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iboughtaplant · 3 years

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I tried to write angst! Here is a short Geraskier fic I wrote based on the Regina Spektor song Samson.

A Pair of Dull Scissors in the Yellow Light

Rating: T

Warnings: no archive warnings

Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier

Tags: Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Blood, Head Injury, Haircuts, Sort Of, Songfic, Song: Samson (Regina Spektor), a lot about Geralt's hair, I love Geralt's long hair so idk why I wrote a fic about his hair being chopped off

Read it on AO3

Geralt’s hair had always been long the whole time Jaskier knew him. Granted, Jaskier hadn’t known Geralt for very long compared to how old the witcher was.

When he first saw him, Jaskier was drawn to the quiet witcher seated in the corner. His long silver-white hair framing his handsome face. He was then of course drawn to the medallion and swords that marked him as a witcher. Not just excited to talk to a pretty face, but to hear the stories he could tell.

They might not have got off to the best start, but Jaskier...he loved Geralt. It might have been a bit of hero worship at first, this brave, strong witcher with a heart of gold. Branded as a mutant, a butcher, the stuff of nightmares in stories told to small children. But Jaskier loved him first. He loved Geralt above all else. His lute might be a close second, but that didn’t detract from the fact that he loved Geralt first.

It also meant he was already head over heels in love with Geralt when Geralt finally confessed that the love was mutual a few years into their friendship.

--------------------

Soon after Geralt confessed his feelings, Jaskier also learned about how Geralt’s long hair was linked to his witcher abilities. He already knew that its silver-white color was due to Geralt’s mutagens, but he hadn’t known there was more to it.

They were in Oxenfurt and Jaskier’s hair was getting too long for his liking, so it was the perfect excuse to spend some of the coin he earned playing in a tavern the night before on a proper haircut from a barber.

“Geralt, you should come with me. I am sure I have enough coin to pay for you to get your hair trimmed.”

“It’s fine, Jaskier. It doesn’t need to be cut.”

“Well maybe it doesn’t need it, but a haircut can be nice and relaxing. I know you love when I wash your hair for you, and they will do that at the barber’s as well.”

“No, Jaskier, it doesn’t need to be cut because it is always the same length.”

“But doesn’t your hair grow? Is it magic that keeps it from growing out of control?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt answered with a “hmm.” He took a long pause before saying more. “It must be tied to the spells the mages used, however they might have changed the mutagens. I don’t know. I don’t cut my hair. And it doesn’t grow past a certain length.”

Geralt then told Jaskier that due to some odd reaction between his body, the extra mutagens, and the magic of the mages his hair was cursed to be tied to the abilities and heightened senses the mutagens afforded him.

Jaskier had thought that Geralt’s long hair had been his one vanity. But of course it was yet another thing out of his control. But it made him curious if Geralt was the only witcher whose hair was tied to his powers.

“I’ve never heard of another witcher with white hair like yours,” Jaskier said. He didn’t want to ask a more pointed question.

“Because I’m the only,” Geralt said, voice thick with emotion. “The only one to receive a second dose of mutagens. Well the only one to survive it at least. The mages experimented on others before me, but I was the only one to survive the ordeal.”

“That’s awful, my love. I’m sorry you had to endure that.” He paused. “And I know it won’t make you feel better about it, but it is quite dashing, if I do say so.” Jaskier said, edging closer to Geralt and running his nimble fingers through the soft strands.

“How about I forgo the haircut and we can spend our coin on that nice soap you pretend you don’t like. I’ll wash your hair for you. And then we can braid it. A bit of a change even if you can’t cut it.”

“I’d like that,” Geralt said in a soft voice.

--------------------

The yellow-orange light of the campfire made everything glow. The atmosphere felt far more comfortable than the current situation. But Jaskier was thankful for the light it granted. Jaskier scrambled to dig his scissors out of his pack and make his way back to Geralt, unconscious on the ground, only his thin bedroll under him.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Jaskier whispered through his tears to Geralt’s unconscious form as he took the scissors—considerably duller than he would have liked, he had forgotten to ask Geralt to sharpen them for him recently—and began to cut away Geralt’s silver locks that were stained red by blood and gore matted in them.

Unfortunately, most, if not all, of the blood belonged to Geralt, the gore belonging to the beast he killed, but not before it almost killed him.

Jaskier’s hands were shaking, he had to grip the scissors with both hands, one hand supporting the other. He had to cut Geralt’s hair. He had to. They were in the middle of a forest, in the middle of nowhere. No towns were close enough to travel to with an injured witcher. Not to mention the fact that Geralt had already been running low on potions. They were going to restock on potion ingredients in the next town they visited. But again said town was too far to travel when Geralt was severely injured and Jaskier was only human, and would not make it there and back with help in time.

The gash on the back of his skull was nasty. Jaskier knew that head wounds bled profusely regardless of their severity, but this one was quite bad and even a witcher could die from bleeding out.

He kept whispering apologies to an unconscious Geralt as he cut away, piece by piece, the tangled, matted hair and clumps of monster gore to better see the wound. The bleeding had hardly slowed, and Geralt had also lost blood from a thin slice down his side. At least the bleeding of that wound had slowed and Jaskier had been able to crumple up one of their shirts to put pressure on it and wrap a bandage around it.

The head wound was much more worrying. Once Geralt’s hair was mostly cut away, Jaskier was able to clean the wound with the water from his water skin, some alcohol from a flask as an antiseptic.

It was a rough job, but at least the wound was cleaned and the bleeding finally slowed. From his kneeling position, Jaskier finally sank down onto his heels. He could feel the sticky tear tracks down his cheeks. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He felt the tackiness of the blood still on his hands.

Geralt’s hair had been covered in blood, only fitting that his was now. Geralt’s blood. It was Geralt’s blood on his hands and he hated it.

Once the adrenaline started to wear off, Jaskier realized his hands were shaking again. Or maybe they had been shaking the whole time. It was still an odd sensation as his hands were always steady. Geralt pointed it out many a time when he had to guide Jaskier through stitching him up over the years.

--------------------

Once Jaskier was done stitching and bandaging, all he could do was wait. Sit and wait for Geralt to wake up. He felt anxious and tired at the same time. Excess energy thrummed through him while his limbs felt heavy like lead.

He looked at his lute, but felt no compulsion to play it. He should probably eat, but any food would probably taste like ash in his mouth.

He laid back on his bedroll and tried to relax. He would be no use to Geralt when he woke up, if he was keyed up and anxious. He sighed and stretched out, his arms pillowed beneath his head as he stared up at the sky.

The stars were bright, twinkling spots of light speckling the inky sky. It made the world feel big, and made him feel small. He was but a small speck in the grand scheme of things. He glanced over at Geralt and felt a smile cross his face. Geralt was more beautiful than all the stars in the sky and twice as bright. The stars were just old light.

--------------------

Jaskier was woken up by Geralt sitting down on the edge of his bedroll. He didn't even remember falling asleep. Geralt was slow to sit down as he leaned against Jaskier’s legs, his injuries taking a toll. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if it was more than usual. Was Geralt human now? Did his witcher healing at least do its part before Jaskier cut his hair?

He was pulled out of his spiral when Geralt spoke. “Your hair’s red.” Geralt said in a slur.

“What?” Jaskier asked, scandalized and afraid. Of course of all things Geralt was focusing on his hair, oh the irony. Jaskier also had the thought that somehow Geralt was seeing the blood in his hair from when he ran his hands through it earlier.

“In the light, looks red,” Geralt mumbled. “You’re beautiful.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier sobbed. In the light of the fire—that he somehow managed to keep burning—his hair looked red. He buried his head in his hands, still curled up on his bedroll. He felt his tears plastering his hands to his face. He couldn’t look at Geralt. He couldn’t face his honey-golden eyes, full of softness that betrayed his hard edges.

He essentially killed the man he loved. Maybe that was a bit dramatic. But Geralt is, well was a witcher. Jaskier just took that away from him when he chopped all of his hair off. His beautiful silver hair. Jaskier knew that Geralt was more than his hair, he almost cried when Geralt admitted that he loved when Jaskier told him all the things he loved about him and his hair wasn’t near the top of the list.

Geralt leaned more heavily into Jaskier and sighed. Jaskier removed his hands from his face and looked up at the love of his life, his greatest downfall. He stifled another sob that threatened to come out and looked at Geralt.

“My head hurts.” Geralt said in a small voice that was out of character for him. He sounded so vulnerable.

“You had, well have, a head wound. It was bad. Oh Geralt it was so bad. There was so much blood. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You saved me.”

“But at what cost, my love?”

Geralt didn’t answer his question. He just said, “My hair’s gone isn’t it.”

Jaskier sat up and wrapped his arms around Geralt, situating himself behind him so Geralt was in the vee of his legs, still on Jaskier’s bedroll, Geralt’s abandoned a few feet away.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered wetly into Geralt’s shoulder, lightly trailing his fingers down Geralt’s arm.

“You did good, Jask.”

“Don’t tell me that. How can you say that? I took it. I took your strength. I took it all. I-I, I hurt you.”

“No, the monster hurt me, you saved me.”

“Are you even a witcher anymore? Can you tell? If I took that away from you, I-”

“I never wanted to be a witcher, Jask,” Geralt said as he leaned his head back against Jaskier. He let out a slight hiss of pain and Jaskier felt a hand was squeezing his heart at the sound.

“I’m sorry. I am. But I had to save you. I couldn’t watch you bleed out. It was the only way.”

“You did alright, Jaskier.” He paused. “Wanna see you, help me turn around.”

Jaskier sucked in a breath. He knew he would have to meet Geralt’s eyes eventually. He helped Geralt turn around in his arms and supported most of his weight as he leaned into Jaskier. He looked into Jaskier’s eyes and Jaskier looked back. He looked into those honey-gold eyes and he felt settled. Geralt wasn’t mad. Jaskier took in Geralt’s face. It was clean, Jaskier had made sure of that. And his hair, of course, was short. Silver strands cropped close to his scalp, uneven in a few—well many—places. The bandages wrapped around the crown of his head. He was beautiful.

Geralt kissed Jaskier then. And Jaskier kissed back. Geralt kept kissing him. Soft, gentle kisses. Comforting kisses. They laid down on Jaskier’s bedroll, Jaskier pulling Geralt’s body on top of his own so he could support him, so his head wouldn’t touch the ground. Geralt insisted on kissing him more. He kissed him until the morning light broke through the trees of the forest surrounding them in golden light.

#the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #songfic #jaskier #my writing

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flamehairedwritings · 3 years

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Blind Date/Set Up By Friends

Characters: Chief Jim Hopper x Female Reader

Words: 1.6k

Rating: M

A/N: Hello! Welcome to the third day of my 7 Days of Valentine’s Drabbles, the 2021 edition!

This story contains swearing and two idiots in love.

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

—

Blind Date/Set Up By Friends

“No.”

The word comes out of your mouth before you can even attempt to stop it.

“Shit,” he says in reply.

The couple at the table next to you glance up before quickly looking away, not wanting to be caught and embarrassed on their special night. You don’t care at all, though, because you’ve been set up on a blind date with Jim fucking Hopper.

The most irritating man in the entire universe.

The exact same thoughts seem to be running through his mind because his jaw is moving and he’s staring at you. Stood there in a fucking beige (is that linen?) suit with a Hawaiian shirt on underneath, hair combed, beard trimmed. And he’s staring at you like you’re the anomaly here.

I’m gonna kill Jodie.

Raising your eyebrows, your hands lift.

“Right. Well. There’s obviously been a mistake here.”

“You think?” His eyebrows are also rising, hands going to his hips.

Even though you despise him, that irks you.

“Okay, so, you can just go, then.” You sit back down, hands returning to the menu you’d dropped on the table in your sudden standing.

“Me?”

You glance up at him, his tone and indignation surprising you. “Yeah. Bye.”

Your eyes drop back to the menu, looking at it but not exactly reading because he’s not moving.

“Uh, and why me?”

I’m dealing with a fucking child.

Lips parting, you look up at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, because it is.

“Because I was here first?”

Hopper snorts, arching an eyebrow. “What, you gonna eat on your own?”

“Yeah.”

Yeah, I’m going to eat on my own on Valentine’s Day and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Who even sets two people up on a date on Valentine’s Day?!

Before you can even think about looking at the menu again, Hopper scoffs.

“Well, I don’t want to go, you go.”

“No,” you shoot back incredulously, face twisting like you’ve tasted something sour.

He stares at you. And then he shrugs.

“Fine.”

Gripping the back of the chair opposite you, he pulls it back and sits in it.

“Oh my God,” you hiss, “Go and sit somewhere else.”

Adjusting his suit jacket, he then casts a hand around, gesturing at the restaurant. “Can’t you see it’s busy here? I’m not gonna find another seat.”

“Then go.”

“No.”

Then, he lifts up his menu and peruses it, a finger tapping against his lips. You just stare at him, feeling hot with frustration and irritation. Yes, you could just leave and buy something from the store on the way home and settle in for a cosy night, but you’d so been looking forward to a night out in a nice restaurant and some stimulating conversation from someone Jodie had said was perfect for you.

Perfect for you.

PERFECT FOR YOU.

That’s all you’d manage to get out of her about your date, apart from that it was on Valentine’s Day at Enzo’s and the employees there were aware of what kind of date it was.

You just can’t stop staring at him as he casually flicks through the menu while you quietly simmer with anger. This is why he gets under your skin so much; he’s just so stubborn. Exhaling a breath through your teeth, you force yourself to browse your own menu, even though you already know what you’re going to order. You’d arrived early, hating the idea of being flustered by trying to locate your date, and he’d... well, he’d arrived on time actually.

A pleasant surprise, but not enough to soothe your skin that prickles at the mere mention of him. Your friends and colleagues just laugh when the topic comes up.

Hop’? Hopper? The charming Chief of the town? Heart of gold underneath all that gruffness? Those big, strong arms and that flirty mouth? How could you not like him?

Well, you just... don’t. No reason. He’s not done anything to you, not said anything, you just... don’t. You can’t even really remember the first time you spoke to him when you moved here. Was it at a bar? The diner? You just remember the feeling when a friend had introduced you; prickly skin and a flipping stomach. His attitude towards you had left you feeling strange, too; you remember that he was blunt and eager to get away, barely looking you in the eye.

