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hansolmates · 3 years

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g.p.s - god, parents suck | m

summary; seokjin just wants to enjoy the disney treatment and you are more than happy to deliver pairing; dilf!jin x hotelier!reader genre/warnings; crack, humor, gets a lil emotional, teenage daughter issues, one very minor allusion to a daddy kink LOL, a very vaguely implied sex scene, so CHEESY w.c; est. 5.1k a/n; wee my first jin fic! this is for @btsghostiewritersnet #DynamiteDads event! I was supposed to go to disney this year but sadly miss rona had to cancel our plans so this is just pure self indulgence. as always thank u to @eerieedits/ @chillingtae for the disney dream fic banner!

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“Left, left!” Seokjin cries, holding onto the emergency break for dear life, “not my left, your left!”

“We’re facing the same way! We have the same lefts!”

“Clearly not if we’re going right, Sweetheart.”

“But the GPS says to go right!”

“In four-hundred feet, keep left at the fork,” Google Maps interrupts pleasantly.

“That’s it. Kim Yeji, pull over!”

“But Daaaaaaaaad,” yet his daughter complies, sadly pulling over at the edge of the road. She doesn’t even have to step on the gas, just turns the wheel slightly so she can land slowly, pathetically on the gravel.

“Angel,” Seokjin says levelly, reaching over to unclick the seatbelt. “I will drive the rest of the way, I gave you time to practice for you have to drive to college but we can’t get on the highway like this.”

“You never let me do anything.”

“What, I do! Who let you go to prom in that sequined excuse for a dress?”

“Uncle Namjoon!”

“Fine, I’ll give him that! Who let you dye your hair to a crisp—”

“Uncle Hoseok!”

“Uncle–” Seokjin is affronted, jabbing the seatbelt in it’s locked position when he gets in the front seat. “Forget it, let’s just have a peaceful drive for the next few hours until we get to the hotel,” he removes Yeji’s phone from the holder, placing it in her lap.

“Dad,” she waves her phone around, pointing to Google Maps, “you need the GPS to get there.”

He scoffs, “No, I don’t. We’ve been to Disney plenty of times. I know where we’re going.”

“Oh yeah? When’s the last time we went to Disney?”

“When you were two? Three?”

Yeji relaxes in her seat, not ready to argue with her dad once more. “Alright, lead the way,” she gestures vaguely to the empty parkway, devoid of life for miles.

Seokjin is undeterred, reaching over the console to pat Yeji’s blonde hair. He turns on the radio, only to be met with the sound of crunchy static and terrible country music. Cutting the radio, he immediately switches to an old Disney CD, telling Yeji to let it go as he pulls into the open road. Reddish dust clouds around the car briefly, ripping against the tires as they drive off to their hotel.

“Is this the Princess Hotel?”

“Nope, this is the Prince S Hotel.”

You can’t help but grin at the way your current customer’s face falls. He’s a handsome thing, all plush and pillowy in the cheeks and lips. Despite his daughter hanging off his arm like a limp noodle—after all it’s past 2AM and they’ve probably been driving for hours—he still manages to look somewhat put-together despite you telling him they’ve got the wrong place.

“Told you, use the GPS,” her daughter chastises weakly, tucking her cheek in his shoulder.

His kid’s a pretty girl, kind of reminds you of when you were a teenager. “The Princess Hotel is about an hour away on the other side of the Disney resorts,” you say slowly, noting from the way the girl is swaying on her feet that her father must be equally as tired, “although, I would suggest staying here for the night. Your daughter’s about to fall asleep on my counter.”

At the pointed look you’re giving the teen, Seokjin puts a protective hand on her slim shoulders. “Yeji-bear, why don’t you lie down for a bit,” he leads her over to a spare couch. “We’ll call our booked hotel,” he says shortly, looking over his shoulder to give you a forced smile.

Ah, you’ve seen this scene one or two times in your days working at Prince S. A father too prideful to admit he may have messed up just a little with the directions, and a child that probably argued or simmered so hard on the way they’re passed into a stupor on your lobby couch. Tonight, or your early morning is a little special though, you’ve never seen a father as handsome as the one in front of you, exasperatedly calling up their real hotel reservations.

“What? My reservation has been revoked?” her daughter groans when he jostles around his lap, knocking her head, “how can you do that? Past the time? I thought this was Disney!”

You drum your nails against the counter, using your other hand to pull up your guest list for the night on the computer. The father, now furrowed in the face, walks up to you and leaves his daughter on the plush couch.

“One double bedroom for the weekend, please,” the father pulls his cards out, flicking it to your side of the counter. He places down his car keys in the available holder, “I parked out front, you do valet right?”

With a nod, you get to work. “Take it they weren’t very accommodating?”

“They gave our hotel room to some Make-A-Wish Foundation kid!” he cries exasperatedly, hands in the air as you patiently book the room. Your eyes linger longer than usual on his driver’s license and ID: Kim Seokjin. Even his driver’s license mugshot looks handsome. He rests his arms against your counter, despondent. “Is it terrible for me to hate on some kid with a terminal illness?”

“A little,” you shrug, slipping his keycard under his elbow, “but I mean according to your, Yeji-bear,” you can’t help but giggle at the nickname, “if you used the GPS you’d be at the correct hotel.”

“Don’t remind me,” Seokjin glares, hauling his and Yeji’s luggage in one hand, “baby, let’s go upstairs c’mon.”

You watch the small family trudge to the elevators, sleepily walking forward like zombies. No one spares you a second glance, they never do, so it gives you ample courage to take a look at Kim Seokjin’s toned body. Broad shoulders, a Dorito-trimmed waistline, and long legs that you want to climb up on.

Oh, daddy.

“Hey,” Yeji pops up on your counter, looking much perkier than she did hours before, “do you have my dad’s car keys?”

Trying not to raise your brows at your young guest, you give her a smirk, leaning over the counter. A spunky thing, with sharp eyes with a pretty cat-tipped eyeliner shape that has her looking well put-together. You wish you had your shit together as a teenager, you barely have it together now.

“I do,” you quip, “why?”

“I wanna get Starbucks,” she says simply, “the pineapple matcha is to die for, and I want to drink as many summer specials as I can before it’s over.”

“Valid,” you reply, going into your master key to retrieve all the guests’ keys. Taking Seokjin’s from its holder, you note the expensive make. Peering up from your desk, you look at Yeji’s innocent features. Before you place the key in her waiting palm, you snatch it away, “Why do I have the feeling you’re doing something that you’re not supposed to be doing?”

Yeji tilts her head, “I don’t think it’s any of your business,”

Sassy. You like it. “Get me a grande matcha frappe and your secret’s safe with me.”

“Deal.”

Watching Yeji drive off in the large Hyundai Palisade gives you a little twinge of worry, but you quickly tamp it down to motherly instinct. If you were Yeji’s mom—which you’re definitely not, you’d be worried. Naturally, you feel similarly.

The hotel phone rings, the red light from 921 blinking on your switchboard. Flipping down the room number you pick up the receiver, “Prince S Hotel, how can I help you?”

“You do booking, valet, and housekeeping?” Seokjin’s exasperated voice says in your ears, “who would I call if I want breakfast?”

“That would also be me,” you reply wryly, twisting the curly wire between your fingers, “we advertise ourselves as a hotel for the quality, although we are much smaller with only thirty rooms. Sort of like a bed n’breakfast, getting the true royal treatment.”

“Would the royal treatment consist of some extra towels and a continental breakfast?”

“You got it.”

A little cliché of you to do the whole “whistle while you work” segment—a lacy apron to make sure your uniform doesn’t get dirty, a spot of coffee to keep you peppy and setting everything up on a gold trimmed cart. You didn’t think you’d see Seokjin again, especially after how upset he was about his room.

With a little rap on his door, Seokjin invites you inside to set up. Their room overlooks the valley as opposed to the busy roads, so it’s a perfect way to rise with the sun. He immediately reaches for the coffee as you drag your little cart in, completely ignoring the cream and sugar on the side. After a long sip, he moans in pleasure.

“Ah,” he exhales, a sound that has you teeming. You grip the handlebars a little tighter than usual, “Maybe it was fate that we ended up here.”

“Maybe,” you fight the urge to bite your lip, because Seokjin has no idea how cliché of a line that is. He isn’t even speaking directly at you, talking in front of the sun like it’s his morning routine. “Say, have you seen Yeji around?”

“Ah,” you shug, pretending to be oblivious, “I think she went out for a walk.”

He turns to you, giving you a quivering brow, “She hates walking. Probably calling her friends in Korea or something.”

Of course she doesn’t like walking, you think, that’s why she took your car for some overpriced drinks.

Instead, you place the fresh pancakes and sides on the guest table, making sure everything is organized and in order. You place the towels atop the haphazardly made bed, making sure to put two mints on top. It isn’t customary to include mints, but you think the mints your hotel has taste great and deserve to be shared around more often than not.

“So, it looks like you’re ready for Disney,” you remark, taking note of his outfit. He has on blush mid-thigh shorts, stretchy and made from a canvas fabric that looks airy and comfortable. Around his neck is a little portable fan, and on his head is an old Mickey baseball cap.

“Ah, just for today and tomorrow! Sunday is my ‘me’ day,” Seokjin says, dashing across the room at the sight of fresh food, “Yeji is meeting with some cousins and will be spending the rest of the weekend with them.”

“Sounds like a fun weekend,” you remark, turning to leave.

“Will you be working the rest of the weekend?”

This is supposed to be small talk. You try to convince yourself that Seokjin is just being polite, wondering if his service is going to be impacted by you being around or not. There must be nothing sexual, or just mere attraction, going on between the two of you. Well, maybe on your side of things. The pink shorts and the baseball cap are doing things to your body that you barely understand. Unfortunately, the eager apples of his cheeks and the innocent upturn of his lips lets you know that any possibility of returned affections is virtually nonexistent.

“It’s my weekend off,” you fight the twinge of excitement when you see Seokjin pout, “but Park Jimin relieves me, and he’s definitely a much better host than I am. He’ll make sure everything’s taken care of.”

“Does he make better pancakes than you?” Seokjin asks, swirling a bite in a ribbon of maple syrup.

“I’m afraid not,” you smile, “he makes a mean breakfast burrito though.”

He shrugs listlessly, eating slower. He takes his time to make sure every pancake is cut in equal two-centimeter pieces, taking his time as if he’s savoring the last of your home-cooked meal. “Not sure if I’ll be completely satisfied then.”

With a firm smile, you wheel your cart out as fast as you can. You can’t keep up the facade now, not with your trashy mind and your dampening panties ruining your sense of self. Quietly slamming the door behind you, you’re met with Seokjin’s spitting image.

Yeji tilts her head at you, eating you alive with her dead-on stare. She places the keys and your matcha beverage on your cart.

“Did my dad confuse you or something?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“He’s like that,” Yeji shrugs, taking a long sip of her drink, “don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

A good word? With an uneasy smile you wheel away, ignoring the burn in your cheeks.

“Can I have the keys?” Yeji asks the next morning, minutes before your shift ends.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You’re sure Yeji is a wonderful kid and has a good heart, but she’s seriously putting your five-star Yelp review on the line. Cocking one eyebrow you say, “What, need your Starbucks fix?”

“Do you know how to parallel park?”

“Why, need a teacher?”

“It’d be better to have someone nearby to make sure I don’t park into a guard rail.”

“Does Seokjin approve?”

“You obviously know the answer to that,” Yeji replies, “and you and my dad are on a first-name basis, huh?”

Fighting the heat in your cheeks, you busy yourself by locking up the money box and key tin, but not before grabbing the keys to the Palisades. “I’m doing this for you because I have impeccable customer service skills,” you feign haughtiness, leaving your front desk and scanning your ID to clock out.

“Not because you think my dad is hot?” she follows you out the door.

“Do you always talk about your dad like that?”

Yeji is silent as she takes the keys from your grip, and you follow her in the passenger seat. A scent that’s fruity yet musky fills your nostrils, and you hug your arms for comfort. This is painfully awkward, at least in your point of view, but Yeji pays no mind as she connects to her Spotify playlist and turns on the air conditioner.

“I’m not one of those prissy daughters that try their damn hardest to make sure their dad doesn’t date,” Yeji murmurs, adjusting the mirrors, “anyone my dad dates will be better than Hyehwa. He deserves to be happy for all that he’s done for me.”

“Hyehwa?”

“The biological carrier for nine months,” Yeji replies dryly.

Your heart pinches, squeezing against your ribcage as you put two and two together. Hyewha, who you’re assuming is, or was Yeji’s mother, is definitely out of the picture. Yet seeing how confident Yeji is with herself, and how much he loves her father and wants him to be happy, is clear in your eyes.

“You are one cool kid,” is the only thing you can say, hoping you don’t have that silly heartened look in your gaze.

It seems that you do, because all she does is roll her eyes and put the car in drive.

It’s nearly one in the morning when you get the call.

You’re off the clock, but it’s graveyard hours and you and Jimin are craving pizza. So while Jimin tends to the last minute guests, you pick up a cheesy pie and hide behind the desk while Jimin does his job.

You’ve polished off half the pie when the main phone rings, and Jimin sighs heavily. Late night and early morning calls are the absolute worst.

“Get the hospital on speed dial,” Jimin jokes, but not really because the last time someone called at one, you really did wish you had an ambulance on-site.

“Prince S hotel,” Jimin spins the cord between his fingers, looking like a dreamy teen heartthrob as he leans against the counter. He immediately swings the phone over to your greasy fingers, “it’s a personal call.”

Wiping your hands on the box, you raise a brow. “Hello?” you ask, wholly confused.

“Mm, it’s Yeji,” the voice slurs on the other line, “I need help.”

“A-are you drunk?” you say, incredulous.

“Yeah, me and my cousin snuck a bottle downtown,” Yeji sounds nervous, and you unconsciously grip the phone tighter, “can you pick us up? I can drop you my location if you give me your number, please. My dad trusted me with the Palisade this weekend, I can’t let him know what happened. I know I’m always trying to get under my dad’s skin and whatever but I don’t want him to lose my trust, what we did is a dumb mistake.”

A part of you feels for Yeji, you’ve done dumb shit like this when you were young. All those fond memories are nothing but memories, and definitely not reflective of your current life now.

The rational, intelligent part of you knows that you should probably call Seokjin right now and tell him what’s going on. You don’t really want to get involved in their family matters, especially when as of late you’ve been inserting yourself in Yeji’s antics.

With a sigh, you pull up your Lyft app, already knowing whose side you’re on.

It takes no more than fifteen minutes for you to arrive at the scene, Yeji and what you assume is her older cousin sitting on the curb of a dilapidated Krispy Kreme, sadly polishing off a whole box of glazed donuts, Well, her cousin is polishing off the box, Yeji is taking nibbles at her proffered donut.

You sigh, pulling Yeji up. You see tear-streaks, her previously perfect cat-eye smudged off and running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, sounding not as inhiberated as she did before, “I bothered you.”

“Not at all,” you soothe, running a hand down her braids. You try not to melt when Yeji nearly leans into your warmth, but backs up at the last second, “I’m happy that you called. Would rather know that you’re safe now than later, yeah? I’m not mad at you,” you assure, pulling a crumpled brown napkin from the pizzeria to dab at her ruddied cheeks.

“Hi, I’m Jungkook,” you turn your head dangerously slowly towards the cute muscle pig who’s still sitting on the curb, “Ya deserve a five-star Yelp review for this service—”

“But I’m mad at you,” you pointedly ignore his drunken charm. He looks old enough to drink, which only further annoys you because he should be the one taking care of Yeji, “get in the damn car, Youngkook.”

“It’s Jungkook—”

“Get in.”

He swallows his tongue, and you notice Yeji stifling a giggle at your attitude. She wordlessly hands you the keys, clamoring in the front seat while Jungkook takes the whole back row. Yeji tiredly informs you the address to her cousin’s hotel, and you drive off into the night.

“Did I ruin my dad’s chances with you?” you think that Yeji has no clue what she’s saying, but there’s a little sliver of heart in her tone. Her face is pressed against the window, the cold glass on the verge of keeping her awake as she stumbles in and out of consciousness.

“You could never do that,” you mumble, and you smile when her eyes willingly flutter shut.

“Hey, babe,” you practically hear desperation in Jimin’s voice.

“Jimin, no,” you already know that his request is sitting prettily on the tip of his tongue, “it’s my weekend off. I’m not getting out.”

“But someone requested your pancakes,” he whines, and you can practically feel his pout on the other line, “and he said and I quote ‘I’ll be able to tell that you made them.’ I feel threatened!”

“Did they offer to pay in diamonds?”

“N-no. But he said it’s his daughter’s special weekend and he’d be really thankful if you’d come by and make your breakfast for him.”

Daughter? Yeji. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. You have your own room separate from the hotel, a deal that has you living rent free in exchange for your hard labor five days a week. “Heat up the stove for me and crisp the bacon,” you mutter, hanging up and throwing the phone under the covers.

Tugging your hair back and throwing on a large hoodie, you put on your slippers and pad down the little sidewalk that leads to the hotel. The sun beats down on you immediately, willing you to go back to your air-conditioned room to fall back asleep. Swimming through the soup that is the Californian air, you shuffle inside Prince S and make a beeline for the kitchens. You brush through busy employees, flashing a quick smile and “good morning” as you get to your station.

Jimin is already there, sitting at your workspace. All your ingredients are sitting out: flour, eggs, butter, vanilla, baking powder, baking soda, buttermilk, and fresh berries. However, Jimin makes no moves to attempt cooking, instead looking at you with pursed lips and waiting for you to get a move on.

“Get your butt off my counter,” you slap his thigh disapprovingly, pulling your sleeves up to start mixing the ingredients, “you’re dirty.”

“I embrace being dirty,” Jimin replies majestically, kicking his legs back and forth. His Doc Marten creepers wave in your vision, “thank you for swinging by. He said that it was really really important that you come in and make them. Daughter’s request.”

“They’re lucky they’re a cute family,” you mutter under your breath, although the words aren’t laced with malice.

The batter is fluffy and puffy, rising with the scent of melted butter and caramelized sugar. You take careful fingers towards the berries, creating a smiley face in the uncooked pancakes.

“Is your maternal side kicking in?” Jimin says in your ear, and you swing at him with your spatula.

“Leave me alone, art is being made.”

“Sure,” Jimin hops off the table, patting your shoulder, “I got a date with room 69,” you roll your eyes, there is no such thing as room 69. “So please continue to be awesome and finish off this favor by delivering it to Mr. Kim’s room.”

“Jimin, no!” you don’t care that half the staff is staring at you amusedly, the other half uncaring because they’re so used to the two co-managers. “I’m not wearing—I’m not wearing pants.”

You gesture to the obscene amount of bare legs out in the open. California’s hot as hell, you try to wear as little layers as possible. However, in the workplace you like to keep a modicum of decency. Even though Kim Seokjin is fine fine fine, you have decorum.

But Jimin’s already off to visit the guest in room 69 and you’re stuck with a pile of fresh hotcakes and none of the workers want to get involved in your shenanigans. Typical. Begrudgingly, you force your Hallmark-esque smile and arrange the gold trimmed cart, taking care to put extra berries in the fruit dish.

It’s a simple transaction. Get in, drop off the food, accept the tip if Seokjin feels generous, and get out. The door to room 921 looks larger than life, intimidating like the gates to heaven. You knock firmly, but gingerly. “Room service?” the voice that escapes your lips is your sugary professional voice, one that makes you wince immediately.

A muffled “coming!” has you bristling at the door. You curse yourself, looking at your bunny-clad feet and your legs disappearing under your hoodie.

As soon as Seokjin pops his head open you blurt, “I swear, I’m wearing shorts underneath this.”

“Uh,” and that forces him to look at your legs. Dammit, it was a good intention but the wrong way to go. “Good to know,” he coughs, opening his door wider.

The room is much messier on Seokjin’s side of the room, now filled with Eeyore and Baymax memorabilia. A large, white Baymax plush sits innocently at one side of his untouched bed. You crack a smile at that.

“Where’s Yeji?” you ask lightly, putting both stacks of pancakes down on the available table. You absently wipe the crumbs off, leading the little pile of food-crust to the garbage can.

“Yeji?” Seokjin asks, “why would Yeji be here?”

The way you put the cutlery down instantly slows, “You called Jimin this morning saying you needed pancakes specifically made by me to give to Yeji.”

“Who?”

“Jimin?” you raise a brow, losing your high-pitched commercial tone. “Tiny, annoying blond guy?”

Seokjin stares.

You stare back.

“Yeji’s at her cousin’s townhouse,” Seokjin states plainly.

“No, you called and said Yeji wanted pancakes—” No.

Yeji, or Jimin, or both called you and set it up.

“Oh, Jimin’s an idiot,” you tap your head lightly, wanting to bop out any potential embarrassing memory that has burned in your brain, “must’ve misheard. Or is hearing ghosts! Honestly he isn’t the right mind I’m so sorry I reallygottaneedto—”

You can’t even breathe let alone exhale the rest of your sentence, so you instead do the only thing you can do—run away. You don’t bother to exude grace as you plop any trash on the cart from yesterday’s room service, whipping the cart around so fast that the side wheels fly off and pop a wheelie.

“We don’t have to let the food go to waste,” Seokjin says pointedly, probably watching you like he’s watching a comic show as you try to bolt out of the room.

The door is closed, and the little hallway is too small for you to put your body and the cart between the walls. You’ve trapped yourself. Maybe you could just leave the cart and dip? You’re sure there’s at least two extras downstairs.

“It won’t,” you reply dumbly, “I can eat it in the breakroom or something, I haven’t made breakfast for myself yet. I mean, I was kinda craving an avo-toast this morning, but pancakes are always a classic.”

Seokjin snorts at your incessant rambling, carding a hand through his chocolate locks, “I’m trying to ask you to stay for breakfast.”

“You’re trying to—oh,” you mirror his expression, running a hand over your hair so it pulls out of its already messy style. You haven’t done much physical activity this morning, but you feel absolutely breathless as you’re glued to the cheap carpet, taking in Seokjin’s wide glassy eyes

“And if you stay for dessert, I’d like to thank you properly,”

“I didn’t bake dessert,” you hide the shudder in your throat when he steps closer, pinning you against the cart. Your knuckles must be transparent by now due to how hard you’re gripping the cart.

“You didn’t,” Seokjin agrees, “but you definitely brought it.”

You yelp, actually, a whole little dolphin-squeal escapes your lips as Seokjin puts his hand against the wall. You’re actually living a Disney-esque scenario that you do not want to be in. Seokjin’s either trying to give you the Eugene-Signature-Smoulder, or the Prince Naveen charm that isn’t very charming.

“You’re a cheeseball,” you try to snap back, but it only comes out as a small reply, fitting of your cramped situation.

His buttery brown eyes are clear and warm, and his sweet scent envelopes your form. You feel impossibly small, sinking deeper and deeper into your hoodie until you feel the heat of his voice sinking deep into your skin.

It’s then that he leans in and whispers in your ear, his voice a simple request, “Please tell me that you’re interested in me too.”

Something clutches softly in your heart, tethering you to Seokjin’s gaze. You wonder how many times Seokjin goes through this scenario. You wonder if he’s happy being a bachelor. You figure that many partners must have doubts being tethered by a teenage daughter, or if Seokjin is used to fleeting hook-ups.

“Have been since check-in,” you reply smoothly, finding your breath and looking up from your eyelashes.

Seokjin’s lips find yours, and you swear you’re lip-locking with Cloud Nine. They’re soft and supple and taste a little like maple syrup as they mingle with yours, and you can’t help but weave your hands through his equally silky strands, tugging him closer as he hooks his arms under your bare thighs.

He gives your bottom an experimental squeeze, leading you to the unmade bed.

Needless to say, breakfast has to wait.

“So, I’m going to throw a cliché.”

“Sure, we’re in Disney.”

“Why me?” you slap his bare chest when Seokjin laughs, pouting, “I mean it! All I did was look cute and give you pancakes!”

“So you admit you’re cute,” Seokjin smirks.

“C’mon don’t change the subject, tell me!”

Even though this hotel is partially yours, you’re still amazed at the softness of the Egyptian cotton as it engulfs both your bodies. Maybe it’s because you’re warm and bathing in the noon afterglow, maybe it’s your bed partner. Still, it feels divine as you lounge in bed, sipping champagne (left by the door, courtesy of Jimin.)

“Mm, caught you driving around with Yeji in my car.”

You sit up straighter, clutching the sheets to your chest, “You saw us last night?”

“You were also out last night?” Seokjin tilts his head, “I meant when you taught her how to parallel park.”

“Oh fuck—I mean,” you slap your forehead, knowing you can’t get away with this one, “Let’s just say I helped her out of a sticky situation. Don’t blame Yeji, blame Yeji’s bunny-headed cousin.”

“Noted,” Seokjin throws an arm around you, snuggling closer. You relax into his hold, melting between the sheets and his soft skin, “Knowing you’re pulling through for her. Let’s just say I’m a little soft for my daughter, no matter how old.”

“She’s wonderful,” you say genuinely, taking slow sips of your bubbly drink.

“Wanna go visit her for lunch? I’m supposed to be meeting her in an hour.”

You don’t feel deterred or nervous to see Yeji, or even the possibility of meeting Seokjin’s extended family. So you agree, run back to your room quickly to throw on a reasonable summer outfit that doesn’t consist of hooded sweatshirts and booty shorts.

Seokjin offers to drive your sedan, and since you feel a little princess-ish today you decide to let him take the wheel. After a few minutes attempting to drive in the direction of the townhouse however, you lower the volume on the radio.

“Jin? I think you’re going the wrong way,” not only do you live here, but you went to the townhouse last night and you’re sure it’s in the opposite fork, “do you want me to plug it in the G.P.S?”

“I know my way, hon,” Seokjin waves you off, confidently streaming through the oncoming traffic. You smile nervously, you have a feeling this situation has happened once or twice.

“Oh, is that why you ended up in my hotel?” you tease, “because you’re so good at directions?”

“Duh,” Seokjin reaches for your hand atop the console, “after all, my intuition led me to you.”

#jin x reader #jin crack #seokjin x reader #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #seokjin fluff #seokjin crack #bts smut #bts fic

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Hues of Pink

Bill Weasley x Reader

Summary: On rainy day at home, Bill paints your nails.

Requested by @am-i-space : “Hey I recently had this thought and I would love to actually read this I think it would be adorable: Bill sitting behind you and and painting your nails, and like little neck kisses and stupid giggles from both of you and him resting his head on yours when he´s concentrating.”

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of scars, fluff, kissing

A/N: Thank you for such a sweet and fluffy request, I hope you enjoy it!!

(gif found on pinterest, credits to the maker)

The rain was steady outside, no intentions of passing any time soon as it pelted relentlessly against the chilled windowpanes. Fortunately, there were no pressing plans waiting for either of you, and the inclement weather had only further decided that it would be a lax day around your home. You weren’t complaining though, work had been rather taxing on the both of you as of late and this gave way to some much needed time to spend together. You would never complain about that, because days like this seemed to be few and far between.

“What are you doing, love?” Bill asks, appearing in the doorway with a yawn. He leant against the doorframe as he watched you curiously over his mug and you smile brightly from your spot at the coffee table.

“Painting my nails,” you state simply, setting down your nail file amongst the assortment of other tools.

You hadn’t had spare minute to do such a hobby in a while and with your newfound down time, you thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to treat yourself. That, and it had always been a way to alleviate your stress when your mind was feeling rather busy. Though you will admit it does not work wonders in the department of aroma therapy. That much is very certain.

He hums and nods, stepping into the room fully to be with you. He was still dressed in his pajamas much like you were, and his hair had yet to meet a comb that day as it dusted over his shoulders in tangled red locks. You always playfully suggested a trim if he’d insisted on letting his hairbrush collect dust on your nightstand, but your attempts were always declined with an immediate frown. Not to mention the ginger strands you always found in your brush.

