/N then, that if this all works out that could be her and George next year. A tiny baby in his big broad arms, wearing a jersey that says Daddy across the back with George’s number underneath it. A few of the wives have custom jerseys as well, with Mrs. Last name embroidered on the back and their husband’s number underneath. She’s sure that George would insist on her having one too. 

Y/N’s attention refocuses on George as they slow and they come to a stop in front of the home bench, where George’s coach is tightening up his daughter’s skates. George wraps his arms around Y/N’s waist, pulling her back into his chest. 

“Coach,” he greets when the other man turns and acknowledges them. “I just wanted to introduce you to my fiancé, Y/N.”

“Daniel Morris.” His voice is gruff, and Y/N takes the hand he offers, giving it a brief shake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman who’s lit a fire under this ogre’s ass,” he teases with a grin. “Weasley has been playing his best these past few weeks, and we have you to thank.”

“Oh well, I don’t know about that,” Y/N brushes off, hoping the pink tint on her cheeks can be blamed on the cold. “But thank you. It’s nice to meet the guy George is always bitching about.”

Morris lets out a loud laugh, grabbing the attention of almost every single player out on the ice. “I like her George, you better keep this one around.”

“Oh trust me, Coach,” George starts with a grin, flicking his gaze down to Y/N. “I intend to.”

And that’s the truth.

-

“God I’m so sore,” Y/N moans as she crawls into bed that night, flopping down onto the pillows. “I don’t know how you do that every day. I barely did anything and my body aches like I just climbed Mount Everest.”

George shakes his head as he chuckles and he rubs a comforting hand down Y/N’s back. “Years and years of conditioning, baby. Where did you think all these muscles came from?” He flexes, causing Y/N to laugh. 

“I do love your hockey butt,” she teases, giving George a wink. 

“And I love your regular butt,” he responds, playfully giving it a slap. “C’mere, let me make you feel better.”

George maneuvers her so they’re cuddled close, one of Y/N’s legs slung over his hips with her chest pressed against his own. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, and a shiver wracks through his body when she kisses the sensitive skin there. George starts to rub circles into the tight muscles of her back, his fingers applying just enough pressure to work the kinks out without hurting her. 

“Feel good?” he asks after a few moments, and Y/N lets out a moan of appreciation. “Good,” he murmurs as his hand starts to trail down her back. He pauses for a moment on the curve of her ass, digging his fingers in for a moment before continuing down to the thigh he has slung over his hips. George repeats the same motions as he did on her back, working out the muscles of her thighs. 

George threads his free hand through the hair on the back of Y/N’s head and he slowly starts to scratch at her scalp. The gentleness of George’s simple intimacy brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N shuts her eyes to keep them from escaping. It’s easy to pretend when they’re like this, that this is just a normal night and they’re just a normal couple taking care of each other before they fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

As Y/N starts to slowly fall asleep she sends out every piece of good karma she has out into the universe, wishing that her plan to make George fall in love with her works. Because she’s already head over heels in love with this man, and if he breaks her heart again she’ll never be the same.  

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

-- -- --

There is, honest to God, a coathanger butler and a duster French maid.

“Well, that confirms it,” Lance says, clapping his hands together. “I fell off my horse on the way here and I’ve gone insane.”

“I think you’re just smart, kiddo,” Shiro says, amused. “Perceptive.” He has yet to stop his tour, hopping along rather quickly as Lance follows. 

Lance opens his mouth to deny that particular claim – Lance is many things and smart is sure as shit not one of them – but there’s a bellowing shout that interrupts him before he can. 

“Ta-kashi!”

Shiro-the-candelabra startles, then goes pale, which is a hilarious thing to witness in a face of wax. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he curses. He makes an effort to hop behind a random sidetable placed against one of the farther walls of the massive corridor, but he’s not nearly fast enough. Rapid, angry clanking sounds precede the appearance of an ornately carved grandfather clock, the face – literally and figuratively, man this castle is fucking weird – twisted in a heavy scowl. 

“Takashi,” the clock hisses again. “What part of ‘united front' is hard for you to understand?”

Caught completely red-handed, Shiro straightens himself up and attempts to look dignified. “You were busy with Keith! What was I supposed to do, let this one wander around? I was –”

“You were supposed to wait for me, Takashi! Last time –”

It would probably be prudent for Lance to continue listening, as any information he learns is for the better. But as soon as Shiro says Keith’s name, Lance’s ears check out, the world in front of him goes blurry, and he starts to feel like he’s deep underwater. 

It hits him, all at once and intensely, that this is really happening. He is, sometime in the frighteningly near future, going to meet his future husband. His future husband who is known across the country to be one of the most vile men in temper ever to exist, who is impossible to love. His future husband who has money, money that Lance can send back to his family that can never manage to get food on the table for every mouth on every day of the week. The future husband who Lance cannot leave, unlike the people before him, because if he does then the family farm will sell and everyone will be homeless and it will lie on his shoulders. 

If he fails, his family will never look at him again, the shame will be so strong. The kids – they’ll be uprooted if they have to sell the farm and move away. He can’t do that to them. And yes, his family’s betrayal still aches like a gaping wound in his chest (they didn’t want to keep him Mamà didn’t want to keep him only three wanted to keep him and he doesn’t know who they sent him away the town sent him away his family sent him away everyone he’s ever known decided they were better off without him), but he doesn’t – he can’t let their saving grace slip between his fingers. If he fails then his greatest fears are confirmed – he is the failure that he’s always known he is.

But If he succeeds, he will be locked for life in an enchanted castle that feels as if it doubles as a tomb. 

Suddenly Lance is sick to his stomach. 

“–ance? Lance? You okay, kiddo?”

Lance shakes himself from his thoughts, eyes focusing on the concerned faces in front of him. He clears his throat, straightening his shoulders and plastering a smile on his face. 

He will not fail. He will not. It is the lesser of two evils, to succeed, so he must. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just remembered something, is all. I meant to look for something to feed my horse when I came in here, there’s no hay in the stable, but I forgot with all the –” he glances at the clock and candelabra, wondering how to phrase the clusterfuck that is now my life tripped me up, my bad delicately – “the… hubbub.”

Hubbub. 

Alrighty. That’s the word he’s going with. That’s fine. He’s totally cool with suddenly becoming a bitter senior citizen loudly complaining about the youths. All is well.

Despite his strangeness, the two people (??) in front of him visibly soften. 

“Sorry, dear,” the clock says. He clanks forward and extends one of his arms – shiny, carved gold decals of the sides of a grandfather clock – to shake. Lance does. “My name is Adam. I imagine you must be exhausted. Would you like to see your room?