What an asshole.

... But, yeah, all right, maybe you had found him attractive, but then you’d seen him in bars picking up enthusiastically willing women left, right and centre and it had just... irked you, considerably.

Who does he think he is? I bet he thought whoever he was meeting tonight was going to be another one, that she’d be completely bowled over and was going to fall at his feet. Well, absolutely not, no thank you.

Every meeting you’ve had since, passing each other on the street, meeting each others gaze at the bar, having to converse in group conversations at parties, standing in line behind each other at the store, has been strained, with him either quickly looking away a little too late, so obviously not wanting to engage with you, or you just flat out ignoring him.

The waiter arrives with a smile which you return, somewhat forced, and if he’s noticed the more than slight tension at the table, he doesn’t let on at all. After he cheerfully takes your order, you then just have to sit and watch Hopper take his sweet time, one leg now balancing on the thick thigh of his other, menu in one large hand, talking to the waiter like he knows him, asking about what’s best and blah, blah, blah.

Crossing your arms, you stare at him, hoping the force of your gaze will somehow will him to hurry up. He glances at you once to just ask, “You want another bread basket?”

“Yes,” you grit out.

What kind of a question is that? Of course you do.

Snapping the menu shut, somehow the smooth motion of it just fuelling your irritation, he smiles at the waiter as he hands it back, and then the waiter leaves... and it’s just you two again.

You watch Hopper’s gaze travel the room, taking in all the laughing, chatting people, most if not all couples. He folds his own arms, the material of the suit stretching over his biceps, and you swiftly look away as his gaze reaches you.

“Guess Jodie’s a shit matchmaker, huh.”

Oh, God... You can’t just ignore him. Well, you can, but you imagine he’d just carry on talking anyway.

Taking a breath, which could be interpreted as exasperated, you nod. “Yeah. Didn’t even know you knew her.”

He shrugs. “We went to high school together.”

“Wow, she’s had to put up with you that long─”

“What is your problem with me?”

Your mouth remains open, your next word dying on your tongue as you stare at him. It stays open as you point at yourself, eyebrows shooting up, watching him just look at you, expressionless.

“Uh... What? You’re the one who has a problem with me.”

Now he frowns. “Excuse me?”

What.

Are you kidding me.

“Oh, don’t look so affronted, you always seem so irritated when I’m around and that you hope you don’t get stuck talking to me.”

He scoffs, but doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just makes half-laughing, half-astonished sounds. “... Me? I seem like that? You look at me like I’m the shit on your shoe!”

“If that’s true it’s only because of how you look at me.”

“And how do I look at you?” He says the words accusingly, challenging you, and it throws you for a moment because do his thoughts not influence his expressions?

It’s your turn to scoff as your eyebrows rise. “You... You look at me like...”

Nothing comes out of your mouth, every single encounter with him flashing through your mind, the filter of pre-conceived irritation and notions falling away.

Oh, no...

The times he’s looked away quickly after you’ve met his gaze... Not out of not wanting to engage but... not wanting to be caught looking. His curtness the few times you have spoken, not out of rudeness or wanting to get away, but because of awkwardness in your presence. The fact he’s sat down and has stayed.

Even the way he’d said ‘You think?’ minutes before... not said sarcastically, but stated. Asking you.

And he... he looks at you with tender eyes.

Oh my God...

Hopper shifts in his chair as he clears his throat, your thoughts and realisations most likely playing out across your features.

“... Uh...” Your mouth is still open, too, not knowing what to say.

I’ve been such an idiot.

He’s pushing his fork around on the table-cloth with his finger, waiting for whatever you’re going to say, probably expecting to be shot down or for you to laugh. Instead, you give him the truth.

“... I don’t have a problem with you, really... I just thought you had one with me.” Your voice comes out a lot quieter than you’d intended, but very much sheepish.

His head shakes as his jaw moves slightly, but there’s a light smile on his lips, and his gaze finally lifts to meet yours again; boldly and openly.

The tenderness is there.

“No. I don’t have a problem with you.”

“Okay.” The single word leaves you quietly, and something deep inside you relaxes.

“Do you want me to go?” he says, just as quiet as you had, and it’s like you’re the only two people in the room.

Licking your lips, you shake your head. “No. No, I’d... I’d like you stay. I think we should start this all over again.”

Hopper nods a few times, his smile lingering.

“Yeah, I think so, too.”

You find you’re smiling as well, your fingers lacing together in your lap.

“All right... What do you wanna talk about?”

—

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inthebentley · 3 years

Text

It’s a Tradition

A gift for @tlakhtwritesdestiel for the @destielsecretsanta2020 exchange

Title: It’s a Tradition Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Jack, Sam Rating: T Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Fluff, Christmas, Traditions, First Kiss, Mistletoe Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Team Free Will scrambles to put together a Christmas celebration for Jack, and Cas finds one tradition he'd like to try with Dean.

[ao3]

"We're gonna try and hit as many Christmas traditions as we can," Dean said. "I know Jack's expectations are high, but Christmas is tomorrow so we don't have much time." He grabbed a shopping cart and led Cas through the automatic doors.

"What traditions?" Cas asked, and he yawned. Understandable since Dean had dragged him out of the bunker at six that morning. "I thought you and Sam avoided celebrating Christmas."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to do it." He wheeled the squeaky cart toward a sign that said "Decorations". "First thing is trimming the tree. Sam is taking Jack to pick one out later, but we're gonna need ornaments."

The selection was pretty dismal. Dean probably should have expected that since it was Christmas Eve and most people had put their decorations up weeks ago.

Cas held up a dented box full of sparkly neon ball ornaments. "These look festive."

That was one word for it, Dean thought. But there weren't any better options so he took the box and dropped it into the cart. He also grabbed a few strands of lights in assorted colors while Cas spent a suspiciously long time looking at the bows on the other side of the aisle.

Dean crossed "tree" off his mental list.

"I would've said wrapping paper is next, but Sam helped him wrap gifts yesterday apparently." Dean, Sam, and Cas had all agreed that they would only exchange presents with Jack this year. Dean had gotten him a collection of Scooby-Doo on DVD that was packaged in a cardboard replica of the Mystery Machine and could double as a decoration in his bedroom. Truth be told, Dean nearly bought another one for himself. "We should see if they have any gingerbread house kits left."

"What are we going to put on the top of the tree?" Cas asked.

Dean turned to find him staring at the last angel and three star toppers left on the shelf. "Well, since I guess it would have to be an awfully big tree to get you up there without breaking limbs-" Cas glared at him "- grab the gold star. Now c'mon, we're gonna hit the baking aisles. Hopefully those are better stocked."

They weren't.

Dean found a gingerbread house kit wedged behind a few boxes of cake mix, and though it was a little dented it was better than nothing.

Cas took the box back out of the cart after Dean added it. "This looks very messy to eat after it's built and decorated."

"That's why we're not gonna eat it," Dean said. "That and the fact that it probably tastes like plastic. It's just for decoration. Besides, the next thing on our list is cookies and those are gonna taste awesome."

Dean continued to shop for another twenty minutes while Cas followed him around like a lost duckling. Only when he was satisfied that he had everything he would need for a decent Christmas dinner did he finally head for the check-out.

As they waited in line, Dean watched Cas browse the candy that lined the check-out lane.

He picked out a king sized bar that boasted "Now with even more nougat!" and put it into the cart.

"That one is Jack's favorite," he said.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I know, but between that and the cookies I'm gonna let you deal with the sugar high tomorrow."

Cas had been acting suspiciously ever since they got home from the store. Dean couldn't pin it down, but figured he'd get to the bottom of it later. Right now it was all about giving Jack the best Christmas he knew how.

They all sat beneath the haphazardly decorated tree as midnight approached. Sam had the great idea to string popcorn and Jack had loved that most of all. He was still making another strand as Sam read The Night Before Christmas off his phone screen.

Dean grabbed another sugar cookie from the plate between him and Cas. It kind of looked like a reindeer, if reindeer were purple with yellow stripes. Delicious, though.

"Is it time for presents, now?" Jack asked when the story was finished.

"Sure, kid." Dean pointed to his gift under the tree. "Open mine first."

Sam gave him the stink eye, probably because he knew Dean's gift would steal the show.

Jack tore into the wrapping paper with glee. "Scooby-Doo! This is so cool, thank you Dean." And he scooted forward on the ground to wrap Dean in a hug.

"Oh," Dean said, patting Jack's back a little awkwardly. "That's… that's good, I'm glad you like it."

When Jack pulled away to investigate his remaining gifts, Dean caught Cas smiling at him.

"What?" he asked, feeling a little defensive.

Cas' eyes crinkled at the corners. "You're a good dad, Dean," he said quietly as Jack started to rip up more paper.

Dean flushed.

"Oh wow!" Jack said, holding up a thick leather-bound journal and the king-sized candy bar from the store. "These are great!" He already had half the candy bar in his mouth when he went to give Cas the same thank-you treatment.

Dean didn't realize he was smiling until Cas caught his eye. Huh, he thought. "You're not so bad yourself."

They watched their kid open his final present.

Dean groaned. "A laptop, Sammy? Really?"

Sam just gave him a shit-eating grin over Jack's shoulder.

An hour later Jack was off to bed and his laptop was confiscated until Dean could set up some parental controls on the damn thing.

Cas lingered as Dean picked up the last of the wrapping paper from the floor. He leaned against the door frame casually, which wasn't casual at all. Dean glanced at him suspiciously and that's when something caught his eye. He stepped closer to see what it was.

"Cas, did you shoplift a piece of mistletoe?" Dean asked, not sure how to react to the strange situation he had found himself in.

Cas narrowed his eyes. "Did you buy the other supplies with a fraudulent credit card?"

"Point. But, uh… why?"

"It's a tradition," Cas said. He stepped closer to Dean. "One that I wanted to experience for myself."

His eyes never left Dean's, but Dean couldn't help the way he dropped his gaze to Cas' lips.

"Oh," Dean said. He looked up at the mistletoe above his head. "Might be bad luck to break tradition," he said, only half-joking.

"Then you'll kiss me?" Cas asked, his voice a low rumble.

Oh, Dean wanted to. He wanted to more than anything.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Dean hated the words that left his mouth when they caused Cas to fall back half a step. "This," he pointed at the mistletoe, "is convenient. An excuse. But it'll be gone after tomorrow."

Cas furrowed his brow. "I thought you would be glad of that."

"No, Cas." Dean reached out to touch his jaw lightly, just with his fingertips. "If I kiss you now, I'll need to do it every day for the rest of my life."

Cas' eyes widened and he surged forward to crash their mouths together.

At first it was too desperate to be a proper kiss, all teeth and bumped noses. But Dean slowed them down with one hand pushed into Cas' hair and the other rubbing gently between his shoulder blades until Cas' lips softened into something less fierce. When his hands unclenched from Dean's shirt to settle on his waist, Dean pulled back just a little and pressed their foreheads together.

"What do you say we continue this conversation somewhere a little more private and mistletoe-free?" he asked with a grin.

"It's actually holly, you know," Cas said, "so in theory we are not beholden to the tradition if we continue to stand beneath it."

Dean rolled his eyes, but nevertheless leaned in for another kiss.

#destielsecretsanta2020 #tlakhwritesdestiel #destiel #deancas #spn fic #bri writes fic

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. jhs x named f!reader makes a lil (big) appearance.

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). angst. general.

tags / warnings. this starts surprisingly soft! and then it gets... sad. no real tags, though. just... mentions of butts? also kicking butts? jungkook is a bit of a manipulative dingus. the usual.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif and @periminkle! i would be nothing without them. 💛

wc. 2.7k

chapter two.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a question that doesn’t beg an answer. He already knows you aren’t - that there’s no way you possibly could be - but he asks anyway. He offers the words like a hand in the dark, a light on the horizon. A reminder that you’re not alone and he’s here.

He, with sunbeams in his smile and a dependable heartbeat. He, who is melted and never frozen, a calm sea to your raging storm. Jung Hoseok.

He holds you delicately, with utmost care, as if he’s worried you might shatter into the same pieces he’d found you in three years ago. Or worse. He cradles you to his chest, tracing stories into your skin; his fingers press against the brassy ladders of your rib cage, fitting care between the spaces and double checking your heart still beats there. Every beat reminds him that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for. He offers his support anyway.

“I’m…” The words don’t come. They’re barely realised, hardly tangible - sailors who’ve died with no names or wives.

You falter, just a little, where gold thread fails. There’s only so much someone can take.

It isn’t asked of him - it never is - but he does it anyway: catching the splinters in his hands. He pretends like they don’t hurt him just as much and the truth is, they don’t. He’s faced enough hurt that yours is nothing - simply a stroll through a rose garden, barely a blip on his radar. So he does this for you, because he can and he really doesn’t mind.

Where he’s able, he fills the cracks with the glory of his smile, with passes of his hands and lips and breath. He does his best to keep you from catching your hands on those sharp edges - turning them round with a trail of tenderness against your temple. Then another. Then one more. Touches passed in tandem with the tears that spill from your eyes, far too full to stop. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

He’s not going anywhere.

You apologise and hope the saltwater doesn’t rust your insides that he’s worked so carefully to scrub clean. The downpour continues, relentless and miserable. He waits and for that, you’re grateful.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Not quite true. You’d expected it to be worse - an entire blackhole devouring your universe. It still hurts more than it should.

Hoseok laughs. It isn’t cruel. It exists only in sound and even then, hardly at all.

“Did you think it would be easy?”

“Not easy.” Different, maybe. A pain less sharp. Pressure on a healing bruise rather than a festering wound that’s been poorly, wrongly stitched together. You didn’t get it - you’d had time to heal. Why was there still this cut-out in the centre of your heart, shaped exactly like Jungkook and torn around the edges?

“Did you think he’d changed?”

It feels silly to say yes. It feels sillier to lie. “Maybe.”

He tries again. “Did you believe he would’ve changed?”

Had you hoped for it? Wasted wishes on pennies and stars? “Yes.”