Moments later he had joined you on the living room floor, basking in the warmth of his drink that was steaming just under his nose freckled nose.

“Good morning,” you murmur, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned his head in that moment to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, tasting of his usual lemon tea and an abundant amount of sugar. “Or should I say good afternoon?”

He scrunches his nose in a quiet protest, pulling away from you with a fond shake of his head and a soft smile. “Must you always tease me?”

You pretend to ponder the question briefly, tapping your finger on your cheek as he raises a brow at you. “I believe the answer is undoubtedly a yes, my love.”

He scoffs into his mug.

“Well, I believe I should stop calling you sunshine in favor of something more accurate then, like trouble.”

“Actually, Bill, I quite like that one,” You say with a laugh, more so when he narrows his tired eyes at you with a disapproving frown. Though no matter how much you may have teased him in good fun, you’d always be the embodiment of sunshine, lighting up his life in every way imaginable.

You tenderly ran your thumb over the pink scars that run across his cheek, his frown fading and the crease between his brows smoothing once more at your touch. “I’m only kidding,” you assure, but he knows that smile anywhere. “But you know I can’t resist!”

He huffs and hides his smile behind his mug as he takes a sip, setting the tattered old ceramic down on a mismatched coaster before focusing his attention back on you. It was something he always found himself to be doing, to him it was rather hard not to. And the way your tongue had poked out just past very kissable lips was only further proving his point; anything thing you did, no matter how simple or grand, always proved his point. He feels maybe he shouldn’t have joined in with his brothers in teasing Ron for the way he’s always gazing at Hermione, because he’s quite sure he has his little brother beat at this point.

He supposes one never truly understands the full scope of love and it’s effects until one is lucky enough have it. Well, he always knew love when it came to his family, he’s never experienced a moment in his life where he found himself without it. But this, this was far different from that. You came into his life and turned it upside down for the better, quite literally too when you had knocked his textbooks to floor outside of potions in your clumsy haze all those years ago. He’s sure he’s never seen someone be quite so flustered over him in all his life. Charlie was quick to take note and embarrass him in front of you once he knew his brother had caught feelings, and he quickly became flustered over you. Regardless, he was and still is profoundly in love with you, that’ll never change.

You loved him for who he is, not what he may or may not have. The scars stretching across his fair skin were of no importance either, for he’d always been beautiful to you. He was Bill Weasley, wonderfully awkward and exceptionally intelligent with a heart of gold. That’s what you loved.

His fingers tapped against his cheek as his chin rests in his palm, watching as you paint on the blush colored nail varnish with a practiced ease. You have a habit of making everything look easy, he’s noticed. For lack of better, less ironic wording, he always felt you seemed to possess a different kind of magic. One that makes the world go round, his world, one that makes everything all the more enamoring. Any spell or enchantment couldn’t hold a candle to you in his eyes.

“Can I do it?” He suddenly inquires, tucking his hair behind his ear even though it rebelliously fell right back into place. He’s decided he’s got to do something other than stare at you all day, though he is perfectly content to do so.

When you turn your head, he’s looking at you curiously, and a smile is quick to tug at your lips. He mirrors your expression with a lopsided grin, a pale scarlet dusting his cheeks.

You nod and he scoots in behind you, peering over your shoulder at the spread of polishes laid out on the small table. Before he started, you switch on another lamp with a flick of your finger so he could see a bit better. He snagged the bottle of baby pink polish you’d been working from, uncapping it and gingerly taking your hand in his own. When you opened your mouth to point him in the right direction he hushed you with a quiet hum and you laugh softly, leaning back against his chest as you let him take creative control.

He settled his chin on your shoulder, his head rested against yours as he got to work with unwavering determination. No matter the task, Bill Weasley will always find a way to make it seem as though it was of the utmost importance. Whether it be washing the dishes or being called off to work, that stoic look of concentration never failed to make an appearance. Yes, his hands had been a bit shaky and perhaps it was from the extra scoop of sugar he puts in his tea, perhaps it wasn’t, but so far he hadn’t done half bad.

With your free hand, you snag his mug of tea and take a sip, smiling to yourself at how obscenely sweet it was. If one thing was obvious, it was that he had the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you’d ever known. He made a discontented protest when you moved once more and nearly messed up his progress, though it was one that was easily satisfied with a kiss.

For a while after that things were quiet, save for the consistent patter of the raindrops trickling down outside and his steady breathing in your ear. A cinnamon flavored candle had been gracing the room with its delightful fragrance, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t remind him of home. It made everything all the more cozy. The day was nothing short of peaceful and everything you’d dreamed it would be; not even Bill’s lighthearted grumbling over your constant fidgeting could take away from the moment. He was the cause after all, he couldn’t expect you to stay still with the chaste and absentminded kisses he’d been pressing upon your neck. It was only fair.

“I used to paint my mother’s nails, you know,” he murmurs then, still focused on the task at hand. You hum softly in response to urge him to continue on. “Whenever she’d gotten a cold or even just felt under the weather, I’d paint her nails to lift her spirits. It was this ruby red color she always adored. Granted I was fifteen and it looked absolutely horrendous and— love don’t move!”

You giggle out a soft apology and turn your head to kiss his cheek, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry.”

He pursed his lips with a hint of a smile and sighed softly, diligently continuing on with his work. “Now Ronnie gets to do it.”

The thought alone made you smile because the one and only time you’d let Ron Weasley do your nails, and even Fred for that matter, you’d ended up with more polish on your skin than your nails. It had even wound up on them, you recall. They had insisted you were moving far too much and that may have been a little true, but you’ll never let them live down their terrible nail painting abilities.

Bill’s hair had been tickling your skin and you fought the shiver it elicited, but you couldn’t seem to help it in that moment. The tiny brush clutched in his hand had smudged the soft pink pigment onto your skin, and he huffed out a laugh against your neck. He stuck the brush back in its rightful bottle with acceptance that he couldn’t get any more work done before his lips found your neck once more, your laughter relentless when he kissed the sensitive skin. He knew this fact very well, and used it to his full advantage as retaliation. His arm encircled your waist momentarily as he squeezed you close in a half hug, his own laughter mingling with yours in the little living room.

You manage free yourself from his embrace, cautious not to further smudge your freshly painted manicure. He was quick to get on his feet, though, grabbing your wrist and twirling you to face him as he tugged you close.

“Careful! You just might ruin all your hard work, love,” you scold with a beaming smile, but he seems to be far more concerned with you presently.

Your laughter fades considerably in that moment as he envelopes you in his arms once more, and with careful movements you wrap your own around his neck. You’d never quite gotten used to the way he looks at you and you probably never will; it was as if the very world revolved around you. It made the familiar crimson burn and blossom across your cheeks, his smile widening a fraction as you avert your gaze.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, you know,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek while you try and focus on absolutely anything but the way your blush is creeping down your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he chuckles, but he was very much aware of the meaning behind your words.

You cast a pointed stare in his direction, daring to look at him fully. A stubborn chunk of ginger hair had fallen from where it was tucked behind his ear, brushing over his cheek. A sigh leaves your lips and he finds himself resting his forehead on yours, nudging you softly with his nose. You were starting to feel like a moment more perfect than this couldn’t exist. The pungent scent of nail polish was something you could very much do without, but it was only a minor inconvenience. For you were in the arms of the love of your life and not a single thing could surpass that.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his eyes falling closed as a much softer smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Very much.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, not one of mocking, but one of utter joy that had been too overflowing within you not to do so. His chuckle puffs against your lips, his arms tightening their hold. “I love you, Bill Weasley,” you breathe earnestly in the closeness, nearly stealing a kiss before you let yourself finish your declaration. “Very much.”

Both your cheeks were stained in varying hues of pink as your lips melded in the most loving of kisses, and there was no greater feeling.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @loony-loopy-lupinn @lupinsclassroom @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq

#bill weasley #bill weasley fanfiction #bill weasley fluff #bill weasley x you #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley one shot #bill weasley imagine

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

The Other Side of Hollywood

Part Eight: The Finale

Word Count: 8.6K+

Author’s Note: thank you for reading my nonsense. Tuly, thank you.

Warning: the usual.

If this is the first post you’ve seen, links to the rest of the story (+ masterlist and moodboard) are as follows:

- One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Masterlist - Moodboard -

Los Angeles, California. 1995.

“Good morning City of Angels, this is Josh Fern at 106.7, bringing you your daily dose of pop tunes and the week’s biggest hits! We’ve got your sunshine while the clouds stay over our hometown, though they should be gone by the weekend. The time is 6.31, and this is our fan favourite of this week, Waterfalls by-”

The voice was cut out with a bang, a hand coming from under a mess of pillows and comforter to shut off the radio alarm clock. The nails were short, partially bitten away and partially trimmed, the fingers tips calloused and the black nail polish on them chipped away. The arm that followed had a collection of bracelets and wrist bands around it, a catalogue of the last year of events and gifts from friends. It disappeared back amongst the fluffy warm of the grey sheets, its owner hoping for another half hour of sleep.

A loud clatter sounded from just beyond the door, and the bed’s inhabitant sat right up, jumping out of bed, and slipping on a pair of fuzzy blue slippers before running to their door.

“Shit, shit…” A voice muttered outside, and the door was swung open to reveal their mom, trying to clean the fluff off the bacon and eggs she seemed to have dropped on the way to their room. Orange juice pooled on the breakfast tray, and their mom looked up quickly. “Oh! Honey! Y/N, baby. I’m sorry, I tripped over my shoes… This was supposed to be breakfast in bed for my birthday girl.”

“Oh, mom…” the pair embraced over the mess of spilled breakfast, sharing a smile as they began clearing it up together. “Well, why don’t I get dressed, we go to Ruth’s before the breakfast rush?” Y/N suggested, taking in her mom’s appearance. She was already in her scrubs, hair pinned back and her badge hanging from her pocket. “When’s your next shift start?” She asked, and her mom pressed a kiss to her forehead before picking up the tray.

“Cathy is covering me for the next two hours, and I should be back around 4.” Her mom said quickly, walking down the apartment’s hallway and quickly binning the dusty bacon and eggs, running the tray under the sink to stop it becoming sticky. “You get ready, Ruth’s sounds great.” She assured, and Y/N jumped back to her feet, rushing down the hallway after her mom and pressing a kiss to her cheek from behind while grabbing a damp rag and a bottle of carpet cleaner from below the sink.

“I’ll get the orange juice out the rug first.” She smiled, walking back to the stain of yellow on the cream carpet, dropping to her knees to quickly scrub it out of the flooring before it became permanent.

“Are you taking the cello to school today? I can drive you in if you are.” Her mom called the offer down the hall as Y/N brought the last of the OJ out of the carpet, walking back down the hall to store the cleaning products away.

“That would be great. Mr Johnson wants to restring it for me, I’ve been playing so much he’s worried they’ll snap any day now.” Y/N smiled at the thought, and her mom rested a hand on her cheek, rubbing her thumb on the rosy skin.

“You know, I’m so proud of you sweetie… I tell you, I never thought I would be lucky enough to have a daughter like you.” Their foreheads pressed together. “Just think, next year you’ll get me as your college roommate!”

“I still need to audition for USC mom. I’m not going to college yet.” Y/N reminded with a smile, glancing at the wall clock. “I’ll go get ready, could you take my cello down to the car?” She asked with her hands clasped, her mom laughing.

“Of course, birthday girl. Go, get ready. Leaving in 15.” Her mom called after her as Y/N ran and swung herself round the doorframe into the bathroom, quick to jump in the shower and wash herself, and even quicker to rush back to her bedroom and get herself dressed. By the time those 15 minutes had passed, Y/N was grabbing her backpack and Walkman, clipping the latter to the waistband of her tartan skirt as she rushed out the door, double checking she had everything she needed for school as she hurried out to her mom’s car.

“And I am right on time.” Y/N said with a heavy breath as she sat down in the passenger seat, her mom pulling out their parking spot, the car’s clock reading 6.59.

“I phoned ahead to Ruth’s; she’s got your pancakes already cooking.” Her mom replied, letting out a happy sigh as they turned onto the main road, turning on the radio as Y/N slipped on her headphones, quickly opening her Walkman to identify what CD she had on before closing it and pressing play, the pair enjoying each other’s silent company as they headed for their favourite diner.

They arrived a few songs later thanks to LA traffic, Y/N jumping out as her mom parked up to find Ruth, the diner owner, setting out her and her mom’s meals on the bar counter: pancakes with syrup and banana, and a strawberry and vanilla smoothie for each of them, plus a cup of black coffee by her mom’s usual seat.

“There she is: the birthday girl!” Ruth came round the counter, pulling Y/N into a tight hug that forced the breath out the girl. Ruth was an older woman, about an inch shorter than the teen, and stout, but stronger than three of Y/N combined, with her greying hair in curls and tucked under a soft blue hat that matched her waitress uniform. “Now I know we shouldn’t talk work, but can I ask you to come in Sunday morning?” Ruth asked Y/N as she ushered her to her seat, and Y/N’s mom came through the door.

“Of course. Mom, will you be working Sunday?” Y/N asked as they both took their seats, Ruth walking back round the counter. Y/N stopped for a moment, appreciating the ‘17’ that had been made with banana slices on top of her pancakes.

“Got a double at the hospital. Why? Ruth got you working overtime again?” Her mom raised an eyebrow at Ruth, who just cackled.

“Sami, sweetheart, that girl’s my best waitress.” Ruth scolded Y/N’s mom, who shook her head with a smile before starting on her breakfast, and Y/N did the same as Ruth walked further along the countertop to help another customer.

“So, what’s the schedule for today?” Sami asked her daughter, who looked up with half a pancake hanging out her mouth, causing them both to start laughing.

“Well…” Y/N started, swallowing down her food as her mom sipped on coffee. “School, then the pier with Rosalee and Evelyn. Then home, cake… And my bed?” She suggested, earning a roll of the eyes from her mom.

“It’s your seventeenth birthday, Y/N! You need to be out having fun, maybe finally decide to join Rosalee’s band?” He mom suggested with a wiggle of her eyebrows, earning an elbow in the side. “Hey! Girls in rock bands are the new super models. You’ll have all the rocker boys at your feet.” Her mom teased, and Y/N went bright red. “Speaking of which… Happy birthday.” Her mom reached into her hand bag, pulling out an envelope and sliding it along the counter.

“Mom, I thought we said no presents this year…” Y/N reprimanded her, but her smile was too bright to be angry.

“It’s a joint present. Rose and I, nothing too expensive, though that girl will have gotten you something else as well, no doubt.” Sami explained as Y/N licked her knife clean and slotted it under the envelope flap, slicing the paper open.

“No… No way…” Y/N muttered, shaking two concert tickets from the letter, covering her mouth as her eyes watered a little. “Mom…”

“You’ve been raving about those boys for the past year now, Y/N, and with Rose’s discount to Orpheum shows… They’re playing in a few months, we couldn’t resist.” Her mom said with a smile, and Y/N jumped from her seat, wrapping her arms around her mom, happy tears staining her mom’s scrubs. “Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Sami lifted her daughter’s face to wipe away the tears. “You’re my little superstar, Y/N, you deserve some time off.” She informed Y/N, who nodded. “You finish up, you can finish the milkshake in the car, and if you decide to cut school today, just make sure you’re not missing anything important… Knowing Rose, she’ll drag you out before you can get a word in edge wise.”

The pair were conscious of the time, finishing up quickly and bidding goodbye to Ruth as they hurried for the car. LA traffic always had to be accounted for, but they managed up the beach front and reached Los Feliz High with ten minutes to spare. Y/N quickly kissed her mom’s cheek, grabbing her bag and pulling her cello from the backseat, waving her mom off to work as an arm rested across her shoulders, another set coming around her waist.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Evelyn and Rosalee shrieked into Y/N’s ears, causing the girl to jump and try and wriggle away as her cousin and best friend, respectively, pressed kisses to her cheeks and locked her in an embrace.

“Jesus! I swear you both want to kill me.” Y/N recovered quickly with a nervous laugh, her cousin taking her cello for her as Rosalee pulled her closer by the shoulders, Y/N’s hand coming around the taller girl’s waist. “But thank you. For the yelling and the tickets, Rosa.” She directed the second half to her friend, having to pause for a moment to blow her friend’s hair away from her face, the dark curls tickling her nose.

“Hermosa, it was the least I could do. You’ve been in love with them since last year’s homecoming. Lo juro, fue el regalo más fácil que he comprado.” Rose promised her friend, the pair walking after Evelyn into the school building, headed for the music department.

“So… I took the liberty of checking your class schedule.” Evelyn spoke up as they reached Mr Johnson’s classroom, Y/N’s cello, and piano, teacher. She rapped the door twice, turning back to her little cousin and Rose. “None of us have anything major to do today, we have friends and study partners in all our classes willing to share notes, and your cello is out of use all day.”

“Indeed it will be.” Mr Johnson spoke up, the girls glancing down the corridor at the older teacher. He was a cheery looking fellow, maybe about fifty years old, with a round belly and a love of suspenders. He was also the best teacher Y/N had ever had. “I need to restring and tune and break it in for use, you’ll get it back Monday. Now, I hope you girls aren’t planning on skipping school for Y/N’s birthday, as a teacher I could never condone such a thing…” He said as he unlocked his room, beckoning the three in, the trio following. “Of course, if you were to leave, you should be going through that fire escape at the far corner of my classroom, and heading to the bus park. No teachers patrolling there this time of day...” He winked, and Rose took it as a sign to run over to the door, Evelyn following quickly. Y/N waited behind for a second, taking a step towards Mr Johnson’s desk. “Y/N, you deserve a day off. Happy birthday.” He said with a kind smile, opening his desk and pulling out a small, thin box. “For my brightest student, and for a life of signing autographs. The past five years of teaching you have been my privilege.” He prefaced as she opened the box to find a white marble pen, her name engraved along the side.

“Thank you, Mr Johnson…” She smiled softly, closing the box over once more and putting the present into her backpack.

“Go, be safe, be stupid to the limit of safety… I don’t need my student breaking her wrist a month before her USC audition.” He warned, and Y/N nodded fast, turning on her toes and starting for the door Rosa and Evelyn had left through. She broke into a run as she headed for the bus park, quickly catching up to her friends and falling into step with them, headed for Sunset Boulevard.

The girls often found themselves on the strip, and on days like that one they could walk all the way to the coast line and back, window shopping as they went. While it was colder than usual for LA, the thick cloud layer blocking out most of the sunshine, the whole strip was alive that Friday.

However, it seemed like Rosalee and Evelyn had a plan for Y/N, each looping their arm with Y/N’s as they started on a march down the strip, headed to an undisclosed location. They didn’t stop to window shop as per the usual, didn’t stop for smoothies from the place Evelyn got discounts in because she flirted with the cashier, they didn’t even hesitate when passing the cineplex the three frequented at the weekends when they weren’t all working or studying.

Instead, Rosalee and Evelyn stopped on the other side of the road from Rose’s job, at the Orpheum.

“I thought that concert was a few months away, Rosalee.” Y/N said with a raised eyebrow, not sure what her friends were up to.

“Oh, no… That’s our second stop…” Rose turned Y/N’s head slightly, focusing on a building two down from the music venue. “We’re going there first.”

“Tattoos?” Y/N’s eyes widened, looking over at Evelyn to see if it was real, but by the smile on her cousin’s face, they were serious. “Ev, your mother will kill you. Auntie is far from… Tattoo-friendly.” Y/N reminded, and Evelyn shook her head.

“Oh, I know. But Aunt Sami? She’ll be thrilled you’re doing something stupid. I’m pretty sure you being the clever one in that house isn’t fair.” Evelyn said with a grin, and Rose leaned over.

“We cleared it with her, you’re all good to go… So, you’re getting a tattoo, Y/N…” She said, and with a glance to Evelyn, the pair locked their arms tight around Y/N’s and marched her across the road and for the tattoo parlour.

“Guys! Guys! This is ridiculous, you realise that?” Y/N asked with a nervous laugh, gulping as they pushed her through the door, Rosalee pulling a slip out of her leather jacket’s pocket.

“Hello there. We have an appointment booked for today at 10?” Rosa asked at the desk, Y/N looking back at Evelyn, who winked: the pair had planned this a while ago, she could tell.

“Parental consent is required?” The receptionist asked, Rosa handing over the slip of paper. The employee glanced over it, shrugging and nodding. “What’s your name kid?”

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, we’ll get you set up in the chair. Do you have a design in mind?”

“Actually, we’ve picked something out for her.” Evelyn spoke up, pushing Y/N further into the shop and sitting her down on the tattoo chair. “I emailed it over last week, to Francis?” She asked, and the name caused shuffling from behind a curtain.

“Evelyn, right?” A beautiful woman, probably a few years older than the girls, came through the curtain. Her arms were covered in tattoos, shown off by the cut tank she had decided to wear, the band on it matching the one Y/N’s shirt repped. “Ah, so this is my rock child kin. Francis, you can call me Fran.” She introduced herself with a hug, first Evelyn, then Rosalee, and finally Y/N, each girl hugging back. “So, ladies, do we want the tattoo to be a surprise?” She asked, and Evelyn glanced at Rose then Y/N, both nodding.

“I mean, why not?” Y/N conceded, to the grins of her friends and tattoo artist, who took her dominant hand and flipped it over, rubbing down her wrist with sterilising solution. Y/N was nervous, sure, but the excitement was dulling the worry a little.

“Y/N, can I get your Walkman?” Rosa asked, quickly unclipping the device from her best friend’s waist before given an answer, and removing the CD. She walked over to the front desk, chatting with the guy who had greeted them as Fran set herself up, making sure her needle was inked and working well. Y/N gulped at the whir of the tattoo gun, the anxiety rising up…

When a familiar song came over the shop’s stereo, and she let out a laugh.

“Go on, you know you want to.” Evelyn encouraged, Y/N’s favourite band beginning to play and sing on the radio.

“It’ll help you relax… Go for it.” Fran said with a nod, slipping on a pair of gloves and her glasses, the tattoo gun whirring up again, and coming in contact with Y/N’s skin. The pain was sharp, and sudden, and she gasped, deciding to follow the advice.

“… ‘til we blast open the top. Face first, full charge, electric hammer to the heart.” Y/N called out, her eyes squeezing shut as she sang and laughed through the pinching on her wrist. “Clocks move forward but we don't get older, no. Kept on climbing till our stars collided. And all the times we fell behind were just the keys to paradise.” She began to sing properly, the pain seeming to dull when she focused on it, Rosalee and Evelyn watching on in awe. Her voice was so unique, so special, something Rose had been trying to convince Y/N to use for years. “Don’t look down, cause we’re still rising up right now. And even in we hit the ground, we’ll still fly. Keep dreaming like we’ll live forever, but living like it’s now or never!”

Y/N sang her way through the seven songs on the demo album twice through in that tattoo parlour, Rosa and Evelyn joining in on the catchy choruses: it made sense why Y/N liked the band, they only hoped she would like the tattoo.

“My masterpiece is finished.” Fran announced, prompting Rosa to run over and shut off the CD player, collecting Y/N’s disc and slipping it back into the girl’s Walkman. “Do you wanna look?” Fran asked her, removing her glasses and gloves with a smile, and Y/N sat up, looking down at the tattoo on her wrist.

“A sunset?” She whispered, glancing up at her friends with a smile.

“My idea, would you believe?” Evelyn said, Y/N getting off the chair and pulling her and Rose into a tight hug. They quickly bid goodbyes to Fran, heading back outside onto the strip, this time with the destination of the Orpheum.

“So, best birthday ever?” Rosalee asked Y/N, who nodded, still admiring the tattoo. It was a reference to her favourite band, her friends knew her well, and reflected their logo quite nicely. “Well, since we’ve been amazing to you… I’m going to ask again.” Rose said as they entered the Orpheum, and Y/N smiled ruefully.

This was their thing, her and Rosalee. Every week, Y/N would once again be asked to join her best friend and her cousin in their band, Rose and the Petal Pushers, and every time they asked she said no. She was a classically trained cellist and pianist, she was auditioning for the USC conservatory program in a month, and even if Rose had been the one to encourage her into playing again after the one time when Y/N was 10 and embarrassed herself at a concert so bad she refused to touch her cello for three weeks, Y/N couldn’t see why a girl rock band needed her in it. Evelyn, Rose and the girls were quite phenomenal without her.

“Why do you need me?” Y/N decided to ask this time, instead of just refusing, a bit more open to ideas since it was her birthday. Rosa and Evelyn shared a glanced, shocked, before pulling her through to the main concert space and jumping up onto the stage, dragging Y/N along with them.

“Have you ever heard a cello in a rock song?” Evelyn asked her, the three looking out at the space, standing in the places where legends had stood before them.

“Not really… No.” Y/N admitted, looking over and fixing one of the butterfly themed clips in Rosalee’s hair.

“That’s exactly why we need you, Y/N. Diversify the genre, bring classical technique to punk rock!” She pitched, taking her friend’s hand in hers. “Plus, you can sing, you can play piano… You have a gift that needs to be shared with the world, Y/N.” The words gave Y/N reason to pause, to consider. She had, after all, done crazier things before, she had done crazier things that day, the ink on her wrist catching her eye. “Go on… Sing something, see how it feels.” She urged, and Y/N sighed, entertaining her friends as her eyes closed.

“God!” Y/N let the note hang for a moment, and Rose grinned: it was something she had written, that Y/N had overheard her practicing at school the week before. “God only knows, what I’d do… If I, if I couldn’t love you…” She sang softly, her eyes opening to look out, to feel the rush of adrenaline hit her. She bit her lip as she smiled, understanding exactly what Rose meant. “If I do this…” She began, cut off and Rose and Evelyn hugged her tight, squealing in delight, jumping up and down with her.

“That’s a yes! You finally said yes!” Rose cheered, and Evelyn jumped down from the stage and rushed over to the bar, pulling out a small box she and Rose undoubtedly store there the night before, sat atop it a party hat.

“To celebrate your joining the band…” Evelyn opened the box, a frosted cupcake inside, and handed it to Y/N while fixing a party hat onto the girl’s head.

“Ah! Ewan!” Rose called as a kid around their age walked in, ready for a shift that night. He was a year older than the girls, had gone to school with them, and knew far too much about all of them thanks to Rose. “Can you get a photo? Y/N’s finally agreed.” She explained, pulling a disposable camera from her school bag and handing it over to him.

“You really agreed?” He asked Y/N, who was eating her way rather quickly through the cupcake: though to be fair, it was her favourite flavour. She nodded in response, earning laughs from her three companions, and she just shrugged as she swallowed.

“After… Two years of pestering, it seems only right that I final give in. Rosalee sure wasn’t going to be defeated.” Y/N laughed, taking one last bite of the cupcake before wiping her mouth, swallowing the food as Rose and Evelyn wrapped their arms around her.

“Say… Petal Pushers!” Ewan called, taking a photo as the girls laughed through the words, a smile on his own face as he handed back the camera. “You guys really ought to leave before the boss gets back.” He reminded, gesturing to the side door, and the three girls took a second before nodding, rushing out the side exit as the staff started filing in for the night’s events.

Y/N didn’t feel the eyes on the back of her head as she left the Orpheum, barely registering the whisper that passed by her ear, planting the first seed in her mind of something terrible.

That night, after cake with her mom at the apartment and plans made with Rosalee and Evelyn to meet the rest of the band that night for their first practice, Y/N began travelling towards the address Rosa had given her earlier that day, a hum on her lips as she stepped of the bus near the coast line, near her favourite place in the world, one her and her mom found years ago.