That sounds excellent. Lance sags at the suggestion, shoulders slumping forward and sigh escaping his lungs without his position. His own room in the castle…what will that look like? He’s always shared a bed with someone, back home. And sometimes he is kicked and sometimes people snore and sometimes people squiggle around and hog blankets and talk in their sleep. Sometimes people even pick their toes, completely unconscious, and refuse to believe him when he complains about it in the morning. Such is the life of a large family in a small house. 

Lance will have a bed to his own, now. A room, even! It’s almost unfeasible. He’s expecting something huge; giant windows making up a whole wall at least to let the sun it, impossibly high ceilings, a bed as big as his house once was, with a canopy over the sides of it. As plush as goose down and soft as Kaltenecker’s – his favourite of their family’s cows – fur. Cream walls, maybe, prime for him to paint. 

Paint! He’s sure he’ll have paint here. The richest of colours, even, and paintbrushes he doesn’t have to make from kinky horse hair. And he’s sure he’ll have time, here, outside of whatever chores he’s expected to do, to ride Blue around the grounds. Maybe, for once in his life, he can enjoy his day outside of fleeting moments with the animals, or Veronica, or the twins. Maybe there will be more time outside of fleeting minutes when he watches the sun rise. Maybe he will have freedom here, to explore what he likes, and in luxury, no less. 

Wait. 

His brow furrows. Freedom…he won’t be free. He may be surrounded by more opulence than he ever expected to see in three lifetimes, but freedom is still a luxury he can’t afford.

“What about Ke –” he stumbles over the name – “the Prince?”

Shiro and Adam exchange the least subtle look Lance has ever seen on a human, let alone a grandfather clock and a candelabra. It would be funny if it weren’t so troubling. 

“What about him?” Shiro says carefully. 

Lance blinks at him. “Is his royal highness too busy to meet the guy he’s literally about to marry, or…?”

“We just figured you would prefer to settle yourself, first.” Adam says it quickly, practiced, obvious; confirming Lance’s suspicions. 

There is something afoot. 

“I’m pretty settled, actually. All good in the hood. Checked off most of the list, tick tick tick. I just need to meet Prince Temper-tantrum.”

Both royal attendants laugh nervously. 

“Ah, we’ll get there,” Shiro assures. He hops forward, pointing his candle to the hallway, indicating that Lance should follow him. “We have time, no? It’s late. Dinner will be ready soon. No need.”

He and Adam are very persistent, all but shoving Lance out of the front entrance and to a massive staircase. One of them must have sent the word of Lance’s arrival, because one of the branched-off hallways of the staircase – a wing? Is that what it’s called? Why must rich people label stupid things – is illuminated, clearing the path Lance is meant to take to his new room. The other is as dark as the rest of the castle, cold and isolating, reeking of angst and cowardice and a smidge of superiority, too, because reputation or not, what kind of jackass doesn’t at least introduce themselves to their future husband?

Suddenly, it all kind of boils over. Lance roots himself in the middle of some grand marble hallway and, ignoring Shiro and Adam’s frantic pleading, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts: “Hey, Prince of Darkness! Is it too beneath you to say hello to your future husband, you beastly man?”

His voice echoes throughout the castle, shout bouncing off the carved stone walls and getting louder, somehow. Lance stands, glaring at the dark hallway, fists clenched at his sides, fury still lighting up his veins. But then a minute passes, and another, without so much as a peep of movement, and rage starts to trickle out of his body in favour of something like regret. 

He has one job, here. He is to make nice and play the silent husband so he can get funds back to his family, and no one goes hungry. He is supposed to avoid Prince Keith at any and all possible moments, keeping his head down and living his life as separately and as well as he can given the circumstances. And Adam and Shiro were perfectly happy to let him do so, too, guiding him to his room before he even had to breathe in Prince Keith’s direction. 

Him and his big fucking mouth. Clearly, there is more than one person in this castle with a temper. 

He turns to the candle and the clock. “Sorry,” he mutters, averting his eyes. Hopefully they don’t call this whole thing off. He doesn’t think they will – from what Shiro implied, they seem kind of desperate – but still. He shouldn’t push his luck. 

When Shiro and Adam don’t respond, he looks up, expecting to find them disappointed, but instead finding them not looking at him at all. He frowns, taking in the way their faces have dropped, the way they’ve both gone pale. As pale as bloodless things can be, anyway. He follows their line of sight, shifting his body to face the farthest end of the dark corridor, and squints, trying to make out what they’re so white about. It takes him a moment to pick it out, but eventually he sees it, almost glowing in the darkness – a pair of large, yellow eyes. And…

Teeth?

Lance blinks. He rubs his eyes. He looks again. 

Where the mouth would be, under the eyes, are massive, fang-like teeth, glowing white in the dark shadows. They are not human. They are not even animal. Lance is not sure what they resemble, aside from monstrous. A chill runs down his spine. 

Slowly, silently, the way a wolf might stalk towards prey it knows it has trapped, the shrouded face comes closer, slinking in the shadows. Lance follows it, head tilting higher and higher as he begins to realise how tall this face sits on a still-invisible body; how large this…thing, animal or man, truly is. Closer and closer it steps, until Lance can hear its breaths, until Lance can feel the heat from its body from where it stands, in the last stretch of the shadows. 

Lance swallows. 

“Who are you?” he asks. His voice is surprisingly steady, although his hands tremble. 

Finally, the figure steps out into the light. Dark purple fur is all Lance can see; covering the figure in thick, uneven swaths; large brow drawn tight over his slitted yellow eyes, mouth twisted in a snarl, fangs pushing out from his lips, clawed hands clenched in fists, talons clinking on the floor as he steps closer. Ornate clothing covers his body, heavy red cloak draped over his shoulders, materials Lance can recognise as sturdy and well-dyed and rich. 

The figure bends low, close to Lance’s face. “I am as you say, dear future husband.”

“You’re a – an actual –” Lance stammers.

Prince Keith growls, low in his throat. 

“A beast.”

———

next chapter

[screamingcrows]

Tie a tether here - Dottore x OC (Celeste)

Note: I don't even care if Dottore is ooc because I needed this. Don't squint too hard at this. Takes place between Tomorrow and Change of Pace. Do not fucking feed this to ai, I'll get you Trypanosoma rhodesiense. Warnings/tags: MDNI, self harm (specifically cutting, scratching, and ripping out hair), delusions (the psychotic kind, not the vision mimics), mental breakdown, not established relationship, bad comfort.

Breathe in.

Hold.

A foreign scream rattled the modest bathroom.

Hold.

Celeste's ribs were about to snap.

Nails raked along her scalp, fingers tangling in the soft hair and ripping out one strand after the other.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

The tiles were cold against her knees, legs numb from how long she'd remained there.

Breathe out.

Someone was there with her.

Her ears flicked, picking up the sound of something moving in the halls. It felt too uncertain to be acknowledged. Heavy boots. A soldier? They'd walk by and be none the wiser. All that mattered was the absence of Dottore, his leave ensuring privacy here in his sanctuary.