“Vi.” So soft you almost miss it, coloured in melancholy and sympathy. You’ve heard it enough times to recognise what follows. From Hoseok and your brother and your best friend. “You need to let him go.” You know he’s right. More than that, you know he cares. He doesn’t want to see the same shell of a girl from years ago - a house without any lights on inside.

“I’m trying.” You are, truly. You’d left, hadn’t you? Not once but twice! Two whole times.

You’d never thought you would.

“I know.” Hoseok is kind - kinder than you could ever hope to be. Stronger, too. You feel it in the way he holds you, keeps you afloat when you’re so close to being pulled under. “Just know I’m here.”

You can’t count how many times you’ve said it. You repeat it again, earnest and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” It means more than the words, more than it’s fine . It’s everything in between, unspoken but understood. It’s his way of reminding you that you - exactly as you are, a little broken and bruised - are everything you need. That you are exactly as you should be, with the people that love you most.

“What would I do without you?” You can’t quite picture it. You don’t want to.

The arms holding you tighten, warm grip holding you tight against his chest. His lips are dry upon your cheek, his breath ticklish over the shell of your ear. “You’d be fine,” he insists, so assured you can’t help but believe him. “Colder, probably, but you’d be just fine.”

You laugh for the first time since you’ve been in his bed, the sound still a little wet but far better than it was. More you, with sunshine peeking out from behind the rain clouds.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

You peer at him from your periphery, reminded once again of how lucky you are. You might’ve had your heart broken but it was whole again, if not a little worse for wear.

His was gone - buried six feet under.

You can’t help yourself. “Really, Hobi. Thank you.”

“What’d I say?” It’s a little huffy - all for dramatic effect, you know.

“I know but—”

“No buts.”

“But—”

“No buts!” You catch the look of mischief before you catch something else - a playful palm that lands with a quiet smack. “Unless it’s yours.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re laughing, so who’s really the winner here?”

He might think it’s him, but you know it’s you. Because he’s everything you’ve ever imagined. Calm, cool, collected. Shoulders carved from boulders and a heart made of pure gold. He’s the solid foundation you’d never thought you’d needed but that steadies you now - a reliable foundation for the home you’ve been rebuilding. A friend who gives everything and asks for nothing.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to repay him.

Don’t bother, you know he’d say. It’s nothing, he’d insist. You’ll still try.

“Let’s eat.” You beat him to it, tossing whatever words he’d levied out the window as you extract yourself from the tangle of his limbs and linen sheets. His expression shifts - swings from pouting at the loss of your body to delighted at the prospect of food in the span of three seconds - and he’s kicking his way to freedom alongside you.

“Should I make pancakes? Or are you in a waffle mood?”

Truthfully, you’re in a drown-your-sorrows-in-wine mood but you figure at ten in the morning, carbs might be the better option. Especially if they come in the form of his chocolate banana pancakes, third on your list of favourite comfort foods. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes it is, then.”

The shirt he pulls on falls mostly into place before he offers a hand to you, one of his various hoodies - baby blue with Supreme emblazoned across the front - held in the other. “Put this on and let’s get cookin’, good lookin’.”

Your brother joins the two of you for breakfast, the temptation of free food too strong - even for him. He shuffles out of his bedroom, a sleepwalking zombie that only perks up at the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. He steals a piece before it’s even fully done, jumping out of the way of your wayward chopsticks when he nearly leaves a trail of pork fat over the counter.

Knives and forks clatter across kitchenware and steam curls out of ceramic. Caught in this little piece of Sunday morning paradise, it’s easy to imagine this is just another day.

“How’re you doing?” It comes around a careful mouthful of batter and chocolate chips, Yoongi’s expression soft and expectant across the table. There’s no hesitation in his question, even as Hoseok shifts in his seat beside you, free hand dropping to rest - inconspicuously - over your knee.

Yoongi notes the motion with an imperceptible tick of his stare but says nothing. It’s an unspoken agreement between the three of you.

If you don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist.

“I’m…” The words fall short, yet again, but none of you are in a rush. The quiet sound of chewing fills the void until you’re able to, in your soft and measured way. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” That’s what matters.

He hums an acknowledgement before digging further into his plate, slicing through a perfectly cooked yolk with the edge of his knife. “You’re not going to see him again, right?” You can tell he’s trying to be conversational - ask without demanding, understand without judging. You know it’s hard for him. It’d be hard for you too, if the roles were reversed.

“No.”

It’s punctuated by a squeeze of your thigh and the tiniest nod from the corner of your eye. Hoseok knows it isn’t his place to butt in but he offers his support where he can, in the little ways you can’t miss. Like the sun in the sky, you can’t always see him, but you know he’s there.

“Good.” The relief is palpable, fully formed and bright as it pops off Yoongi’s tongue in a pronounced exhale.

You can’t help but smile, though you’re not entirely sure it meets your eyes. It’s hard to remain chipper when faced with your nightmares. If only you could leave them in bed, far away. “Don’t worry.”

“You’re my little sister - I have to.”

You catch the grin that forms across Hoseok’s mouth, heart-shaped and hidden behind the rim of his coffee cup. “She’ll be fine, hyung.” It takes a lot for him to say it but you appreciate that he does. Sometimes, it feels like you and Yoongi are fighting over the wrong things; he recentres you both when that happens.

Feline eyes train on you, indecipherable in their depth. The bond you share with your brother is unparalleled, despite the oft forgotten fact that you aren’t actual siblings but a chosen family. You sometimes wonder if you’d be able to read him better if you shared the same coding - if his thoughts might slip into yours one day. Not that it’s necessary. He’s always been honest with you. “I know she will. She’s strong.”

“Thanks, Yoongs.”

He nods - a short, curt thing that’s diffused by the way his mouth moves, lips curling into the peculiar gummy smile he’s had since he was a kid. “Just know if he comes within ten feet of you again, I’ll kick his ass.” With the laughter that sprouts around his words, it could easily be mistaken for a joke. A bit of nonsense between friends.

You know better, though. Yoongi would throttle Jungkook with his bare hands if he ever hurt you again. He’d told you enough times, drilled it into your mind that first year when he’d had to pick up all the pieces. You can’t blame him; they’d hurt him, too, just in different ways.

You’d lost the love of your life. He’d almost lost his little sister. It was hard to come back from that.

“I know you will.” Because while decidedly slimmer - a good, maybe, thirty pounds less than your former love - Yoongi would, with no doubt in your mind, obliterate the boy who’d done the same to your heart. It was a family thing.

“Does he know that, too?”

You’re sure Jungkook does. He’d be stupid not to, right? “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It’s a whole three days later when you realise how wrong you are and how stupid Jeon Jungkook is.

The familiar number flashes a total of four times, glaring up at you like a neon sign that demands your attention. Even when you blink, they’re seared against the back of your eyelids - a highlight reel of your worst moments encapsulated in a simple ten digits.

Letting the calls ring through, untouched, is almost impossible. You can do it, though. You know you can.

You repeat that over and over again until the vibrating stops and the screen is black.

That wasn’t so hard, you think.

Then the missed call reminders are replaced by a voicemail notification and all of your pride sinks like a weight to the bottom of your stomach. Unease bubbles up in its place, fizzles and snaps - a movie theatre fountain pop. You hate pop.

Deleting the message without listening to it is what you should do. Pretending like it never happened is what Yoongi would want you to do. Neither of those things happen.

You know you’re going to regret it the moment you press play and his voice fills your ears, reaching all the way into your chest as if that’s where it belongs. You only repeat it for a second time because you’re not sure you’ve heard right. You can’t believe the words he’s left.

But Jungkook is Jungkook and you really shouldn’t be surprised.

After all, he certainly isn’t when you swing open the front door. In fact, he’s almost smug, cheeks pressed into that heartbreaking smile of his. Even the cuts on his nose and his bruised eye do little to detract from the charm of it. He could wear a brown paper bag and he’d still, somehow, have your heart racing a mile a minute.

“Hi, Pumpkin.”

You barely react when he closes the distance and pops a sweet, chaste peck to your forehead. You don’t know how to react.

It’s like having a bomb dropped on you - a cataclysmic shift that tips your entire world on its side and leaves you scrambling for purchase on a tilted axis. All at once, everything returns to revolving directly around the boy standing in front of you.

Just as he had three years ago - how he almost had, only three days ago - Jungkook becomes the centre.

The realisation is sobering, startling you into action.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks once, twice, doe-eyed and adorable. It’s impossible not to see what he’s doing - see right through the facade he crafts so well, with such practiced hands. It’s even harder not to fall for it.

You’d thought you wanted nothing to do with him - not since he’d bumbled his way through his last lie, too guilty to even properly correct the mistake he’d made. You’d been certain that would be the final straw. Hoped it would be, with every last tired breath.

“I wanted to see you.”

He looks so pretty on the outside. A picture perfect dream come true, plucked straight from your afternoon fantasies. The boy you’ve wished for forever, wrapped up in hyperactive laughter and black silk.

But you know he’ll break you from the inside out, turn your heart to ash. He’ll articulate his love in the form of unnecessary bouquets and drunken voicemails that come too late. He’ll disappear for weeks at a time then come crawling back, begging for your help as if he hasn’t tripped over his own two feet. You’ll be too weak to say no, wrapping him in the bandages you should be keeping for yourself.

You know all of this - and yet you wait, hope, pray , that this time might be different.

You wonder if he can tell. If he can still read you in the ways he used to, between the lines and in the dark. You think he must by how he stares at you, relentless and restless, searching your expression for any sign of forgiveness.

“Pumpkin?” If words held weight, you’d be crushed beneath it.

“You can’t just… come here.” Where I have nowhere to run.

Jungkook shifts his weight, dances from foot to foot. He’s peering down at his shoes - Italian leather, polished within an inch of their life - mouth rounding in that pout you recognise so well. “You want me to leave?”

Don’t answer that.

“I’ll leave. Just tell me to go.”

Tell him. It’s one word. Hardly a feat.

“Vira, tell me to leave and I’ll go.”

You can’t. You can’t. There’s no anger now - nothing to spring you to your feet in a fit of rage. It’s only sadness, all-encompassing and blue, enough to swallow you whole and spit you out. It’s so heavy it aches in your bones and all the way through to your toes.

“Tell me to leave — or let me in. One or the other.”

author note. another short chapter but one that lays some important groundwork. further pain will be forthcoming! xoxo

tag list. @jalexa83 @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx

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flowerpowell · 3 years

Text

The Royal Holiday Romance

PART TWO

A/N: I think I forgot how to write lol. This is my attempt at fluff. I’m not sure if I’ll fit the story I planned in two more chapters, but it’ll definitely be mini series. Still fluffy, still Christmassy and still veryyy Hallmarky. I hope you’ll like it! Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Rating: G

Tagging: @twinkleallnight @kingliam-rys @sfb123 @gkittylove99 @texaskitten30 @iaminlovewithtrr @gardeningourmet @delightfullypinkglitter @lodberg @kingliam2019 @queen-arabella-of-cordonia

Victoria looked at the scenery in front of her. She tried to focus on the beauty of nature but she was distracted by something.

Someone.

She felt Liam’s eyes on her as if awaiting her reaction. After talking for a little bit more, Liam insisted on taking her to his favorite spot in the forest. It was a little cave, completely covered by mud, now though, completely covered with snow. The cave was surrounded by trees and Liam told her that not many people knew about the cave since it wasn’t visible thanks to the trees around.

“It’s like a fairytale,” she finally said, still aware of Liam’s presence. “Like a forest straight from the Grimms’ fairytales.”

Liam chuckled. “As far as I’m concerned, forests in their stories weren’t exactly safe or beautiful.”

Victoria turned to face him, the corners of her lips slightly raised. “True, but I’ve always found them magical. Just like the fairytales themselves.”

“Ah, yes. The fairy godmother and everything.”

“Actually, no.” Victoria shook her head. “There was no fairy godmother in the original. It’s Hollywood’s creation. In the original, there’s mother cutting their daughters’ feet so the shoe would fit instead.”

Liam’s eyes widened.

“I suppose that’s one less fairytale I’d read to my children,” he chuckled. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I read the original fairytales and wasn’t impressed with how Hollywood adapted them. Did you know that in the original Little Mermaid by Andersen, Little Mermaid doesn’t marry the prince? He marries another princess and the Little Mermaid has to kill the prince on his wedding night to be a mermaid again.”

“I… certainly have to read some of these again. I didn’t even realize how brutal these fairytales can be.” Liam admitted. “I assume you weren’t happy with this adaptation either?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I mean, I like how sweet and romantic those Disney versions are but adapting a story and then not sticking to it is kind of a pet peeve of mine.”

“I see.”

“Sorry, it’s silly and I’m talking too much,” Victoria said quickly and turned her attention to the trees. Why couldn’t she stop talking? She just met Liam and started telling him about how bloody original fairytales can be. Great job, Tori. This is how you scare people, not make them interested in you.

“I would say it’s rather fascinating.” Victoria turned to him, surprised as he went on. “As I said, I had no idea about the originals but you made me want to read them.” He smiled at her and she felt her cheeks were blushing. “You must be a pretty harsh critic, huh?”

She let out a hearty laugh but quickly covered her mouth with her hands. “Mhm. Sometimes.” If I were a critic I would be harsh. Probably. Can’t say since I’m not one.

“What’s your favorite movie then? The one you just can’t criticize.”

“Gold Rush. I love the humor and I love how Chaplin showed real issues through comedy. No special effects, no computers, and these black and white, no sound movies are often better than what Hollywood offers us now.”

“Classics. Interesting.” Liam nodded. Victoria opened her mouth to apologize again for talking too much about cinema but Liam was first. “I actually preferred Modern Times. Chaplin showed a true genius there and I loved how he mixed the sound into this silent movie. Although, I must admit, Buster Keaton was master of comedy for me.”

Victoria looked at him, her eyes slightly widened. No one, maybe except for some of her professors and fellow students, heard of Keaton. She believed he was one of the most underrated comedians but anytime she’d talk about him, no one would know who was she referring to.