She had wrapped up warm, unusually cold air had set in that night, prompting her to borrow her mom’s thickest jacket as she left the apartment with calls of ‘I love you’ shared between a mother and daughter.

You’ve got nothing to lose…

The words floated in Y/N’s head for a moment, and she shrugged, deciding a five minute detour to the beach wouldn’t do her any real harm. It would be nice to have a few moments alone, to soak in the day so far, before she went on to that night and the upcoming festivities.

Her feet hit the sand, whisperings of a song floating through her head, a shadow of a man in formal wear further along the sandy shores…

Suddenly, morning, and Y/N was woken up at her favourite spot on the beach front by a scream. She shot up, rushing to see what had happened, no time to register her lost memory from the night before.

Only the scream wasn’t on the beach front. Y/N turned to find her mom and Rose holding one another, over a body, dressed just like Y/N.

“Mom…” She asked, looking down at the girl who lay on the rock, by her side.

Looking down a face so familiar to her, though she wasn’t sure why. The body was rigid, washed of colour, lips that should have been red a tinged purple blue.

And then, Y/N screamed…

Los Angeles, California. 2020.

They all came back at once, a barrage of information filling Y/N’s head, finishing its upload to her brain in an instant. Of a life she never got to live, of a mom who loved her so dearly, of a father who never appeared, of friends who loved her unconditionally and guardians who wanted nothing more than to see her thrive.

Of that man on the beach, of the songs she had sang for 25 years by his side…

A distinct memory of Caleb calling her death a recruitment, of him asking her to play for his house band once he found her, of him becoming furious at her upstaging him on her first night at the club... It all finally made sense to her:

She was dead because of Caleb.

And she had lost music, family, everything, because Caleb took it from her.

Y/N’s eyes stung with tears as she pulled herself to her feet, the pain of the jolt still coursing through her and forcing her to lean against the wall as she made her way to the stage side. She watched as Alex, Reggie and Luke played for Caleb, who sang and scatted his way through their third song of the night. None of the guys looked happy, of course they didn’t… They were enslaved by a man who wanted their musical talent and nothing else, just like he had wanted Y/N’s 25 years ago.

As the song came to an end with a drum solo by Alex, Y/N managed to muster up the physical strength to walk onto the stage, steely-eyed as a plan began to form in her head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please let me welcome Y/N Y/L/N to the stage!” Caleb was quick to notice her, sending a smile and the audience’s applause her way as she walked along the band stand, taking a seat at the piano without a word said, without another person looked at. Her fingers spread over the keys, the sheet music for one of Caleb’s songs in front of her, but instead her hand moved down and hit a different chord.

She let it sit in the air, holding it over the whole room, getting everyone’s attention, including Caleb, including the guys… Including Luke. She had to do something, anything, and her mind travelled back to that night at the party, when she had spent hours resting against Luke, flicking through his song writing journal as the room shared jokes, shared anecdotes… Her memory focused on one moment, when she had scanned over the chord progressions and lyrics to a song Luke had asterisked and labelled ‘ANTHEM-WORTHY’ in his near illegible handwriting.

The idea quickly formed, Y/N getting the gut feeling to hold off for one more moment before pressing down on the chord once more, and beginning to play the melody and bass line of the song she remembered on that page with as much emotion as she could.

“Don’t blink, no I don’t wanna miss it… One thing, and it’s back to the beginning.” Y/N singing wavered a little, her voice taking a moment to come into its own… But she remembered now, what she was good at, what she was capable of… What she was able to create with Luke wasn’t a fluke, it was real. It was the girl who wanted to study music, who wanted to join her best friend’s band, who got a tattoo and played cello and loved her mom with her whole heart.

For the first time in 25 years, Y/N knew who she was, and didn’t shy away from it.

“Cause everything is rushing in fast. Keep going on never look back.” She continued, the boys quickly realising what was happening, knocked out of the daze they had found themselves in. Alex was the first to join in, taking on his drum line with a smile to Y/N, a thank you, that warmed her heart. Then Reggie, getting used to the bass strings again, no longer feeling the urge to play what Caleb demanded.

“And it one, two, three, four times that’ll I’ll try for one more night.” Y/N went on the harmony line as another voice filled the room, startling the audience and performers with its power, its beauty. Some sort of connection had been made, just like when Y/N had played with Luke the day before, and Julie’s solo performance from the Orpheum was being broadcasted to the room as Y/N played, and Reggie and Alex played. As her hands left the piano, Julie’s own playing taking over, her eyes looked up at Luke, slowly coming to from his own trance. “Light a fire in my eyes, I’m going out of my mind.” She sang along, a smile on her face as Luke’s eyes cleared of the fog that had settled in them, and his hands began to play.

“Stop it! Stop them!” Caleb yelled as the crowd started to cheer, to dance along, Julie’s voice filling the room and drowning out any shouts Caleb tried to make as the chorus came into play.

“Whatever happens even if I’m the last in it I’ma stand tall, I’ma stand tall. Whatever happens even when everything’s down, I’ma stand tall, I’ma stand tall.” Julie sang, the boys playing along, all of them visualising the Orpheum, where they were supposed to be as waiters came up onto the stage and grabbed Y/N, pulling her away from the piano. “I gotta keep on dreaming, cause I gotta catch that feeling. Whatever happens even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall.” The damage was already done, Alex and his drum set disappearing into thin air, leaving a gap in the stage. He could still be heard however, now playing with Julie from the Orpheum.

“Right now I'm loving every minute. Hands down can't let myself forget it, no. Cause everything is rushing in fast, keep holding on, never look back.” As Julie continued, Y/N wrenched herself from the waiters, Reggie disappearing as she made her way across the stage. “And it’s…”

“Y/N.” Luke called to her over the music, his eyes worried as he watched the staff grab her arms and pull her back again. He began to fade, starting to disappear and join the band where he was meant to be, at the Orpheum, but then having to leave Y/N behind as a result. She would be facing off Caleb, alone. And after she saved him, saved everything, how could he let it happen?

“See you on the other side, Luke.” She shouted back, a smile on her face as she was pulled away by the waiters, a nod of her head promising everything would be ok. He vanished, his eyes opening as he finally appeared in the Orpheum, smiling over to Julie as he finally materialised.

“I’m going out of my mind.” Luke sang, earning a cheer from the crowd. “Whatever happens even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall.” He sang, a wave of relief flushing over him when he didn’t flicker again, Julie dancing alongside him.

“Whatever happens even when everything’s down, I’ma stand tall, I’ma stand tall.” Julie joined in, Luke switching to the harmony line. “I gotta keep on dreaming, cause I gotta catch that feeling. Whatever happens even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall.” Julie beckoned Reggie over, the pair walking to the front of the stag, surrounded by the crowd as they went back to back. “Like I'm glowing in the dark. I keep on going when it's all falling apart. Yeah I know it with all my heart. Ooh, ooh.”

“Never look back!” Luke called out with a final strum, looking back at Alex as they were left with only Reggie on bass.

“Whatever happens even if I’m the last standing, I’ma stand tall, I’ma stand tall.” Alex stood up as he sang, earning screams and cheers.

“Whatever happens even when everything’s down, I’ma stand tall, I’ma stand tall.” Reggie continued, nodding to Julie, who harmonised with him.

“Stand tall.”

“Stand tall.” Luke and Alex joined in.

“Stand tall!” A final voice sang out, the familiar high and airy sounds of Y/N harmonising perfectly with the band, holding a high harmony line as they went into the last chorus.

“Whatever happens even if I’m the last in it I’ma stand tall, I’ma stand tall. Whatever happens even when everything’s down, I’ma stand tall, I’ma stand tall.” The five voices sang together for the final chorus, Julie leading Luke down to the front of the stage with her mic as the paired shared. “I gotta keep on dreaming, cause I gotta catch that feeling.” Reggie and Alex followed them down to the front of the stage, mics in hand as Luke played them out. “Whatever happens even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall.”

For a moment, as they held that last note, Julie and the Phantoms could see Y/N amongst the crowd, before she disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving the band to take their final bow together.

It was only once Julie and the Phantoms had finished their last performance that the club went quiet, all eyes focused on a smiling Y/N, who had sung alongside the band in their closing lyrics. The arms that held Y/N back were replaced with a single hand on her shoulder, Y/N following the arm up to look at Caleb, who looked at the band and with a flick of his hand, had them playing again, performers dancing, waiters serving food like nothing had happened.

“You and I need a little chat.” He said softly, leading Y/N towards the bar, the pair sitting on bar stools, and the waiter placing down two glasses of champagne. He was silent for a moment, taking a sip of the cool beverage as Y/N watched on: she wasn’t able to wipe the smile off her face. She could hear them in her head, she could see them performing, she could see Flynn and Ray and Carlos watching Julie with love she held for her own family. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No.” Y/N responded honestly. “But after I fulfilled my side of the deal, once I got the boys to the club, I got my memories back. Willie was freed… And now you have nothing over me, but I know who you really are Caleb.” She took a sip of her own glass, the pair setting them down at the same time.

“Oh? And who am I, Y/N?”

“A collector… A narcissist… The person who killed me. Take your pick.” She said softly, and Caleb’s face fell. She finished her glass, passing the crystal back to the bartender before getting up, running a hand through her hair and shaking it out into waves.

“I don’t lose Y/N… You know that. I will destroy you.” He reminded, and she glanced back at him with a smile.

“I’ve been dead an awful long time, Mr Covington. I’m going to die knowing I saved my friends, knowing who I am… That’s all I need. I have my redemption.” She replied, thoughtful in her words before walking towards the exit.

“So be it.” Caleb smirked, another jolt running through Y/N’s body as she vanished, leaving the echo of pain in her wake.

When Y/N opened her eyes, she was back on her beach, on her boulder, the waves crashing around her and the night sky full of stars. She collapsed, a delayed reception of the jolt administered, only this time the pain didn’t fade like usual. Instead, it radiated through her, settling as a dull numbness through her body.

She pulled herself to her feet, trying to envision Julie’s house in her head, knowing she needed to find Willie, to explain the boys got to cross over, that they were safe: to tell him she was sorry. However, every time she tried, her head became heavy, foggy, and after a few attempts and another jolt coursing through her, Y/N saw no choice but to walk.

It was slow going, the girl having to stop every few minutes as another jolt hit, the pain building up with each blow she took. She decided at about the halfway mark to ditch the heels she had been wearing all night, and by the time she reached the Molina residence, she fell to the patio, the sound of Julie’s dad pulling in to the house welcoming to her ears.

“Y/N?” A voice asked from the shadows, Willie emerging from his hiding spot and rushing over at the sight of his friend curled up on the concrete, holding her stomach as another jolt hit her.

“Willie I…” Y/N coughed, groaning in pain and taking deep breaths. Before she could continue, Julie rounded the corner, having heard the voices from the front door, stopping in her tracks at the sight. “Julie.”

“Oh my God, Y/N…” Julie rushed over, her and Willie sharing a glance, a mixture of confusion and worry: there was the question as to why Julie was able to see the skater boy Alex had been falling for, when the night before she had watched Alex, Reggie and Luke discuss plans to air, but it wasn’t the time for it now.

“I’m so sorry. For everything, everything I did to you both…” She tried to pull herself up, Willie quickly helping her to her feet and holding her upright. “Willie, I didn’t have a choice, I swear and…” Y/N’s words turned to sobs, and Willie held her tight to him.

“Hey, hey… I know you did right by me…”

“And the boys too… They crossed over.” Julie added, Willie looking over at the lifer with an eyebrow raised.

“How?”

“Y/N.” Julie just answered. “She sent them to me… Now can I ask the question of what we do to save you?” She directed her question to the girl in green, who shook her head quickly. “My mom wouldn’t want you dying again.” Julie said, leaving Y/N confused until she pulled a photo from her jacket pocket, Y/N’s eyes widening at the memory.

“Rosalee…” She whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek. “Your mom… Oh my God…” She muttered, the realisation tinged with an overwhelming sense of grief: not only had they all lost the guys, but Y/N had only just remembered her best friend, and now had to discover she had passed on as well.

“What do we do, Y/N?” Willie asked, receiving a shake of the head from his best friend.

“I’m ok… Going like this. I just wanted to say goodbye… To see you one last time… To be somewhere happy.” She whispered, and Julie wiped her eyes.

“Then we’ll say goodbye together… All of us.” Julie decided, beckoning Willie to follow after her as she walked to the studio doors, walking into the space with Willie and Y/N coming to either side of her. “I…” She stopped, swallowing for a moment. “I know I already said this but, uh… Thank you guys.” She said softly, looking to Y/N, their hand reaching out and passing through one another as they looked on the dark space with Willie to their left, a final goodbye appropriate for sending them off properly.

“… You’re welcome…” Reggie’s voice came from nowhere, followed swiftly by a groan from Alex, and Julie rushed to turn the light on. With the flick of a switch, the three boys were revealed in a pile on the floor.

“Dude…” Luke groaned, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness of the room as Alex got to his feet, Reggie sitting himself up. “Y/N…” Luke’s eyes focused on the girl, who had gone back to leaning on Willie for support.

“I… I. What are you doing here? I thought-” Julie started, cut off as a jolt ran through the boys and Y/N, her eyes welling up. “No… No! I thought you crossed over, why didn’t you cross over?”

“I guess playing the Orpheum wasn’t our unfinished business.” Alex muttered, looking up to see Willie, the worry etched on the happy boy’s face sending aches to his heart. With a nod from Y/N, who found herself a comfortable leaning position against one of the support beams, Willie made his way over to Alex, their hand linking as the blond found his footing.

“Point Caleb.” Y/N muttered with a painful laugh, waving her fingers over to Reggie, who smiled weakly and waved back.

“We wanted you to think that we crossed over, so we pretended to.” Luke explained. “We just… We had nowhere else to go.” He shrugged.

“We thought you’d go straight to bed.” Reggie added, leaning himself against a chair.

“Yeah, well,” Alex started, holding on tight to Willie for support. “I knew she was gonna come out here, but nobody listens to-” Another jolt ran through the four, earning a chorus of groans and whimpers.

“You have to save yourselves, all of you… Go to Caleb’s club, we can make this right, you can play with him… It’s better than not existing at all.” Julie pleaded, looking around the five ghosts, hoping her pleas might work. “Please, please just go! Poof out! Do something… Please, do it for me.”

“We’re not going back there.” Reggie shook his head, and the others knew why: compared to being free, a life at Caleb’s club felt like becoming a shell of yourself.

“Julie…” Y/N spoke up, smiling at the girl who had become her friend, whose mom had been like her sister. “No music is worth making, if the Phantoms aren’t making it with you.” She said softly, and Julie turned back to the room as Reggie and Luke got themselves up from the floor.

Julie couldn’t stand it, couldn’t imagine life without them, and in a moment of desperation, she threw her arms around Luke and Reggie hugging them close, a final goodbye. The boys held her tight, arms wrapping round her back, around one another, as they shared the moment.

“I love you guys.” Julie whispered softly to them, Alex holding on to Willie as they and Y/N watched the scene unfold.

And then it dawned on them all that Julie wasn’t meant to be able to touch them, and Julie pulled away to see Luke and Reggie both glowing.

“How can I feel you?” She asked softly, holding onto one of their hands each, so used to seeing her body pass through theirs. Neither of them could answer, but it gave Julie and idea. “Alex, Willie, Y/N… Come over.” She beckoned, Willie helping Alex over as Luke walked past Julie to hold out a hand to Y/N.

Y/N glanced at it for a moment, looking up at Luke to make sure he was certain: he had barely been within six feet of her since the party. Luke took her hand, helping her to her feet and leading Y/N back to the group formed in the room’s centre, the six joining together in a hug.

Suddenly, the glow that covered Luke and Reggie spread to the other three too, Julie’s grip on Y/N’s back beckoning firm, the dress fabric smooth and soft against her fingers.

“I feel stronger…” Luke muttered in disbelief, the group breaking the hug to look between one another. Suddenly, they all looked healthier, happier, brighter.

“I… I don’t feel as weak anymore.” Reggie agreed.

“Me neither.” Alex added, clearing his throat when he glanced at Willie by his side. “Not that, you know, I was ever that weak.” The six shared a laugh, Y/N lifting up her wrist as it began to tingle, the boys quickly feeling the same thing.

Just like what had happened at the club with Willie, the stamps lifted off their wrists, breaking apart in a small beam of light before vanishing completely.

“What does this mean?” Julie asked, looking up at the guys, who shared a smile.

“I this this means the band is back.” Luke said with a grin, the group pulling close again for another hug.

Aster a minute or so of jumping and tears of relief as they all held one another, Willie pulled Alex to the side, and in a split second decision, the pair locked lips, Willie’s hands holding Alex’s face as the blonde’s arms pulled the skater closer by the waist. It was quick, both coming out blushing as three faces smiled at them when they came back from their moment in heaven, the fourth set of eyes still focused on her wrist.

Y/N watched in awe as the final remnants of Caleb’s stamp dispersed from her wrist, 25 years of servitude broken with a single hug, and in place of the stamp a tattoo appeared: the tattoo she had gotten the day she died.

The five other eyes watched for a moment, hearts swelling to see the pure joy on Y/N’s face, their own quickly turning to disbelief when the tattoo came into full view.

“Y/N…” Luke said softly, the girl’s eyes darting up. “The reason you don’t like Trevor Wilson?”

“He…” She stopped, looking down at the tattoo the three boys had their eyes fixed on, and back up at Julie, who had a smile on her face. “He stole all his songs from my favourite band… Sunset Curve…” She explained, and Reggie let out a yell, throwing his arms in the air as Alex let out a laugh alongside Julie, leaving Y/N looking at Luke for answers.

“Maybe we should step outside, Y/N…” He suggested, holding out a hand to her and, after their fingers had interlocked, leading her out onto the patio, lit up by soft string lights and the stars above.

“Am I missing something here?” She asked with a worried voice, and Luke nodded quite seriously, closing over the studio doors for some privacy: though it didn’t stop Willie, Alex, Reggie and Julie from watching through the windows.

“This Sunset Curve… You never saw them perform live, did you?” Luke asked, running a hand through his hair, and Y/N nodded in agreement with his statement, trying not to focus on the guitarist’s flexing arms: for all of Caleb’s many faults, he had styled Luke perfectly, showing of his arms with a sleeveless tux.

“I had tickets for their show at the Orpheum, my friend… Julie’s mom, used to work there.” Y/N smiled at the memory captured by Julie’s photograph. “I died before I got to go. And when they had played the homecoming dance, I spent most of the night listening to the from the bathrooms because my cousin ate a bad hot dog… And then I got to the afterlife, and despised Trevor Wilson for no reason I… I figured it out when my memories came back: he stole my favourite band’s songs…” Luke let her ramble on, unable to contain the smile as she slowly found her way to a conclusion. “You know, he even stole a song called ‘My Name is Luke’, which was written by the band’s lead guitarist, in fact he wrote all their… music…” She slowed, and Luke took a step closer.

“Dreaming like we’ll live forever, but living like it’s now or never.” He sang softly to her, Y/N covering over her mouth in shock.

“You…” She began, laughing at her own stupidity. “You, and Reggie and Alex… You were Sunset Curve… How…” She took a few steps back and laughed again. “How is it possible that I accidentally like the same guy dead that I had a crush on alive?! How does that work? I swear this is Rosalee’s twisted way of finally getting me to that conce-”

“So you do like me, then?” Luke interrupted, Y/N falling silent, her cheeks tinted pink from the heat rising to them. “You know, I was kind of getting mixed signals with the whole working for the bad guy thing.” He took a step closer to her, and another, until their toes were inches apart.

“Was Crooked Teeth about Reggie?” She asked, giggling after hearing the bassist shout ‘hey!’ from the other side of the door, which cause Luke to chuckle and nod in response. “Sorry about the whole bad person thing… I haven’t been myself for… The past twenty five years?”

“You know… If you aren’t otherwise engaged.” Luke smiled. “I think the band could definitely use another Phantom.” He offered, their eyes travelling to the windows to see Julie and the guys vigorously nodding in agreement.

“Do you really want me around?” She asked, hearing ‘of course!’ being shouted from inside, and she grinned. “If I said yes…” She began, but she already heard Julie cheering, and knew the decision had been made for her, not that she minded. “Luke?” She asked, looking up into his eyes as he smiled down at her.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Do you want me around?” She asked, this time referring to Luke instead of the band.

In response, Luke pulled her close by the waist and pressed his lips to hers gently, answering her question quite definitively. Her hands pulled him closer by his shirt, rising to her tiptoes to meet his lips. As they broke the kiss, breathing heavy for a second, Luke lifted her up in his arms, pressing his lips to hers again as she laughed, the pair spinning the warm glow of the patio string lights.

As Y/N and Luke were joined by their band mates and Willie under the stars, and as Julie hugged, really hugged, Y/N for the first time, everything felt right in the world again. They all knew this was only the first hurdle they’d face, all aware that danger lurked around every corner. The group’s trials were far from over, but that night, it didn’t matter.

Looking up at those stars, knowing somewhere Rose was watching down on all of them, they all knew that no matter what came their way, they would face it together rather than alone. As Alex pulled Willie close, as Julie and Reggie hugged each other, and as Luke’s hand laced itself with Y/N’s, it became clear that whatever was waiting for them next...

They would face it as a family.

Tags: @im-a-writer-right @elioelioeli0 @jenjen889 @walkingonshunshine @parkeret @lolychu @leahstypewriter @j-mar-memester @sunsetcurve-h @musicconversedance @gracefulpenguin @shae-is-not-ok @talksoprettyjjx @smol-book-nerd @lord-of-the-fried @siennanoelle01 @deadpoolgirl23 @theatricalfangirl @deepsleepnat @hhyunj1n @lovesanimals @oswin05 @ifilwtmfc @crappy-unicorn @eries45 @noncannonships @tenaciousperfectionunknown @theorangestofjuices @oopsiedoopsie23 @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses @aesthetic-lyss @voguesir @michellebarista @caitsymichelle13 @bellero @marinettepotterandplagg @delicatelukepatterson @avengersgirllorianna @cordeliascrown @wtfkie @aberette13 @xpolinax @kaylinfayezink @carleywhittaker @mightnight-dream

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #fanfiction #fanfic #jatp au #reader insert #the other side of hollywood #luke patterson fluff #fluff #fantom

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harold231 · 3 years

Text

It wasn't real

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Posted: 04/30/2021

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None? Maybe a lil angst just a lel bet.

A/N: I think it might be good? Idk You let me know. But like frfr, don't just give me feedback in your mind, put it into words. Also I apparently have a thing for Bucky in a dotted apron soooo yeah.

FYI: time zone/era is open for interpretation. Bucky never became an avenger/soldat and steve isn't part of this one.

The wind that blew around you was warm and sweet with the scent of freshly bloomed flowers. Perhaps it was an act of kindness from some God trying to distract you from the cold bitterness settling into your bones. Closing your eyes you conjure the very memory that left you so desolate.

The sun snuck it's way through the curtains to illuminate the room, effectively disturbing the sleep that you always seemed to be craving. Waking up is always hassle but whenever you remember that you get to spend your day with the only person who tolerates you and you him, getting out of bed is the easiest thing. Bucky is crazy and the damn boy is never in one spot for to long and he always has something to say, but you can't imagine how boring your days would be if you guys had never met. well technically if your parents had never met.

When you were a child you parents had to move to new york for business and they decided that Brooklyn was the place to be. You had been Bucky's neighbor and the first day you guys moved in his mom had dragged him over with the most delicious angel food cake that he so proudly claimed to have made mostly on his own. He just loved cooking and baking since forever, he would tell you that he just liked experimenting with foods but you knew the truth was that the boy liked to eat and didn't have the patience to wait for his mother to come home.

Only a few years after your family had moved to Brooklyn you and Bucky had already built an unbreakable bond. You guys had found a beautiful cherry tree one day when playing tag and had deemed it to be your's and Bucky's spot. Whenever you had a bad day or needed time away from the world you guys would go to the tree and just pick cherries, in the winter time you and Bucky would lay under the tree and kick the trunk so that the snow would fall from the leaves. It was the place where at only 15 years old bucky swore he would open his own Bakery and to quote him "I'm serving my ma's food my way doll, It's gonna be the next best thing to hit New York."

You were laying on the ground with your hands crossed behind your head looking up at Bucky swinging upside down from a branch when he told you all this. You felt something you had never felt before at that moment, looking up at the wild haired boy who loved to eat, loved his family, and had the most ambition you had ever heard from kids your age. Your heart felt full and your cheeks grew warm as you looked up at the same blue eyes you had know for years now, only this time you notice the way they twinkle in the sunlight and how rosy his lips are. Now 7 years laters you and Bucky were preparing to open the very bakery he promised you he'd open. Banners were beautifully strung along the walls and cute retro china was set out, ready to be filled for opening day. There was no hesitation from you when Bucky had asked you to run the bakery with him, you were excited to spend your days with the person you hoped you would spend the rest of your life with.

At around 6:30 in the morning you had arrived at the bakery but it seemed that Bucky had beat you to it. The smell of fresh angel food cake and cocoa danced up your nose as soon as you opened the door. Closing your eyes you smiled at the memories that it brought back. Moving to the back you grabbed your Disney themed apron and placed your bag and coat in its place before scurrying over to the kitchen while trying (and failing) to tie your apron. There in all his dorkiness was Bucky wiggling around to the chordettes. He knew that you loved the 50's aesthetic so he found a way to incorporate it without going overboard, by adding little trinkets, a jukebox, and even those cute little dining tables. In fact at the moment he was wearing a ruffly red polka dotted apron as he frosted some cupcakes.

Apron tied, you were finally ready to get to work. You walked up to Bucky bumping his hip as you reached for some cupcake pans, "Whatcha doin here so early Buck, we don't open until 12" he looks at you with squinted eyes, "The hell are you doing here so early." "Woah,woah,woah completely unprovoked. I'm just saying cuz' you were the one complaining about the opening time being set at 8. Like damn." Breathing out a huff of air he wipes his forehead with a towel "I'm sorry doll, I'm just super nervous and I couldn't sleep so I came to start baking things. I already frosted the ice cream cakes and I just finished the pies, but I was thinking that maybe we needed some cupcakes too, even though we already baked so many pastries and stuff last night I'm worried it won't be enough."

Setting down the trays you move to hug Bucky from behind holding him close to you. "Buck I know we'll do great your food is too good to pass up on especially when it's free." You place a soft kiss to his shoulder " I promise you'll do great, everything you do is amazing you try your hardest at everything Buck, You've worked your butt off and made mine considerably larger to get here, don't start losing your mind on me now." A cute little laugh from Bucky lets you know that he's hearing you and he isn't so stressed anymore. "I just want this to be perfect ya know?" with your head still against his back you nod, "I just want it to be a special day for my special girl."

You couldn't stop the slight blush that rose to your cheeks or the way that your heart suddenly started beating three times faster. You had also wanted to make him something special which is why you had got here so early. Finally releasing your hold on Bucky you straighten your apron out before gathering everything you need for some red velvet cupcakes. Bucky loved your red velvet cake so you loved making it for him. After hours of mixing, baking, and frosting had passed, you guys were rewarded with a bakery that looked as great as it smelled. "Alright doll, I'm heading out, I gotta go get ready. Meet you back here at 12 , Love ya." He didn't even give you a chance to answer as he ran right out the door. "Love you too."

You had stayed behind just a little while longer as you perfected your secret project. Carefully you added snowflakes to some of the cupcakes because you knew how much he loved snow even if he hated winter, some cats, flowers that reminded you of bucky, and one extra special cupcake. When you finish you decide to clean up a bit more and prepare some drinks for later before heading home to get ready. As soon as you got home you took a shower and did the simplest of make up with a light pink lip. You had decided to wear a dress to match the blossoming flowers that spring had brought. Pink with a yellow lace trim and flowers embroided all over the dress, matching it with some yellow flats.