Clawed hands grasped at the cold sink in preparation to hoist herself up, head lowered in irrational fear of the polished mirror. Something she'd polished herself one week prior. Dottore had needed it clean, not that he'd asked.

Her visage was foreign when it invaded her mind uninvited. Dark bags lined the pale skin under her eyes, their discoloration the worst of all. What had he compared them to before? The break of dawn over the mausoleum? Bile rose in her throat, body jerking with the onset of coughs and gags.

Nothing was expelled from her body save the tears that refused to dry. If only it was that easy. Foul laughter erupted from her throat, bubbling to the surface as it was wrung from her body. The tears flowed faster, confusion and fear at the foreign sounds being brought to life. Was that her fate, bring about such terrible things?

Several familiar faces danced at the edges of her vision, her own reflection baring its sharp teeth in a mocking sneer. Her head was pounding, the laughter threatening to crush her skull and what little sanity remained.

Murderer.

They kept whispering that single word, the sound echoing painfully in her head, burying itself where it would never be uprooted. Their grins remained intact, empty eyes boring into her even as all faded to black. A sharp pang went through the haze, fresh blood pooling around her claws as they dug into her shoulders, shaking with a need to rend. Celeste felt her muscles spasm, fighting a futile war with itself, torn between serving justice and self preservation.

Glass cracked and splintered under the weight of her fury, uselessly clattering to the ground to join her ambitions. Another howl tore itself free while she sunk back to her knees, masking not only the sharp knock but also the immediate creaking of hinges.

"And why, exactly, are you in my quarters Celeste? I might have given you a key out of convenience, but that was hardly an invitation."

Everything shattered around her, hands desperately flying to her shoulders to cover and hide, back rounding as she curled in on herself. A small shake of her head to spread the white locks of hair, praying it had no visible stains already as it blanketed her form.

Revenge?

"Privacy… You were gone anyway," the lie seared her tongue, shaky enough that it was no doubt obvious.

A cry for help?

Her eyes closed in relief when Dottore showed a rare mercy and let the question drop. The respite was short-lived as any other pleasantries in this world. Three sharp clicks from his heels and soft leather meeting bare skin, the grip on her shoulder light yet still bordering on painful as it threatened to crush her heart. His gloves would be bloodied again. The cacophony of voices had calmed at the touch.

"Make no mistake, you will be reprimanded for this mess in due time, Celeste," an unamused sigh followed, the silence that stretched reminiscent of late nights where a solution was taunting them, just out of reach, "for now, collect yourself and go to the locked lab. Delta can patch you up in there, I would rather this stay between us."

That was it? Of course it was. What else did she deserve?

Celeste found herself longing to smack his hand away, bite it perhaps, anything to shift her focus from the quickly expanding pit of her stomach. It was all so tiresome, body heavy and sluggish as she let it curl in further on itself, as if the world could be shut out so long as all senses were dulled. A sob left her lips. It could, she knew it could.

The weight on her shoulder moved, awkwardly firm in the way it shook her.

"I said collect yourself, tardiness has never been a vice for you and it would be unfortunate to develop the habit now," Dottore's words lacked their previous bite, more resigned than anything.

Another cackle wormed its way from her throat, building to a manic laughter as her own hands flew up to catch it at the source, squeezing around the delicate column, anything to make it stop.

He's laughing at you. It's natural. A pathetic creature who can do nothing right. Escaping fate takes more than fleeing a nation.

"Celeste," his voice was sharp again, sharper than the feel of his palm colliding with the back of her head.

Everything went quiet again save for the dull thud of an aching heart.

"Don't make me drag you there."

The thumb rubbing against her shoulder now was far more rugged than the familiar leather. When had he removed the glove? A sigh left her, focusing on the drag against her skin and the stinging pain that accompanied it with every swipe just barely dodging the open cuts. Her breath was coming in short puffs, adrenaline coursing through her veins as the formless voices continued to lurk in the shadows, waiting for the time where she'd be alone again.

Celeste was well aware that the anguish, the way her voice cracked so pitifully, was undoubtedly irksome for Dottore, but nothing could be done to stop it.

"Being patched up isn't going to-"

"Do you think I'm unaware? Tell me then, what can be done in this very moment? From where I stand, there's no immediate solution to this, and clever as you are, you'd have already found it if there was. And if I," he hesitated for a moment, finger digging painfully into a wound before reluctantly pressing on, "if we cannot fix that, then at least the vessel can be maintained."

A few tears were wiped from her cheeks, slowly turning as if compelled to look at him. Dottore had forgone the mask, a rare occurrence. There were creases around his eyes, jaw clenched so tightly the muscles trembled.

By no means should those words be calming.

Celeste let her head fall, eyes closing as exhaustion took root. Her eyes stung from the lack of tears left to shed, a light pressure still remaining, the only thing keeping complete emptiness at bay.

"Don't- don't look at me like that."

No words were offered in response as his thumb continued to trace over old scars and fresh wounds alike, touch far too delicate for the man he was. A hiss left her lips when her hair was moved out of the way, knowing that nowhere she could reach on her thorax had been spared throughout the years.

"And don't touch me…"

Don't touch me like that.

"And here I thought your gravitation towards high necklines and covered shoulders was simply a testament to professionalism."

Another silence ensued, uncomfortable and far too long. Already broken shards of the mirror cracked under Dottore's boot as he shifted before kicking them away, some of them disappearing under the crumpled fabric of the discarded shirt.

"It's hideous-"

And I'd rather be spared the faux sympathy.

The words felt heavy, he'd already been burdened enough by this outburst. If only she hadn't gone to his quarters in some silly pursuit of false security, this could've all been avoided and her dignity would be intact.

"I seem to recall your lips tracing along my body, saying my numerous imperfections didn't matter. 'merely proof you've lived' if I remember correctly. Explain to me the difference."

"There's a- a good reason you look as you do," a reason you won't share with me, "it was out of your control, but this-"

"Do you harm yourself out of a desire to do so?"

"I mean- I," a cloying breath of air invaded her lungs, the sense of anticipation heavy upon her tongue, how could he still be so innocently curious, "I don't know? Sometimes it's just, I have to, it's always.. it's always there and nothing makes it shut up and- I think I'm broken."

With surprising patience, Dottore let his hand fall away, walking around to lean against the sink.

"Does it work?"

"What?"

"Does it ease your mind?"

A part of her wanted to scream that of course it did, why else would she resort to it. It would be a lie. And if she hadn't imagined the regret in those garnet eyes, he knew it.

"It gives me something else to think about," the words were forced out with a shudder, fingers playing with a shard of glass.

It was crushed under his boot before her fingers could grasp it, the tiny splinters glittering against the floor.