Liam kept on talking about his favorite movies as they were walking but all Victoria could think of was how oddly comfortable she felt being with him.

~~~~

After, what felt like a minute but was actually two hours, Victoria said goodbye to Liam and raced back to the set. She hoped Hana didn’t wait too long for; she had promised her to eat dinner together. Liam told her he had to join his friends somewhere and the two separated, though a little reluctantly. Victoria was still in awe of Liam but tried not to read too much into it. It was only a nice encounter with a stranger in the Cordonian forest.

“Hana!” Victoria called out as she spotted her friend. Hana was standing with a man that Victoria had never seen before and waved at her when she saw her.

“I was getting worried,” Hana confessed and Victoria felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop admiring the beauty of Cordonian landscape.”

“Ah, yes, Cordonia is beautiful,” the man standing next to Hana said and both women turned to him.

“Uhh, I almost forgot. Maxwell, this is my friend and co-star, Tori. And this is Maxwell. He’s the friend of the King and also my future biographer.”

“Oh, it’s so nice to—”

“O M G! I am so happy to meet Hana Lee’s friends! How long have you known Hana? What is she like as a friend? I bet she’s the best. Is Tori your full name?”

“Umm…” Victoria looked at Hana confused but her friend only shrugged.

“Maxwell wants to write a book about me and I couldn’t say no. Literally,” Hana added for only Victoria to hear.

“Nice to meet you, Maxwell. Tori is a nickname only for my friends and my full name is—”

“Brooks!”

“Sorry, I’ll be right back!” Victoria apologized and ran to a crew member that just called her name. Hana nodded in response and Maxwell noted something in his notebook.

“Maxwell! There you are!”

“Liam! I thought you forgot about me. Where have you been?” Maxwell asked as Liam walked up to him and Hana.

“I had… some thing to do. It’s a pleasure to see you again, lady Hana. I hope you’re enjoying your stay in Cordonia.” Liam turned to Hana.

“It’s even more beautiful here than I remembered. I hope I’ll have some time to visit Applewood again, it must be so pretty this time of the year.”

“Applewood is always pretty.” Liam smiled and Hana laughed. “I’m afraid we should get going. Duty calls.”

“But do we have to?” Maxwell pouted.

“Maxwell, you’ve talked to lady Hana for two hours, let’s give her a break,” Liam said and Hana sent him a grateful smile.

“Fine, fine. It was a pleasure, Hana! I hope to see you again, soon.”

“Likewise.” Hana waved Maxwell goodbye as he and Liam started to walk away.

“Sorry, there was a problem with one of my scenes.” Victoria appeared next to Hana causing the actress to jump. “Where’s Maxwell?”

“He had to go. The King was here.”

“Wait, what? The King of Cordonia was here? While I was sorting out my scenes?” Victoria asked and Hana nodded. “Oh man. Just my luck. I wish I could meet him, too.”

“His friend is writing my biography, I’m sure you’ll have a chance,” Hana chuckled.

“Yeah, about that… How… did that happen?” Hana laughed as she took her friend’s arm to go for a dinner.

“Chapter one would be called The Star in the Womb. I think I could get some ultrasound pictures of Hana because I’m sure she was very photogenic back then as well.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Drake put his book down as Maxwell read his notes out loud.

“What? If this is going to be Hana Lee’s first biography, I have to make sure it is perfect. What so you think, Liam?”

“Hmm? Yes, wonderful idea.” Liam didn’t even look at Maxwell, his eyes were glued to his phone, which was a rather rare occurrence. Maxwell looked at Drake triumphantly.

“What?! Did you even hear what Maxwell came up with? He wants to describe Hana Lee’s time in the womb.”

“That’s a good move, indeed.”

“Seriously, what is going on Liam? What are you doing?” Drake tried to take Liam’s phone but he didn’t let him.

“Nothing.”

“Liam. What happened? You’ve been acting weird since yesterday. You’re never that absent-minded.”

“Nothing happened!”

“Uh uh,” Maxwell cut in. “You’re different. Even Drake noticed.

“Hey!”

“Nothing happened,” Liam tried to reassure his friend but they still were looking at him as if he lost his mind. Liam shook his head, resigned, and Drake quickly snatched his phone. His eyes went wide as he saw what Liam was doing.

“Little mermaid? You’re reading little mermaid?”

“What?” Maxwell asked, glancing at Liam’s phone.

“Did you know that Little Mermaid tried to kill the prince when he didn’t marry her?”

“What?” Drake was confused.

“I need to go for a walk,” Liam said taking his phone from Drake’s hand.

“Wait! Liam, wait! Can we invite Hana to the palace for dinner tonight? I want to talk to her and I’m sure she’d like to talk to you as well.”

“Mhm, sure. You can invite her.”

“Ohh, and let’s invite Tori, she seemed nice!”

“Who’s Tori?” Liam asked as he was putting on his coat.

“Hana’s friend and co-star. We met yesterday, just before you came. I felt good energy from her,” Maxwell explained.

“Hmm, sure, let’s invite them both.” Liam finished putting on his coat and shoes. “Tell the kitchen staff to prepare the dinner and tell Antonio to invite Hana and her friends. Just please, be civil. And no asking for ultrasound!” Liam warned before heading out, completely oblivious to the happy break-dance Maxwell just performed.

~~~~

“Aaaand CUT!” The director’s voice startled Victoria as she was dozing off on a chair, waiting for Hana to finish her scene. “That’s it everybody, we’re done for the day.”

“Finally,” Victoria thought as she yawned. She glanced at her phone and quickly did the math in her head. They were on set for ten hours with only one thirty-minute break.

“Hungry?” Hana appeared next to her, smiling and full of energy as if she wasn’t working for almost a full day.

“You have no idea. Pizza?” Victoria suggested and Hana nodded.

“That sounds—Excuse me for a second.” Hana looked at her friend apologetically as she took out her ringing phone. “Hello?”

Victoria walked away a little to give Hana some privacy. She wondered if Liam went to the forest today as well. Or if he watched any of the films she recommended. To be fair, Liam was all she could think of. She sighed looking at the set in front of her. Even though, she didn’t want to complain about her job, she wanted nothing more than to go to the forest to relax. And maybe meet Liam again. Maybe.

“I have the greatest news and you’ll love it!” Hana was giddy with excitement and Victoria wondered how she was still so alive after such a long day at work.

“The pizza place decided to give us our pizzas for free? Johnny Depp finally got his Oscar?”

Hana shook her head laughing. “No, but close. Prepare your best outfit, we’ve been invited for a dinner with the King.”

-------

#choices #playchoices #the royal romance #the royal heir #liam x mc #king liam #king liam x mc #drake walker #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #my fics #i'm writing liam fluff and i dont even know myself #please tell me if it's any good

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leesh · 3 years

Photo

because i have zero self control when it comes to christmas films and, well, cheesy christmas films are #life.

basically, i have developed a collection of favourites over the years, including both classic christmas films that are fun for the whole family and terrible, dripping with all our favourite favourite cliches hallmark christmas films, and yet i am still always on the hunt for more. so, i thought i would try a little thing to share them with everyone else as well (and actually remember them for future reference)!

check out the tag here i will try and remember to use as i live blog some of these movies or head on down below the cut to see all of the christmas films i’ve watched in 2020. thoughts and star ratings included! as expected, i will also be updating this as i watch more and more this holiday season (follow along on twitter too if you want).

note: since i LOVE terrible hallmark films, some that i give a higher rating will not actually be......critically acclaimed. i am just #obsessed and have my reasons as stated, i’m sure.

holidate (2020)

⭐️⭐️| first time watch | someone on letterboxd compared this movie to when you watch a rom com in sims and it’s just a bunch of random scenes that make no sense and they’re absolutely right. its only saviour is an australian dude and the line “so you know me well enough to cum in my mouth, but you don’t know me well enough to get me a christmas present?”

my christmas inn (2018)

⭐️⭐️| first time watch | i’ll be honest, this film was pretty forgetful. i watched it over a month ago and don’t really remember what happened. however, i do remember being impressed that the leading lady wasn’t a stereotypical thin white woman. so i guess at least it has that going for it.

christmas made to order (2018)

⭐️⭐️⭐️| first time watch | i actually thought this was pretty cute. it’s not the best, but also not the worst, so a decent medium if you need to fill up those figurative christmas stockings. the concept of hiring someone to decorate your entire house with no budget sounds pretty cool, but when the guy is aaron samuels and looks far from straight, it becomes a little questionable.

last christmas (2019)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️| rewatch | now this is not a cheesy hallmark film. in fact, i LOVE this film a lot and think i saw it twice at the cinema. last christmas is a top tier christmas song and i remember theorising about it when the trailer first came out, but i will say tissues may be a requirement to watch this. AND henry golding is my husband thank u and goodbye.

operation christmas drop (2020)

⭐️| first time watch | interesting concept in theory, but this is nothing more than US military propaganda and a cgi lizard. bonus: white saviourism.

the knight before christmas (2019)

⭐️⭐️⭐️| rewatch | a medieval knight transported into today’s world and has never seen a car before can drive better than me. that’s it. that’s the movie. also, he literally says the words “modern technology is lit af” at one point. solid christmas film if you ask me.

the princess switch (2018)

⭐️⭐️⭐️| rewatch | i strongly believe in the vhcncu (vanessa hudgens christmas netflix cinematic universe). i also have so many questions, like how did they afford the flights or solid conversation or was it all expenses paid? how did they finish a bulk of the cake without a mixer? why does everyone always speak english with a posh english accent even though it’s a non-english european country?

the princess switch: switched again (2020)

⭐️⭐️| if we learnt anything from a christmas prince, it’s that sequels are generally never better than their predecessor. that being said, this was much less cute body swapping christmas fluff and a little more literal kidnapping and saving the day. either way, blonde vanessa was hot and i appreciated the amber/richard cameo that insinuates a christmas prince is actually a dramatic documentary.

midnight at the magnolia (2020)

⭐️⭐️| now if you’re after an absolute cheesefest that ticks the boxes on best friends meets fake dating over the holidays, then this is the movie for you! albeit it takes place between christmas and new year’s, it’s still filled with their families knowing they were soulmates the whole time and two people who are a literal too comfortable on the radio. also, the dad’s totally should’ve been gay. they had more chemistry.

christmas wonderland (2018)

⭐️⭐️⭐️| tbh, i genuinely enjoyed this one. post breakup/high school sweethearts is a personal favourite trope of mine, so throw christmas & being forced to spend time together when she goes back home into the mix and i’ll have a serotonin explosion. bonus points for the guy telling the girl to go back to nyc to follow her dreams without being a dick. OH and the scene when he points a fuck load of sugar in his hot beverage.

a wish for christmas (2016)

⭐️⭐️| who doesn’t love a good office romance between a boss and an employee at christmastime? especially when you throw in a little christmas magic that makes her more confident that results in her finally getting what she deserves and having to travel and rekindle with his family? also, fuck them rich white dudes, but props to her for the significant job promotion.

christmas with a prince (2018)

⭐️| this was TERRIBLE and not in the good way. it featured: an entitled prince who suddenly had growth even though he did nothing to achieve it, majority of the film set in one hospital room, and the fact that she’s the only one with a tiara at the party filled with people who actually have titles. also, thought there was a decent ending but turns out there was still another 30 mins to go. ugh.

a royal christmas engagement (2020)

⭐️| don’t be fooled by the title. the engagement doesn’t happen til the last two minutes. it’s actually about a prince (bet you didn’t see that one coming) who travels to america, pretending to be his best friend who works for this major marketing firm because he’s tired of being the spare. this gets one star purely for the line “she’s not a commoner, patrick. she’s an american.”

christmas wedding planning (2017)

⭐️⭐️| it looked like it would be half decent, and while it’s definitely better than the last two, it was still pretty eh. i could get on board with her texting her dead mother’s number as a way to talk to her still, and i understand we all experience grief differently, but.....actively paying your mums phone bill 3 years later? girl. also, the end made me SCREAM. WHY DID THEY DO THAT!!!!

santa girl (2019)

⭐️| this was just painful to watch. evil jack frost makes memes in his free time, santa has a fancy car and doesn’t eat sweets, and there’s an odd comparison between the elves, minimum age workers, and racism. however, one star purely for the entertaining (read: bloody awful) tooth fairy cgi that gave me a right laugh.

the christmas chronicles (2018)

⭐️⭐️⭐️| this was really cute and had the makings of what could be a christmas movie staple along with the likes of elf and the santa clause (but will never reach that standard, obvs). tbh, it’s just a nice heartwarming family christmas movie about two siblings who band together to help santa and save christmas. also, santa was a #dilf.

the christmas chronicles: part two (2020)

⭐️⭐️| one of these days i would love to see a sequel that’s better, or at least on par, with its predecessor, but that day is not today. sadly, this film lacked all the heart and magic the first one was filled with and some scenes were pretty redundant. kurt russell and goldie hawn, however... one star for each of them.

forever christmas / mr. 365 (2019)

⭐️⭐️| the title varies depending where you’re from, but that’s probably the most exciting part of this movie. a guy celebrates christmas 365 days a year and a reality show wants to invade his house? ok, sure. one star for the eye candy and one star for, surprisingly enough, their chemistry and all the kissing scenes that don’t usually make the mark in the hallmark world.

noelle (2019)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️| did i renew disney plus just so i could watch this (and a couple of others)? maybe so... this movie is so fun! and family friendly! and is actually funny! it gives me major elf vibes, but if elf was set in a more modern day setting. either way, i had a great time and have been holding out on this one after loving it a lot last year!

the nutcracker and the four realms (2018)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️| anything nutcracker related is an instant win in my book because it’s my favourite ballet of all time (except for graeme murphy’s version, we don’t talk about that). does this movie actually deserve the four stars? maybe not. am i going to give them anyway purely for my love of the nutcracker and the soundtrack? absolutely!

#leeshmas2k20 #no one probably cares but i just thought it would be fun!#might actually post these on letterboxd too

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cherryjuicegf · 4 years

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witcher fic masterlist

i probably haven't written enough fics to make a real masterlist so consider this as a medium list. a trying list. more to come. (updated 13/5/21)

one-shots

forget-me-not | geraskier, 3k, T, angst, major character death

How could I ever forget you?

Remember me, love. Jaskier’s voice was so clear in his mind it might as well be real. One last desire, one would say. But Geralt had tried to forget. Even though he said he wouldn’t.