You had decided that it was a perfect day for a walk so you grabbed a light scarf and slung it over your shoulders, grabbed Bucky's cupcakes, and headed over to the bakery. You felt as if a Hundred pounds had been lifted from your shoulders knowing that Bucky had felt the same way about you. You had decided that you would tell him today with your special cupcakes. As you rounded the corner you felt giddy and you couldn't wipe the smile from your face no matter how hard you tried. As you reached the bakery you saw that a majority of the people had already arrived and you knew that it would put Bucky at ease to see all the people enjoying his food. You stopped at the window, closing your eyes to take a deep breath to prepare yourself to join the celebration.

Opening your eyes you reached for the handle only to stop at the sight on the other side of the door. Bucky stood there arms wrapped around a woman eyes locked on hers as he leaned in for a kiss. It must have all happened in about 30 seconds but it felt as if time himself had slowed it down for you to watch the way he tilted her head and ran his tongue along her bottom lip before finally uniting their lips. Your heart dropped as quickly as your smile did and suddenly you felt so stupid for thinking this could be real. You willed yourself not to cry as you allowed your legs to carry you anywhere but there.

That's how you found yourself sitting underneath a blossoming cherry tree. A tree that held only happy memories because it wasn't a place you could be sad... back then. With your back against the tree and box of cupcakes full of unrequited love in your lap you realize how much you over romanticized Bucky. Opening the box you decide it would be a shame to let them go to waste. The first one you grab has a big red heart frosted in the middle, you let out a deep sigh before breaking the cupcake right down the middle. You shove half of the cupcake into your mouth and only then do you allow the tears to fall. You sat there for hours crying eating cupcakes, watching the sunset, and thinking about everything that Bucky did for you, as a friend. You realize you had no right to be angry at Bucky, after all you never told him how you felt you just assumed that he would feel the same way after so many years. With every broken memory another cupcake vanished.

He was always there for you, when no one wanted to come to your slumber party Bucky did and he even did all the girly things with you. Painting your nails, doing your hair, watching chick flicks, and pillow fights. once he even asserted that no one could protect you as well as he could, when you had decided to go camping with your friend from class so he insisted on taking you himself. Your friend was most noticeably gay so you had assumed he wanted to spend time alone with you. But now that you think back on those memories these are things that anyone would do for their bestfriend. And that's what you realized 8 hours and 11 cupcakes later.

The moon floated above you and as it's white rays settled upon the lake you decided it might be time to go home now. You get up and dust your dress off before leaning down to grab the mostly empty box. Turning around you are stopped again by what's in front of you. Bucky stands there brows furrowed as his eyes flash from you to the box in your hands. "Where the hell have you been, I've been calling you all day." swallowing the lump in your throat you go to answer but are interrupted. " everyone's been asking me about you all night and I had no damn idea what to tell them, but apparently you were just out here being inconsiderate. You go and tell me I can do great tonight, that you'd be there for me, but you weren't." You try to answer him but are again interrupted. "You could have told me something earlier instead of leaving me there like a dumb-" "SHUT UP!" this time it was your turn to interrupt him.

Taking a deep breath you look into his eyes before explaining. "Of course I was ready to be there today, you think I wore this dress to sit under a damn tree? Well I didn't. When I left my apartment I was ready and I was excited, so excited. I couldn't even stop smiling on my way over, but then I got to the shop and I saw-" Immediately you stopped as you realized what you were about to say. He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head slightly as if to say 'Hello?' "You saw what? What did you see that would make you abandon ship just like that?" Shame flushed through your being and you could no longer keep eye contact. "Nothing, you know what, it doesn't even matter. I'm sorry I was being dramatic I should have been an adult and dealt with it on my own time. And I'm sorry I abandoned you all, but the night was about you anyways."

"The night was supposed to be about the both of us so it does matter if you saw something that made you want to leave. Just tell me doll, what did you see?" his voice is soft as he pleads with you. "I saw... well I saw you kissing that lady and I just wanted get away and ended up here okay!?" You said it all in a jumble hoping that he wouldn't be able to understand what you had said. But luck wasn't your friend so of course he did. "So seeing me kiss another person was so gross to you that you had to run away, what the hell? are you 13 again?" You hadn't admitted it outloud yet and it seemed that the dumbass in front of you was going to force it out of you.

Stepping around Bucky you pull your scarf tight around your body as you focus on not crying anymore until you get home. You distract yourself by thinking of all the love you saw in all the little things Bucky did for you. Dancing around the newly furnished bakery body against body as frank sinatra brought you heart to heart, watching rom-coms and ugly crying together, but by the time you get home you force yourself to face the ugly truth. The Love was always in your head. It wasn't real.

A new wave of tears blurred your vision as teardrops fell perfectly to the ground. "It's because I have feelings for you Bucky, and I now know you don't feel the same way." Sniffling you don't bother looking up because your heart is to broken for that right now. "I'm Just gonna need a little bit of time and I'll be back good as new like nothing even happened." Still unable to lift your gaze from the ground you decide to focus on the last cupcake left in the box. 'I Love You' is written in tiny light blue frosting letters. "I uhm, uhh." That brought your attention to Bucky, as embarrassment pulsed as strong as ever through your veins. " You don't have to say anything Buck, It's fine, I'll see you next week, on monday" you hand him the box as you go to pass him "I think you would have a better use for this than me I ate 11 others already so."

Divider credits: @firefly-graphics

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foodieforthoughts · 3 years

Text

Deep in Love

Summary: It's been too long since Chris has been away. When his flight gets delayed, she's sad. But wakes up to Chris ready to take her breath away.

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ content, bodily fluids, oral (female receiving), sexual Intercourse, unprotected sex

A/N: I had to give some loving to my other muse, Mr. Evans. First ever smut and I would like to start with him because he has been the object of my fantasies for more than a decade.

Title: Deep in Love

Chris hated it when I watch his interviews online. He said he only acts the way the public wants him to be like, a little naughty for PR, a little held down to not come off as uncivilized or too out spoken.

To some extent I agreed. Chris was the human equivalent of a teddy bear, soft and cuddly and his intellect was beyond what could be projected through the camera. Chris was more than just a face and I was lucky to see him for who he really was.

Waking up to his sleep ladden eyes, heavy voice with tousled hair was the best sight for me. But I would never lie that seeing him on screen, all primped and dashing, got me craving for him even more.

Especially when he had been away for months on end and Skype calls could only satisfy me so much.

This particular one that I had stumbled on YouTube, a photoshoot interview that featured him answering the same old questions about his life. He always complained he was so tired of repeating the same things, but it was all part of the job eventually. He looked breathtakingly handsome in this one, the photographer had done a fantastic job.

Chris looked the best with his beard-a personal preferance for him and me alike. It was trimmed neatly, his hair slicked back and the beige and brown outfit complimenting him so well. Hearing his voice, that laugh, it just made me miss him more.

Dodger whined from his place on the adjacent couch. Chris's voice from the speakers seemed to have grabbed his attention too.

"Yeah, buddy. I know. I miss him too." I cooed at him.

My phone rang besides me, a video call from the man himself.

"Hi, babe."

How was it possible to be feeling mushy by your boyfriend's voice even after being together for three years?

"Tell me you are reaching home soon." I went to sit near Dodger, ruffling his fur while I spoke to Chris.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Actually, my flight got delayed because of the weather."

I frowned. I had been so excited for him to finally be with me, even prepared his favourite lasagna and bought his favourite wine. I was hoping that he would make in time for lunch and then we could cuddle in the bed while he slept his jet-lag off.

"Hey," he called out. His eyes soft and apologetic. "I'll be home today, don't you worry. Okay?"

I was afraid if he didn't come home tonight, I might forget what it felt like to be buried in his chest, his arms holding me tight. His scent was already close to a faded memory, no matter how hard I tried to remember it.

"I miss you so much." I sounded a bit whiny there, but I really did miss him a lot.

"I miss you too, baby. I can't wait to kiss you till you become breathless." He said in a sing-song voice, trying to make me laugh.

I did chuckle but the thought of being kissed by Chris untill my lungs gave out felt so hot. As my thoughts began drifting to activities that usually followed our out-of-breath kissing, my cheeks heated up and wetness began forming down south.

Dodger decided to bark at the moment, all the way near the door.

"Oh, someone wants to go pee-pee." Chris chuckled and shook his head.

I was thankful that Chris took no notice of my blush because I wasn't sure if I could handle it if he had decided to tease me with some descriptive imagery of our love making. I glanced at our pooch staring at me with expectant eyes to let him out.

"Wait, I'll just let him out-"

"Actually, I'll call you back. Someone is at the door, probably an update. If I'm late, babe, don't wait up okay? I'll kiss you good morning tomorrow."

I nodded and he was gone. I really didn't want to miss giving him a welcome hug when he came home. I didn't want a good morning kiss, I wanted a good night loving.

"Looks like we'll have to wait a little longer for your dad, Bubba." I told Dodger before letting him out.

***

I had no clue what time it was. When I opened my eyes, our bedroom lights were on, music playing from my ear buds, and a warm presence behind me.

Thought about not locking the door securely, or leaving a window open, giving access to a murderous intruder flooded my mind. I turned so quickly to look at the presence, I had to blink several times from the head rush.

My heart was racing from the fear, but it wasn't an intruder's sinister eyes that met mine. The man with soft, blue green eyes with a tired smile on his face looked back at me.

"Chris?" I sat up instantly, giving myself another head rush. But this was incredulous. I really hoped I wasn't dreaming. "Are you really here?" I stupidly asked.

His chest rumbled with his chuckle, him sitting up too. His face so close to mine, his breath washed over my face. A wide smile spread over my face and I threw my arms around him.

He welcomed me and held me tightly against his chest. Oh, how much had I missed the physical contact between us. He felt so warm, so strong, it made my heart flutter. I took a deep breath, the faint scent of his cologne and soap lingering, enveloping me entirely.

Chris pulled back his face, making me look at him. He placed a gentle hand behind my head and slowly placed a kiss on my lips.

I swear I was about to melt. He pulled me closer with his arm, I was almost straddling him now. Our bodies were flushed together, my arms still around his neck.

His beard scuffed against my face, as his lips moved with mine in perfect synchronization.

I had imagined this moment various times in the past months, about our reunion. It always hurt me when he left but whenever he came back, it felt surreal. I could feel the intensity of our kiss deepen with his tongue beginning to move with mine. Warmth spread from my cheeks, to my chest and settled as a heat pooled between my thighs as I tasted his sweet cavern.

I moaned as I felt his erection beginning to strain against his pants, nudging my thigh through the clothes.

The desperation to feel our bodies close, sans the obstructive fabric of our clothes, was so urgent that we nearly tore them off of our bodies. Chris laid me down on the bed, placing himself in between my legs. His cock was hard and ready and my core wet and dripping for him.

But instead, Chris decided to travel down my body. He gently grabbed a hold of my breasts, kneading them and placing kisses all over. My back arched as he took a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucked at it.

I held onto his arms, feeling the tautness of his muscles underneath my touch. I moaned when one of his hands travelled down my body and teased me at my entrance.

"Baby you are so wet. You really did miss me a lot, huh?" He smirked against my breast, his eyes dark and lustful. He placed kisses over my body, goosebumps appearing on my skin, making his way even further down.

I shuddered when he reached in between my thighs, his warm breath against my quivering folds. I let out a shaky breath when he looked at me, his dark eyes lined by his long lashes.

"Oh..." I moaned as he flicked his tongue over my swollen nub. I felt his fingers rubbing at my entrance before he slid one digit in and took my clit in his mouth.

I moaned out his name like a prayer, my hands reaching out and grasping at his head. His soft hair clutched in mine while he performed his ministrations on me.

The heat pooled at the bottom of my belly. He sucked and licked and flicked his tongue over me, another finger joining the first one. I was so immensely starved of his touch, that it did not even take long for me to come against his mouth. My thighs shuddered, my body felt hot and my panting breaths were the only thing audible in the room.

Chris lapped at my juices like it was nectar. He climbed back on top of me, not giving me a moment to relax. He licked his lips while lining his cock against my entrance.

The sound that escaped his lips when he entered the tip of his penis inside me was so erotic. My insides stretched to accommodate him, feeling him bury deep in me.

"Fuck, babe. You feel so tight." He said with a moan when he was fully within.

I finally felt one with him, joined at our bodies, competing each other. He leaned down, lifting my legs to wrap around his waist and kissed me deeply. I could still taste myself on his lips, feel him pulsating inside me. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he pulled out and trusted back inside.

My hips met his thrusts with groans excaping from our lips. The room suddenly was beginning to feel warm, our bodies beginning to sweat. He wound his arms around my waist while I encircled his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. The familiar knotting was beginning to deep within me as Chris hit my sweet spot with each thrust, like he had done a hundred times before.

The time away from each other must have been difficult for both of us, because like me, Chris didn't last long either. Together we came, him shuddering above me with a curse, filling me up. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, digging my nails in his skin, as his final thrusts pushed me over the edge once again.

In a heap of sweaty limbs, we both laid, spent and undone. Chris took deep labored breaths, his head on the pillow besides me. My heart was pounding in my chest as I felt Chris begin to go soft inside me.

"Hell of a reunion, wasn't it?" I managed to speak.

He climbed off of me and laid on his side. His breaths still coming in short but a content smile on his face.

"Told you I'll kiss you good morning." He pulled me over to him, my head resting against his chest. His heart was racing still, I could hear it thumping underneath. He rubbed my arm as his eyes began to close, tiredness getting to him. "Take a nap, babe. We'll need the energy for round two."

I smiled against his chest, hearing him snore and drifting into slumber.

#Chris Evans #Chris Evans fanfic #Chris Evans smut #Chris Evans fluff #Soft Evans

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

Text

descriptions of the acogs crew

in a bout of inspiration and procrastination last night, i wrote descriptions of the five acogs characters in a style that speaks to my heart. these were SO fun to write omg

nikolai:

Skin pale like desert sand, hair black as the night, eyes blue as the Pelia, flowing robes that melt into the shadows with only hints of Urkonic plum to bring them out. Nikolai has been the subject of many paintings, many more poems, even more various works of art.

He has risen from nothing, as they all do, to luxury and power, bringing with him an unconscious air of the inexplicable magic that stems from the Staarenclock. From the cerulean diadem that drips from his hair while he sprawls on his throne, to the shining black paint on his fingernails, to the jewelry that rests on his neck, he attracts, he seduces, disappoints.

He’s never tried, and until he was queen, he never noticed. When he did, it became a tool to sate his momentary desires, a temporary fix for his long term ache, a way of fooling people. No one believes a pretty queen is capable of anything.

Good.

saige:

Make no mistake: Saige Heket is a king from head to toe, from morning to night, from dreams to waking hours to the nightmares of her enemies. Bushy brown hair is a statement, brown skin is covered in scars that prove her battle prowess, brown eyes can harden with hate as quickly as they can soften with love.

Impeccably pressed and cleaned trousers and jackets show dignity, a polished sword and a clean scabbard going into battle show diligence. She is no ratty, uncoordinated soldier. After winning in a ring against eight other children, she started a war with purpose, with a fire burning in her heart, and she has never backed down from a fight.

Crossbow comes easily to her as sword, which comes easily as breathing, which comes easily as checking over her shoulder. Saige Heket is a fierce, endless fire of emotion—rage or compassion or resentment, she stokes the hearth of her heart with her sword.

asma:

Asma al-Baz brings gold to mind. The golden pin on her green headscarf is her crown, golden brown skin remains unbroken, carefully protected and hidden under silk sleeves. Light brown eyes contain flecks of gold, reflect the gold she craves.

She does not need height or tall shoes to make up for it when she can freeze a man in his tracks with just a look, do whatever she likes with him at a word. The only one she serves is her god, but she has promised she’ll serve her people with the gold they give her. She’ll build them new cities and archways and monuments mimicking the ones from golden centuries before, she says, she’ll use flecks of gold in the paintings she plans to hang in the buildings.

Asma is a statue herself, made of gold, unreal, above humanity and her people. But gold is soft, no matter how cold, and eventually it will melt.

kayani:

The king of Tel Cairis hides themself in many ways, but opens small windows for those willing to squint. A metal on their green jacket one day, a ribbon the next, showing their accomplishments and earnings. Not to brag, not to establish their right to be king, just for self-assurance. A well needed boost.

They don’t care about fixing their dark hair, forever in a state of disarray, usually a sign of a sleepless night’s work. Clothes in Cairic tan and green and brown are worn for practicality, not style. Eight months of the year, when Kayani is away gathering resources for their people to survive, each jacket and pair of trousers is the same.

Their boots are forever coated with desert dust. Light brown skin scars badly on the inevitable slips or training cuts, but warm eyes like the coffee they love offer kindness to anyone seeking it.

katya:

Katya Rodi Vassil has always been taught not to command a room, so she did the opposite. When she walks into the sunken in gambling dens of dim light and darker characters, flowing orange hair like a river of fire, eyes cold and sharp like dying grass, and wire spectacles that could cut can do nothing but command a room.

No smile crosses her face when she sits down at the card tables, white folds strung over her shoulder and settling around her like the aftermath of a great storm. Plain, trimmed nails on fingers harsh and white pick up purple cards, her weapon of choice.

The eldest daughter of Actium doesn’t need to open her mouth to draw every eye, to receive breathless anticipation as she lays down card after card. A glimpse of a pale heel locked into a tan sandal strap is all you will see when she leaves to collect her payment, dragging the bright spotlight of the world with her.

Not yet a queen, a king, only a princess, but already bigger than all of them.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies

#writing #writeblr #fantasy writeblr #my wip #my writing #my ocs #fantasy #high fantasy #lila's wips: acogs

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kingofhearts709 · 3 years

Note

Prompt: bill and ted give each other haircuts

hello yes im sorry this is late but this is adorable and im happy to write this excellent prompt ❤️

A/N: SO! this came out SO MUCH LONGER than i expected. like i was just gonna cute-drabble it but then my brain was like "NO PERFECT CONCEPT MUST EAT IT." snd I'm very happy to have written it all. im setting this at like pre-excellent adventure.

anyways i hope you have a lovely day and to please enjoy this little thing 💓"

---

Ted blew his bangs out of his face for the fifth time since he'd sat down on Bill's bed, trying to focus on his comic and finding the ultimate difficulty in reading between the long strands. His hair almost reached past his shoulders, and Missy's abandoned scrunchies were starting to look most intriguing.

Bill was no better. Every time he ran his fingers through his hair, they wound up tangled. There was no way he'd be able to handle brushing it every single morning, but the habit of messing with his hair was too ingrained.

"Dude, we need haircuts," Bill grumbled as his forefinger caught on a twisty piece of fringe. "I'm gonna look like a seventies disco dude." Ted snickered at that, and Bill thwacked his chest lightly. "Shut up, Ted, I'm serious."

"Well, my dad won't even pay for a good haircut," Ted huffed, dropping his comic book and blowing his bangs away once more. "If he did, it'd be a buzz." He paused for a moment before suggesting, "You don't suppose Missy could cut our hair?" Bill let out a laugh.

"I would be most doubtful of her skills."

"Okay, well... How much do haircuts cost?"

"More than we can afford." Ted frowned and looked down. "My dad would probably just tell me to cut my hair myself if I asked." It went silent for a moment before a lightbulb lit up in Ted's brain, and he bounced on the bed with enthusiasm.

"...Well, why don't we?"

"Why don't we what, dude?"

"Cut our own hair!"

The idea thrown out to the wind sounded more than insane. Neither of them knew the first thing about cutting each other's hair, let alone their own.

But the thing about Bill and Ted was that, as long as they did it together, it was more than enough reason to say why not?

"Ted, my friend, your idea is definitely most forward-thinking!" Bill complimented, jumping up. "We both know what each other's hair looks like, so we'll totally be able to replicate it!"

The wide grin on Ted's face was enough to break it, jumping up with Bill and looking around.

"I'll go get hair stuff," Bill said as he rushed towards the door. "You get a chair set up." Ted nodded as Bill bolted from the room, going to the corner to grab an old twisty chair that they never used. It still twisted, and was just about the right height for cutting hair, it seemed.

Ted was testing the chair by spinning in fast circles when Bill came back in with a pair of kitchen scissors and two huge towels. He swayed a little as he regained his normal vision from spinning, seeing that Bill was also carrying a spray bottle filled with water, a brush and comb, and a tube of hair product.

"I grabbed some other stuff from Missy's counter, too," Bill said as he dropped it all down on the bed. He picked up the tube and read it, "Something called...'Gar-near Fruck-tiss.' The instructions say it makes your hair smooth." Ted gave an intrigued head tilt before giving a nod and a smile.

"Well, dude, smooth me!" Ted joked, and Bill gave him a look before they found themselves air-guitaring.

Bill wrapped one of the towels around Ted's neck and shoulders, making sure he pulled his hair out from underneath. Bill leant down to assess it, squinting to see if it would help him decide on a course of correct action.

"How short should I cut it, dude?" Bill finally asked. Ted brought up a hand and hovered it palm down before holding it right where his chin ended as reference, and Bill nodded, picking up the spray bottle and spraying Ted's entire head all over until his hair went damp through.

"Bill, you are most concentrated," Ted hummed as Bill ran the comb through his hair to measure it down. It was already frayed from whenever his last haircut had been, it seemed. "Do you actually know what you're doing?"

"Uh...," Bill hummed, shrugging. "I used to watch my mom get her hair cut before when I was a little kid, I guess. They always wet your hair and then do this trippy snippy thing."

Ted snorted as Bill snipped the scissors a couple of times in the air before diving into Ted's hair, holding the length to cut off between his fingers and slowly scissoring away.

It was quiet while Bill worked on his hair, Ted doing his best to keep still, even if he really wanted to turn his head and see exactly what was happening. The only sounds filling the room were Bill walking around him and the snip of the scissors.

As soon as Bill cut off the last edge of Ted's hair, he stepped back and studied his work, furrowing his brows before grinning.

"Dude, I totally nailed you!" he exclaimed, and the redness to Ted's cheeks caused him to add on, "Uh- Your hair, I mean. It looks most bodacious." Ted looked around the room frantically for any reflection, and jumped when Bill held up a mirror in front of his face.

Bill really had done an excellent job. His hair was back to its regular length, hanging right around his chin. His bangs were still a problem, though, and he looked over at Bill and gestured to them.

"Oh, dude, yeah," Bill huffed as he dropped the mirror back where he'd grabbed it and picked up the scissors again. "Sorry, Ted, I forgot your main problem is your egregiously long bangs."

"They're like curtains for my face, duder," Ted hummed as Bill began to separate the bangs from the rest of his hair. He cursed when he grabbed too much of Ted's already-trimmed sections before Ted spoke up, "Oh, dude, grab one of Missy's scrunchies!" Bill raised a brow before following Ted's gaze to the bedside table, where about four of Missy's scrunchies were sitting. How they got there, Bill personally didn't want to think about it. Regardless, he went over to grab one and handed it over to Ted so he could pull his hair back and let Bill have full reign on his bangs.

"Where do they usually end?" he asked as he eyeballed possible measurements with his fingers. His face wasn't unreasonably close to Ted's, considering the circumstances, but it still made Ted nervous.

"Just, like, enough so I can see okay, I guess," Ted said, and Bill nodded as he took the comb and brushed his bangs even before sticking the handle in between his teeth and bringing the scissors up.

At this angle, Ted could see Bill's entire process as he watched his hair being snipped off. The way his face was scrunched in concentration, his gentle movements to make sure he wasn't tugging Ted's head any direction.

He didn't realise Bill was finished until he saw his reflection in the mirror when it was held up.

He looked good, if not better than before, with Bill's handiwork.

"How'd I do, dude?" Bill asked, and Ted reached up to touch his already drying hair. "Want me to put the Fruck-tiss in it?"

"Uh- Yeah, dude, sure." Ted looked over to see Bill grabbing the tube and opening it up, squirting a generous amount into his palm. "Do I have to wash it out?"

"Uh...," Bill turned the tube in his hand and scrunched his nose, shaking his head. "It says to leave in for fifteen minutes and your hair will be, 'smooth and sleek.'" He looked up. "Ready?"

"Yeah, Bill."

After a moment, Ted felt Bill's hands and fingers running right through his hair, keeping away from his scalp as per the instructions on the tube. It was smooth and gentle and overall intimate the way Bill paid careful attention to Ted's hair, running his fingers through. He might've put too much product in, but they could always wash it out if needed.

"Alright!" Bill said when the product was more or less incorporated. "You have been fully transformed into your most authentic self, my friend!"

"Dude, excellent!" Ted said as Bill took the towel off of him, trying not to get the hair everywhere (it already was, but that was beside the point). "My turn, Bill!" Ted stood up and took an exaggerated bow towards the twisty chair, gesturing for Bill to take a seat. Bill bowed back before dropping down and smiling.

Ted mimicked his actions from earlier, draping the towel around his neck and grabbing the spray bottle. However, Bill's hair was curly and almost like a jewfro, and he briefly wondered how he was going to cut it down.

"Dude, I don't think water is going to help," Ted said as he looked around at Bill's head. "You do have one stellar mullet now, but the rest is growing up." Hesitantly, he ran his fingers gently through Bill's curly hair, feeling just how insanely tangled it was. Bill briefly shivered at the motion, telling himself internally to just relax.

He'd already cut Ted's hair, so he should know what to expect, but still, the shock of actually feeling Ted's hands and fingers gave him the most unusual of feelings in his chest. He wasn't necessarily sure if they were nerves or emotions, but either way, it sent a shiver down his spine every time Ted's skin connected to him.

Bill bit the inside of his cheek as Ted stuck his tongue out and tested a single lock of hair, snipping off the end before grinning, nodding as he started to continue.

"Dude, it's like trimming a bush!" he laughed as he went all around, mimicking Bill once more by holding each lock between his fingers. Bill's blond hair fell and separated with each snip that the scissors gave. Ted's movements were slow and calculated, his genuine care for making sure he cut Bill's hair in the most correct way making Bill feel a little more than special.

It took Ted longer than it took Bill to finish up, giving a lock one last cut before jumping back and grinning as he crossed his arms.

"Dude, how is it?" Bill asked, gesturing. "Gimme that mirror!" Ted straightened up as he remembered, turning in a couple of circles before picking it up off the the bed and holding it up.

Ted hadn't done a terrible job, he had to admit. He turned his head back and forth, his smile growing as he saw Ted show up behind him in the reflection. He took a hand and ran it through his hair front to back.

It took Bill a second before he concluded that Ted forgot to cut off his mullet, and he grinned with a scoff.

"Dude, you totally missed the back," Bill said, his hand flipping the hair in Ted's view. Ted frowned as he stood up straight and tilted his head.

"Did I, dude?" he raised his eyebrows, reaching down to move Bill's away and examine it. "Bill, if I might be totally honest, you have always had this mullet, though I will admit it's much longer than normal..."

"No way, dude," Bill rolled his eyes in response. "Gimme those scissors." He reached back to grab the utensil from Bill's hand, a most dangerous risk. Ted, however, held back the pair with a grin.

"Dude, you'll be a total mullet-head!" Ted laughed as he turned and jumped up on the bed, knocking a couple of the items onto the floor. Bill spun around in his seat and looked at the scissors clasped wrong-way-up in Ted's fist.

Bill eyed him for a long moment before bolting up from the chair in a lunge, a total disregard for all those 'safety with scissors' rules from grade school. Ted leaped off the bed for the corner, Bill chasing him there. They could only run around in the small confines of Bill's room, so there weren't many places for Ted to go, nor space to make between himself and Bill.

It became apparent when Ted got onto the bed again and Bill fully tackled him so he had him trapped underneath.