"We have better things to distract ourselves with."

She flinched, tail stirring as it curled around her waist, body finally giving in to the thought of soothing itself. Maybe he was right, there'd never really been a quick solution to anything, had there? Her eyes flickered to the thin trails of crimson that adorned her arms. At least not any worth pursuing.

Celeste took the outstretched hand that was offered, seeing the drying blood on her hands stain his skin as she fought the sinking feeling that slowly crept back. Surprise briefly ran through her system at the slight smile that met her, the whisper of 'there you are' faint enough that she didn't dare acknowledge it, merely following Dottore out of the wrecked bathroom, thoughts frustratingly quiet as long as his hand enveloped her wrist.

[angstflavoured]

RICK PORTAL 2 BACKSTORY TIME !!! Literally have been sitting on all of this for years and its only ever been told to my two friends 👹 so excited to finally have all of it down.

Nothing graphic, but do be warned that it does deal with very dark topics 💥

Rick grew up DEEP in the rural south in a small little religious town. His family was very poor and had upwards of 5 children. His father was very physically and mentally abusive, and his mother was very neglectful and quiet. He was never close with any of his siblings, and his brothers didn't do much more than add to his problems. 

He started drinking and smoking from about the age of 10, as most boys did in their town. They would all meet up in groups and share goods they stole from their parents and from corner stores.

Through everything, the only real comfort he had was movies--westerns and action flicks. They were too poor to own a TV, so he would sneak into movie theaters and drive-ins. It was a big inspiration for the person he wanted to be when he grew up and served as a good mental escape. He wanted to eventually leave this town and travel the world with nothing but the clothes on his back and a dream.

The only real friend he had through it all was Teddy. Rick was a troubled kid and could be a bit mean due to his upbringing, but Teddy was the one person he was always nice to. Something about him made him soft. They were best friends since they were toddlers and while other people came and went, those two always stuck together and stayed close. 

Somewhere along the way, their relationship ended up becoming romantic. They were so young that the whole thing was confusing, but they knew well enough to keep it a secret from everyone else. Rick knew that something was deeply wrong with it and it always ate up at him inside and made him ashamed, but Teddy didn't have a care in the world. Rick made him happy and that was all that mattered.

Then when Rick turned 16, he decided that he'd had enough with school and church and his parents. He was ready to leave it all behind--but he wasn't going to bring Teddy. Teddy had a sister he was really close with, and more friends than Rick had. He had more to lose and Rick didn't want him uprooting his whole entire life for him. 

So Rick broke things off with Teddy and told him never to tell another soul what had happened between them and to forget the whole thing, forget Rick. Then he jumped onto a boxcar train and left town.

He was homeless for a good bit, but managed to get a small job that gave him enough money to save up for an old, broken down truck that he lived out of. He never stayed in one place too long, hopping around and getting jobs here and there, stealing off of folks in town to get enough for food. 

Rick had a hard, but very adventurous and rewarding few years out on the road, but at the end of it all, he couldn't find anyone even close to Teddy. It wasn't the same without him around and Rick decided that maybe it was worth a shot going back and seeing if somehow Teddy was still in the town they grew up in. 

Rick drove back, now a full grown adult, hoping there was a way that he'd still want to talk to him again. But when he got back to town and asked around, it turned out that Teddy wasn't as great at keeping the secret as he hoped. 

Teddy had tried to flirt with a man at a bar, and he didn't take too kind to it. His friends dragged Teddy outside and beat him to death, where his family found his body a few days later. By the time Rick got back to town, Teddy was long buried in a small marked grave. 

It really fucked with Rick's head. After that, he buried everything that happened between them deeeep deep down and honestly just convinced himself it never happened. They were kids and they didn't know what they were doing. 

After that, Rick went a lot harder on traveling around with the intent of meeting people to have one night stands with in maybe some hopes of further cementing the fact that he only liked women. 

He already had a problem with drinking before, but it got worse and worse as years went on. Most of his money went straight back into drinks. He couldn't keep any sort of job for more than a few days because he was constantly day drinking, showing up wasted. 

It was a great big blur for a lot of years of sleeping with women, getting fucked up on drugs, driving drunk, waking up places he didn't remember. He got into a lot of fights, most of which he started himself (definitely didn't have a weird thing where he liked fighting because it was the only time he got to touch a man.... cus that would be WEIRD ASF 🗣🗣🗣 AND MAKE HIM A FREAK.) All the while he was living out of the same truck he'd gotten at 16 which constantly needed repairs. He hardly had enough money for gas, so he usually had to siphon it from other cars. Times were ROUGH

Then one day, he met a very nice, charming man at a bar. They hit it off right away, spent the whole night talking and drinking and dancing. It felt so nice and familiar in a way that Rick couldn't place, until at one point the man tried to make an advance on him. A deep, primal panic rose inside him and Rick immediately got LIVID, punching the guy right in the face and cussing him out in the middle of the bar, calling him names and slurs before leaving once the bartender told him to.

Rick felt a deep emptiness and strange longing that he hadn't felt since he was a little kid. He thought about it for days--more than anything the fact how much he really, really did want to go home with that man. 

That was when he decided that he couldn't do this anymore. He was getting too old to be living out of his truck. He hadn't had a real home since he was a kid, and that mixed with all of the drugs and high stakes adventures and fights, he was going to drive himself into an early grave. 

It was time that he got an actual job, and an actual home. And maybe that would help distract him from thinking too much about that nice man at the bar. 

After driving around and searching, eventually he ended up at Aperture. Nice easy desk job, impossible to get fired from, and hours and hours of overtime. He luckily ended up landing a cheap apartment because he was able to seduce the owner of the building into a lower rate and flexible payments. 

Rick still had a hard time with showing up to work drunk and slacking off, but at the very least he had a roof over his head. 

[powderblueblood]

how would they handle a pregnancy scare?

TW pregnancy scare i guess WHOOPS it’s ANGSTY in here lmao

HAHA. well!

“did this take this long the first time we did it?”

oh, you mean the first time they did it when lacy bought nancy wheeler’s pregnancy test and they had to wait around in the freezing broken boys bathroom in the middle of midwinter to see if harrington had sired something?

“no,” lacy says, extracting her little finger from her mouth where she’s chewed it to mince, “time has slowed down to a glacial pace in order to punish me for my sins.”

eddie, sitting in the bathtub, attempts a grin. he’s not feeling too spiffy either. “getting locked out of wed?”