Oh, but he didn’t ever say that, did he?

when you think that you're bereft | geraskier, 1.8k, T, emotional hurt/comfort, tw none

And so the sea asked; may I take you?

And I replied; there’s not much of me left.

Yet the sea whispered; I will love you,

Even if you think that you’re bereft.

Sometimes forgiveness is all one has left to give. Sometimes it's not.

with you all along | geraskier, 4.6k, T, hurt/comfort, tw none

"You are an idiot, Geralt of Rivia. You think that, eventually, you are all alone and will be until the end of your days. You say you don’t need anyone and yet, here I am, bandaging your wounds and singing your triumphs. You need people and you care about them more than you say you do, but refuse to admit any of it, and you harm yourself in the end. Tell me I’m wrong."

Jaskier has some unfortunate encounters and Geralt's potions lack any sense of timing at all.

slipping through my hands | geraskier, 7.6k, T, angst with a happy ending, warnings in the tags

One does not crave one's touch until they're deprived of it; unless it burns.

what you run for | geraskier, 6.8k, T, angst with a happy ending, warnings in the tags

Jaskier saw the mirror again. Funny, one would’ve said he’d been there just five minutes ago. A lot must have happened in those five minutes. He shivered, furrowed his brows in thought. “Did you find the mage?” The helpless look Geralt gave him made him conclude that no, probably he hadn’t. But then, how did he end up like that?

Jaskier gets possessed. Geralt doesn't like what follows.

breathless | geraskier, 2.1k, T, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, tw drowning, read on tumblr

It’s nothing. A brush of lips. A taste of tongues. Cheap ale that Geralt now finds he’d willingly tone out the rest of his senses to taste once more. A soft moan, but it can’t be him, he’s not breathing. And then Jaskier’s head bumps limp on his shoulder, and he hears silent snoring.

He closes his eyes. And breathes shakily.

Five breaths and a sigh.

the hands that tend to me | geraskier, 1.3k, T, hurt/comfort, tw none, read on tumblr

Was it a bad day? Jaskier couldn’t answer for sure with yes or no. It was not bad. He’d had bad days and that one definitely wasn’t one of them. Still. He felt a weight resting on his shoulders, as if all the previous hours had settled on them. He sighed, returned Geralt’s gold gaze. “A long one,” he decided to answer. He turned around before Geralt’s eyes burned him more in their insistence. “I’m having a shower and then we eat. Give me ten minutes.”

Some days you just don't know what's wrong. It will pass.

one last time love | yennskier, 1.9k, T, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, tw none, read on tumblr

"You know that if you want my clothes off, all you have to do is ask.”

Yennefer hummed. “A'ight, then. Strip.”

Jaskier’s smile faded. “What?”

She stared at him for some seconds, appreciating his shocked expression, and burst into laughter. Jaskier let out a breath and laughed with her. She wasn’t drunk enough, not yet. The way he looked at her though said that he wasn’t drunk enough either.

Not yet.

Five times Jaskier told Yennefer he would take his clothes off if she asked and one time she did.

the spaces where our garden grew wild | geraskefer, 11.3k, M, angst with a happy ending, warnings in the tags

He cuts through the branches, desperate, but they grow back, thicker and thicker and almost hiding that raven hair, that red doublet behind their leaves. He grunts and shouts and pants and his sword rips the air like paper. He sees them again. Or is he?

Black, isn’t her hair? A chain.

Red, isn’t his doublet? Blood.

Oh, he’s too busy, too focused on the thorns. Of course he would, they have hurt him too much by now not to notice them. Yet he doesn’t hear the voices anymore. He doesn’t hear the screams. He doesn’t hear his name.

And when he does, it’s too late.

A study in gardening.

beside the salty water | geraskier, 836 words, T, fluff, read on tumblr

The beach is silent, except for the singing of a voice that resembles a siren’s, yet gentler, loving, warm. Like home.

Feel me falling, feel me sinking

Feel my breath foam on the waves,

For the sea’s my love, my mistress,

and my heart’s a heart that craves.

under the covers | geraskier, 584 words, G, emotional hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

Jaskier shudders. He realises, to his great surprise, that what he needs isn’t to talk or seek words of comfort. Thankfully, since he knows Geralt isn’t a master when it comes to that. What he needs, is to rest. What he needs is a break.

Comfort doesn't always come in words. But who can say no to hugs anyway?

a little favour | geraskier, 3.2k, T, fluff/light angst, tw blood and injury, read on tumblr

He hears Jaskier’s breath hitch. Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, he realizes what he’s done, and immediately looks at the bard. Blue eyes wide, lips parted. Jaskier whimpers.

“Geralt.”

Stay. For me.

No.

Geralt lets go of his hand and storms outside the room, his heart beating faster than a human’s. Before he closes the door, he smells the salty scent of tears behind him. He doesn’t look back.

Five things Jaskier asks from Geralt and one thing Geralt asks from Jaskier.

the stars bear your name | yenralt, 1.1k, G, fluff, read on tumblr

When she was still at Aretuza, she remembered how the girls looked up at the stars, amazed by a world that had yet to be cruel to them. She thought how it would feel if someone ever looked at her that way.

Looking at Yennefer, Geralt turns out to have an entirely different concept of stars than she does.

a lovestruck's letter | geraskier, 3.7k, T, fluff, epistolary, read on tumblr

The last letter wasn’t old. There, on the top of the page, Geralt could discern an erased Geralt, beloved, and the first letters of what seemed the starts of darling. Finally, Jaskier had settled. Just like he’d done then, Geralt found himself craving to actually be called what the bard first intended to call him. Instead.

Dearest Geralt,

Over the years, Jaskier filled his absence with his letters. Then there was one time that Geralt had to fill that absence himself.

series

songs for goodnight | geraskier, 7 works, T, fluff, incomplete

a reason to laugh | 1.4k, G

Jaskier knew Geralt of Rivia was capable of a lot of things but laughing was hardly one of them.

Well, until now.

for warmth | 1k, T

No, Jaskier wasn’t ordinary at all, not for Geralt, yet the warmth that burned in Geralt’s chest completely changed its source when, after a minute or two, Jaskier rolled on his left side, and having his back turned to Geralt too would be completely fine for Geralt to sleep guiltlessly, thank you very much, if only Jaskier didn’t also pull the blankets so that Geralt was, in every sense, uncovered whole.

sing me awake | 1.2k, T

"I didn't know your voice is actually magical," the witcher smiled sleepily and let out a long sigh, feeling soft fingertips trailing his face.

Jaskier chuckled. "Oh, it's not. I just love you too much."

in remembrance | 957 words, G, read on tumblr

Jaskier is the one to tell stories. As so many people do. A human need, one would say. Tell a story, even if it's the same but with a different twist, a different hint or air, still the same, and people will delight and sing and get enchanted and they will remember, they will remember.

He will make them sing. He will make them remember.

these hands of mine | 1.9k, T

"Have I told you I love your hands?"

"Yes, you have."

"Have I told you why I love them?"

"Yes. Many times."

Jaskier then hesitates, just for a second before slightly raising his head from Geralt's shoulder and gazing at him. A glint wild with tenderness sparkles in his eyes. "Mind if I tell you again?"

A sigh. Then a smile. "No. Not at all."

parent-shaped | 1.4k, G

Jaskier took both of Geralt’s hands in his, forcing him to turn around whole and face him properly. "Being a witcher is not what is going to make you a different parent. What is going to make you a different parent is the amount of love and care and protection you’re going to give to this girl, and I know pretty well you’re more than capable of those things."

these lines aren't wrinkles, dearheart | 1k, T

The one where Jaskier has self-knowledge and Geralt is too blinded with love to accept it.

tumblr ficlets/prompts

allergies | geraskier, 533 words, inspired by art

Jaskier is delighted to find out that witchers do, in fact, have allergies.

early morning kisses, geraskier, 482 words

Jaskier is not a morning person and Geralt just indulges him.

prison buds | yennskier, 376 words, inspired by art

In which Jaskier gets sick and Yennefer realizes she's scared.

Guilty/self loathing Geralt after he can’t save a child during a contract, with Jaskier comforting him and being horrified about how much emotion and hurt he hides (geraskier)

Jaskier gets cursed by a mage that puts him on a killing spree but before he can do anything Geralt shows up and grabs him except he doesn’t have any rope or anything to hold Jaskier down but himself. (ao3) geraskier, T, 1.4k, hurt/comfort

(5+1) 5 times Geralt showed Jaskier he loves him +1 time he actually said it out loud. (ao3) geraskier, T, 2.1k, fluff

physical affection prompts (under 1k)

pats on the head (geralt & ciri)

a hug after not seeing someone for a long time (yenralt)

giggly cuddles (geraskefer)

an incredibly loud and painful high five (geralt, jaskier & ciri)

kissing someone’s forehead (geraskier)

the biggest warmest hugs (geraskier)

play wrestling (yenralt)

kissing knuckles (geraskier)

tugging on the bottom of someone’s shirt (geraskier)

kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches (geraskier)

a hug that some might consider as ~too long~ (geraskier)

playfully biting someone (yenralt)

400 followers celebration prompts

There's people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you're close (geraskier)

I'm going to save you from the terrible date you're having (yenralt)

"Do you trust me?" (geraskefer)

"Please don't say that about yourself. Please don't believe that. You're so much more than that. You're so..." (geraskier)

I called you at 2am because I need you (geraskier)

touch prompts (under 1k)

in a moment of worry (yenralt)

on a scar (geraskier)

for luck (geraskier)

to say hello (geraskefer)

for comfort (geraskier)

for comfort (yenralt)

sensory prompts (under 1k)

orange sunsets (trissefer)

red wine stained lips (geraskier)

blood at the corner of your mouth (geraskier)

being so close that you can feel your lips brush together (geraskier)

raindrops on eyelashes (yennskier)

red wine stained lips (trissefer)

touch/kiss/hug/hand-holding prompts (under 1k)

tiny hands in big hands (geralt & ciri)

unconsciously searching out each other's hand while sleeping (yennskier)

hugging while lying down together (geraskier)

listening to the other's heartbeat (yenralt)

tummy kisses (yennskier)

holding the other's chin up (geraskier)

bandaging the other's hand and not quite letting go (yennskier)

group hugs (geraskefer)

kissing their bruises and scars (yennskier)

cold hands in warm hands (yenralt)

soothing kisses (geraskier)

made-up fic title asks

(why does it have to) feel so good

the spaces where our garden grew wild

we deserve a soft epilogue

once more

destiny called (but i forgot to pick up the line)

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #yenralt #geraskefer #yennskier #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #chrysa writes

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lizardkingeliot · 3 years

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First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagged by @phoenix-ascended thank you!!!! 💖

Okay SO. I’m gonna cheat a little bit here. The first nine I’m going to post are all going to be from the first nine chapters of time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) but to be fair the chapters are so long they each might as well be a story all their own lmao. ANYWAY. Here we go. I’ll post the first paragraph from each I guess, in order of chapter number obvs:

1. Quentin shook out the tension in his hands. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t getting any easier. For days on end he’d been trying to perfect the illumination spell the rest of his fellow First Years had nailed in a matter of hours. But no matter how he tried, Quentin couldn’t seem to make anything more than a spark.

2. Quentin waited until Eliot was asleep to slip out of bed and hastily tug his clothes back on. The illuminated screen of his phone told him it was just past 12am. Clutching his shoes to his chest, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and tip-toed out into the hall, all but running to his room and clicking the lock shut firmly behind him.

3. Dry-mouthed and groggy, Quentin woke in Eliot’s bed alone. He groaned, groping around for his phone to check the time for a long moment before remembering he’d left it in his room. Quentin rubbed at his eyes, rolling over and up to his feet, muscles he didn’t even know existed screaming as he went. He picked his bathrobe up from the floor and pulled it on, then tottered down the hall to empty his bladder and brush his teeth and gulp down frantic handfuls of water from the bathroom sink.

4. Tuesday morning was hell. Quentin woke just before eleven, empty as a husk. Filthy, all used up. His thighs sticking together where Eliot’s come had dried there in the night. Quickly realizing he’d already missed his first class of the day, Quentin pressed his face into his pillow, pulled the covers up over his head, and surrendered to the blank comfort of late morning sleep.

5. Quentin couldn’t feel his face, or much of his body for that matter. Which was… fine. It was great. It was fucking phenomenal. As long as it meant he also couldn’t feel the sinkhole that had formed in the center of his chest. The one that had been there for days, weeks, months, fucking years. He couldn’t feel anything at all.

6. Quentin felt a lever turn inside his chest, the source of his magic eking out a spark. Enough at least to send a message to Julia back at Brakebills. One of those little enchanted paper airplanes they’d learned his first week in Practical Applications that he never could get to fly quite right. He scrawled his SOS on a cocktail napkin and watched it flutter away like the world’s saddest butterfly. The universe took pity on him. Quentin figured he was probably due. 7. Christmas morning was a lackluster affair.

Exchanging gift cards over coffee and devouring great mounds of Ted Coldwater’s Famous Ham and Eggs while still in their pajamas. After, Julia and Quentin lay on the living room floor and Skyped with James, his grandparents waving hello from Pennsylvania in the background. They opened the stack of impersonal and overly-extravagant gifts from Julia’s mother that had been delivered to the house the night before. Quentin received a pair of cashmere socks and a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle.

8. Quentin stood at the bathroom sink, watching his face shift in the steamy mirror glass. Stark naked save for the towel looped around his hips. Hair dripping in cool, fat beads down onto the planks of his shoulders. So clean he swore he could feel himself sparkling from the inside out.

9. Quentin tossed his phone down onto the floor and leaned back into Eliot’s heat. “It’s almost like you want my dad to know I’m faking sick so I can stay in and let you fuck me until I pass out.”

Some patterns I guess: I love how chapters 2-4 all open with Quentin in bed after hooking up with eliot but all with very different vibes. In chapter 2, he’s just experienced subspace for the first time without having any idea that’s what actually happened to him and he is having A Time. In chapter 3, they had a very intense hook-up the night before and Quentin is sneaking out again, but this time he fully plans on returning right after. And in chapter 4, we see the joy of their beginnings at Columbia contrasted hard with the misery of where Quentin is at Brakebills.