Ted was still laughing even when Bill had him pinned by the wrists and was currently looking down on him with the most fondest of looks, a huge smile gracing his entire face.

"Dude," Ted said through chuckles as he flipped his newly cut bangs away from his eyes, "you look definitively bodacious with your mullet. I think you should keep it." Bill tilted his head.

"Ted, my friend, there is nothing in your head that could ever convince me." Ted let out a laugh before he looked at it over Bill's shoulder, comtemplating.

"I like it on you, dude."

It didn't take long for Bill's brain to immediately agree with that statement.

"You think so, dude?" Bill found himself asking, and Ted looked back to Bill's face, smiling with a nod.

"Most triumphantly." The words put a smile on his own lips, and the warm, butterfly-feeling in his chest was new but most definitely welcome as he squeezed Ted's wrists.

"Well, then, Ted, my most excellent and esteemed partner, I suppose I must keep it just for you."

#the king speaks #bill and ted #bill s. preston esq.#ted theodore logan #bnt #im so so so sorrh this took so long #ily 🎸#bill and ted's excellent adventure #bill and teds bogus journey #bill and ted face the music

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mourntheantagonist · 3 years

Text

Billy Hargrove’s Exploration of Beauty

Part 6: Split Ends

also on ao3

***

It all happened so fast. Like he blinked his eyes and he went from behind an ice cream counter to a hundred feet below ground level. Tied up to a chair in front of his coworker who he had barely even known. Who he was beginning to like. And despite being told after the fact that whole days had passed, his little vacation didn’t feel so long. Having been blacked out and drugged out of his mind for the most of it. It was quick to be over with. Could have almost have been excused as a fever dream.

The events following his escape went by fast too. Coming up to the main floor only to find out that they might have just been safer underground. Hearing news of the mind flayer being back just went in one ear out the other.

Finding out Billy was among the flayed. That stuck. But he hid the fear. Suppressed it. Because they didn’t have the time to dwell on that.

Driving up to Cerebro felt quick. Considering he drove like a bat out of hell, that wasn’t that hard to believe.

Slamming into the side of the Camaro. He had his eyes closed for that one. But it went by fast. It had to. “It’s not Billy” he had chanted in his mind.

Everything was quickly paced. Moving from one thing to another swiftly. Nothing felt like it had dragged on.

Until he was up on that balcony.

And he watched as the mindflayer skewered his boyfriend through the chest. It was all slow motion. Felt like watching a movie that would never end. Watching as it went in and out. Tearing flesh and breaking bone. Collapsing to the floor with a loud thud that echoed throughout the mall. Lying there motionless. Bleeding out onto the disgusting mall tile. Dying. He was dying.

He’d later hear from Robin that when he was up on that balcony she had to hold him back from jumping over the ledge. Kicking and screaming. “I have to get to him!”

Everything following that moment felt like slow motion. Agonizing slow motion.

Driving to the hospital that held Billy. Max in the passenger seat. It was silent. And they must have hit every red light on the way.

The trip up the elevator to the floor he was on. Unbearably slow.

The line they stood in to speak to the front desk. Unbearably long.

The wait until they were ready for them to come back. It felt like forever.

And just as he was ready to pass through the glass doors into the hall of the ICU, there was a hand on his chest. A nurse of about five-foot-five looking to be in her mid-to-late forties had stopped him. “Family members only at this time.” She’d said. He wanted to yell at her. Say he’s the closest thing Billy has to family. But he kept his mouth shut. Bowed his head and ushered Max along, despite her protests.

“Go see your brother, Max. I’ll be okay.”

But he wouldn’t. Steve wouldn’t see Billy for the first time for over a month. The longest month of his life.

Months spent with Billy beginning to fade away in this never ending cycle of being alone. Waking up everyday to an empty bed. Not even being able to make a phone call just to hear his voice. Being without him in every way. Not hearing his laugh or seeing his smile or just feeling his skin against his. He tried to hold on to all of those good memories. But they were slipping away.

It all went downhill when Max had called him from the ICU. It was two in the morning and she was there with Chief Hopper, despite knowing she shouldn’t be. Steve hid his anger around Hopper, trying his best not to hate him. Because he got special privileges and Steve didn’t. It was two in the morning and he was sitting in his living room watching a random movie, curled up in a blanket and hugging a pillow. He hadn’t been sleeping very well. The left side of his bed cold and vacant.

Max didn’t usually call this late. The ringing of the phone startled him and made his heart race. Because something must be wrong.

“Steve?” Max’s voice came over the line.

“Is something wrong?” He had to get straight to the point.

The pause felt like forever. His breath caught in his throat, hands trembling waiting for her to say something.

“They want to cut his hair.”

June 10th, 1985

“I think I want to grow out my hair.”

Billy says it to him that day while curled up in his bed. Steve’s fingers tenderly combing through his curly blonde locks. It’s soft. Void of any hairspray and all natural in its full curly glory. Smell of cheap drugstore shampoo. Slightly minty.

“Grow it out? It’s already long.” Steve says. He’s not wrong. Billy’s hair is already shoulder length and that’s with his naturally tight curls. Wet and brushed out it’s even longer. About to his collar bones.

“I know that. But I’d like for it to be longer. Is that okay?”

“Are you asking for my permission? Because you know you don’t have to do that.”

“I know. Just wanted to know what you thought.”

“More hair to grab onto? Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

Billy laughs and leans into Steve.

Billy had been getting better about voicing his feelings about things. Finding it easier to settle into himself in the company of Steve. Gaining a trust that Steve wouldn’t look at him like others would have if they had seen a boy take pleasure in a feminine aesthetic. Painted nails and soft makeup and even sexy lingerie when the mood was just right. Things he’d never allow leave the walls of Steve’s house, but had been able to set free when he was inside.

“Can I ask what made you want to do this?”

“Max braided my hair last night, but it’s too short on top so it was all sticking out.” Steve couldn’t see the smile peek onto Billy’s face or the rosy tint on his cheeks. “But I liked it.”

Max and Dustin had come to learn about the two of them. About not only their relationship but about Billy. About the little things he does to feel beautiful. Billy wasn’t as open with the two of them as he was with Steve. But they were nice about it. Supportive like Steve was. Billy would say it was nice having someone else in on the secret. Even if it scared him shitless having even just Steve in the know.

“Good. I bet you look amazing with your hair braided.”

“Do you know how?” Billy seems timid in the way he asks. But not like he used to be. His voice is consistent in tone and there is an ounce of confidence there.

Steve’s in the middle of wrapping a curl around his finger until he reaches Billy’s scalp. “A little. I used to braid Carol’s when we were little. Not sure how good I am now.”

“Do you want to try?” Same voice as before. Hopeful tinge to it that makes Steve smile.

“Go get me a brush.”

- : -

Steve barely listens to the rest of the call. He’s already getting ready to leave for the hospital before he even hangs up the phone. Barely bothering to make himself presentable. Going out to his car wearing a pair of pajama pants and one of his father’s college sweatshirts.

Max had told him to come. So he was already out the door. Letting himself imagine what Billy might look like now. It’s been over a month so he surely looks a lot different from when he last saw him. Hopefully he looks much different considering the last time he saw him he was drenched in his own blood with a hole in his chest. Max had taken pictures of Billy at the hospital, but he couldn’t bear to look at them. He needed to actually be there the first time he saw Billy, or he might completely lose his mind. If he hasn’t already.

The hospital is a full forty minute drive outside of Hawkins. But it’s two in the morning and the roads are almost entirely empty. So he floors it. Driving fifteen over the whole trip. Releasing all of the anxiety and anticipation into the weight of his foot to increase his speed.

He’s driving like he’s heading there to say goodbye. Like he’s getting ready to say his last words to the dying man in the hospital bed. Tell anyone else he’s driving this recklessly over a potential haircut they’d think he’d be being dramatic. To put it mildly.

But it was more than just hair. Billy’s hair meant something more than just the evolutionary purpose of keeping your head warm.

Losing his hair would be like losing a limb. It was a part of him. So much of his identity contained within each strand of dirty blonde. The one thing he had control over. The one thing Neil never bothered to touch. Hair he had been growing out for the better part of five years having only recently begun trimming it, and even more recently begun growing it out again. The bulk of the hair on his head was the same exact hair that had been with him through all of it. Through every beating. Through every milestone. Always there sitting on his shoulders.

It was the thing that brought him comfort in knowing it was his. That it would always be there. It was like his coat of armor. It was like a shield. Something he always used to hide behind. Something that protected him. Something that made stepping out into the world just a little bit bearable.

But then with Steve he didn’t use it to hide behind. When he was with Steve he let it fall. He let it soften and lose the stiffness brought upon by too much hairspray. He let Steve comb his fingers through it. Touch the very thing that gave him a glimpse of comfort. Because Steve did too. Steve’s gentle and caring hands combing through tangles while they lay together in bed. The same hands braiding his hair while they sat in front of the TV. Billy on the floor with his back to the couch. Sitting in between Steve’s legs as he tries to incorporate the shorter strands at the front of his head into the cascade of woven hair. Slicking it down with water and hairspray only for the short strands to sprout up only after only a couple of minutes. Billy never did get his perfect braid.

They want to take it off. They want to take it all off. Even though it’s not necessary. They wanted to take away the one thing Billy had left after everything. After it was all taken away from him. Steve had already destroyed the Camaro. The only thing he’d be walking out of the mall with would be that fucking hair and thankfully his beating heart.

And he would have Steve. He would always have Steve.

If he still wanted him when he woke up.

Steve passed the “Leaving Hawkins” sign at a whopping seventy miles per hour. Paying no mind to potential police surveying the road. Wasting no time at all.

June 20th, 1985

Billy’s wearing a scrunchie in his hair when he comes to Steve’s house after his shift. His hair is still drying from the pool water but is still so bouncy and shiny in the evening sunlight, and the little blue scrunchie in his hair makes him melt. The way the pink and orange hues of a perfect sunset warm the color of each strand. The ways his ears are fully exposed, his earring dangling and perfectly reflecting the light. The way the little strands at the front of his head fall into his eyes. The way it’s so messy yet so elegant at the same time. His heart soars. He looks beautiful.

Steve tells him that. With a kiss on the lips before he walks through the front door.

“Where’s the scrunchie from?” Steve asks.

“Stole it out of Heather’s locker.”

Steve gave Billy a fake shocked expression. “My boyfriend? A thief? It can’t be.”

Billy walks past Steve and into the house. “Relax, I swear there’s like fifty of them in there. She won’t even notice.” He takes a seat on the right side of the couch, like he always did.

Steve sits beside him, leaning his entire body up against Billy and burying his head into the crook of his neck. Billy still strongly smells of chlorine and he used to hate that smell until it became a signal that Billy was around. Suddenly it had become one of his favorite scents.

“Well it looks like we’re just going to have to get you some of your own doesn’t it?” Steve starts twirling his finger around one of the loose strands at the front of his face. “It looks real pretty.”

Pretty.

That was a newer word for them. Dropping the ‘boy’ at the end because it didn’t feel necessary anymore. Sometimes even made him feel a little like he was implying that boys couldn’t be pretty, needing to add the specification. Billy was becoming far more comfortable with himself and embracing it all. Beginning to believe that men could be pretty and that didn’t have to detract from anything.

So Steve called him pretty. He called him beautiful and gorgeous and stunning because he was. Because Billy deserved to hear it. And because it made him happy.

“Showers weren’t working at the pool. Need to wash the chlorine out. You gonna join me?”

“Oh absolutely.”

- : -

The trip through the hospital gives Steve flashbacks. Flashbacks to the night him and Max anxiously made the trek to the hospital wing Billy was in. Every moment he was currently experiencing felt like the memory. Sweaty palms gripping the handles in the elevator while the cage slowly moves up to the fifth floor. Shoulders hunched, leaning all his weight onto the bar as he curses each time the elevator stops. Foot tapping in anxiety as he waits and waits and waits until finally the doors slide open onto the fifth floor.

Steve ignores the lineup of people at the front desk and heads towards the glass door through which he can see Hopper. He wasn’t going to wait anymore. Fully prepared to bypass the stout man they had guarding the door.

Two hands come in contact flat against his chest as he gets within a foot of the door. So close to grabbing the handle. Steve leans all his weight against the man. Straight faced like a man on a mission.

“Let me through.”

Steve knows how he looks. Adorning comfortable clothes looking completely disheveled. Hair a mess, sweat forming on his brow, practically foaming at the mouth as he attempts to push his way past. His voice determined as he repeats himself.

“I can’t allow that sir. You do not have permission.”

The man just stands his ground. Hands still flat against Steve’s chest, applying very little pressure, but enough to prevent Steve from storming through.

“Let me through.” It’s louder this time. Enough to where he’s beginning to cause a scene in the middle of the waiting area. Staff and the rest all turning their heads towards the disarranged man on the verge of a public tantrum. He looks all kinds of mad, like he belongs in a padded room, restrained and straight-jacketed. He repeats himself over and over again until his voice starts to break. The man is not budging, and Steve doesn’t have the strength.

Then there’s a strong hand grabbing his bicep. Steve’s haze still recognizes it as belonging to a separate party.

“Let the kid in. He’s with me.” It’s Hopper’s distinct voice that breaks him from the daze. The man blocking his way moves to the left and removes his hands from his chest, nearly causing him to fall forward.

Hopper guides Steve through the glass doors. This is the furthest he’s made it. He can feel Billy’s presence just right around the corner. He’s not sure if that’s just because he can hear Max’s voice echoing through the halls as she argues loudly with the nurses on call.

“Good thing you’re here. Max has been guarding Billy for an hour. It’s just hair. I don’t know what the issue is.”

Steve just looks at Hopper, completely stone cold.

“It’s not just hair.”

He storms past him and into the room where Max is standing in front of Billy’s bed with her arms outstretched while two nurses try to reason with her. Steve stalls when he finally looks past Max and gets a glimpse of Billy.

He’s pale, but still tanner than Steve. He has more stubble than he would have liked but it’s still trimmed. The mask over his mouth and nose block his view slightly. His eyes are closed and he looks very peaceful.

And his hair is longer. A lot longer.

Splayed across the white pillow underneath him, his tight waves look to be at the very least an inch longer than the last time he’d seen him. Bangs falling into his face extending all the way down to the tip of his nose. It looks soft. Shiny like satin under the hospital fluorescent. He looks heavenly and angelic and that freaks Steve out.

Heavenly and angelic.

Asleep. Dead to the world. Dead.

Except he wasn’t dead. The crests and troughs of the heart monitor proving such to be true. But it felt too close. Like it was right around the corner and he had to be careful not to alert death to their location.

Steve walked past the shouting fourteen year old without a word and approached Billy’s bedside. Upon closer inspection he notices how Billy’s body has frailed. Previously cut muscles, now soft and smooth. Yet he didn’t look sickly. He was still looking more built than Steve, even. Steve moves a fallen hair from out of his eyes, like it was blocking his vision out of his closed lids. Gently tracing his finger across his hairline to behind his ear where he tucked back another strand. His skin was warm. Blood still coursing through his veins. He was definitely alive. And somehow Steve felt his presence. Knew deep down Billy was still in there.

He’s not paying attention to the screaming match taking place behind him. And they’re not paying attention to him. He’s just staring at Billy. Like he’s looking at the Mona Lisa. Behind six inches of bulletproof glass. He can’t get to him. He can’t reach him. But he’s there. He can see him. And god he’s as beautiful as ever.

It’s not the ear piercing screams from an enraged teenage girl or the annoyed combativeness from the two young nurses that separates his attention from Billy. It’s a strong hand on his shoulder that somehow both gently and forcefully pulls him back.

“Alright everyone that’s enough!” Hopper doesn’t shout but his deep and full voice carries an intensity that shuts everybody up. “One at a time, please?”

“You have no right to shave his entire head! You only have to shave off a small patch for the surgery, you said it yourself!” Max is fuming. The only word that sticks in Steve’s head is surgery. He doesn’t bother asking. Not sure if knowing would make it easier to swallow.

“We actually do have the right. His father already gave us consent to do so. It’s you who doesn’t have the right kid.” Steve has to physically restrain himself. Looking back at Billy as his fists clenched and his fingernails dug crescents into his palms at the mention of Neil.

Neil having the final say over the one thing he never touched. That was something Steve had promised Billy he would protect him from. Not the hair. Protect him from Neil taking anything more from him.

“Besides, a man’s hair shouldn’t be that long anyway.”

If Steve didn’t have the self control he did, there would surely be a nurse with a broken nose. Instead he turns back to Billy again. Looking at him. Trying to pull some answers from him.

I wish you could just tell me what to do.

“When does it need to be done by?” It’s the first thing Steve’s said since he entered the room.

“His surgery is scheduled for nine this morning. So you’ve got around five hours.”

Steve hasn’t turned towards the nurses. Hasn’t turned his head away from Billy.

“Then give us five hours.”

Steve’s expression when he finally turns back to look at the two nurses is mean. Attempting to get it across that he’s not asking.

“Five hours.” They say as they nod their heads and walk out. Annoyed expressions on their faces.

“Steve you can’t let them -“

“They won’t.” Steve takes a long look at Billy. Taking a deep breath as he glances towards the scissors that sit on the medical tray. “I’m going to do it.”

Max doesn’t say anything, which is actually a good sign. An even better sign is when she finally removes herself from her guarded position at the foot of the bed to come join Steve.

He pulls down at one of the shorter strands at the front of Billy’s head. Pulled taut, the spiral reaches all the way just past his chin.

“You think it’s long enough for a braid?”

June 20th, 1985

After a very hot and heavy make out session against the shower walls, the two actually take a shower. Despite having done so many times before, showering together always feels so intimate. Standing with each other, naked and alone in a very vulnerable position,

just existing without jumping each other’s bones. It was nice. It was just more proof that what the two of them ran deep. Soaping up each other’s bodies. That was something so personal.

Steve was running his fingers through Billy’s soap covered hair. Billy’s back turned to Steve as he did it. Letting the water from the faucet rinse his front while he let Steve play with the individual strands of his hair.

Steve liked the way Billy’s hair looked when wet. Still maintaining a curl no matter how saturated in water it got. The way it darkened to a near dark brown and he could easily be mistaken for a brunette.

The shampoo smells like coconut. Stolen straight from his mothers bathroom. The fumes mixed with the steam of the hot water clearing his senses and making his breathing feel so easy.

Steve pulls at one of his curls until it’s completely straight. Careful not to pull too hard.

“It’s already getting longer, baby.”

Because his back is turned, Steve doesn’t see the wide smile appear onto Billy’s face. Because the water is falling into his face, Steve doesn’t see the tears of joy form into his eyes.

Yet Steve knows without seeing. He wraps his arms around Billy’s waist and pulls him in close. Presses kisses into the mole on the back of his shoulder.

“It’s gonna look so good.”

“You think so?”

“You bet. I’d say give it two more weeks and I can get these little suckers into a braid.”

- : -

Steve remembers saying that so vividly. Because exactly two weeks later would be the Fourth of July. The same day that Billy’s life would nearly be taken. It felt like some cruel joke.

Now Steve is sitting in a hospital bed with his comatose boyfriends sitting in between his legs as he brushes through his hair. Trying to hold it together in front of Max and Hopper.

Steve’s not entirely sure Hopper has been made aware of the true nature of his and Billy’s relationship. He figures he’s probably pieced it together by now. And he’s pretty sure he doesn’t really care if he knows or not. He’s too focused on Billy. Focused on the man in between his legs. Focused on making him look as beautiful as he can while his hair is still on his head. Trying not to focus that it’s going to be his hands that will cut it off. Because it has to be his hands. Or else it’ll end up inadvertently being Neil’s hands.

And he wouldn’t let that happen.

Max hasn’t said much since he’d arrived. He can tell she feels guilty that Steve had been blocked from seeing Billy for so long. Especially considering how easy it was to get him past those doors. She’s just sitting in the chair at his bedside holding Billy’s hand. He is angry. But not at Max. He’s not really angry at anyone one particular person. He’s angry at the entire situation they’re in and he doesn’t know how to express that anger to Max without screaming. So he keeps his mouth shut and gently brushes the tangles out of Billy’s hair.

“I’m going to head downstairs for some food. Do you want me to bring anything up for you two?” Hopper says. He too has been mostly silent. Clearly pretty confused about the situation.

Max’s eyes lit up. “My bag. It’s in your car. Can you grab it?”

“Sure thing kiddo. You Steve?”

“A cup of coffee would be nice.”

Hopper tousled his and Max’s hair. “You got it. I’ll be back in a bit. Please for the love of God don’t yell at anymore nurses. They’re just doing their job.”

Hopper leaves the two of them and Steve finally begins braiding Billy’s hair. Combing his hair front to back before taking three small strands and began attempting a French braid.

“What’s in the bag?” He asks.

Max smiles. Looking down at Billy’s bare fingernails. “My Polaroid. Thought maybe he might like to have some pictures.”

“I think he’d like that.” Steve’s looking down at Billy’s hand in Max’s. “You have any nail polish in there?”

“I think so.”

“That’s good, maybe we can paint them.” Steve’s being extremely focused on braiding. Making sure it’s clean and precise and making sure no strand is sticking out. And it’s going a lot better than usual. Only needing to slick down a couple stray pieces. All while carefully pressing kisses to the top of his head as he makes his way down the length of his hair. Down his neck until he’s reached the end where he finally ties it off with a hair tie off of Max’s wrist.

“How’s it look?” Steve asks.

“He looks pretty.”

Steve can’t help it anymore. Can’t hold back the stream of tears that have been bottled up and threatening to overflow since he got the call. The tears squeeze through tightly closed eyelids and roll down his cheeks as he just buries his face into Billy’s braided hair.

“He does. Doesn’t he?” Steve gently wraps his arms around Billy’s chest, careful around the dressing over his scar. Fully taking in for the first time that Billy is still here. For the past month Billy’s being alive was just simply something he was told. Never something he got to see. Now he does see it. Now he sees it and he feels the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Feels his heart beat against his chest. He’s right there and he was going to be okay.

He had to be okay. That was the only way Steve would be okay too.

“I’m sorry.” Max apologizes. He knows why she says it. He doesn’t need clarification.

“It’s not your fault.”

Max gives Steve a half smile and uses her free hand to squeeze his shoulder.

“I don’t want to cut his hair.” Steve takes in a deep breath. “But I know it has to be me.”

“I could do it.”

Steve shakes his head at her. “No. I made a promise. It can’t be anyone else.”

“Well I’ll be here with you if it helps.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you for loving my brother.”

They sit there for a while in just complete silence save for the muffled chatter from outside the walls and the occasional beeping from one of the many machines Billy had been wired up to. Hopper only arrives around ten minutes later with two coffees in hand and a red Jansport on his shoulder. He hands Steve his cup and Max her backpack and takes a seat in the other chair that’s near the door.

“You two alright?” Hopper asks. He probably noticed Steve’s tear stained cheeks and the somber atmosphere of the room he walked into.

The two of them nod. Steve goes in to begin nursing the hot cup of coffee and Max begins to sift through her bag. Pulling out her camera case and two small glass bottles.

“I have red and orange.”

“Billy hates orange Max! You know this!” Steve laughs.

“I know that. Was just messing with you.” She tosses the bottle of red nail polish over to Steve. “You paint, I’ll take pictures.”

Max takes a few shots while Steve coats Billy’s nails in a shiny bright red varnish. Still in the same position of Billy sitting in between Steve’s legs with a pillow on his chest for Billy to lay back on. He brings a coated hand to his lips to gently blow dry. All the while Max is snapping candid photos of the two, passing each piece of film over to Hopper for him to put into his shirt pocket to allow it to develop.

“You guys want one of all three of you?” Hopper asks. He’s been mostly silent the whole time. Nursing his own coffee while he watched Max prance around the room with her camera.

“That would be great.” Max says, handing the camera over to Hopper before she makes her way over to the bedside. Leaning into the frame. Steve pulls Billy’s braid forward so that it’s now draped over his shoulder and visible. Intertwining his fingers with Billy’s now dry and red coated ones. He smiles as the flash temporarily blinds him.

They take as many more photos as they can until Max has run out of film. Hours pass and the hour hand is approaching eight o’clock. Meaning it’s about time.

About time to say goodbye.

The process begins slowly. Undoing the braid being the first step. Undoing the thing Billy really wanted to see for himself. The thing he’ll only get to experience in pictures. It hurt to pull the elastic from his hair and run his fingers through the perfectly woven strands.

The next part was securing it all back up into a ponytail at the top of his head. That way all Steve would have to do was make one single cut and be done with it. Allow the nurses to shave off the rest.

He knew it was going to be hard. But he didn’t anticipate it being this hard. Now holding an open pair of scissors above Billy’s head. All of his hair in between the blades. All he had to do was close his fingers together and it would begin. But he was stuck. Hands frozen still as he began to sob into Billy’s hair as Max and Hopper silently watched him. Max’s hand on his thigh and Hopper’s on his shoulder.

He couldn’t stop imagining Billy having to wake up like this. Wake up to the knowledge that his hair was gone at the hands of Steve. Wondering if maybe this would hurt him more than someone else doing it. He had to remember he made a promise. Even if it meant that Billy may wake up and hate him.

Steve’s fingers finally close the blades together and he can hear the sharp sound of cutting hair.

He made a promise.

September 19th, 1985: One Month Later

Billy’s awake.

Billy’s awake and Steve is there holding his hand as he does. It wasn’t planned, somehow fate just decided to work out in their favor.

Billy takes a while to come to. Nearly an hour before he truly recognizes who he is and where he is and who Steve is. Steve just sits there patiently while he does. Repeating over and over again that he’s in the hospital. That he’s okay. That “Steve’s here.”

Billy’s hair is short and curly now. A lighter blonde than before. It looks really good on him and he just hopes Billy is able to agree.

“Steve?” Is the first thing Billy says and Steve’s heart melts at the sound of Billy’s groggy voice.

“Yeah baby. It’s me. I’m right here.” Steve pulls Billy’s hand to his mouth and begins kissing his knuckles. Showing Billy his own painted fingernails. Maybe that will help serve as a comfort for him. “Welcome back.”

“How long?”

“Almost three months.”

Billy just nods. Then slowly moves a free hand up to scratch at his head and Steve’s heart stops. He thought he’d have more time.

His heart shatters when Billy’s hand makes contact and his half lidded eyes turn wide.

“My hair is gone.” He says before turning over to see Steve is crying.

“I’m sorry. I had to cut it. I'm so sorry.” Steve’s voice is broken and Billy takes a minute to finally register the situation. Spending about a minute pulling at the short curls in his hair before squeezing Steve’s hand with all of the strength he has. Which isn’t much.

“It’s okay.” He whispers. Pushing down his own sadness and grief over it to reassure Steve that he’s not mad at him. He couldn’t be mad at him. It hurt. It hurt to know that his hair had been taken from him. But he also knows Steve didn’t do it to hurt him. “It’s gonna grow back.” He’s not sure if he’s saying that to Steve or to himself.

Steve sniffles and apologizes again. And again. And again.

“Steve I’m too weak to kiss you so you better get down here and kiss me or I’ll fucking scream.”

Steve does as he’s told. Nose full of snot and cheek coated in tears but he does it anyway. And Billy tastes like coming home. Everything about right now feels so unreal and he just has to savor the moment before he wakes up from whatever dream reality he must be trapped in.

But he doesn’t wake up from any dream because there is no dream. Billy’s alive. Billy’s awake. And Billy is kissing him.

Things were going to be okay. He was certain of that now.

And so was Billy when Steve finally showed him the little Polaroid of him in his perfect braid. Held by Steve. Looking beautiful with his long hair. The hair will grow back. With new memories, better memories, attached to each inch.