“coming off the fucking pill.”

how late is she? late enough to mention, late enough to worry. see, lacy’d been on the pill since they began this little world-axis-shifting dalliance of theirs so she and eddie had enjoyed the luxury of bareback, so to speak. she had put a lot of faith in that thing, but it so happened that she started getting these splitting migraines and low, low, low moods so her campus doctor had suggested that she come off the pill for a little bit. see if that changed anything. hormone imbalance and all that.

problem was, it was kind of hard to remember that she had come off it. those first couple of times, it was kind of an event, lacy making sliding that condom onto eddie almost ritualistic in a way that had him near to busting. but a time or two after that, it kinda… slipped their mind.

it happens. right? or is she stupid all of a sudden?

eddie’s a good boyfriend. drove her right to the drugstore, walked her right up to the counter so at least if the clerk gave her a dirty look, he was giving it to both of them.

but there’s just… something…

“you haven’t… changed your mind or anything?”

the last time they did this, eddie had asked her if she wanted kids. they hadn’t gotten together yet, but the tension between them was like a pot boiling over. spitting everywhere.

“i fully reserve the right to change my answer given the fact that we are eight-shitting-teen years old.”

but now she is twenty. her twenty first birthday looming, in fact.

eddie, doe eyed, watches lacy like he knows she’s got a knot in her chest, because she does. he watches her hands curl over her face, shoulders tense.

“not even…”

because a good girlfriend would say yes, right? a good girlfriend would be like, yes, of course, because i worship the ground you walk on, because i should drop all notions of my life without a second thought at the mere suggestion of a kid with you, because it would make you so happy. and i love you, so much. all i want is to make you happy. i’d eat the sun if that meant anything to you.

that’s what a good girlfriend would do, right? that’s how she would act. overjoyed. dreamy eyed. we’ll make it work, baby, you and me.

and there’ll always be the notion that we shackled each other to this town we purport to hate. and i’ll watch you avoid becoming your father and you’ll watch me become mine. and a little bit of my mother, too. and wayne will still hate me, even moreso for trapping you here. and in between, there’ll be this baby who didn’t ask for any of this at all.

“you can’t hate me for this,” lacy chokes. “i’m begging you.”

i was raised in resentment and i would never risk doing that to another child.

eddie feels sick. he hauls out of the bathtub to wrap his arms around her but his heart is hammering in his ears.

of course he wants this. and when he pictures a kid that theoretically has his eyes and her nose, he gets scared when he can’t really see her in those visions. others, sure. they’re clear as day. eddie knows what their wedding bands will look like, and what she’ll look like brushing her hand through her hair when she’s wearing it.

but he doesn’t see lacy glowing and barefoot, even though he’s tried.

“i don’t… lace…”

elizabeth munson was twenty when she had eddie. al was a little older. she’d snapped her life in half to uproot from memphis to hawkins, only to die six years after.

eddie really tries to make it not feel like a crusade to better his father’s wrongs, when he imagines it. you know?

“because i love you so much, i love you so much that i couldn’t take it,” lacy’s voice cracks in time with his heart, “if you hated me for this.”

a horrible thought flashes through eddie’s mind. would you do it if it meant i would never hate you?

“i love you,” is all he says into her hair, “i really, really love you.”

they stand on the cold tile of the bathroom for a long time. two people very much in love, and seemingly at odds.

eddie peers over lacy’s head at the watch on the counter.

“alright, sweetheart.” feels impersonal. he never calls her that. that’s for the outside world.

lacy picks up the stark white strip from the test tube, and her voice shakes.

“well. a lot of drama over… nothing. i’m sorry.”

eddie watches her shrink into herself, and would easily sock himself in the jaw if he thought it would do any good.

“hey!” his dazzling smile comes into her view, and she nearly buys it for a second. “forget about it, okay? who needs some fucking loser baby, right?”

but what eddie means, in that present moment, at twenty years old, is until next time.

and what lacy knows, in that present moment, at twenty years old, is there won’t be one.

[taesclub]

The Wild Child, Act I ✦ BTS

✦ BTS x Fem! Oc's

━━━━━ ( SYNOPSIS. ) She is suddenly forced to attend the all-girls boarding school, St. Victoria's. Determined to break free, she tries to escape. Her only problem? To do so she must go through the neighboring boarding school and its notorious group, the Bangtan boys. Among them, one member captivates her the most, blurring the line between rebellion and romance.

genre. boarding school au, angst, fluff, smut

word count. 4,586

warnings. only curses for now

-ˋˏ masterlist ✦ next ˎˊ-

ACT I.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire, a tall girl with an eighty's aura and a shag haircut, sits in the passenger seat of her father's car, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The car hums with tension as they drive down the road, the passing scenery reflecting the girl's inner turmoil. She was about to meet her doom.  

She gazes out the window, her expression a mix of anger and frustration. The weight of her resentment hangs heavy in the air. 

“I can't believe you're making me go to some stupid all-girls boarding school, Dad. This is so unfair!” she grimaces. This had been her constant complaint ever since receiving the news, but somehow, like a broken record, she still held onto those words, praying it would be enough to make her dad rethink his decision. It wasn’t.  

Her father, Mr. Deschamps, a middle-aged man with tired eyes due to his rushed businessman life, glances at her with a mixture of concern and regret. “Claire, we've talked about this. It's a better opportunity for you. You'll have a chance to focus on your studies and discover new interests.” he insists softly.  

Claire scoffs, her frustration boiling over. 

Her voice sounds angry as she replies, “Better opportunity?! What about my life here? My friends? You're ripping me away from everything I know!” 

Her father's grip tightens on the steering wheel, his tone laced with remorse. 

“Claire, honey, I didn't make this decision lightly. It's for your future. You'll make new friends, and have new experiences. Please try to understand.” 

Claire's gaze remains fixed on the passing scenery, her umbrage simmering beneath her rebellious exterior. “You simply don't get it, Dad,” she says resentfully as the view keeps changing dramatically into a more rural area. “You don't know what it's like to be uprooted from everything familiar, to start over in some stuffy boarding school.” 

Her father's voice softens, laced with a tinge of sadness. “I know it's hard, honey,” he admits sincerely. “But sometimes, we must make sacrifices for the greater good. Trust me, I only want what's best for you.” 

Claire's anger doesn’t wane, even though she is tempted to soothe at her dad’s words. “Change can be scary, but it also opens doors to new opportunities.” he continues, tenderly. “You're strong, Claire. You'll adapt, and who knows, you might find something incredible out here.” 

Her gaze shifts from the passing greenery outside to her father's warm and understanding eyes. She takes a deep breath, slowly releasing the pent-up frustration. There was no point discussing this with him, he would never back up on his word. And the truth was, ever since he got together with that Malibu Barbie wannabe called Blanche, this was destinate to happen. She had waited for the rug to be pulled from under her feet as her distrust in life itself was a rooted injustice carved deep in her heart, but now that it happened, she tried desperately to hold onto a shimmer of hope.  

And how tricky it was to expect, to wait for someone else to take the reins of one’s life... No one would come and save her, that was clear. So why not save herself? 

“Sure thing, Dad.” Claire mumbles resigned. At least for now.  