ALSO 2/3 of the chapters begin with Quentin’s name which feels right considering just how deep into his headspace we are in this fic.

Okay. Anyway. Moving on:

10. Eliot loved watching Quentin lose himself in a moment.

It could be anything really: mastering a brand new spell; savoring something decadent and sweet; fussing with his hair when he thought no one was looking; focusing very hard on making himself a cocktail and getting the ratios just right; ranting about his Fillory books; reading his Fillory books, to himself but especially aloud; reading anything; riding dick...

That last one held a particularly special place in Eliot’s heart.

(from but i would die for you in secret aka the one where eliot is pretty sure quentin is only using him for his dick. spoiler alert: he’s not they’re just idiots)

11. Teddy was turning six years old. There was nothing in the world he loved more than stories.

His favorite was a version of Lord of the Rings Quentin had cobbled together from memory. He must have told it to their son a hundred times before it occurred to Eliot he could contribute more to story time than ogling Quentin’s hands while he spoke, or popping in to suggest when the Balrog should actually be making an appearance, Quentin.

(from in a land far away aka the mosaic fic where eliot makes margo hand puppets for teddy)

12. The words came out of Quentin’s mouth without a single coherent thought behind them.

“I’m just about to catch a movie with my boyfriend!”

There, outside the coffee shop on Eighth Avenue, Quentin’s maybe-friend from high school whose name he couldn’t even remember shot him a wide-mouthed grin. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “Which movie? My wife Danielle and I don’t have any plans for the afternoon and we’d love to tag along. Isn’t that right sweetie?”

(from your name like a song (i sing to myself) aka the one where quentin’s memory is shit and he and eliot pretend to be boyfriends in a post-monster world)

13. Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”

Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”

Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”

“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”

(from the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you) aka the suspender porn fic)

14. The night Quentin Coldwater died, a brand new star appeared in the sky over Brakebills. A little brighter than Venus, it stayed fixed in the same position for weeks on end. Eliot hardly would have noticed such a thing if it hadn’t been for the way that it hummed. Or at least, that’s how it felt. A humming in his bones. An old, familiar presence. Margo thought that he’d gone mad with grief. Alice was the only one who could understand.

(from a myth of devotion aka the one where eliot is sorta icarus and quentin is sorta the sun)

15. It didn’t happen the way Eliot expected it to. He dropped the letter into the mailbox, and pain blossomed in his abdomen so brightly it was like he’d gone supernova.

And everything went dark.

(from by night, beloved, tie your heart to mine aka the one where eliot sends the letter)

16. Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.

(from i won’t deny (all the things i would do) aka the one where quentin and eliot start hooking up three months into their life at the mosaic)

17. After they decided kissing on the mouth was okay, Quentin and Eliot wanted to do it all the time. In every corner of the penthouse (“If you don’t stop sucking face while I’m trying to eat my sandwich,” Kady said one afternoon, “I’m literally going to feed you to the Baba Yaga.”), outside coffee shops, in between bites at the sushi place in Chelsea that Eliot loved. Once, they went to see a movie they couldn’t even remember the name of just to make out for two blissful, uninterrupted hours in the dark.

(from and a song of praise upon your lips aka part three of the box of chocolates series where quentin and eliot are definitely dating and finally talk about their feelings)

18. Eliot startled awake to something sharp and pointed slamming into his shin. He opened his eyes, and the toe of Margo’s shoe made contact one last time. Pain seared up the side of his leg, and he winced. Jesus, she really did not realize her own strength sometimes. Or the strength of her Jimmy Choo’s.

(from that you may know (the secrets of your heart) aka part two of box of chocolates aka the one where hand stuff is still banging)

19. Eliot Waugh was High King in his blood, and somehow that felt right. When they first arrived in Fillory, Quentin assumed he would be the one to wear the crown. He’d dreamed of it most of his life after all. On the throne in Whitespire, a fleet of talking animals at his disposal, a noble quest waiting around every corner to ferry him away to the next grand, heart-stopping adventure. But when the blade bit into his palm and drew no blood, and Eliot’s came up red, it felt like the final piece of some perfect puzzle clicking into place.

(from and this is the map of my heart aka the one where quentin wants to marry eliot and they have some incredibly filthy sex before everything falls apart)

20. Eliot walked into the penthouse to an eerie quiet. He found Quentin sitting in the kitchen under a dim illumination spell, drinking a beer and poking at the screen of his phone.

“Hey,” Eliot said, setting his shopping bag down on the counter. “Where is everyone?”

Quentin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Out. I don’t know.”

Eliot squinted at him. “You didn’t want to go with them?”

Quentin lifted his eyes, shot Eliot a look. “No.”

(from for love (if it finds you worthy) aka part one of the box of chocolates series)

And I have now been here doing this for so long I no longer have time to try and find anymore patterns lmao BUT I will be tagging: @thelucindac @akisazame @fishfingersandscarves @nellie-elizabeth @freneticfloetry @rubickk7 and anyone else who wants to play!

#the magicians #queliot #otp: proof of concept #myfic

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alias-b · 3 years

Text

sins of my youth. 020

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello everyone. Thanks for clicking in to read. Billy and Evie continue to explore their new relationship together. Max's fourteenth birthday party marks a change for the teens, reminding them that danger isn't too far off. TW: Neil being Neil. Mentions of abuse. Something close to an almost assault/abduction off screen near the end. Light mentions of Pica & fatphobia. Sexual themes

***My tag list is wide open, just shoot me a msg to join it! Chat with me about the chapter if you have the time! Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter 20: Rose Tint My World

“Hold still, I’ll poke your eye again.”

“I can’t breathe, you’re killing me.” Came a sniffled whine.

“Such a baby. You asked.”

“I said I was curious after you put the gunk on my nails!”

“That gunk was a great color on you. You whine just like your big brother.” Carol had Max’s face clamped in her grip as she applied mascara. “Don’t blink, you'll smear it.”

“Evie, she’s killing me,” Max lamented aloud. “This is not worth it.” Evie just laughed, setting a bowl of pretzels aside. Carol flicked a mirror up to let Max see her handiwork. “Whoa...It’s not terrible.” She gruffed in a mumble, tilting her head to see each angle. "Kinda like Madonna."

“I’ll take it.” Carol stole some M&Ms from another dish as they shared a spot on Heather’s fuzzy carpet. A movie rolled on in the corner TV.

Max about howled when Heather came in from the bathroom, face covered in green.

“Monster!”

“It’s a face-mask!” Heather planted her hands on her hips, prompting more laughter. “You’ll be more into them once your body really changes.”

“Girls are way scarier than boys.” Max poked at her blushed cheek which had Carol smacking her hand away. Evie was draped across the bottom of the bed in her robe and nightie, half-watching the TV. “Can you do a zombie make-up?”

Carol gave a snort.

“I can do anything. kid.”

“Eves, you want another piece of pizza?” Heather crossed with the box.

“I’m so full.” Evie shook her head.

“You had like one piece.”

“I ate a big lunch. And lots of pretzels.” Evie snatched the pretzel bowl again for good measure. Truthfully, her appetite had been up and down lately. Mostly down. What with the pangs in her stomach that always passed and… “You sound like my mother.”

“She was...extra peppy at the salon today. My mom and I got our monthly trim.”

“Probably some guy she’s seeing, it’ll pass and another will come. Men are like Kleenex to her. Soft, strong, and disposable.” Evie shrugged to pluck up a magazine.

“Hey,” Max began as Carol fussed over her, “so I didn’t want to make a thing of it, but my mom keeps insisting. My birthday party is coming. She and Neil saved so I could have it just at the roller rink and...they said I could invite whoever I wanted. But, I can’t ask the guys to come. So I figured I’d ask El. She’s really cool. But, maybe if you guys wanted to come? You can bring boys and pretend you’re not even at my party if it’s not your thing. I just-”

“Max, we’d love to come.” Heather piped up first. “Evie and I rule the rink too.”

“I look very cute in skates,” Carol agreed with a twitching smirk. “I'm in. I’ll bring Tommy, he sucks and he’ll fall down a bunch. We'll pretend we ran into each other so your stepdad can get the stick out of his ass.”

“Billy has to go too cause Neil says it’s a family event.” Max turned to Evie. “I think he’d be happier with you there.”

“I think Billy and I both are fine being there for you. I had my fourteenth at the rink too. It’ll be fun.” Evie beamed, legs up to sway idly. “Plus we haven’t met the Chief’s kid. She’s home-schooled, right?”

“Yeah, she might be joining us in school next year.” Max stayed still for Carol’s brush. “Depends. She was uh...adopted under weird circumstances. You’ll like her. I taught her how to do that felting thing because of you and she made this funny one of her dad.”

“I’ll bet Hopper loved that.” Evie winked.

“He’s kind of a babe in like a scruffy, rugged way,” Carol remarked. "Strong mountain man type."

“Ew. He’s so old.” Max reeled back to laugh.

“I’m just saying! I like a man in uniform. He rocks the khaki.”

“The moms in town do eat him up.” Heather shrugged, joining Evie on the bed with a handful of candy. “We all have our strange crushes. I like high cheek-bones. Guys with a little Bowie. Evie? You got one?”

“Gia Carangi even if she isn’t modeling any more, I love her face.” Evie was flicking pages without looking. Howls from the TV went ignored through the chatter.

“I called that. Fenny being into ladies. Try Iman.” Carol winked which earned her a look as if she hadn’t planted a kiss on Evie in a fit of rage.

“People say Billy’s pretty like a girl.” Max had added which got the other girls giggling.

“I like this one, we’re so keeping her.” Carol got up to root for a bag of chips, popping them open. “Like the zombie face better?”

“I still look too pretty.” Max appeared more goth than zombie.

“You are pretty. Deal with it. We redheads stick together.” Carol stole Evie’s magazine. “Let us know when the party is, we’ll be there.”

Max looked at the three older girls squished together on Heather’s bed. Chattering and supporting. Happy to have her around.

A bright smile touched her face for the first time since Neil Hargrove walked into her home.

** ** **

Most days, all it felt like was floating. Floating through her house. Through Hawkins. Up and down streets. Through school. A stunning illusion she pulled like wool over her dark eyes.

A woman in rippling silks walking endless halls toward a great, cherry red door at the end, but the door gets farther away and she's thrilled to continue on even still. Feather wings glittering to unfold from her back because heaven's light is beyond the door. Crystalline eyes with their hold. Waiting for her. The sky awaits her with caressing clouds. Opulent gold sun rays and twinkling stars when the world lies down.

Evie knew she was too big for her wings most days. Too heavy to leave the Earth.

Knew in her beating heart of hearts that was the first thing people think when they see her. This magnificent soul with drive and neon and talent reduced to a single shrewd glance. And they don't think twice until she's something vaguely sexual. Something marketable you can package and process and sell to the last drop.

Easier to stomach something uncomely if you can slide into it ruthlessly to rut. They always come like animals, wailing as a banshee would to get off better than they ever will in their small lives. They eat it up. Cover it in sweat and regret and blame.

These things that hang as little weights on her heartstrings swinging back and forth. They make her not want to attempt extending those wings to fly. Fear of heads shaking in judgement. Fear of looking uglier. More foolish for even trying. Poor thing.

All because of one glance that couldn't be bothered to see worth in another human life. Sometimes Evie wanted to be skinny not because of beauty, but because she'd get a privilege pass to exist in this world.

They think she shouldn't dress the way she does. She's probably lazy and self loathing because of added pounds. She has no real aspirations or means to achieve them. Those eyes that watch her eat. That shift away before they decide on another seat because the one open next to her just isn't right. They glare because of the extra room she might take up. Even sharing a few cordial words with fat girls seemed to be a task.

Evie always notices and does the polite thing pretending she doesn't. She knows what her body looks like, no need to point out the obvious.

Strange, how these snap judgements, these eyes that don't look twice; can villainize a body utterly. A body. Flesh, bone, and muscle. We're all made in heaven's image. All destined for paths we seek to control. Superiority should have been an illusion. But no, too much or too little, your worth dips low. Fetishes and internalized hatred for things that were shaped and colored differently. Blame.

But, some days, when the wind soars just right...just strong enough...Evie can spread and illuminate. See the births and deaths of a million stars. Drop the little weights to feel the winds between her fingers. In her curls. In her wings. Feel her feet leave the floor for just a few fleeting seconds.

The fleeting seconds of soaring always seem so worth it against a world of unsightly aches. Against snap judgements she can toss back to live in a flower petal haze.

Evie tried hard to live in those moments when they flashed into her. Spotlights. Butterflies delicately landing on her flesh to open and close their stained glass wings for kisses. Evie felt crushed utterly in the most decadent way.

Billy's soft lips on her neck to get lost in the pulse. Deft fingers that would push up her clothing as he moved in her. Eyes that wanted to see her. All of her. The prayers he could whisper against heating skin.

A lot could be said about him. But, Billy was always happy to see her and that alone was air spinning into gold. His eyes would light up. Lips twitching. She could hear the single beat that his heart skipped. Even if they didn't speak, they felt this awareness for each other in the vicinity. Truly magic.

Those eyes. That love of a face. Always staring pointedly to read her up and down. Always plucking the weights from her heart by listening. Always unafraid to touch her. Evie hoped she returned that. She really did.

Fleeting seconds began to linger between them. Seeping slow and saccharine as fresh pouring honey.

Sneaking away on walks while he let her hold his hand. Flirtation against school lockers that ended in several 'just one more' kisses. Double dates to the movies with Tommy and Carol. Sitting separately to make out.

Driving up near Lover’s Lake to kiss in a parked Camaro while the sun laid itself down to sleep. Fumbling playfully to undress and explore. Watching the construction of a coming mall with Slurpees from the gas station. Tongues and lips colored all artificial cherry and strawberry.

Evie would stretch her wings completely. Let Billy admire them until the world was all satin rose-tinted. She could forget her urges and worries and insecurities. All together. This was fine.

She was fine. More then fine.

He so liked to admire her wings. Pleasure crushed in as she moaned. Let his fingers explore contours and notches untouched before. Billy would take those prayers on his lips and drape them over her body. Spell them between fleshy thighs. Pulling more fleeting seconds for himself too.