Things were going to be okay.

next part

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #mandi writes tresh

57 notes · View notes

kafka-ish · 4 years

Text

the act of being a boy-friend | r.t.

y/n’s plan to make her crush, or ex crush, jealous backfires when she realizes she’s been the jealous one all along.

word count: 6.7k

warnings/included: fluff, losers aren’t friends anymore, fem!reader

a/n: i just rlly love writing love triangles hgeoigso also fake dating tropes ftw🥳

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” Bill sat next to y/n on his worn sofa. The two were watching a movie but he couldn’t put a pin on what was wrong until he noticed y/n wasn’t making her usual commentary. y/n always talked whenever they got together to watch a movie—either letting her petty remarks be known to the rest of the viewers or judging the style choice. And if she wasn’t talking, her face was stuffed full of popcorn or sour candy.

But y/n wasn’t doing either of those things.

She sat in a ball—her bare feet on his couch and her kneecaps digging into her stomach. Her eyes were wide and focused on the screen ahead of them that blared ET. Her nails that were in tip-top condition when she first showed up to Bill’s house, neatly trimmed and polished with a layer of topcoat were now bitten to the bed, ragged and raw.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n said, surprised that she was able to even squeak out the words after zoning out for so long. Something was wrong. But it wasn’t like y/n would tell him. This is what she wanted, right? Just the two of them—Bill’s arm wrapped around her while she pressed into his side while the only light in the room came from his television set.

So why did everything feel so wrong?

Richie and y/n had dated two months prior. Well… ‘dated’. The relationship wasn’t real, but the butterflies whenever Richie called her a dumb pet name or kissed her on the cheek (because kissing on the lips was too far) certainly felt real. And the heartbreak that came from him talking about other girls felt more real than the time y/n got stood up at the eighth-grade dance.

“I don’t wanna be your fuckin’ boyfriend,” Richie protested. His mouth was full of the turkey club sandwich he snagged from a detention buddy and his perfectly straight nose was now scrunched in disgust at the absurd idea his friend had to offer.

“I don’t get why you’re being so pissy about this.” y/n took the sandwich from him, taking a bite of her own and cringing at the taste of mustard that was hidden under the lettuce.

“Grow up.” Richie laughed at y/n who was using a napkin to wipe the tangy aftertaste off her tongue. “You know.” He took another bite. “This sorta shit never ends well.”

“What shit?” y/n prodded. She was still hooked on the idea of getting Richie to play house with her.

“The game where you and I pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend and eventually one of us falls for each other.” Richie was taking an oddly rational approach to y/n’s suggestion. But Richie was logical in a sense where he just knew.

“Who says I’d fall for you?” y/n poked at his shoulder. One of her eyebrows raised because in what world would she let herself catch feelings for Richie Tozier?

In this world. In this lifetime, y/n would let herself fall for one of her best friends, only to be dating her longtime crush.

“How could you not?” Richie smirked but y/n could tell he was just joking. “I’m irresistible, love.” His stupid British-man Voice made yet another appearance and y/n had to refrain from hitting him.

“What about me?” y/n didn’t care whether or not Richie found her attractive, but to say his response never left her mind after that day would be an understatement.

“Well, just look at you.” Richie put the sandwich down. “If it’s anyone, I’ll be having a harder time.”

“So does that mean you’ll go through with it?” A new light hit y/n’s eyes; the sparkle almost blinding Richie who was shaking his head.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this.” He sighed. y/n could tell he was getting annoyed, but y/n was also persistent. If she wanted something, she’d get it; careless about the lengths she’d have to go through for her fantasies to become a truth. Her truth.

“I’m just saying there are benefits for both of us.” y/n’s head tilted to the side, trying to get a better glimpse at Richie now gnawing at his lunch like an animal.

“Benefits?” Richie asked mid-bite.

“Yeah. I can make Bill Denbrough jealous and he’ll fall madly in love with me. Same for you and your ex.”

“Bill Denbrough?” Richie ignored the mention of his ex-girlfriend. He was fifty-percent sure he was already over her, but the other fifty percent of him still stole glances in her direction and kept a copy of her school picture in his wallet. But Bill Denbrough? y/n had a crush on the Bill Denbrough? Richie had to take a moment for his ears to adjust to this staggering news.

Bill Denbrough was a baseball player and Richie’s old childhood friend. Him, Bill, Stan Uris (who was coincidentally also on Derry’s baseball team), Mike Hanlon (who didn’t play baseball but football), Ben Hanscom (he was on the track team), Eddie Kaspbrak, and Beverly Marsh were all a group back in middle school. And Bill and Richie went way back—back to elementary school. It was until the end of freshman year when Stan tried out for baseball (Bill tagged along but made the team anyway) and Mike brought up how he wanted to go out for football next year.

Everyone’s interests started to diverge. Everyone started to diverge. They still went to Mike’s games at the beginning of their sophomore year, but their lunches together only seemed to happen on Wednesday and their afternoon hangouts at the quarry turned into just Richie smoking puffs on the edge; the only company being his portable radio.

Richie befriended y/n sophomore year, around the same time he and his friends fizzed out in January’s crisp air. He met her in his new art class when Derry High released students’ new schedules for the second semester. They’d stayed friends ever since; sharing their lunches and staying after school to finish up on a Social Studies project that wasn’t worth the grade they received. y/n was the one to comfort Richie after his breakup with Vanessa Jennings, but this was the first Richie had ever heard of y/n’s crush on Bill. He didn’t even know she knew Bill.

“You like Bill Denbrough?”

y/n nodded. “So, what do you say? Partner…”

Richie gave in. Although it wasn’t in his interest to get back with Vanessa, he’d still go along with y/n’s scheme.

He’d pick her up at her house before school at seven o’clock sharp—whether it was in his dad’s old Chevy or by foot in his red Converse.

y/n rushed to her front door as soon as she heard a ring. Her hair was half done, and she hadn’t had enough time to do her makeup yet. Luckily, she was already dressed in her school clothes—the denim of her jeans scuffing together when she walked, and her red blouse having to be pulled down every time she rose her arms.

“Morning, sugar.” Richie’s lazy grin and tired eyes never failed to bring a smile on her face even before they started ‘dating’. His hair wasn’t brushed at all, making y/n feel better about her appearance. His body leaned slanted against the doorframe while he waited for her and the white tip of his Converse made its attempt to dig into the porch.

“Sugar?” y/n asked, bemused. She grabbed her keys from the table next to the door, using them to lock the door behind her.

“You look different today.” y/n’s head raised from its once concentrated position from the lock on her door.

“Different how?” She inquired, mostly wondering if this difference was a good or bad thing.

“You look good.” y/n’s cheeks couldn’t help but heat at the compliment. Richie was always calling her cutesy names or saying shit like actually, now that my glasses are on, your ass does look good in those jeans. This should be no different, right?

It only felt different because they were… an item is what y/n convinced herself somewhere along the drive to school. Richie opened the door for her when she got in (and out), but in return, she’d have to let him play his favorite station.

“it’s only courtesy, babe.” Richie shrugged but his eyes kept on the road. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

But two weeks in, y/n found out she liked what this rock ‘n roll guy had to offer. She liked the loud beat of the drum and how the guitar sang in her ears. She liked Richie’s voice that overpowered Elvis’s when he sang along to the lyrics, knowing every word by heart.

“I don’t get why you’re taking me anywhere,” y/n said. She sat in the passenger’s seat of his car like she usually did. “We don’t have to pretend unless we’re, like, in public.” Her voice became small, almost regretting the words that came out of her mouth. Secretly, she hoped Richie wouldn’t turn the 1965 Chevrolet Camaro around.

“It’s not like we aren’t friends.” Richie’s thumb made a tap, tap, tapping sound against the steering wheel. “Friends hang out, right?”

y/n smiled but didn’t answer. It never occurred to her that they weren’t dating. After a while, it just seemed so natural; the hand holding under lunch tables; the way he held her binder for her.

“Is that heavy, sweetheart?” Richie stood next to y/n, intently watching as she struggled with her books in one arm: her other hand turning the combination lock. His gaze never left her figure. He was thoughtful, caring…

“Kind of, but you don’t need to—”

Ignoring y/n, Richie took the books from her hold. He already had books of his own to carry, but he couldn’t let his girlfriend struggle with hers.

“Yeah… friends.” y/n couldn’t seem to face him while uttering the words. Friends. The declaration felt so distant. After all, they had been more than friends—or pretending to be more than friends. But at the end of the day, y/n didn’t know if she wanted to be just friends with Richie Tozier. That was new considering, she never saw Richie as something else. Something that greeted her with flowers before school and held open the door for her. Not until now, no. Richie was always… Richie.

Richie Tozier who was always caught doing his homework last minute in art—because that’s the easiest class, babe. Richie Tozier who liked detention because he could catch up on a few extra minutes of lost beauty sleep. Richie Tozier who stopped bringing his lunch to school because you’re the only sugar I need.

y/n rolled the window down, letting a breeze sweep through her hair and tickle her skin. She needed a distraction because the recent epiphany of the boy next to her being the reason for her heart palpitations was something to need a distraction from.

The sky bled orange and purple—the colors perfectly melted into one another—and y/n wondered if this wasn’t their world after all. Maybe they were being controlled and the puppeteer behind her was playing some sick joke by making her catch feelings for Richie Tozier. y/n didn’t even notice they came to a stop until the click of Richie’s seatbelt grabbed her ears from their trance.

“You comin’?” Richie asked from outside of her side of the car. He was hunched down, his forearm resting on the door to help prop him up.

“Yeah.” y/n swallowed but it hurt. It felt like acid ripped through her esophagus but the only thing she had to drink that day was water. She reached for the door handle, but Richie was faster, already opening the door himself. “Such a gentleman,” y/n snickered.

“Of course.” Richie stayed behind to lock the doors.

“So, you drove me, just a friend, all the way out to the best milkshakes in town?” y/n asked, eyeing the neon-lit sign that read

Hwy 90

The highway to your stomach.

They served other things, but they specialized in milkshakes—something neither Richie nor y/n would care to pass up. But nothing y/n would drive thirty minutes for just for some glorified ice cream in a glass.

“It’s the least I could do.” Richie opened the door for y/n once again. The entrance door to the diner made a jingling sound as the top corner hit the bells which hung from the ceiling.

“The least you could do?” y/n wondered aloud, but Richie wasn’t given the chance to answer her question when a waitress scurried up to them, a stack of menus in one arm and a bundle of silverware in the other. She was taller than y/n but shorter than Richie and she wore black and white bowling shoes to match the wide-legged jeans and polo underneath her apron. “Is it just you two?” She asked sweetly, hiking the pile of menus up higher on her arm.

“Yeah,” Richie said. He stuffed his hands in his back pocket, not knowing where to put them.

The waitress showed them to a small booth that sat in the corner of the brightly lit restaurant. It was too bright for y/n’s eyes under the red, blue, and pink hues that reflected across the shiny white tile, But the corner table the girl had brought them to would do. There was a certain coziness to it, or maybe it was the thought of sitting so close to Richie in a public setting that settled y/n’s eyes.

“I’m Annie. I’ll be your server today,” the girl said as soon as Richie and y/n slid into their respective sides of the red pleather seats. She was fast-talking and all shades of nervousness as her left hand went to grab the number two pencil that fastened the blonde curls that were pinned in a knot on top of her head. “Can I get you anything?”

“A menu would be nice,” y/n said. In front of them sat a table, salt and pepper shakers, and a half-empty Heinz ketchup bottle. Annie had forgotten to give the two a menu.

“My apologies!” She exclaimed, bashful. She handed them each a menu to sift through.

“Don’t sweat it.” Richie winked in her direction and y/n felt herself grow… what was that? Anger? Annie’s pale skin blushed a bright red and y/n could tell it wasn’t the apron making her feel hot.

It took Richie a full-fledged thirty seconds and two skims through the laminated paper for him to decide what he wanted, and it took y/n at least two minutes. “I’ll have a Cookies n Cream. Extra sweet.” Just like you.

y/n was biting her thumb and still reading over the same three flavors that caught her eye while Annie stood patiently waiting for her response. Richie was messing with the saltshaker. His leg found hers under the table and gave it a quick kick.

“Ouch.” She looked up from the menu, averting her attention to the boy in front of her with a fix glare. “Can I have Vanilla? With a cherry on top?”

Annie scribbled down both of their orders in messy writing before making her way across the floor and to the kitchen.

“Vanilla?” Richie laughed and y/n didn’t know what was so funny. “’Cause you’re vanilla?” He covered his mouth with his hand before another fit of laughter would consume the table.

“Shut up.” Swiftly, y/n’s leg propelled into his which caused Richie’s laughs to die down, replaced by a single yelp.

“So…” Richie’s eyebrows wiggled. His nails, which were painted a shade of deep blue by y/n and already chipped, thumped against the surface of the table. y/n could tell whatever he was beginning to suggest wouldn’t be something she liked just from the tone of his voice.

“So?”

“Why Bill?” Oh.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant.

“Why do you like ole Big Bill?” The nickname had slipped out unconsciously. The nickname Richie hadn’t heard in years. The nickname Richie hadn’t said in years. It felt exotic on his lips, but comforting, like a hug from his mom.

Why did she like Bill? y/n asked herself silently. She was gnawing on the inside of her cheek when the question popped up again and the sound of Bill’s voice startled her.

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” What was wrong? Seemingly, everything was perfect. The boy y/n had been crushing on for years was finally in her reach—her grasp, even. Bill’s head turned to face y/n, but his arm stayed tightly coiled around her side. It wasn’t the same as Richie’s possessive hold from two months ago. His hand that played with the fabric of her shirt felt cold. Bill felt cold.

It couldn’t be that she missed Richie, no. Richie was busy—probably swapping spit with one Vanessa Jennings. Vanessa with the light brown hair and curls that framed her not-too-big head ever so perfectly. Vanessa who never needed a tan. Vanessa with the long legs that were probably wrapped—

But it didn’t matter. y/n was busy, too. The Bill Denbrough was at her side and she couldn’t have asked for anything else. She didn’t need anything else. Not when his red flannel hugged her torso because are you could? My parents won’t let me turn up the heat, but I can offer you this. Like a gentleman, he proceeded to strip the flannel from his bodice, leaving him in a white baseball tee.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n looked at Bill then looked down to see the nails she had just painted were now ruined. She looked up again. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured, not all convincingly.

“You just… yo-you ha-haven’t-t s-s-said anything since you cuh-cuh-walked in.”

“I haven’t?” y/n asked, now picking at the tip of her thumb, hoping what had taken two weeks to grow out would magically regrow in seconds. Saving his voice, Bill only shook his head.

“You nuh-know you can tuh-tell me. Ruh-right?” y/n nodded but what could she tell him?

Sorry I’ve been holding a massive crush on you for years like one holds a cleaver over their head but all of a sudden I’m into this guy I met in my art class who never brushes his hair and writes ‘smoking and smoking hot’ on his college resume.

“I think I’m just tired,” she lied while also feigning a yawn. She covered her mouth when it opened, pretending to be sleepy.

“Do-do you want me to tuh-take you home?” Bill asked. He was just as thoughtful as Richie. He was just as handsome as Richie, maybe even more. So why couldn’t y/n bring herself to like him as much as Richie? His arm left from her side and he used it to pick up the remote, turning the tv off. The worst part was, that when Bill’s hand stopped playing with the fabric of the flannel she wore and his arm left her frame, she didn’t feel a coldness that would usually wash over her when Richie’s arm left her. She felt free.

“I don’t want our afternoon to be spoiled,” y/n said. Her eyebrows furrowed and even though she knew she was lying through her teeth, she wanted to make this work. After all these years of pining for her study partner and favorite Derry High baseball player, she needed for this to work. To see the vision she’d created in her head, just a mere two years ago, collapse in front of her very eyes broke her. But at the same time, she was indifferent. Why should she care about the boy in front of her when the boy she actually wanted was a neighborhood away?

“Tr-trust me. It-it’s not.” Bill shrugged. He stood up and offered y/n his hand which she didn’t take. Instead, she sat there, planted in her same seat, waiting for him to continue. “I can tuh-take you home. And wuh-we can hang out to-tomorrow. You nuh-know when you’re well rested.” All of the sudden, this felt very real. Hanging out with Bill felt real. Being at his house felt real. And though his efforts were valiant, y/n couldn’t accept the offer.

A smile graced her lips and Bill mirrored that. “Yeah, okay. Uh, take me home—please.”

y/n stood up and Bill guided her to the door and to Zach Denbrough’s car as if she hadn’t had the place memorized from when she first came over for a History project they’d been assigned to do.

What did she ever see in him?

“I don’t know.” y/n’s shoulders bopped up and down and even though her figure was hunched, Richie still thought she looked graceful.

“Are you just sayin’ that or did you end up falling in love with little ole me and you can’t think of anything?” Just then, their milkshakes arrived. Both in frosted glass and both with a cherry on top. A feeling of relief swallowed the lump in her throat, or maybe that was the taste of vanilla ice cream now that she was given some time, and a reason, to stall. y/n hated how on-the-nose Richie could be. But she also loved that about him. He could be so, so unexpectedly smart about some things. Things that were right in front of her that she’d never even notice until Richie pointed it out. “Oh, come on.” Richie’s words would’ve sliced through the silence in the air if it weren’t for the chatter of other people and jukebox playing in the background. “Seriously, y/n/n, there’s gotta be something that drew you to him.”

“Well… he’s nice.”

“Okay cut the crap.”

“What?” y/n asked, finding herself annoyed that she not only had to reveal her feelings to a boy she may or may not like but also because he’s nice apparently wasn’t a sufficient enough answer.

“I need an actual answer. Not some bullshit response like he’s nice or he’s funny. Anyone can be nice or funny, y/n.”

“Well, whether you like it or not, Bill is nice. He’s genuine, and cares about the people around him… Selfless.”

Richie was upset at her response. Not because y/n countered his argument in a way he was left speechless but because she was right. Bill was the nice guy and Richie… wasn’t. Bill was the one who looked out for others, making sure they were okay. He was the one who made sure no one got left behind. He was the one everyone looked up to—not Richie, Bill. It was always Bill. Whereas Richie’s just the guy who stands in the background making funny noises only to be told to shut up.

“Yeah… Bill is nice.”

“Don’t tell me you’re my competition, Tozier.” y/n laughed at the oddity of fighting with Richie for the chance to be with Bill.

“Nah,” Richie shook his head, his hair flying in any direction possible. “You’re lucky I’m not, though. You wouldn’t have the chance, babe.”

y/n wanted to eat her heart out at the usage of babe in such an informal setting where they didn’t have to pretend, but the maraschino cherry resting on top of the pile of whipped cream would suffice. “Do you still like Vanessa?” The words tumbled from y/n’s mouth like they were nothing. But embarrassment replaced the blood flowing through her veins once she was aware of what she just said.

“It’s… complicated,” Richie said honestly, not caring that y/n might’ve crossed boundaries just then.

“What’s complicated?” y/n cocked her head like a puppy questioning why its master was making weird hand motions.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, kid.” Richie didn’t mean to come off as condescending, but he did.

“I’m the same age as you.” y/n crossed her arms after pushing away the half-empty, frosted glass in front of her.

Ignoring the red straw in his drink, Richie brought the edge of the glass to his lips and swallowed the thick shake. “Here’s the thing. Vanessa and I go way back.”

“How far is way back if you only dated her for four months?” y/n regretted even bringing her up. Maybe it was different back then, back when the two were actually dating. But now, y/n couldn’t remember a time when someone said the name ‘Richie Tozier’ and her heart didn’t feel like it would explode into a collision of fireworks.

“Four and a half,” Richie corrected with a grin breaking out on his lips. “But I dunno. She’s just special.”

“Special as in…?” y/n probed, and she hated herself for her big mouth that wouldn’t stop applying lemon juice to an obviously open wound.

“I love her.” Richie took another drink of Cookies n Cream, which was more cream than cookies, and y/n sat there in shock. She would be silly to think that after all these weeks, Richie would feel the same way about her. After all, he had a life outside of the fake one they’d construed. Or maybe Richie was just less emotionally confined to these sorts of things. He knew better than to get caught up in a fake relationship. Of course he would.

But knowing Richie still loved his ex, struck something in y/n’s core. And the fact that he was able to say it in such a nonchalant manner—such casualty—only dug deeper at the pit in her stomach.

“You love her?” y/n asked, her mouth still full of the sweet treat he’d pay for later in the evening.

“Love. Loved.” Richie shrugged like this was nothing—well, maybe this was nothing. Maybe y/n was the speck of dust on his shirt and him shrugging was the last of her existence from his being leaving. “What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference.” y/n wanted to scream. Luckily, she had enough self-perseverance to keep her composure. She swallowed. “One is past tense, and one is present tense.”

“How ‘bout I put it this way.” Richie set aside his drink so now nothing was blocking his view of y/n. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “I don’t like…” He paused. Revealing that he had no intention in getting back with his once first love would possibly wreck this whole thing. “If Vanessa asked, I’d probably get back with her,” Richie finally said, thinking that must’ve been a suitable way to word the jumble of letters floating around in his head like alphabet soup.

“You would?” y/n asked, feeling like a little kid all over again.

Richie didn’t say anything.

“Do you and her still…”

“Still what?”

“Talk, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” y/n messed with her fingers, pulling at a hangnail she’d know she’d regret doing when it got to later in the night.

“Nah. But don’t worry about it, sweets.” Richie took out his wallet only to be met with a picture of the dreaded girl they’d just been talking about. He gulped. His spit tasted like Oreos and he knew he’d have a stomachache later. Richie thumbed out a ten-dollar bill and five ones to keep Alexander Hamilton company. “Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

It was what she was wondering.

But she’d never let Richie know that. y/n crossed her arms tighter around her torso because right now it felt like Richie could see right through her.

Richie drove her home in the same way Bill would a month from that night. But Richie had a better taste in music and y/n was actually sad to part from him when he left her at her doorstep.

“I’m really sorry I had to cut our time short,” y/n said. She was sorry.

“It’s ff-fine. I al-already sai—”

“Yeah, but I feel awful, Bill.” y/n finally mucked up the courage to look him in the eye. Those blue eyes that’d been searching for hers all afternoon. “This was probably like… the worst first date in the history of first dates.”

“Ih-it’s not so bad. But that duh-depends on how muh-many first dates you’ve been on.” Bill laughed and y/n was trying to figure out what was funny about what he said.

“You’ve been on worse ones?” y/n asked anxiously.

“Luh-let’s just say th-they duh-didn’t get a second date.”

y/n nodded while her hands started to search for the keys in her purse.

“I’ll ss-see you tuh-tomorrow?”

“Or at my funeral. Whichever comes first.” For a moment, the bad thoughts cleared from the surface of y/n’s head. Laughter was the only thing she was aware of for a moment.

“Bye, y/n/n.”

“Bye, Richie,” y/n said bashfully. Her hands were strewn behind her back because she didn’t know what they would do if they weren’t. He was about to walk off—off into the moonlight. And y/n would have to wait until Monday to see him again. It was one day too long because she knew even though the two of them had nothing better to do tomorrow, he’d see it as just friends whereas y/n would see it… differently. “Richie, wait!”

“What?” Richie turned around. His hands sat inside of his front pockets and his posture was slumped, as always.

“Thanks… for tonight.” Richie nodded, and validation from him served as a sick kind of ego booster that egged y/n to keep going. “They really are the best milkshakes in town.”

“Yeah.” Richie’s scratchy voice soothed y/n under the frosty air that came from winters in Maine. y/n stepped closer, her hands still behind her back.

“Did you have a good time?”

“You know I always have a good time when I’m with you.” Richie nudged y/n’s elbow with his but was taken aback by her hands that now gripped his shoulders and how suddenly close she was against him.

y/n kissed him on the cheek, not daring to go for his lips because who’s ever heard of a kiss goodbye on the cheek? Is probably what Stacy Howards would retort back to her after she’d spill the happenings of Saturday night to Derry High’s favorite cheerleader in study hall.

His cheek tasted like salt and Irish Spring—that is, if she knew what Irish Spring tasted like. Which she definitely didn’t.

She didn’t linger long. Richie wished she stayed longer. The kiss was short and sweet and the taste of vanilla on her lips replaced a fraction of his cheek that tasted like body wash and sodium chloride.

“Goodnight,” y/n said, now finally coming to her senses.

“Ye-yeah.” Richie blinked, an alternative to pinching himself in front of the girl he’d been pretending to date. “Night.” But after pretending for so long, Richie couldn’t help but notice the less it felt like pretending.

y/n closed the door behind her with a slam, making sure to lock it in case intruders were in the neighborhood. Now that Bill was gone, her first instinct was to call up Richie—tell him that the date went well, and how he was such a great friend, and thanks for the help. But there were only so many times she could lie to a boy she felt feelings so deeply for. The first, coincidentally, was when Richie had asked how things were going with Bill.

“Make any progress so far?” Richie asked with a face full of ham. They were eating lunch together, per usual. But this time, unlike the many times before, the hand that wasn’t holding his sandwich was rubbing circles on y/n’s small hand that Richie’s swallowed.

“Comme ci comme ça.” y/n smiled to herself at her basic understanding any French One student would master. “It’s going alright…” y/n had never been a natural liar. Whenever she told her parents she had cleaned her room when she, in fact, didn’t, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention and her forearm broke out in an itch she could never quite scratch. But her internal biological workings had given her a break today. There was no itch and her hairs stayed in place from when she styled her hair that morning.

“What’s alright?” Richie questioned, though it sounded more like an interrogation.

“He started talking to me more.”

“He didn’t already talk to you?” Richie’s eyebrow rose because how were you supposed to fall for a guy you barely talked to?

“Well, yeah, he talks to me.” The pad of Richie’s thumb that was drawing slow circles onto y/n’s knuckles turned into lines. Back and forth. Back and forth. “But he used to talk to me about classwork and… you know, like, school.” Richie smiled when she talked. He was happy for his friend. He truly was. But he couldn’t stand the fact that the guy she was talking about wasn’t him—let alone, his former best friend. “And in APUSH, instead of asking about my grade or whatever, he… asked about me.”

“What’d Mister Charming have to say?”

Mister Charming sat two seats away from y/n. But that didn’t stop him from talking to her. Every now and then, Bill would steal glances at the girl from his peripheral vision. Sometimes, if he were feeling bold, he’d turn to face her—but that action only occurred when she was speaking. Today, however, was different. Today he’d talk to her.

Lucky for Bill, the pencil sharpener sat in the back of class—close to where y/n’s seat was.

“Hey.”

y/n looked up from her textbook. She didn’t want to assume the hushed voice was for her—but she had to figure the tap on her shoulder was.

“Hi.” She set her pencil down and folded her arms flat on the desk. “What’s up?” y/n swore she sounded insane. Who says what’s up—

“Th-the sky.” Bill’s smile made cloudy days seem cloudless. “I was wuh-wondering ih—” He swallowed the trail of saliva that gathered in the back of his throat. “If… are yo-you and Ruh-Richie like…”

“No!” y/n said quickly and a little too loudly.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Muh-maybe we cuh-could hang out… This Saturday work?” A stroke of nervousness flitted across his features for a second even though Bill didn’t have anything to be nervous about. The rest of y/n’s words got caught in her throat and she instinctively found herself writing down her number on the scratch piece of paper Mr. Ferguson passed out for notetaking.

“Call me.”

Bill did call. Which was precisely how y/n was stuck frozen in time; her back slanted against the door and her thoughts racing against one another.

She had two options at hand. Call Richie. Find Richie. Or wait it out for tomorrow when Bill’s same car would be in her driveway, waiting for her.

But a third option was already at y/n’s doorstep, contemplating ringing the doorbell.

Richie Tozier stood outside of y/n’s front door, palms sweaty and unusually anxious for confrontation. His pale fingers knotted together. It was their way of stalling from interacting with y/n for as long as possible—or as long as curfew would allow him to.