A bittersweet silence fills the car as they continue their journey, both aware that this new chapter holds challenges and possibilities that neither can fully anticipate. The beginning of a plan to escape the boarding school, however, started to thread like a lightning bolt in the girl’s mind. 

She would make sure no one would see it coming. And one thing was certain, Claire Deschamps would never settle into a life in the middle of nowhere, nor a life she hadn’t chosen herself.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire steps out of her father's car, her jeans bomber jacket with wide shoulders and lots of sewn trinkets contrasting greatly with the more conservative uniforms of the other students passing by. Their plaid skirts had at least two full hands more fabric compared to the black leather one she used.  

She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for what lies ahead. Mr. Deschamps opens the trunk, retrieving her suitcase and opening space for two employees to try and lift the big chest full of stickers that also belonged to Claire.  

“Here you go, honey.” He hands the lush green suitcase to her. “I hope you find… Some great things here.” 

She takes it, grudgingly. “Don’t be so disappointed when I don’t.” 

Her father shows a sympathetic smile on his face as he pauses to take in what she had just said. “I understand, Claire.” He opts to say. “Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

Claire nods, unable to hide her lingering resentment. Her father gives her a last reassuring smile before driving away. 

As she sees the Rolls-Royce disappearing on the dirty road, the Headmistress Winters, a stern and composed woman in her fifties whom she had already seen printed on the flyer advertising the school, approaches Claire with an air of authority. The disapproving expression that she wears only exacerbates Claire’s dislike for her furthermore.  

“You must be Miss Deschamps, our newest student,” the woman says, inspecting her closer. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?” 

To that, Claire rolls her eyes discreetly, her guard already up. “Oh, joy,” she mutters under her breath.  

Putting on a polite facade, the Headmistress takes a step further, “As you know, I am Headmistress Winters. Your father and I talked on the phone. Welcome to St. Victoria’s Academy. Here we expect our students to uphold the highest standards of discipline and academic excellence.” She waves her hand in a high class and fluid motion, introducing the grand structure of the school behind her.  

There is a moment of silence as Claire fights the urge to scoff, her skepticism apparent. 

“Sounds like a real party,” she mutters dryly under her breath.  

Headmistress Winters's eyes narrow not catching what the girl has to say, however, judging by the lack of excitement on Claire’s part and her many years of experience when it came to building character, she maintains her composed demeanor. She knows a troublemaker when she sees one.  

With thinly veiled annoyance she adds firmly, “Respect and compliance are expected from all students, Claire. You'll find that St. Victoria’s Academy offers numerous opportunities for personal development and camaraderie. I suggest you keep an open mind.” 

Claire's expression remains guarded, her disdain for the headmistress palpable the more words fell from her mouth. Her tone is pure cynicism as she answers. “Sure, Mrs. Winters. I'll keep an open mind while I'm here.” 

Begrudgingly, she follows the older woman through the school's grand entrance, the imposing architecture and hushed conversations heightening her unease. 

The Hall of Entrance in the all-girls boarding school exudes an air of elegance and tradition. Polished marble floors stretch out beneath the students' feet, reflecting the soft glow of the chandeliers that hang overhead. Tall, arched windows line the walls, allowing sunlight to filter in and cast a warm, inviting glow on the surroundings. 

As Claire steps into the hall after the Headmistress, she is greeted by a flurry of activity. Girls in crisp uniforms pass by more eagerly than the ones she saw outside, their eyes darting to and fro, their hushed whispers carrying snippets of gossip. The hall becomes a stage for both fellowship and rivalry, as cliques form and dissolve with each passing moment. 

The sound of clicking heels and rustling skirts mingles with the gentle murmur of conversation, creating a symphony of feminine energy. Some girls walk with confidence, their heads held high, while others seem more reserved, their eyes darting nervously as they try to find their place within the social hierarchy. 

Portraits of past headmistresses and notable alumnae adorn the walls, their stern gazes reminding the students of the institution's legacy and the high expectations placed upon them. Some peak Claire’s attention. One of the spaces in particular, the one dedicated to the sports league, shows boys’ teams and trophies they earned against them, but she can’t find the right moment to ask what it is about as Mrs. Winters walks like a thunderstorm.  

The aroma of freshly polished wood and the faint hint of perfume linger in the air making her curiosity calmly dissipate, creating an atmosphere that is both refined and pansy. 

A grand staircase, its banisters intricately carved, leads to the upper levels of the school. It serves as a focal point, drawing the eyes of the girls as they ascend and descend, their interactions playing out on the stage of the hall. 

Claire becomes acutely aware of the watchful eyes as she makes her way through the bustling crowd, trailing the steps of Mrs. Winters. Some girls shoot her curious glances, sizing her up and speculating about the newcomer. Whispers trail in her wake, snippets of conversation filled with intrigue and speculation. 

Mrs. Winters then suddenly turns to face her once more, revealing behind her shoulder line a girl who matches Claire’s height, with bangs and a cascade of hazel hair. The girl’s warm and open expression contrasts greatly with Claire’s defensive demeanor.  

Noticing Claire’s disinterest, Mrs. Winters starts, “Let me introduce you to your new roommate, Claire. She’ll help you settle in.”  

Extending her hand politely and rather excitedly, the girl before her greets, “Hi! I'm Ella. It’s really nice to meet you!” 

Claire reluctantly shakes Ella's hand, her guard still up. Frustrated by the already lack of choice on her end she mumbles, “Yeah, hi.” 

Headmistress Winters nods curtly, signaling the end of their interaction. “Miss Dubois, why don’t you show Claire to your dormitory and explain how things work around here? I was in the middle of a rather urgent matter when she arrived...”  

Without missing a beat, Ella promptly nods, understanding the task at hand. “Sure thing, Headmistress. Follow me, roomie!”  

The newfound nickname makes Claire hiss internally like a cornered cat, but she plays the part, thankful to finally get herself rid of the Headmistress's presence.  

Before the two of them can walk further away, Mrs. Winters dismissively points again, “Very well, off you go. Make sure you familiarize yourself with the rules and expectations of this institution, Miss Deschamps.”  

Claire raises an eyebrow, her rebellious spirit flickering to life. “I'll keep that in mind, Headmistress,” she replies defiantly, turning her back to the woman.  

Leaving the bustling hall and the scrutinizing eyes of the older woman, Claire turns to Ella, a sense of complicity forming between them as she notices how much more relaxed her new guide seems to be.  