They could roll around under sheets and not worry about anything else. Have conversations that always felt silly and wonderful and weighted because they both mattered to someone so ardently. That alone was an ocean both could sink into.

Something beautiful to behold. The real vision behind the great red door. Your soul mattering.

Evie was in a bubble with Billy Hargrove. A stupid, dopey look on her face when Mona settled dinner down one evening. Steam rising from a huge pot.

“Going out later?” Evie began to create sound or she'd be lost. "You colored your hair brown again."

“Needed another change. Ah, I'm going out just with Karen and Claudia. Dessert and wine night. I asked Susan but that poor thing keeps standing me up. Did you finish Max’s gift for her party?” Mona scooped up huge portions in a bowl that Evie would only be prodding at.

“Yeah, it’s set. Turned out perfect. She’s not much for jewelry but I think a personalized tie dye shirt will be fun. Might look cool while skateboarding. I also have that goody bag of sweets for her to fill up on we made.” Evie reminded herself to pick up her spoon. Took a few bites.

“You’re not scarfing it down like usual, you love my crawfish soup.”

“It’s delicious, I just had a big lunch.” A lie. Evie pressed herself to eat quicker, tearing a piece of fresh bread to chew. Thing was, she wanted to eat. She wanted to eat so badly despite the sickness welling inside her. The heavy ache made it a task. Mona eyed her daughter there. “My stomach's in knots a lot, just school stuff.”

“Well, you are a senior.” Mona pushed her own soup around. “I haven’t been around as much as I’d like to be. Just the salon and I met-”

“I get it.” Evie’s lips spread in a flash, not wanting her mother to finish that sentence. “I’m with friends a lot and I keep busy with my music and the cat. I even wrote a new song.”

“That’s two this week, you. Strumming along blissfully.” Mona gushed. “Whatever has you all creative and dewy, chase it.” Silverware clicked around and Evie stared at her dish. A broader smile crossed.

"I will."

“What’s it called?”

“Ocean Eyes.”

Evie could be pretty transparent in the early stages of a relationship.

These short weeks in with Billy. Lyrics flooded free. Sometimes he liked to watch her write and strum when they hung out. Trips to the lounge where she worked other nights got him a full show, but not of her original stuff. Songs marched forth.

“Ocean Eyes.”

“Cupid and Psyche.”

“Honey Stardust.”

“Neon-Tinted Hearts.”

Rock. Pop. Lush and obscene with her glowing heartstrings. She wrote them for Fredrick too when they got together.

“Doll Joints.”

“Lollipop Lolita.”

“Prince Charming.”

After dinner, Evie stole a notebook filled with her every sinful lyrical confession of her time with Fredrick Bowers. Burnt it in an empty pot out back until Billy wandered out the back steps of his place. Asking her if she was trying to set the neighborhood on fire.

“How can I help?” He’d snarked while the sky went all pretty peach fuzz. Evie just laughed and never explained what she’d burnt or why it felt this cathartic to watch the smoke rise toward a falling sun. She figured maybe this was the day she'd stop eating foreign and sharp objects. She could do it. She was happier. Lighter. It had to stop.

It had to. She couldn't think about this haze shattering, it hurt too deep.

Billy used the flame to light his cigarette comically and kissed her before inhaling the smoke.

“Can we take a drive? Or walk if you’re low on gas?”

“Let’s walk, I got some cash doing my odd jobs for the damn neighbors, but I need it to last a bit longer with Max’s birthday. Got her this new board she was too chickenshit to beg our parents for.”

“Aren’t you a darling big brother?” Evie crossed her arms to follow him when the flame dwindled low. They went around the house to the front, started down the street. “Iris has some hours for me that next Saturday night.”

“You going to tell your mom about the secret job thing?” Billy inhaled and let smoke billow up into the afternoon light. They walked along Cherry Lane. Not touching. Counting steps while their shadows cast and the streetlights came up. A brisk night loomed, spring begging to creep through the month of March.

“I figured I could this summer. Around graduation. Just say I got something bigger since I’m eighteen and Iris can get me steadier hours. Gigs day or night. Maybe I’ll get to host a couple more drag shows. I miss those damn girls, the funniest performers know. I'll just let my mom down easy about the receptionist thing, hopefully she’s fine with it. Make it sound like I took initiative cause I'm a big girl.”

“And your grand singer plans?” He liked to ask about her and hang upon the syllables.

“Still up in the air. I’m taking the year off to work and write. Try for a talent agent or manager. I can record maybe...try to get airtime. There’s this contest thing, they do it every year and the winners always do well. But, I’m honestly too afraid to ask my mom about it just yet. I’m saving though here and there.” Evie beamed. “You? Summer and on.”

She was clearly asking if he was sticking around for summer.

“Odd lawn, house, and car jobs are getting me by. This whole street is a mess and the moms in town like to watch me work."

"Yikes."

"It means better pay and tips. I’m taking Heather up on her lifeguard offer this summer. I'll save up, Dad's already going to be asking for rent when I graduate."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Don’t wanna bank on that mall they’re opening with all the other little shits trying to get jobs first.” Billy leaned back to let the cooler air kiss his face, sighing before he tossed his smoke out.

Evie came to the end of the street near the forest, swayed around a streetlamp like she was in an old Hollywood flick. Dreaming long and endless. Sometimes she worried so often that she wasn't living. Just dreaming it all away. Maybe a center line was possible.

Maybe she'd be able to soar over it all.

Billy waited for her to swing back around it before he pressed into her for a slow, lingering kiss. Even better, maybe they both were sharing a dream. Making it of something stronger.

“So, how am I doing?” He joked lighter. Evie gripped the lamp to stay level, head tilting. “Two weeks in, almost three. This whole situation.”

“Situation.” Evie mused, slyly hiding half her face behind the lamp to hum. The shadowy starlet of a femme fatale she loved to watch on television with her mother. Glinting. Dangerous. "This whole situation?" She lingered to sigh it even slower.

"You and me." He'd sounded out, drawing nearer. "Us..." Evangeline, always the playful nymph, flitted off playfully. Spinning the other way to walk along so Billy came to her side easily.

“I think you’re doing fine." She tapped her chin. "What about me? Evaluate my performance.”

“Ah. In a sea of slithery tadpoles, you’re a goddamn firecracker.” He’d laughed and Evie followed, covering her lips with one hand.

“I don’t know how any of that correlates or makes sense, but I’ll take it.”

“Neither do I. Just made it up to see you do that. The scrunchy thing you do when you’re too happy or upset with me.” Billy’s nose crinkled as he grinned there. Evie came up to peck his freckles.

“You’re a total sap, Hargrove.” Evie continued, hands clasped behind her back before she inhaled the air. “Let’s hit that mini mart nearby. I’m craving a Dr. Pepper. Buy you a soda. It’s my turn.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re just being too nice again,” Billy remarked, feet shifting slower as they crossed the street. “I can’t take you fancy places.”

“I don’t need to go to fancy places, I just like hanging out with you wherever.” Evie turned her head to see him. “We’re both poor, we make due. Summer will be better. We can just work and...figure this out. I like it right now though, so don’t worry because I know how you shiver in those boots.”

She pondered it.

“Do you like it?” Evie offered quieter, earning Billy’s eyes searching her expression. Lip twitching, he tossed his arm around her. Brought Evie taut into his frame with an easier grin so they could keep walking toward the whirling, illuminated sign in the distance.

“Yeah, I like it.” He decided. “I like you plenty. What's not to like, Evangeline?” His free hand gestured out and Evie beamed to point at that darling face. Her Eros. Encouraging her wings to unfold without pressure.

"Wow, you're getting better and better at that." A beat. "Making me blush without rolling my eyes."

"Please, Angel, your knees quiver every time I hit you with this smile. You might as well toss off the panties for me." For good measure, he flashed it and Evie hid from his absolute burning charm. Cheeks felt that fire bloom and billow.

A car hurried past them. Sweeping budding flowers and loose leaves about. Delicate, they danced. Trees wobbled back and forth to the wind picking up. Evie stayed looking away to smile that time. Knew this wind would carry her easily.

"Did you have a best friend back in California?" She moved her arm around his back as they went.

"I don't know. Guess I had a few in orbit."

"Am I your best friend here?" She piped back up and Billy slowed to glance, chuckling.

"I thought you and I were avoiding labels."

"It's different." Came the protest.

"No, it isn't." He paused. "Heather's your best friend."

"Yeah, but I figured I could have more than one. Perfectly carved places for each." Evie shifted in front of him, hands smoothing up Billy's shoulders to clasp fingers round his neck. Blue eyes glittered to search.

"You trying to push some admission outta me, Fenny?"

Lashes batted with all the innocence they could hold.

"Just admit it, Hargrove," she pulled him down for a lip lock, pecking his jaw and cheeks until he broke to laugh and hold her at bay. One brow lifted. "It'll be our dirty little secret."

"Fine. Only cause you twisted my arm about it and it gets you hot. You are my very," he palmed her bottom to make her gasp in one motion, "very best friend. Happy?" Billy stole a kiss when she was still dumbfounded, molding their frames together.

"Maybe I am." Evie sighed, sounding too raw and honest about it. She came out to see his eyes there. Tried to read them. Billy blinked to say something else.

“So, you're already thinking about graduation and summer, huh? Moving quick.”

“I’m optimistic is all. It’s a rare thing with me so I'm just enjoying it. I’m not used to happy and good.” Evie got cheeky to hide anything else, winking over her shoulder before she went inside the tiny store.

Fluorescent lights washed out too many colorful packages. They picked cold cans of soda and bright yellow packs of Jujyfruit candies to curb a sweet craving. Billy gripped the paper bag in one fist and Evie snatched his free hand when they got outside.

“C’mon!” She picked up the pace. “Let’s catch the bus to the other side of town.”

“Billy Hargrove doesn’t take the bus. It’s all full.” He’d complained, still rushing after her to the stop.

“Try something new.” Evie was giggling, tugging at him to get on.

With the bus full of residents leaving work, they took some standing room with a group up front. Fingers curled into the handles above, swaying closer together due to the rocking and crowding. A hard turn sent Evie into Billy’s chest, her hand sprang out over his shoulder to catch the bar just above his head.

“Trying to jump my bones in public, little Miss Fenny?” He feigned a look of awe, brows lifting playfully. His free arm slipped around the small of Evie’s back, bracing her there into his marble frame. “You know how much easier it is if you just ask, Angel?”

Evie wanted to scoff. Wanted to scrunch that annoyed look she was known for. Wanted to send him to the floor and kiss him for miles and miles. But, she just stood there in the dim, flickering bus lights. Watched his expression relax. Not really breathing until she reminded herself.

Billy seemed to remember as well. At the back and forth shifting of the vehicle, they squished together. Forcing looks away to see the path again. Billy pushed his thigh further between her legs. Both of them idly rubbing together now. Evie felt the heat crawl up her cheeks, lungs tremoring. Billy’s fist holding the bag shifting a little lower on her back, firm and scalding hot.

She peered up at his jawline. Looked away. Felt Billy’s eyes wander back after before he flickered elsewhere. Denim pushed against denim. Billy hitched this breath as if he might whimper. Swallowed it down. Hips swaying back and forth and back again. A thumb pushed deftly into her back. Evie shifting in, lips parting. Trembling as Billy turned his head to see her centimeters from him.

“This is our stop.” She’d said in his ear. Leaning flush into him to pull the cord down. Billy inhaled the amber. Brushed his nose into her own while she came back out.

“Don’t wanna stop.” His freckles looked especially glowy outlined in a rare blush. The bus skidded and Evie veered back with some amusement. Brown eyes casting Billy up and down before she skipped off in a hurry, leaving him to chase her because he’d always chase her. Bag still wrinkled around Billy’s fist, he caught up with her. Under the streetlamps surrounded by dancing moths.

“We near Lover’s Lake?”

“Yeah, the park nearby. Figured some loitering would do us good.” Evie stepped across the grass and sand. Listened to the dark structures creak. “C’mon. I love the swings.”

She plopped back into one, legs kicking some before Billy joined her. He cracked one can of soda to offer it, feet shifting over the sand to sway closer together. Chains creaking.

They clicked drinks and guzzled fizz before Evie snagged the candy out. Stealing a few chewy pieces. The bright box got passed back and forth during a comfortable silence. Billy watched Evie as she observed the moon there.

“Do you know any constellations?” She’d asked quieter, forcing him out of the daze. Curls caught the illumination with stars dotting her dark eyes.

“Not really.” He took the candy back as she swallowed a piece.

“You see that crooked line? Those four little guys, they call that...Salem’s Lot. And...” Evie touched her lips, pointing again. “Those two bright boys there. Called Shawshank. Oh, and that one-”

“These are Stephen King references.” He pushed her.

“No, I’m very smart and they’re real-life constellations. Listen and learn, Billy boy.”

“So, are you gonna call that grouping, The Shining or The Overlook?” He pointed to a cluster and Evie snickered.

“Obviously that’s Carrietta White’s Constellation. Duh. Cause it looks like a rain of blood.” Evie snorted and Billy joined her, heads pressing together as they giggled like school children.

“You know she wears a crushed red velvet dress in the book? Not pink as seen in the movie.” Billy stretched out, finishing his soda.

“You know she’s fat in the book, too?” Evie winked at him, eyed the trash, and tried to toss her can at it. Missing badly, it smacked the rim and fell in the sand with a clatter. “Damn it!” Billy laughed at her louder.

“Don’t try for a career on the court, Evie.” He watched her pout as she plucked it up to throw it away properly. “Now, watch the master work.” He aimed as she sat down. One deft hand reeled back and launched it only to have Evie’s palm smack it easily the other direction. Almost falling out of her seat cackling, she got the candy pushed into her arm before he gawked and went to get it.

“Oh,” she kept up without air, “I thought you were the master? You should have seen your face!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, dunking it in the can with an echoing clank. For some cheery consolation, she offered the rest of the box to him. Tiny candy pieces fell into his palm before he pushed them all into his mouth at once, eyes lifting to the sky again. Billy made a face and turned to go to push her swing. “Gimme another constellation.”