“Hey.” His stalling attempt was left unsuccessful when y/n opened the door. Ironically, he was just the person she had hoped to run into. “What are… what are you doing?”

“Me?” Richie’s eyebrows stitched together, and he pointed to himself with his index finger.

“You’re the only one here,” y/n deadpanned.

“I was just in the neighborhood, y’know. Doin’ neighborly things.”

“You don’t live in this neighborhood.” Richie feigned laughter but this time y/n didn’t laugh with him. “Seriously, Rich, why are you here? You knew I had my date with Bill and—”

“And what?” His tone grew firm, like it had grabbed her by the hand and urged whatever was eating at her insides out of her.

“And I don’t think you should be here, after I just got done with my date with somebody else!” y/n said with a shaky breath. She could feel her heartbeat almost burning through her chest that rose and fell harshly.

“How was it? Your date?” Richie had calmed down, but y/n didn’t.

“It went bad. Is that what you wanted to hear?” y/n muttered, but it could’ve been mistaken for a yell.

“No, why would you think—hold on. What’s up with you?” Richie’s hands stuffed themselves in his front pocket. His posture was hunched over, and his face now screwed together, trying to understand the girl standing before him.

“I don’t know.” The flame that had once ignited y/n’s lively spirits had died down. “I just. It didn’t go well, that’s all,” y/n said, unable to coax the words she actually wanted to say out of her lips.

“He wasn’t an asshole, was he?” Richie’s tone was protective—nothing y/n would expect from him two months ago when she’d gotten themselves into this mess.

“No! No.” y/n was complicated. First, she’d spew off about how her date was bad and now she was defending said date?

“God, y/n/n, can you just make up your mind?”

She could do that.

“You were right,” y/n declared.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, but Richie could still make out what she was saying.

“Well, I’m always right, toots. I just need context—”

“About the fake dating thing. How eventually one person’s bound to fall for the other…” Her toes curled from under the white Converse she hadn’t had time to slip off. They were worn and the bottoms were yellowing from the number of times she’d matched them to an outfit. “And you don’t look like you’re on your knees, so.”

“So, what?” y/n didn’t notice the smirk edging on the corners of Richie’s lips.

“Tozier, don’t make me say it.”

“You have to, or God knows how long we’ll be standing on this fuckin’ porch,” Richie said patiently. Patient. Richie was never patient—always the one to urge his friends to hurry the fuck up, always the one to ask are we there yet? But this time he was. His figure stood still and ominous, like Santa on Christmas Eve. His breathing held steady in his lungs that had seen more smoke than his mother’s kitchen and his feet stood planted on the concrete stoop of y/n’s house and they’d stay there until she told him the very damned thing she didn’t want to.

“I like you, okay?” y/n knew if she blinked, the dam of tears in her eyes would finally burst and the last thing she wanted was having Richie Tozier see her cry. Well, second to last thing. The first thing on that list had already happened. “Look, I know you’re still in love with Van-Vanessa.” It hurt to say the girl’s name because she wasn’t just a girl, she was Richie’s ex. “But you asked me to say it and I did. So there.”

y/n was about to turn back. Back into her house and back out of this friendship. It was only because Richie laughed that y/n stopped. His chuckle was like music, not the kind that Richie blasted in his car with the windows down, but like a symphony. And if y/n were any less mortified right now, maybe she’d stop to admire it—him—for one second more.

She was about to ask why. Why are you mocking me when I’m so clearly in a vulnerable state right now? Why are you mocking me after I’d just shared something so deep and personal with the likes of you? About the likes of you? But y/n didn’t get the chance when Richie surged forward and pressed a kiss against her lips. She could feel her heart pick up even more at the taste of him: spearmint and tobacco. She thought it’d stabilize itself once his lips left hers, but it didn’t. His taste lingered and at the time it felt permanent, like a red stain on white furniture.

“Like I said. Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you.” His breath hit her face, warm and intoxicating, and y/n could only think that kissing Richie on the lips was way better than kissing him on the cheek.

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yeehawfolk · 3 years

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Hi! I think yr totally right about Felix's teeth probably not being great and how he and the rest of the crew should have more scars! Do u have any other lil appearance HCs for him/the whole gang? (:

OK! SO! I have a Lot of HCs about the crew, appearance-wise, anyway. Don't get me wrong, I love their canon designs, but I feel like they didn't utilize "Halcyon is fucked" enough with your companions? If that makes sense. I'm going to break this up character by character, so it'll be an easier read!

Also, I'm gonna put a TW on this for slight self harm on this?? It's not emotionally motivated at all, it's like when you'd compete to see who can get the gnarliest eraser burn in middle school, but nevertheless, I want to warn y'all ahead of time, it's on Ellie's part.

Parvati:

-Honestly, her eyes are gorgeous. They're brown, but an amber kind of brown, and very bright.

-I personally HC that Parvati chews her nails when she's nervous, so they're always nubs and usually pretty dirty, bc Mechanic and all.

-Her hands have faint scars from nicks and burns from working on machinery. The skin on her hands doesn't scar easily, but she still has a few gnarly scars from particularly bad burns or cuts that she wasn't able to take proper care of.

-Constantly has bruises of unknown origin on her arms and legs. She bruises very easy, and always has, which is kind of precarious when you're a mechanic.

-This might already be canon and I just haven't noticed bc I'm using the Switch version, but I HC Parv has some freckles sprinkled around her face. Not a lot by any means, but I HC she gets frequent sun when she's working on certain parts of the town, and freckles are a bi-product of that.

-She has a couple small scars on her face; one just below her eye on her cheek, and another on her chin. I like to think she fell on her chin, and the other was from her first project that blew up in her face, literally.

-Her skin is just a bit ashy because she hasn't had access to a lot of good lotions over the years.

-Despite taking a shower every morning, she accumulates grease smudges and dirt from her plants on herself very easily. She cleans up for her and Junlei's dates, but for casual visits both don't really bother. Sometimes they make a game of smudging each other with grease while they work and by the time they're finished their faces look like they were going for war paint.

-I like to think Parvati and Junlei eventually wear rings with each other (like, years down the line) and when Parvati gets deep in thought, she rests it against her lips. Junlei does something similar by turning her ring on her finger.

-Parv has ok teeth, not like great, but she takes pretty good care of them, even if sometimes she has to forgo it for a day or few while out with the Captain.

-When she's in Edgewater, she's always skinny, and if you squinted you probably could pick out a rib or so. But after she moves in with The Captain, she gains weight, and finally has the little pooch of fat that you're supposed to have around the middle. Ellie helps her keep up with nutritional needs (what you can get in Halcyon, anyway) and gets very proud when she makes her goals.

Felix:

-This boy has horrible teeth. His sweet tooth + being an orphan in the Back Bays didn't leave much time for proper teeth cleaning. He probably never really had enough bits to get toothpaste with, either.

-Oh, boy. He has scars galore. Some are from scuffles (he has some on his back from when he was a kid and used to get in trouble for stealing) but a lot are also from getting burned by pipes, or jagged metal. A fair few are from him doing dumbass things in his teenage years ("I wonder what would happen if I heat up these rounds of light ammo with a flamethrower??") because you can't tell me this boy didn't do dumb things like every teenage boy did but with more disasterous results bc SciFi.

-His nose has been broken quite a few times, so it's crooked in a couple spots.

-Can frequently be found with bloody knuckles just because he forgets that punching someone with a mask over their face really isn't the best idea. This eventually culminates into him making the "Millstone Drop-Kick!" his go-to move.

-This isn't exactly appearance related, but I HC Felix has a fucked back from his life of hauling heavy boxes. It doesn't help that he drop kicks literally everything that moves tho.

-Probably has chronic pain in his hands from his hands getting crushed by boxes at some point or another. Several of his fingers are crooked from being broken and improperly set. His bones probably aren't the best bc of poor nutrition growing up, either, so they're a little easier to break.

-Just. Me thinking about Felix in his 40s, or even early 30s: Honey, you have a big storm coming.

-This is also a little random, but I like to think that it takes a long time for Felix to grow any kind of facial hair (he has chronic babyface) so he's super proud of his scruff.

-Max: That's peach fuzz. If that.

-Felix: Leave me alone you big hairy bastard, just bc you have to shave like every other day to keep a clean face doesn't mean all men do!!

-(He's just a bit sensitive about his facial hair)

-(He one day dreams of growing a glorious beard like Sanjar's, but it would take him like 50 years)

-(Shut up Max one day he'll have an amazing handlebar mustache and you won't be laughing then)

-I have no idea if piercings or tattoos are a Thing in Halcyon (probs not, honestly, but I can dream) but if they are, he tried to pierce his ears by himself once, they got infected, and he got really sad when he had to let them close. The marks are still there but the holes have closed by now.

-ELLIE PIERCES HIS EAR AND HELPS HIM KEEP IT CLEAN

-Felix is strong, but he's skinny and gangly as all hell and it's hard as fuck to get him to gain any weight, mostly because he still has his habit of eating only what he needs and stashing the rest. It takes him a while with the crew to get over that, and when he does, he gains a healthy amount of weight around his middle. Ellie teases him a bit, but is 1,000x happier that he's no longer damn near a walking skeleton.

-Listen. Ellie and Felix are bros I don't make the rules. She denies it but she would kill for Felix.

-Usually has slight dark circles under his eyes, because he has nightmares sometimes and can't sleep.

-His eyes are really, really pretty. Like. Super fucking pretty. He has long lashes and they sparkle when he smiles. His eyes are hazel like Max's, but more on the brown side, with streaks of green radiating out from the pupil.

-Speaking of smiles. He has the goofiest and sweetest grins around. A little self-conscious about his teeth, but honestly that doesn't stop him from laughing and smiling with everyone. He has a couple broken teeth, but honestly it just makes his grin a lil lopsided and cute.

-He gets the Worst bed-head. It stands almost straight up in every direction, but it's really easy to tame. Mostly because he just runs his hands through it and calls it a day.

-He found Max's hair gel once and went Ham. He used the whole can sticking his hair up into a mohawk, and proceeded to parade around for Ellie and Parvati. Then bolt to his room and lock the door when Max shouted his name from the bathroom. Max's hair was out of whack for like. A week. He kept blowing it out of his face and Felix and Ellie would giggle like madmen when he did.

-*BANGS FISTS ON TABLE* FELIX IS BABY! FELIX IS BABY!!

Max:

-My MANS

-Listen, I am extremely gay for Max. This needs to be known before I continue, because I have a metric fuckton of Max HCs.

-So, first off, Max takes VERY good care of his appearance. Like. Insanely good. His hair is always perfectly held back by a moderate amount of gel, his nails perfectly trimmed and cleaned. He keeps a clean-shaven face.

-But don't let that fool you, Max can and will get down and dirty when need be, he just doesn't care to stay like that.

-Quite a few scars from his prison and Tossball years. But because of the clothes he wears you wouldn't be able to see them easily. Mostly on his back/sides, though he has a couple on his torso and legs.

-The Captain calls him Bigfoot because his grows hair really fast and his arms and chest have some pretty thick hair. Max is very confused, because he personally doesn't think his feet are that big.

-Not an appearance HC per se, but he smells like soap, aftershave, and books.

-When he doesn't gel his hair, it falls in his face constantly, and it annoys the fuck out of him.

-Fuckin ripped bro. Just. What the fuck. Why is a priest this fuckin shredded. Why make my gay little heart ache more than it already does, Obsidian??

-Despite his arm muscles being like. Huge, he still has a healthy layer of fat over his middle, mostly because being an OSI Priest, he got a little bit better nutrition VS. literally all of Halcyon.

-When his knee gets Bad (like hiking through Monarch with the Captain) he has a slight limp? Barely noticeable, but you can tell he's not putting weight on it. I HC its an old Tossball injury (that might be canon, I haven't played in forever).

-Its hard to tell in the different lights of the game whether his hair is Black or Silver, and I like to think he's greying, but not fully grey yet. He can have a little hair color, still. As a treat.

-Fuckin no lashes to speak of. None at all. Baldy eyes. Its the only part of him that doesn't have really thick hair and ngl he is very salty about it. Tho his actual eyes are very pretty; they're hazel with a lot of green. He has a darker ring on the outside and flecks of brown in them.

-Has very good teeth, whiter than most of Halcyon's because of the OSI providing for him.

-Broke his nose once during Tossball, though he was able to get it set alright. Slight crook in the bridge of his nose.

-He has a lot of those moles from his face scattered around. Particularly his shoulders and back.

-Also have you seen his fuckin canon thighs??? Bro. They could crush a watermelon. Once again, I must say, what the fuck, why is this priest so fuckin shredded.

-Actually takes his physical health very seriously, so I like to think he's in great shape for his age. Seeing him in some of the canon outfits though makes me more inclined to think that's canon.

-Sorry, I have thought about this A Lot, and the gay jumps out of me sometimes.

-A fair amount of scars on his arms. Not as many as Nyoka, but a little bit more than Parvati.

-Has calloused hands, but they've softened over his years as a priest.

Ellie:

-Now I feel like Ellie wouldn't have many scars that she didn't let scar up on purpose to give her an edge. They're essentially superficial; they look cool but didn't do any real damage.

-Also, her skin is very pale, so she doesn't scar easily anyway.

-Though she does have some, and they're more recent. A couple of gashes on her arms, and a bullet wound in her side. She's proud of them.

-The dark circles under her eyes are because she likes to stay up late at night. Sometimes she contemplates her life, but she doesn't like it, and usually doesn't bother too much.

-Her lashes are very thick and full, and they compliment her eyes very well. Her eyes aren't exactly ice blue, they're a bit darker, and have real pretty lighter streaks in them.

-Yes, her lips are naturally that color. Good for picking up women, bad for looking intimidating to marauders.

-Really soft skin, she's always had access to good lotion. After she leaves Byzantium, she purposely looks a bit more grimy than she did then, which is easy to do because of her skin tone.

-Has a few moles and freckles, but not many, mostly on her shoulders and back. She was inside a lot prior to her leaving Byzantium.

-Her hair doesn't really sit down when she sleeps, but it does lose some poofiness, so she has to meticulously push it up in the mornings.

-Not quite an appearance HC, but I feel like when she gets comfortable with ADA, she gives her compliments. Stuff like "Your screen is very bright today, ADA!" ADA does the same thing. "And your hair is looking very bright as always, Dr. Fenhill."

-Muscular, but lean, and puts on weight a little easier than others, so she wouldn't look like she could kick your ass without her pirate get-up, but she could 100%, no holds barred kick your ass.

-Very good teeth. Despite wanting to look like a gnarly pirate she takes dental care very seriously. Tho she thinks about getting punched in the mouth occasionally so she could like break off a piece of her tooth. Not the whole thing, just enough to make her look tough.

-Idc if piercings and tattoos aren't a Thing in Halcyon, Ellie has pierced ears. Three in each ear, and I like to think an eyebrow and maybe nose ring. She doesn't wear them when she's in Dangerous Situations because she firsthand had to fix ears that had their earrings ripped out during rich catfights that she does NOT want that to happen to her.

-She also has tattoos covering most of her back, and some of her upper arms. She got them "illegally" (meaning it's illegal to The Board, but the Groundbreaker doesn't really give a shit) on The Groundbreaker and she's proud as fuck of them.

-I have Feelings about the missed opportunities for illegal tattoo/piercing parlors. Like I know there's not a lot of self-expression to be had and no Art aside from fonts, but c'mon. Humans have drawn on their skin since the beginning all around the world and we WOULD find ways to do it again, even if it's needle-poke tattoos.

-Anyway, back to Ellie.

-You ever hear of a "lighter tattoo"? Basically, you heat up a lighter and then stamp the hot metal into your skin and it makes a mark in the shape of the lighter head. If you get it hot enough and hold it long enough it can scar. They have a similar thing in Halcyon with Plasma Cutters. Instead of Stab, you heat it up, turn it off, and press the blade to your skin and it pretty much scars within a couple seconds.

-Ellie 100% did a few of those when she was in Byzantium as like the "hahaha edgy" thing that teenagers do.

-Like I know technically kids aren't around but... bruh... you can't tell me that teenagers in a SciFi setting wouldn't do dumb ass shit like that.

-Ellie is honestly the baddest bitch and I love her, ok, she just reminds me so much of of those high school delinquent tropes in 90s movies

Nyoka:

-SO I HAVE SOME FEELINGS ABOUT NYOKA'S CANON DESIGN... IN THAT SHE'S ESSENTIALLY A MONSTER HUNTER BUT SHE HAS NO SCARS!

-Listen, ok, she would 100% have a lot of scars from her life on Monarch. I share some HCs with @nyokaacore in that she has three scars over one of her eyes, and a few others around her face, like on her lips.

-The bulk of her scars are on her arms and body, though, as she usually is able to get the Canid or Rapt off before they get to her face.

-I like to think the scars on her eye are from Freida, the first Rapt she ever killed that's taxidermied on her wall.

-But she has a lot of scars from Raptidon claws and Canid mouthplates, sprinkled with some Manti burns and burns from Rapt spit.

-She also has her fair share of bullet scars on her, and definitely has some patches of skin discoloration from incidents regarding the sulphur pools. Chemical burns are a bitch.

-She's tall, and not exactly curvy? But broad. Big shoulders, wide hips, sturdy legs. Looks like she could kill you, could actually kill you alignment.

-The sand and sulphur in the air plays Hell on her skin, so she's got some old acne scars and places that scarred up into moles on her face. Has an issue with dry skin.

-Her skin is also pretty oily, and she washes it when she can, but water is usually better spent being drunk than washed with. However, she does carry a spare bottle of non-drinkable water to wash Rapt acid off in emergencies, so sometimes she'll pull from that to wash her face with.

-Big hands, calloused, pretty scarred up from her time on Monarch.

-I also like to think that she can tell you stories about most of the scars she has, lmao.

-Her nose, like Felix's, has been broken quite a few times and is pretty crooked.

-Most often, you see Nyoka with a slight sunburn on her face. It's hard to see, but her cheeks are usually warm to the touch.

-Her teeth aren't the best, but she does take as much care of them as she can out on Monarch. Still pretty yellow with some cavities, but not as bad at Felix's.

-Honestly the dark circles around her eyes are usually because she doesn't sleep a lot. She has dreams about CHARON, and that's not her favorite thing to do.

-At a pretty healthy weight for Halcyon, and ofc, has muscles as big as your head.

-Surprisingly soft hands, though.

#the outer worlds #tow #the outer worlds hcs #headcanons #hcs #parvati holcomb #felix millstone #ellie fenhill #nyoka ramnarim wentworth iii #vicar max #maximillian desoto #appearance hcs #asks #anon #i need to stop now or i'll never stop

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spnsmile · 4 years

Text

Day 10:Sweet Rides 🌸 15x14 aftermath @winchester-reload

in which Castiel learns of Mrs. Butters moving on without her lads in the Bunker. How about the angel?

Castiel knew immediately something was wrong. It was telling by how the grassy front lawn was well-trimmed in exact centimeters.

At first, he thought maybe Dean had an incredible surge of energy to do house chores other than frying burgers, the man had gifted hands with precision to cut things, which was okay since the extra work could keep Dean from his daily dose of oil. He would've dismissed the thought had it not for the second clue.

The front metal door was glaring shine like a mirror. Cas stared.

So maybe Sam got carried away with cleaning too... Nothing new with that, he was the "neat-freak" as Dean said. The number of times he polishes his hair might just have the same effect on others. Or not.

Worried, he entered the Bunker to find Dean almost at eye level in the middle of the room. Castiel’s eye rounded as he ran to the rail exclaiming-

"Dean!?"

"Hey, look who's late at the party?" Dean said like he’s not ten feet from the floor. Castiel cranes his neck and saw that Dean was holding a wrench while on top of a steel ladder, fixing the plumbing. Sam's by the table preparing some spell while Jack sits there, finishing his milkshake and half eaten piece of pastry.

Castiel calmed himself. They were all okay.

"What happened here?" he descended the stairs.

"Cas," Jack beams, "Welcome back, you want some cake?"

"No, I... maybe later... Did something happen?" Castiel stepped near the ladder to keep it still. Dean was precariously swinging and it was distracting him.

"Nothing serious, Cas. Just need to redo the warding, it got messed up when the Bunker went on full power." Sam answered.

"Warding? Why? Did you guys get attacked?" he moved when Dean jumped down, landing in front of him with their space paper thin. Dean looked awfully handsome as always but something was different. He looked fresh and clean and... Castiel’s nostril flared. Did Dean use some lavender...?

"Understatement for Mary Poppins. Want some tomato juice? My glass is still half full,"

"You drink tomato juice now?"

Jack nodded, "Mrs. Butters said he needs to watch out for cholesterol."

Castiel turned. "Who?"

"Oh, the wood nymph who lived here with the Men of Letters in the 50s. She’s the guardian of the Bunker.”

"She's the sweetest, most awesome gal" Dean gushed, "I mean she can cook, bake, prepare us snacks while on a hunt! She does laundry and she can even power up the Bunker, can you believe we're running this gem half baked?"

Castiel didn’t know where to begin at the load of information, so he focused on the supernatural stuff.

"A woodnymph? How? They’re magical creatures who lived in the mountains forests, the rivers or the streams and are very powerful and territorial, how did one end up here?”

“The Men of Letters tricked her,” Sam sighed, “They used her to get rid of monsters, Cas... like she’s some anti-monster machine.”

“Gowdawful sons of bitches but yeah, they were saving the world.” Dean grumbled, “but they could’ve been honest with her in the first place.”

Castiel considered Dean for a moment, the lavender scent still lingering around him. Something about his hair or his clothes? The he realized it’s the scent of the wood nymph that’s enveloped Dean’s clothes and skin.

“Get rid of it,” he said, a little annoyed.

“What?”

“Take a shower then tell me where she is, now.”

“She’s gone, Cas,” Jack answered, “Just this morning. She missed her home.”

“And that's why we can't have everything nice." Dean agreed.

Cas squinted, "What does that mean?”

“ET gone home.” Dean smiled but Castiel sensed his gloom. He knew E.T, how could he not when Dean kept asking Jack to do the finger thing?

"She was really nice Cas,” Jack said sincerely, “she looked after me and spoke to me about second chances, she was really sweet...well, until she locked me in the dungeon-”

"She did what?"

"After poisoning my system to weaken me."

"She what?!" Castiel blinked in disbelief. Dean snorted.

"He's fine, you think we'd let anyone hurt him when you’re not around? It's Sam you should hear, he went on a date with Eileen and got laid-"

"Thank you, Dean,” Sam shook his head as Jack grinned.

"She pulled out Sam's nails," he said in awe, "and nearly had Sam and Dean kill me."

Cas' mouth dropped open. He glared seething at Dean accusingly who finishes his juice with a shrug.

"It's natural someone gotta try to kill us each day, right?"

"And you?" Cas prompted, "What exactly did she do to you? Hug you so hard you almost smelled like her?”

"Jealous boyfriend, you can’t complain. You know how she multi-dimensionally vacuumed your feathers all over the place and called my room a bird house?" Dean laughed.

"She was in your room?”

"She was in his room, folding all his underthings." Sam sniggered. Dean glared at him with Cas giving him a look when he took his angel blade out. "That's it, which forest is she from?”

Dean pulled his elbow back, "Aw come on, dude, chill. She fixed the television in the Dean cave we accidentally knocked off the wall because someone couldn’t hold their--

“Dean!” Sam barked, “Language! There’s a kid here!”

“Awh, christ!” Dean cursed, “Come on.” Castiel allowed Dean to drag him to the kitchen where he served the angel a glass of tomato juice.

“Is this going to be your new diet?”

“Do you disapprove?”

“No, it’s actually good. She certainly has a knack for human care if she noticed how you’ve been... overdoing your intake of junk foods.”

“The juice is not that awful. Anyway, I bet she and her lads got a nice thing going on around here before Abaddon killed them all.” the hard note in his voice didn’t go unnoticed to Castiel who studied Dean’s face quietly.

“You want to tell me something, Dean?”

“Yep. Stop me with the tomato. It’ll kill my sense of taste.”

“You have tomato on your burger. Tell me or that tv’s in danger.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, you know, she kept her self preserved here since the 50s, Cas? She really missed her home. And I was thinking if things go bad, I don’t want you ending up like that.”

“Being stuck in the Bunker?” he caught Dean’s solemn eyes.

“Yeah... also being alone, waiting...it was a sweet ride, Cas, but if we don’t come back and you missed home, especially if you miss home, you gotta go okay? Don’t suspend yourself here, don’t wait. I was sorry for her, but if it happened to you...I’d... I don’t want that.”

“Hmmm” Cas nodded, “I will definitely miss home.” He stared at Dean hard, “That’s why I keep coming back to it no matter how many times I got pulled away because... I always want to be home.”

Dean blinked in surprise with red tinge flaming on his cheeks when he seemingly understood and that’s the most important thing. Castiel held his gaze in all seriousness.

“Dean, you know she had to go because no one important for her was here anymore,” Castiel clarified, “She had a reason to stay, Dean. They were gone so she moved on. It’s only natural.”

Dean nodded, but still bowed. “She still loved them even though they’re the reason she’s...”

“You can’t teach the heart reason, right?” Cas amended, “and if they were really nice to her then maybe she was happy here too. There’s no need to be sad for her, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know... just, I keep thinking about you... how in the end, we all have to go at the of the road...” Dean paused looking wary and tired, “I just wished the road just goes on, you know... I’m still afraid of that vacant seat, Cas.”

“Of course.” Castiel nodded. “So you have to save a seat for me because I’m coming along. I’m not losing you.”

Dean looked so thunderstruck, Castiel just wanted to offer him pies and burgers to make him happy again. Won’t force him the tomato juice, Dean needs his coffee too. But after awhile, his smile returned with a flicker of light in his eyes.

“Can’t get rid of you even in death, huh?” Dean sighed relaxing now.

"I’m afraid not. And now that it’s cleared, where are your underthings?” Castiel demanded. “Did she touch that Scooby doo...?”

#Suptober20 #day 10 #sweet rides #random haha #destiel fic #crack #fluff

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fortheloveoffanfic · 3 years

Text

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Warnings- Angst (I guess), SMUT/NSFW, choking.

Chapter 5 Remember To Forget

Throughout the day, John had pretended that he really hadn't seen what he did in the wee hours of the morning when he’d innocently crept to the kitchen for a glass of water, only to find Y/n a teary mess before slinking back to his room. And for the most part, Y/n had acted like it hadn’t happened, though, John wasn’t sure if it was because he was simply searching for a shift in her demeanor or if there really was one, but she had been significantly quieter. She seemed distant to, far into some day dream, and at some point, when Donavan had requested a private audience with her, he’d fumed out of her office minutes after they’d been left alone, not to be seen again for the rest of the afternoon. That had arguably been John’s favorite part of the day; he didn’t like the other man anyway, for reasons another person might attribute to jealousy while he himself would say that there was simply something about him that didn't sit well.

They’d returned to her penthouse late in the evening, past dark and without words exchanged, Y/n had stalked off in front of John, discarding her stylish charcoal blazer on a tufted ottoman in the hallway before steering into the kitchen. Maintaining their distance as he had through the day, John was intent on his bedroom, not expecting her to stop him just before he began down the hall. “Yeah?” He glanced Y/n’s way after she called.

“Have dinner with me,” if he’d learned anything about her, it was that Y/n didn’t ask for what she wanted, instead, she simply stated it, wholly expecting submission. Most times she got it too, though, she did expect John to be a more worthy opponent and was prepared to snatch his company for the evening. “I don’t usually cook, but if you stay and I can promise you won’t regret it.”