Smiling, Ella reassures her. “I promise this is not all as daunting as it seems.”  Claire takes a deep breath, her apprehension giving way to a glimmer of hope. She follows Ella, ready to navigate the challenges of this new environment, determined to find her place amidst the rules and expectations she so vehemently resents. Who knows?, she thinks, maybe her new roommate can give her an escape route without even noticing. She could be escaping St. Victoria’s much earlier than she had predicted.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire wasn’t convinced if Ella had what it takes to be her newfound ally. The headmistress seemed to trust her enough which made her either valuable to the plan or a stone in her shoe. Although Claire was pending more to the former since the girl seemed very friendly as they kept a light conversation and she led the way through the bustling hallways. More often than not, the veteran would gush about her own friends as she vibrantly pointed to Claire how their day-to-day was, and for moments, more than to seek intel to architect her plan, the brunette found herself momentarily forgetting about her purpose as she got infected by Ella’s contagious energy.  

Their footsteps echo softly as they step onto the serene patio, where blooming flowers and neatly trimmed hedges create a serene oasis within the school grounds. The sound of laughter and animated conversations drifts through the air as girls gather in small groups, enjoying moments of respite and fellowship. 

Claire’s eyes scan the scenery, and they get caught in the ruckus three girls are making right by the center fountain of the patio. The one standing in the middle, a blonde with a high ballerina bun, dances excitedly as she flashes a knitted scarf to her peers. “You think JK will like it?” Her voice travels through the open space as she points specifically to the initials engraved in it.  

Noticing Claire’s mind is far away from whatever she is saying, Ella leans closer, whispering, “That’s Vivienne for you,” she chuckles as Claire’s glance shifts quickly back, “Everyone calls her Vivi and you’ll soon hate her too, trust me.”  

To that statement, Claire’s eyes return inquiring to Ella’s, her nose scrunching in doubt.  

“You see, she delusionally believes she and some trouble boy are meant to be. We’re all tired to hear about it, or witness moments like this.” Ella points with her head to the blonde once more. “There she goes, making him a scarf he won’t probably use. Tell me about waste of time!”  

Claire mildly snorts entertained, looking at the scene as well. “Poor girl.”  

“Oh, believe me!” Ella exhales, walking away and her roommate follows, “That one is nothing of the sort. Imagine Regina George in real life. That’s her, right there.”  

In a lack of response from the brunette, Ella gestures towards a row of benches shaded by a grand oak tree. ”Anyways, this is our patio, Claire. It's the perfect spot to relax and soak up some sunshine during breaks. And see over there? That's the canteen.” 

The delicious aroma of freshly cooked meals fills the air as soon as they step closer to the precinct. Girls line up at the serving counter, chatting and exchanging stories as they eagerly await their turn. The room is alive with vibrant colors, with posters and artwork adorning the walls, adding a touch of creativity to the space. 

“We refuel here, obviously.” Ella glances excited to see Claire’s reaction. “The food is surprisingly good, and there's always a variety of options to choose from… Well. When the boys don’t join, that is. They can be savages.” she chuckles nonchalantly. 

Suddenly Claire’s eyes perk with curiosity. Every bit of information she had gathered about the school before arriving said this was an all-girls academy, but then again, there were existent photos of boys displayed in the hall. Not to say Vivienne’s parade a second ago. Do they have a day off?, she muses, Could this be an opportunity? “What do you mean boys? Isn’t this an all-girls school?” she voices her thoughts as Ella takes the lead again, taking her on another stroll.   

The energetic roommate greets some girls that pass by them with a sympathetic smile before returning her focus to the newcomer beside her.  

“Well, yeah. The Alarie boarding school for boys is right across the river, and we often have classes together. You know, lack of teachers in the far countryside.” she shrugs. 

Before she can inquire further, Ella is already distracted, smiling at the passersby.  

“With Jimin? Again?! God, what’s her secret!” They hear a girl gasp to a friend as they crossways.  

Oh. I see..., Claire’s thoughts put the pieces together. She quickly looks at the hazel-haired girl making her company.  

By the raise of eyebrows that she gives her and the flicker of frolic that flashes in her eyes, Ella is quick to warn, “It’s strictly forbidden to hang out with them boys, Claire. No smogging. No funny hands.”  

“But she just-” Claire refuted pointing behind her shoulders to the girl that passed by sharing her indignation a bit too loudly.  

Ella gave her a warning yet laid-back glance, “Alright, people go on with it in secret but as you can see, nothing is really a secret around here. And then when you least expect it, bam! You’re in trouble!”  

“Are they at least hot? Or I don’t know... Worth the trouble?”  

Ella thinks for a second and then shrugs with a naivety Claire knows to be fake, “How would I know?”  

“If you say so!” Claire pretends to salute dramatically, a bickering well read by the other as to the current square state the Academy insisted on following rules. And so, Ella pulls her to a quick jog entertained, and a bit tempted to show her new roommate she also knew how to break a few of them. Even if the rules she was breaking weren’t as grand as Claire deemed them to be. The students passing by confirmed the thought as they judged their behavior, and Claire laughed even louder at their tedious conformism. The rule about not running in the hallways was true indeed.  

As they arrive at their shared dormitory, their footsteps grow softer as they enter the hushed ambiance of the living quarters. The dormitory is a cozy space adorned with tasteful decorations, featuring two neatly made beds, desks adorned with books and personal touches, and small corkboards for photos and reminders. 

Ella jumps to sit on her own bed, bouncing on the mattress as she does so. “And here we are,” she gestures. “Our humble abode. It may not be the biggest, but it's home.” 

Claire looks around the room, a hint of curiosity dancing in her eyes as she imagines the memories that will unfold within these walls, even if for brief moments. Ella seems a nice girl, but she won’t be around to discover much more about her. She needs to escape this. Her real friends await in the big city.  

“Yeah, it's not bad…” 

Ella grins with the comment, her warmth shining through. 

“We'll make it cozy, you’ll see,” she says encouragingly. “Plus, you still have to meet my girls! They are rooming right in front of us. It’s great to share stuff and to keep gossip in day!” She laughs at her own behavior.  

As Claire sets her suitcase down and begins to unpack, a bit aloof to her roommate’s words, a newfound sense of optimism fills the room. To Ella is the beginning of a new friendship, even if her roommate was a hard one to crack. But she was patient, everyone had their personal time after all. To Claire, it is a journey through a path she had never charted before, but her father was right about one thing---she is strong. And she will prevail.  

“We’ll meet them in a few!” Ella continues, snapping Claire out of her thoughts, “They went to pick up your uniforms for you.”  

Claire eyes her with gratitude, showing for the first time a smile, even if timid, and her roommate mimicked the action. Only hers was as big as her enthusiasm for finally having a friend to share her bedroom with.  

Still sitting by her bed, Ella watches as Claire takes only her toiletries out of her green suitcase, as well as a portrait of her and what the girl gathered to be her mom. The tall wild child discards the pouch with her cosmetics by the bed, as she walks toward the bedside table, closely placed to the window, adjusting the portrait on top of it. Her clothes, still inside the suitcase, didn’t seem important and were left forgotten still inside it, untouched. Or so Ella thought so.  