John dwelled on Y/n’s offer for a minute, internally debating it. He wanted to stay, spend time with her, despite his foreboding dream and the edge of danger that accompanied her presence. And finally, when logic preached that it was just dinner, he caved, shrugging his suit coat and draping it over a chair at the kitchen table, “Okay, sounds good.”

Y/n seemed pleasantly surprised, though, she didn’t let it linger on her face for too long. “Good, I’m-” she cleared her throat softly, remembering herself as she went to grab some ingredients from the fridge, “That’s good. Wine?”

“Sure.” After that, she poured them a couple glasses, insisting, or rather demanding that he sit and stay put while she cooked, muttering something about how she worked better without the help as she chopped a carrot aggressively. It wasn’t long before she’d turned on a record player either, one that resided neatly in a corner, largely unseen until Y/n went over to it, putting a record under the pin. The music was soft, and John recognized most of them as tunes from a time before even he’d been dreamt into existence. He hadn’t pegged her for the kind of person who enjoyed fifties music, but as John was quickly realizing, there was more to Y/n that met the eye.

She’d just put the glass lid on a saucepan, allowing its contents to simmer while she poured them another glass of wine. “What’s this one?” John probed absently, staring at Y/n as she leaned over the counter to refill him, a few wispy locks escaping her loose ponytail and her stature relaxed after she’d long traded in her heels for walking around barefoot. Seeing her like that was nice, it reminded him that she was human; just a young girl, caught in a world that circumstance afforded her.

“This one?” Y/n hummed, the song had just begun, the first notes wafting and pleasantly intermingling with the aroma of what she was making, “Its called The Twelfth Of Never,” she smiled absently, probably not even realizing she was doing it, “It was my mom’s favorite, my parents played at their wedding,” Y/n took a tentative sip from her glass, deciding on whether or not she should say more, “And she used to sing it to me, before…..before she….”

“I understand,” John reached over from his perch on a barstool, surprising them both when he grabbed her hand, squeezing gently, “That must be a beautiful memory.”

That time, when Y/n smiled, he was almost sure she’d done it on purpose, “It is.” And without another word, she approached the player, making a few adjustments so the song would restart, “Let me show you something,” Y/n set her glass down, walking around to John and offering her hand, “Come on.”

“You want to dance?” He chuckled, discarding his wine glass, skeptically taking her offered hand, gasping quietly at its softness, completely contrasting the calluses on his large palms.

“Why not?” Y/n didn’t meet his gaze, but John swore he could tell she wanted too, playing along as she arranged his hands on her body. Touching her like that, it was weird to say the least, not just because he still usually considered himself a married man, but also because holding Y/n felt vastly different to the way it had in his dreams. Then, she hadn’t felt so small, so breakable. Not like the invincible woman he knew in wake, but like someone he’d want to protect. “You lead,” she broke his thoughts, “Its not a hard one.”

Slowly, as permitted, John led Y/n in a slow waltz, his hand stationed at the center of her back, the satin of her blush colored blouse soft to touch. Her hand at his shoulder was, dare he say, comforting and as they sunk into a new familiarity, Y/n stepped closer, so they were chest to chest, her eyes vacant as they danced. “Have you ever felt like that about someone, John? Like you could love them forever?”

“My wife,” his hand slid lower, to the dip of Y/n’s back, and she seemed to hesitate before leaning her head against his chest. For a moment, John stiffened, he hadn't expected her to do that. Then again, he hadn't expected her to do anything she had that evening. After a moment though, he let himself relax, not wanting to admit, even to himself, that he liked having her that close. "She's…...I miss her," he mused, quelling the impulse to tighten his hold on Y/n. "You?"

"Me?" She huffed a humorless chuckle, “No, never. But maybe that’s a good thing. Love is…...destructive,” Y/n’s last words were so soft that John may not have heard them if she weren’t so close. Suddenly, he realized that like him, even if she’d been raised by a family, Y/n must have had a childhood as jaded as his, especially after mother’s death. He and Y/n might have had more in common that he would have preferred to admit. They were two bent, hardened people, seeking to fend for themselves because trust wasn’t something they could be guaranteed.

Emboldened by this new realization, and seeing how she was comfortable enough to sink into his arms, John guided their conversation in another direction, “I saw you last night.” He eased the topic in slowly, not wanting Y/n to recede into herself. John ached to know her, help her, if she’d let him. “In the kitchen.”

Knowing exactly what he was talking about, Y/n tensed up, holding her breath as if it would make her disappear, only letting it out when they stopped, still standing in the middle of the kitchen, entangled, “What did you see?” A pair of wide eyes stared up at John with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“You know what I saw,” John insisted softly, his arms showing no intention of releasing Y/n, even when one of her hands curiously slid around his neck, inching upwards to tangle his burnt hued mane, “We can talk about it if you want to.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw, John” Y/n’s lengthy, half moon nails gently grazed his scalp and she leaned up on her toes so her lips would be a hair away from his, “But you didn’t. So just forget about it,” she urged, tilting her head as she finally laid her lips on John's, moving them against his encouragingly. He took a beat, but eventually responded, curling his fingers behind her back to clutch a fistful of her shirt’s fabric.

Y/n’s free hand gripped his firm bicep and John let himself run with the moment, his eyes shutting and his tongue evading the barrier of her teeth. She tasted like wine and something he’d never tasted on another woman, something unique and inviting. It felt so good to be like that with someone again, the proximity, the intimacy, the fragility of the moment, it was all so consuming that John let himself forget. But only for a bit. Until a voice, one he could only ever hear in his dreams, caught up with him. How could you, John?

“I can’t,” in an instant, John was pulling his face away, not realizing that he hadn’t relented his grip on Y/n, “This isn’t……” He couldn’t do that to Helen, taint her memory by laying with someone like Y/n. With someone who reminded him of himself.

“Why?” Searching his features, Y/n cupped John’s cheek, his trimmed, grey speckled scruff ticklish under her soft palm as her thumb grazed the hint of a wrinkle near his eye.

“I’m married…..” John’s hands shifted on her body, slipping so they were stationed at her waist, but even then, he seemed reluctant to remove them altogether, “My wife…..”

“What you do with me won’t change what you had with her,” Y/n’s husky whisper was accompanied by her free hand skimming his torso, her touch electrifying, causing John’s breath to hitch. Hesitantly, his gaze fell to her kiss swollen lips, knowing his resolve was ebbing away. Her fingers stopped at the buckle of his belt, and he was actually surprised that she hadn't taken it further, “I know you want to,” to prove her point, Y/n pressed her front to his, feeling his growing longing against her stomach, “You can’t tell me you don’t.”

She was right, as hard as he was trying, John knew that he couldn’t resist. Maybe he’d been done for it from the moment he met Y/n at the Continental, when her mystery ignited a spark that he hadn't felt since Helen. Besides, it was just sex. A dark glint shifted in his eye, clouding his usual stoicism as John's hand inched down to her hips, giving Y/n's short skirt a series of gentle tugs so the fabric would ride up her thighs. "You're right; I can't," his calloused fingers ghosted her smooth skin, raising goosebumps, "And I do want to."

Offering a glimmer of a wicked smirk, Y/n toyed with the buckle of the belt until it came undone, ignoring the loud clatter that followed when she finally slid the leather out of its loops and dropped it to the floor, "Then what's stopping you, Mr. Wick?" Nimble, petite fingers popped the plastic button of John's slacks.

"Right now?" One large hand ventured under the hem of her skirt, pushing the crotch of Y/n's panties aside so his rough, stocky digits could tease her folds. Spreading her slickness, John took his time before pressing down on her clit, igniting a new throbbing in her crotch. Loudly, Y/n moaned around his fingers, an indirect plea for more and John cocked a devilish smirk, "Not a damn thing."

Y/n was too lewd to respond verbally, one of her legs simply crooking at John's hip, his undone pants riding a little lower each time they shifted. Simultaneously, as John worked her cunt, his free hand hastily pulled her blouse out from her skirt, reaching under it to grope a lace clad breast. "John….." Y/n huffed, breath contained in her throat.

"Yeah," he gritted his teeth Y/n reached into his boxers, hissed when her jewelry adorned hand circled his hardened cock, the metal cold against his skin, and finally, when her thumb rubbed his swollen head, spreading around the first beads of precum before pumping slow, John moaned sinfully, "Fuck!" His forehead touched hers briefly, before John hoisted Y/n up in his arms, only to discard her moments later on the dark veined marble counter.

Leaning past her, he quickly turned off the top burner on the electric stove before returning his attention. Y/n had already started undoing the buttons of her shirt and entranced, John stared as the fabric hung off her shoulders, his mind flashing to the day he'd seen her exposed modesty in the reflection. Seeing her that evening though, it was absolutely incomparable; full breasts nearly spilling out of rich black lace and unblemished skin almost glowing in the cool lighting of the room. Y/n looked like a thing of erotic art, her legs spread wide to accommodate him standing between them as she propped herself on hands planted on the counter. Hair pulled away from her face left John's alluring view unhampered and as he admired, Y/n's words, spoken from matted burgundy lips pierced his thoughts and she reached out, catching the hem of his shirt, "If it makes you feel better," she tugged him closer, bringing her face to his so a searing kiss would punctuate her words, "You can pretend I'm her."

So it really was just sex, John thought, Y/n didn't care much beyond the physical. "No," more hastily that time, John shoved up Y/n's skirt, roughly tugging her legs soon after, and finally peeling off her panties tossing them away, "Cause I'm gonna do things to you," he pushed down his pants and boxers, letting them fall around his ankles and his lips peppering nibbles along her jaw and neck, somehow losing his shirt in the process, "That I'd never do to her." And with that, and no prior warning, John pressed into Y/n, filling her up to the brim.

In unison, their hallowed sounds bounced off the white walls, Y/n's nails digging into his shoulder blades as he stretched her so wide it burned. Drunk on the feeling of having Y/n's tight, heated, wetness around him, John's hips buckled on instinct. Fueled by carnal desire; any trace of something much more tender vanquished by the heavy air surrounding them, he stirred up a quick, fluid pace, his length dragging out of Y/n's perfectly tight cunt before slamming back in. His onslaught of violent thrusts elicited loud, sinfully erotic sounds from Y/n, who had unintentionally relinquished any control that she, just a while ago, brandished over the situation, resigning to hanging onto John as he had his way with her.

"John…...fuck…...John!" Her broken, ragged words were few and the feeling of John's throbbing veins generating the best kind of friction as he roughly moved inside her, jerking her body with his selfish pace. Helpless against his whims, Y/n clawed at his back, accentuating the shine of healed scars and the bold black ink with angry red lines.

"You feel so fucking good," he growled, one hand skimming Y/n's as the other held a death grip on her hip, "So fucked tight around my cock," John's throaty gnarrs were enough to intensify her need, rousing Y/n to tighten her legs around his waist. By passing her still restrained breasts, John found the graceful column of Y/n's neck, his palm lingering flat at the base of her throat for just a second before his grip closed around her neck.

Gradually, the pressure he applied on either side of Y/n's neck increased, yet the tighter his hold got, the more she wanted. Surely, he was leaving a large bruise, one that would probably compliment the ones he'd already given her and match with the ones she was giving him. "Open your eyes," John urged, not slowing as consciousness seemed like a struggle. He was good though, always giving Y/n enough to keep her with him while still muting her power.

She didn't think she could like it that much, being at someone else's mercy, but this was John, and what they were doing then would probably mean nothing with the coming hours. It was fun; meant to last for a while, be a sweet escape for whatever troubled her before Y/n would return to her ivory tower.

It was hard to even try to choke a couple words out, and Y/n was sure that her reddened eyes were leaking with slow, rare tears, as bluish spots skewed her vision, blurring her view of John. "I….I'm…." But even as the coil on Y/n's stomach was about to snap, she couldn't manage the words.

Still though, John understood, "Do it…." He grunted urgently, "Fuck!" He continued rolling his hips incessantly, prolonging the journey to his own release. He craved the feeling of Y/n coming around him, clenching around his cock as she tripped over the edge, "Cum for me," he squeezed her neck.

Just then, the rush of sticky warmth was spilling out, messily coating their thighs and slowly drizzling down their legs. The sound that left her lips could have best been something between a scream and a languid moan as Y/n's eyes rolled back into her head. As the shocks of sheer pleasure coursed through her, sending a spark to every nerve ending in her petite being, her toes curled and her legs tangled around John's hips stiffened momentarily.

Ridding out her explosive high, John's movements went rigid at the feeling of Y/n milking him. As she came down, he let go, using all his restraint to not squeeze her neck too tight as he came, sheathed deep inside, ropes of hot, release against her walls, not pulling out until he'd expended himself.

Leaving her with a distinct hollowness between her sticky thighs, John detached their spent, sated forms, not touching her, but still boxing Y/n in by steadying himself with his palms planted firmly on the counter. They were breathing erratically and heavily whilst actively avoiding each other's gazes, trying to make the experience as impersonal as it clearly wasn't.

"So," Y/n swallowed harshly, trying to remedy her hoarseness and shrugging her shirt back up to close up the buttons. When John looked at her, he seemed as equally as cold and unaffected as Y/n did, and they both knew that talking about what had just happened wasn't on the table.

"So?" John prompted, pulling up his pants, deciding that even cleaning up around Y/n was too intimate.

"So, dinner?" Her feet hit the shiny marble floor with the softest thud before Y/n, slipped out from the slim space between his hulking frame and the edge of the counter, padding over to turn on the stove again.

John didn't answer immediately, both phased and relieved that Y/n had chosen to dismiss their encounter so quickly, less than thirty minutes after it had happened. "Okay," he confirmed, forgoing his shirt.

Blinking quickly, Y/n faltered, though, the moment was fleeting and soon she was nodding stiffly, "Okay."

*****

Tagging-@harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea @jupiterdawngirl

#john wick #keanu reeves #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves x y/n #keanu reeves fanfic #ff #fanfic #fanfiction #john wick fanfiction #protective service #chapter 5 #john wick au #au #requested

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Text

Last Christmas

Words: 2900

Warnings: Here we see the smut chapter. Fluff and smut.

A/N: again thanks to my homies @joz-stankovich and @robertsheehanownsmyass for encouragement!! Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @elliethesuperfruitlover @super-unpredictable98 @bisexualnathanyoung

Chapter 3- White Christmas

Violet unlocked her door and dropped a handful of bags in the foyer. The mistletoe and pine still softly twinkling where Nathan left it made her flush at the memory of their kiss. She shook it off as she struggled to drag in a large heavy duffle bag she collected from the casino.

“Hey, Seamus Finnegan!” she gave a shout and smiled to herself. “Come help me with your shit! Also you've got eight hundred messages on your phone.” Violet finally faced her apartment and gasped. Nathan had decorated while she was out.

White lights trimmed the door to her balcony. The island where they ate earlier shared a similar style to the one above her front door: Pine and some bows and lights scattered throughout. There was a six foot pine tree in the corner by her television showered with white lights as well (in fact all the lights Nathan used were white. Some twinkled, some were stagnate). There were ornaments of every shade of purple, flowers and silver tinsel littered the tree, and again the pine around the wood of the table her tv sat on. Any bow used was a deep purple with silver trim.

“Oh, Nathan.”

That's all Violet could whisper as she ran her hands along the bough that lined the kitchen island. She knew in her heart he would open his mouth and ruin the feeling of contentment and she had right now. Something witty or obscene, so she kept quiet and allowed it all to soak in.

Making her way to the Christmas tree, Violet reached out to touch everything. It was real, solid. Nathan made all of these with his.. magic? She couldn't believe that’s what it was. Magic. He was magical.

His face certainly is magical, too she thought to herself. Cheeks hot as the sensation of his tongue in her mouth flooded her memory. It's been so long, Vi. What would it hurt?

Except it wasn't just about wanting to sleep with Nathan. He challenged her with his smart mouth. Always tacking on a statement that would get him the most attention. That he couldn't just say anything nice or complimentary without sexual or sarcastic wit sprinkled in. But he was vulnerable with Violet when he was still locked up and just last night as he lay dying in her arms. When Nathan trusted someone his walls came crashing down.

And he could be selfish, but so far he used his powers for others. The money he tried to steal to give Marnie and someone else’s baby a better life. Violet knew the young mother didn't steal the poker chip, Nathan gave it to her and told her to take off so she wouldn't get caught up in his mess. The decorations and breakfast this morning, carrying her to the couch instead of leaving her on the floor. That asshole’s tongue at the club. Even trying to comfort Violet as a knife stuck out of HIS chest.

And Violet assumed he drove everyone insane, himself included. Yet he survived. Or found a way. He survived being homeless and whatever went on in London after that storm that affected him and his friends (She googled it, would bring them up later). He even survived prison; for a guy like Nathan that was impressive.

Violet liked some of her clients. She even struck up friendships with the better of them. ACTUAL friendships where they called and hung out whenever her schedule allowed. But this was a tiny seed planted in her heart that started to grow and blossom like the flowers on her Christmas tree. They weren't supposed to see each other ever again, and Violet would be able to uproot her feelings for the flirtatious Irishman and throw them away.

Except he was in her apartment, occupying more than just physical space. With his stupid green eyes and even dumber way he laughed loudly at all of his own jokes before anyone else could. Let's not even start on his stupid, handsome face caught between boyish and a man like puberty couldn't make up it's mind during Nathan’s late teen years and just decided to linger into his twenties. Or his weird body with the baby Bambi spindly legs but muscular arms (with dumb scene kid tattoos) and that chest she touched. With all that death she figured he would be cold, but he was human. Hot blooded, warm-skinned human.

God dammit, Duval. You can't do this. He's probably just doing what he does best when it comes to you. Surviving until he gets home to London. Plus, he's like, way too young for you.

Her sisters were gonna have a field day with this tomorrow at dinner. Would Nathan even want to go with her? She was so lost in her thoughts, that she only just noticed the flowers decorating her tree were her namesake, violets.

Somewhere far behind, Nathan cleared his throat. Violet still jumped, plucking a flower off as she did. “Hope you don't mind I jazzed up the place. Rather boring for a bird like you,” he said with a devilish grin. “I wasn't sure what ye liked. I closed my eyes and t’ought of you and all this happened.” He swept his hand around the room.

“It's rather thoughtful for you.”

“Don't you mean thoughtful OF me?”

“No I definitely meant FOR you” Violet challenged.

For only the second time since they met, Nathan was rendered speechless.. Mouth agape, thick eyebrow furrowed in confusion as he grappled for a comeback and failed. It was only when Violet looked at him struggling that she understood what was going on with her guest as he casually lounged against the wall.

Nathan was wearing one of her sheets wrapped around his lithe body in a makeshift toga. A tinfoil halo laid crookedly on his shaggy head. Violet also took notice of the outline of his member under the sheet. She couldn't help but gawk knowing he was naked. He didn't bother with the wings, as if he was “angel” enough for what he thought he was doing.

Violet laughed out loud and covered her mouth to hide mirthful giggles. Tears sprang to her eyes, and at one point she felt out of breath. Nathan, meanwhile, had a crimson climb up over his face. His eyes betrayed that for once maybe there was some sort of embarrassment going on. He crossed his arms self-consciously and rolled his eyes.

“Are ye done having a laugh?!” just a smidge of hurt in his voice. “Last time turn myself inta a sexy angel!” Nathan jerked his hips and sneered.

“You look so cute! You halo did me in! Be honest,” Violet pursed her lips to express another giggle, “What are you doing?” She could feel the answer before he said it.

Nathan waltzed over to just a few feet from Violet. He ran a hand down the length of his body with mischief in his eyes, “Who me? I go on top, love.”

“Not if I have a say in it.”

Nathan’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “What if I get there first?”

“I've got way more experience than you do. And I always come out on top.”

There was electricity in the air.

“Key word being come,” Nathan’s voice came out sleepier than usual.

His eyes drifted from Violet’s down to her mouth then back up as he teeth bit his entire bottom lip. If that was meant to be seductive it worked.

Violet felt out of her body when she clung to the back of Nathan’s neck so she could bring his mouth down to hers. Their tongues doing battle as she got her fingers wrapped up in the back of his head. Nathan’s strong hands on the curve of her waist so that he could bring her lower half onto the bulge under the sheet. She moaned unintentionally into his mouth.

Nathan was a little aggressive the way he almost choked Violet with his tongue. She bit into it between playful and defensive causing him to back off. Only breaking the kiss to remove her shirt. Their bodies molded together again as they made out in the living room.,

His hands kept flitting over her body in quick succession like he couldn't decide between her shoulder blades or her ass. Making up his mind instead to start fumbling around with the clasp of her bra. To Violet’s delight and surprise he managed to unhook the thing and helped her slide it off.

In a whirlwind Nathan picked Violet up so that she could wrap her long legs around his thin body. Violet took note that he was stronger than he looked as they stumbled through the hall. Tongues at war again while Nathan crashed Violet into a wall where he devoured one of her breasts.

“Ow,” she winced but giggled into his mouth. Her nails deep into the skin of his shoulders and neck for balance.

“Not sorry,” Nathan mumbled.

He bit at a nipple harshly before sucking on it and repeated this back and forth. Growling into her chest with his face inside her cleavage. Violet laughed louder than she meant to at the absurdity.

“OI!” Nathan cried, but joined in the laughter this time.

Now they lumbered towards the bedroom, Violet tugged on his hair and cried out as his tongue flicked and devoured her nipples softer than before. Once inside, Nathan literally threw Violet back on to her bed towards the pillows.

“What the fuck?!” Her face hurt from smiling and laughter. Afraid of what might happen to her expensive Versace panties, she took them off before Nathan could tear into the fabric himself.

Violet bit her finger, her skin goose-pimpled in the cold air of her apartment. Her patience began to grow somewhat thin even as her sex started to pulsate at the sight of Nathan’s erection under the toga he fought with.

“Do you want help?” she offered.

Nathan waved her off and it fell to the floor. His cock surprised her with the still attached foreskin strained against the head. Then she remembered most European guys were still intact.

Violet's view was mostly a short one because Nathan crawled across the bed towards her. That Lord of Chaos shit eating grin from ear to ear as he palmed her knees. He spread them till they touched the sheets. He sucked on her collarbone and pumped a finger or two deep inside Violet. The palm of his hand meeting her sex causing her to buck unexpectedly while he repeated himself a few times. Her actions only encouraged him to keep going

“Where did you learn any of this foreplay? Porn? Trial and error? Juvenile girls with low standards?”

“D. All of the above.” He groaned into Violet’s neck. Fingers still gliding in and out of her.

“Have you ever been with an older woman?”

Nathan startled Violet by staring at her all of a sudden. “How old is older woman?”

Violet grimaced, “Nope. Nevermind.”

Before long, Nathan stopped using his hand and all too hastily started to lap at Violet. His tongue swift and sloppy over her sex not even bothering to find her clit. Rapidly he licked at her slit like she was an ice cream he tried to eat before it melted. It wasn't unpleasant but it wasn't exactly getting her off.

“Nathan?” she cried out the question. “NATHAN!” louder.

He raised his head, mouth glossed with her wetness. “Ahyep?” His eyes heavy with desire.

“This is oral sex, Lucky Charms. Not a fucking pie eating contest. Slow down and put your mouth here,” she brushed fingers over the top of her sex and spread it enough to show him her clit.

Nathan’s eyes widened and followed her finger to the bud of nerves she all but pointed at. “So that's what it looks like,” he marveled.

Violet glanced heavenwards but a part of her felt bad. “I'm being serious, has no woman EVER told you how to get her off?”

Nathan littered her thighs with kisses from the knee towards her pelvis. Making his way up the other to the opposite knee. He smiled at the way Violet’s body arched into the sensation. “Nah. Usually get a quick toss in then never see ‘em again. Marnie was my first missus.”

“Well then just use the tip of your tongue and make small circles.” Her breath caught when Nathan obeyed. “You can suck on.. Like. Fuck,” her hips writhed under his mouth “and just..” she mewled and lost concentration.

He caught on quickly. The rhythm of his tongue matched the way Violet rocked herself into mouth. More and more rapid he worked his tongue between circles and sucking. His actions and her wrapped up in a cycle of give and receiving

Violet vibrated. One hand clawed at Nathan’s neck. The other clutched the headboard as she felt electricity course through her. She bent forward at the power of her unexpected orgasm. The hood of her sex contracted around his tongue, liquified, she screamed his name.

Nathan pushed himself up and laid down on top of Violet before she could get her bearings. His tongue deep inside her mouth again as the head of his cock twitched and poked at her cunt.

“Na-Nathan, what are you doing?” she managed to catch her breath.

“Getting a toss in. Ye had yours, now it’s time t’give us a go. Right?” he teased her with the head slick already with his pre-cum.

“Not without a condom you don't.” Violet wedged her hands between her chest and Nathan’s to push him away. She searched around in her nightstand drawer, hyper-aware of the immaculate knife placed back inside. A flash of his dead body, but she held up a condom instead.

A kiss puckered on lips that fell. “A what?”

“You don't have condoms in Europe?” her eyebrow curved.

“Well sure but I've never used one.”

Nathan was so matter of fact it took Violet by surprise. Still, he took the package from her, hesitating to open it. He was rather tentative about what was inside.

“You've got to be fucking joking,” Violet took the rubber from him in haste and rolled her eyes. “I don't know where your dick has been.”

Nathan kneeled over her legs, his cock at perfect attention. “Aw COME ON!” he whined. “They're mostly clean council estate girls! Once there was one of those Thai ladyboys,” he stroked his chin, “but I didn't even realize my cock wasn't in a fanny”

“Fuck me.”

“I'M TRYING, SWEETHEART!! NO ONE’S EVER SHOWN ME HOW T’PUT ONE ON!”

Violet softened once more and sighed. She laid the condom on her chest and took Nathan by the waist to make him scoot towards her. For shits n giggles she raked her nails down his hips and he buckled with slight pain and pleasure. Violet smirked but took his cock in one hand while rolling the rubber over the shaft and down to the base expertly. She kissed his stomach, erection twitching as he came in proximity to get mouth.

Violet traced a fingertip over the stars he had tattooed down his pelvic bone. “What the hell possessed you?” She gazed up at him through her bangs.

Nathan caressed her cheek down to her lips where Violet sucked on his finger. She nipped playfully at it waiting for an answer. “It's shooting stars (stairs) all the way down t’ the milky fucking way”

Violet immediately regretted her decision to ask. Again. She had to remind herself he wasn't immature per se, more like stunted. Nathan had a good heart under the cushion of sarcasm and arrogance. A heart she placed the palm of her hand against to feel its steady beat.

“I'm only joking. Was a good place t’ hide it from mum. We can shag now right?”

Violet laid back on the pillows and opened up to him. Without hesitation, Nathan plowed into her. That pelvic bone collided with Violet’s as the breath escaped her lungs. Sweat gleamed along his chest and forehead mixed with the scent of her sex as his pace became almost ludicrous. There was pounding and diving into the hilt. As far inside of Violet as she allowed.

This is actually ok, she thought to herself as she attempted to match his speed and failed.

Violet laid under Nathan while he rutted like a wild animal. Breathless and panting as he attempted multitasking: Kissing her and fucking her. He failed at least one and opted to immerse himself in her hair as his body spasmed a release so violent and sudden all that escaped Nathan's throat was a strangled cry.

He collapsed on the pillows beside Violet and almost immediately passed out. She merely snorted, rolled away to check the time. It was then she felt soft, cold pinpoints on her bare arms and chest and hair. What was going on outside in the Nevada desert she registered as happening inside her bedroom.

Violet rolled over to face her lover. Snowflakes covered his bangs and long eyelashes. She held out her hands to catch giant fluffy flakes. Those same flakes fell inches high on her balcony but nowhere else. Violet snuggled into the chest of the man who slept beside her. Lost in his ecstasy, it appeared that he made it snow.

Nathan had given Violet her first white christmas.

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #nathan x violet #lord of chaos

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