“Your mom is beautiful,” she comments gently, looking at how Claire’s eyes seem to hover with longing at the picture.  

The brunette opens a small smile, thanking her roommate almost in a whisper, eyes still glued to the image of her mom. How she missed her.  

And then suddenly a loud pang interrupts the moment, making her jump and Ella scream. Startled by the sudden impact of a ball against her bedroom window, she had fallen back onto her bed, her heart racing. She swiftly rises and storms towards the window again, fueled by annoyance and ready to unleash her frustration on the culprit responsible. 

Seething with anger, Claire flings open the window of her dorm room on the second floor, ready to give the culprit a piece of her mind. Ella knees on her bed to look at the indicted herself. “Shit.” She manages to say.  

Claire’s words, however, catch in her throat as she locks eyes with a boy she has never seen before, and taking by Ella’s reaction beside her, it was clear that wasn’t her case, her roommate knew him.  

His mischievous grin and charismatic presence immediately captivate her, and a flicker of curiosity replaces her initial anger. Still, she stands her ground and through gritted teeth, she lashes, “What's your problem?!” 

Both girls watch as he brings casually one of his hands to shield his eyes from the sun, his smile gleaming with amusement. 

“Oh, I apologize, princess,” he says charmingly. “You weren’t supposed to-” he trails off, “Well, I wasn’t looking to make an impression on you but now…” he considers, his smile doubling the size.  

Claire tries to maintain her composure, but there's an undeniable pull towards the Alarie’s boy that she can't ignore. 

“Impression?” She scoffs slightly flustered, “If it’s at being stupid, you've certainly succeeded. Who are you anyway?” 

The boy takes a step closer toward the shade of the tall building to see her better, a playful glint in his eyes as he keeps looking up chuckling at her response.  

With a smirk, he replies. “You didn’t hear of me? I'm Jungkook,” he says as if it explains a lot, with a smugness that makes Claire crazy to punch out of his face. “I go to the Alarie’s, right next door.” 

“JK!” another boy shouts from a distance, and Claire’s eyes travel to the field to meet the face of Jungkook’s peer. A group of boys is joyfully hanging out there, waiting for him.  

As her eyes turn back to him, standing beneath her window, with a raised eyebrow, Jungkook says with yet another chuckle, “You never told me your name.”  

She sneers, “And I won’t.”  

Despite her refusal, Claire can't help but feel a certain curiosity pull toward Jungkook. His confidence and charm leave her intrigued, even if she tries to deny it or finds it too brazen. 

Jungkook sends another intrigued look her way, a hint of mischief in his voice. 

“Don't worry, princess. I’ll find it soon enough.” that answer only makes her blood boil further. “Besides, life's too short to be boring, don't you think? I like the mystery.” He shrugs with a smile, picking the rugby ball that was fallen by his feet, and starting to walk back. He turns once again to see her reaction, raising his voice as he adds, “And tell your rat roommate that the next one is meant for her!” He lifts the ball in his hand as if he raised a toast. 

“I'm not fucking interested in your idea of excitement, Jungkook. Save your charm for someone else!” She shouts defiantly but he only laughs in response, now fully turning his back and jogging swiftly toward his friends.  

She can't help but watch his back and carefree stance, even if Ella’s presence is made heard by her side. Under rushed and muted curses, the girl gets up from the bed, initiating an anxious breakdown as she paced back and forth inside their bedroom.  

Claire’s gaze finally moves away from the window to fall upon her roommate’s state. “Not that it’s any of my business, but... You wanna talk about it?” she asks, gaining no response apart from a full stop on the pacing and Ella’s hands coming to a desperate grip on her own locks.  

“Ella!” Claire calls her, closing the distance between them, “Hey, what’s going on?” The change of attitude of the girl was so brusque from her previous joyful self that it got her worried.  

She gently touched her shoulder, and Ella’s eyes finally found her own. “I’m totally, completely, fucked.” She confesses finally.  

“What happened? Is it about this Jungkook guy?”  

The hazel-haired girl gives her a nod and Claire’s eyebrows knit together. She manages to inhale, ready to question further but they are interrupted by the cheerful tinkle of shoes and greetings.  

“We got it!” It’s what she hears as she looks at the door to their room that had been left open. Two girls enter the space, both shorter than Ella and her. They look excited, probably having fun on the way there.  

“Hi! You must be the new girl,” The shortest one says, giving her a cordial smile. She has her long honey-blonde hair held back by a bow. “I’m Lola, this is Avery...”  

“And this is your uniforms!” While Lola has a royal aura to her, somewhat restrained and charismatic, Avery seems more upfront and girly. Her hair is like coal and so glossy that it shines hues of dark blue in the light.  

Taking the folded clothes from her hands with a smile of her own, Claire introduces herself. “Thank you, I’m Claire. And you really didn’t have to do it-” 

“It’s totally fine, we wanted to!” Lola insists bubbly, waving off, and the brunette smiles thankful.  

The blonde walks her way toward Ella’s bed, familiar enough to sit on it as she grabs a pillow to hug as she did so.  

“Girls. He knows.” To Claire’s relief, Ella finally enters the conversation. “I hate myself!” She adds, grunting.  

She notices how the other two react fervently to the comment as she places the pile of uniforms on top of her bed, ceasing to be the focus of their attention. They look at Ella with staring eyes, clearly on topic but still indignant about the rest of the information that still doesn’t come.  

“What do you mean he knows?!” Avery is the first to question. “How would he know? There were no boys in class that day...” 

To which Lola quickly made a comment with a nudge at her waist, “I told you there was! Louis, remember?”  

At the same time, Ella explained. “Now Jungkook sent a stupid ball flying up the window on purpose. After my head of course!”  

While Claire looked from one to another trying to unveil the situation, both Avery and Lola unleashed a series of wroth exclamations, to what Ella took part in instead of actually providing a clearer explanation.  

“I’m sorry.” Claire interrupted. “But can someone situate me here? What does this Jungkook know? And why is it a big deal? I’m lost.” She had a notion she was being brazen as she wasn’t close to the three friends before her, but not a couple minutes before she had witnessed a boy sending a warning in the shape of a rugby ball to her roommate. If this was to continue while she stayed there, she needed to know at least the basics.  

Avery and Lola look from her to Ella apprehensively waiting. So this is mildly important, she thinks. And then the latter sighs.  

“I wasn’t completely honest with you about the boys’ part...”  

To that statement, Claire slowly realizes that there may be more to this school than meets the eye, and consequently, more that she needs to unravel to make her flight seem a mystery. Glancing out of the window, Alerie’s boarding school for boys is starting to feel like a needed pit stop, as it stands tall between St. Victoria’s building and her much-wanted freedom.

✦ TAGLIST.

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