“Hmm.” Evie held the chains, began to swing properly at his coaxing. Felt like they were in a secret garden together. Water rippling against the air distantly. Cold chill not bothering either of them. “Those two stars. The little one and the big guy. See?”

Billy gripped the chains, keeping her swing up against him to follow the gaze

“That’s Neverland. Second star to the right and straight on till morning.” She snickered again as Billy pushed her forward. “Bet I can beat you there. I’ll jump from the swing.”

“You’re on.” Billy stole the seat next to her, both of them pumping higher. Curls fluttering. Laughing. Happy because they were together and that mattered.

“I’m going to overthrow Pan and Hook. Become the most fantastic Lost Girl with a siren song to command the island and you’ll write your stories.”

“Think so?” Billy pushed himself higher. Actually thought he might fly with Evie there.

“Yes! You’ll tell the greatest stories ever heard through the land and they’ll echo back down here to be loved too.” She proclaimed that. Not having heard Billy’s stories, but believing what was in his heart.

Time slowed. Wild laughter crackled toward the sky. Utter sparks as they jumped together and collided to roll around the sand. Evie was still alight with joy under him, hair splayed everywhere as Billy snapped up to check her over, hovering. Evie’s giggling tapered off against the night air. She stared up at him. Framed in twinkling stars. He said something she didn’t catch.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Evie sounded out slower, lost in the endless crystalline blue. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean, what?”

“What you said when we were lying in bed together. You said I was the best thing about this place. People never say things like that. Not to girls like me. I believed it when you said it though and it was easy too.” Evie skimmed her fingers over his jacket. Watched Billy’s eyes flicker to recall that moment and the clouds he floated upon like lily-pads in a pond.

Billy swept down. Planted a hot kiss that was all lips. Swelled her mouth when he pulled out. He left Evie fluttered and came to her ear.

“That was a yes.” He pushed up, eyes too sly. “By the way.” Evie took a hand when he offered one and got pulled to her feet, bodies stumbling together. They tried to brush the sand off fabric.

“Do you think about that night? The dance, I mean. Not...the sex. Well, I guess it’s okay to think about the sex actually.” She blushed there when Billy’s lip quirked. His fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “Before all that went down with Brock. It was-”

“Not terrible.” He finished.

“Not at all. The first part of the night, sometimes I wish we could go back and-”

“Rewrite it.” Billy looked around, giving Evie a tug. He pulled her up on the metal roundabout, painted red and blue that was chipping away. “Hold on.” Another smile had curled as he braced to get it spinning.

“Billy!” Evie jerked to hold tight to the bars. Hair flying up. Curls coiled out. Fire billowing gracefully. “What are you doing!”

“Turning back the clock,” he charged and jumped on with her, wobbling to hold something, "to redo it.” Evie grabbed for his coat. Fisting the fabric when they locked eyes. Wind rushed in a thrill with memories tumbling together and apart.

Her wings sprang forth.

Billy made Evie the still point to his turning world. For just a moment. Knew, if anything, that meeting her was something truly important. An unseen force that would twist his heart forever.

Spinning round and round. He recalled the metallic confetti dancing and the way the music pulsed. The carousel began to slow, both teens holding the bars and each other to say level.

Slower, Evie pecked a kiss upon his lips to mirror the first. Unable to come out far, Billy was already closing the distance for the second. Trying to pay her back with a thousand sweet kisses.

Cheers rang and fireworks burst. She remembered it all too. How dizzy and still the world seemed to be. How it hushed for her too sweetly. Billy’s hands on her face, cradling delicately to angle the second kiss a little deeper. They felt the metal clink to stillness under them and inched back out.

“I want to go home with you,” Evie said the words she wished she had that night. Huge dark eyes glittering. She found his lips again. Not worried about air or what the future held for them. Lost on a rosy haze and perfectly fine for these stolen fleeting seconds. “Can we go?” Billy searched her, thumb sweeping a circle into her jaw. He smiled fully.

“Only if we can take the bus again.”

** ** ** **

“Happy Birthday!” Evie gushed, offering a gift to a small pile. Max had her arms around her before she’d gotten a chance to turn. One hand shifted to the shorter girl’s back. Music whirled with a campy light show, made the horribly patterned carpets glow. “Carol and Heather are on their way in. Tommy’s around but he won’t hang near the table.”

“Neil’s going to be late. Work stuff.” This explained why Max’s smile was so bright. Evie nudged her chin, head cocking. “You brought your own skates.”

“I know it’s dorky, but they’re my babies.” Evie gestured to the red skates swung over one shoulder. “Evie Fenny doesn’t rent her skates.”

“That’s El, come meet her,” Max pulled Evie off after she got one wave at Susan behind the table setting up. “Billy’s grabbing stuff from the car. He drove us.”

El Hopper was a tiny thing. Almost like a little bird compared to Hopper’s hulking frame behind her. She peered around and seemed at instant ease upon seeing Max.

“El, this is my neighbor, Evie," Max introduced them, "she’s cool.”

El made this gesture like she had a needle and poked at her hand.

“Yes!” Max got it, tugging Evie’s arm. “She taught me the felting thing.”

“Hope the sharp objects weren’t a bother in your house, Chief Hopper.” Evie perked up at Jim with a sheepish expression. “I should have asked you, I know it might seem a little dangerous.”

He actually laughed at that. If only she knew the danger these kids had gotten into prior.

“Believe me, crafts are a welcomed change.”

“El, nice to meet you. I’m Evie. Max talks about you all the time.” Evie held out her hand and the young girl looked shocked. “Good things.”

A slower smile crossed. She took Evie’s hand to shake it. Awkward about her navigation but trying to take everything in. Clearly never been to a party like this one. Kids of various ages circled the floor on skates. Laughing. Holding hands.

“Max...talks about you too. I like your hair.” El mirrored. Peered to Hopper with a pleased expression he matched. She offered Max a wrapped gift. Evie grinned and touched her curls, pulled up into two high, rounded buns.

“C’mon, let me show you the table they’re setting up.” Max took El’s wrist to usher her off.

“Are you...staying to skate?” Evie turned to the Chief.

“El’s, ah, not used to crowds. She came from some unfortunate circumstances. I’d like to stay close. First party. Maybe I’m hovering.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. Not in uniform. Evie beamed a little.

“She’s young, you’re worried. It’s sweet, actually. You’re just being a good dad.” The smile seemed to dither in her eyes. Even when Jack was married to Mona, he wasn't always around. Work and trips kept him busy, but he stayed to close to Evie the moment he arrived home with his little gifts and endless stories. “Don’t come running over if she falls, we got her.”

“Yeah, uh, if you could keep an eye on El when you see her around. That would mean a lot to me. I know you babysat the Henderson kid. El doesn’t need a babysitter, she’s just… This is new for her.” Jim gestured. Digging for a smoke he couldn’t have in the immediate area.

“Heather, Carol, and I will keep an eye out.”

“Carol?” He chuckled. “Perkins?”

“Oh, yeah, we made up. Funny thing.”

“Almost as funny as you hanging out with the Hargrove boy through winter.” He quirked his brow.

“What can I say, Chief...” Evie shrugged. “I’m...branching out.”

As if on cue, Billy paced in a side door. Bag clutched under one arm. He caught Evie’s glance instantly. Both of them locked in and back out on cue. Blue eyes shifted up and down because she was wearing his denim jacket over a little lacy, floral top tucked into her jeans.

Neil would arrive and they had an act to keep up. Ignoring each other.

“I’ll sit far." Jim offered. "Pretend I’m not here.”

She about cackled, lost in thought still.

“I’ll just pretend you’re my real dad,” Evie winced at herself, saw him pause with some subtle awe, “oof, I’m not sure where that came from. Ouch. Okay. Walking away now. Sorry, Chief.”

“Evie.” He eased a gentle hand toward her. “What I said. If there’s...anything going on. You can talk to me. On or off the record.”

“Yeap. Right. I’m okay. I’m...I’m gonna...skate. Yeah. Sorry. Oh, my…” Evie whirled to hurry off, cringing all the way to the table. “I think I just had a mental break.”

“What?” Heather had chuckled.

“Nothing. Time to skate?” Came Evie’s begging. Agreement followed.

Hopper made himself scarce with a cigarette and plate of cheese fries in the corner. Billy plopped himself into a chair behind the decorated table, looking disinterested. Not catching Evie’s eyes while she sat with the girls to put her skates on. Just watched Susan set out plates for pizza and cake.

Evie went out with Heather first for a lap, both of them giggling and pulling little stunts to show off for Tommy who was on the ground as Carol pulled at him. Max jumped over his leg, cackling before she tried to get El to come out with them.

“Kinda reminds me of us. They’re too cute.” Heather quipped, whirling to skate backward. They joined the younger girls, hoping to get El relaxed and away from the wall she seemed to cling to. Every turn, Evie shot Billy a look. Got his lips quirking before he ruefully was peering away.

“Do you want to skate, Billy?” Susan had asked after a beat, weary of the music already. Bit of a glittery disco mess. That same dreamy rose haze in the air.

“About as much as I want to give my old man a sponge bath, Susan.” Billy frowned for effect and dropped it when she actually laughed at him. It was an easier thing for them to talk without Neil’s shadow.

“Well, the offer is open if you want to.” Susan thought to tell him Evie looked beautiful today when she caught him staring at her for the third time but decided not to be obvious. Not yet.

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m being inappropriate and I’m going to send your only daughter down with me.” He recited easily.

“I was your age once, Billy, I know how to laugh still.” Susan seemed surprised at the revelation herself. Slowly, she took a seat next to him. Not leaving another chair as a buffer like she usually did. “It might not be so bad. Her following you, you know, after this. When she’s older. She still looks up to you.”

It became clear what Susan was asking him. Max would resent her one day down the line. For the choices she made. The things she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried. Maybe Billy and Max didn’t always get along, but he’d be a safer place for her than whatever was leftover in that house. Susan would always be under Neil Hargrove, but she could ensure her daughter would not be. One day.

Billy leaned forward on his elbows, palms rubbing. He felt for his ring and remembered it was hidden under Evie’s dipping sweetheart neckline. He didn’t say anything, but met Susan’s eyes.

“Evie’s been a good friend to her.” Susan crossed her legs and sat back to watch the girls laugh. Slowly easing into the conversation. El wobbled, holding hands with Max and Evie to gain some speed. Heather was trying to help Carol steady poor Tommy. “Don’t you think so?”

“I haven’t noticed.” Billy turned his head aside.

“She’s very pretty. Kind. That’s all I’m saying. She and her mother, they’re nice neighbors to have on Cherry.”

“Jesus, Susan, why don’t you date them both?” Billy shot up to go to the snack counter. Susan ghosted this smile after him, hands clasping. “Cheese fries. Jalapenos...Extra jalapenos.” He got his plate and turned to see Chief Hopper’s cigarette glow red. “You got any more of those? My pack is out and they don't have a machine in this joint.”

Jim just eyed him.

“I’m legal.” Billy puffed before a stick flicked across the table. “Camels. Unfiltered. Disgusting. Are you a flannel hobo of some kind with those?”

The Chief gawked at him.

“Don’t you smoke Reds? Baby’s first cigarette.”

Billy matched him. Offended.

“I’m smoking with the big boys, Hop. You should try it.”

“You in a place to complain, kid?” Jim reached to take it back before Billy swiped, lighting up to puff.

“No, sir.” His lighter snapped shut. “You unable to cut the cord or is dressing like a lumberjack to hang out at a 70s roller disco a hobby?”

“Haven’t seen you down at the station in a while. Few months, in fact. Turning over a new leaf this year?” Jim remarked instead, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Aw. You miss me or something? Your boys finally get tired of chasing me down? Or trying to.” Billy gave this comedic pout, head turning to eye Evie again. Graceful swan that she was out there. His jacket hanging off her shoulders, exposing that neck. Little wisps of curls swayed about from her space buns decorated with matching glittery star barrettes, loose hair framing her face. Brown eyes flicked up and he snatched his gaze away. “Guess I found something else to get into that isn’t trouble. You guys bore me down there, I like to be amused.”

“The real crime-stopper, boredom. Color me impressed and shocked.” Jim seemed to like that, eyes rolling. Billy puffed and swept a piece of tobacco from his mouth. “I guess whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” He watched Billy crunch on some salty jalapenos, plucking five gooey fries at once to swallow them down. Almost starved.

“I intend to.” Billy flicked his greasy fingers to his brow. “Chief.”

“William.”

Billy mumbled as he went off, finishing the smoke to flick it out a back door. Eyes shifting to watch the girls plus poor Tommy. El was already better than him.

“Man, I’m dying out here. Help me. I’ll tag you in.” Tommy scrambled up the sidewall and clung, out of breath. Freckles all dewy.

“You wanted to be a good boyfriend,” Billy cackled for good measure, "that'll teach you."

“Feed me a fry,” Tommy begged over the barrier.

“Fuck out of here, they’re mine. My dad will show soon so you can disappear to a corner and get your own damn fries.” To make it a point, Billy stood there and fed himself.

Behind Tommy, Max skidded and fell with Evie barely catching her. Both girls had gone down in a fit of giggling.

“We’re fine, go on!” Max waved to Heather and El ahead of them. Carol came to steal Tommy back as Billy craned to see his step-sister.

“You alright?” Evie was picking her up when Max’s shirt slipped closer to her pale shoulder, flashing a burst of purple there the size of a softball. “Oh, my god.” It slipped out before she could stop it.

“That’s-!” Max cut herself off and fixed her shirt. Spring was creeping and all she donned was long-sleeved and frumpy. Dressing almost like Susan. “I fell, you know, on my board.” Evie tried to give her the dignity of a look that said she believed it. Must have cracked. “Evie, it’s nothing. Don’t worry. Please.”

Dressing like Susan. Sounding like Billy.

“Max, my house is-”

“I know, but don’t… Don’t say anything. Not to Billy or my mom, ah… Neil’s here.” Max put her head down and skated around Evie to go away.

There was something particularly helpless about watching a young girl flee obediently to her monster. Evie wondered if this was what she looked like to Billy headed to Fredrick's place.

Small. Scared. Lost.

Neil Hargrove started with words. Lots of horrible words that whittled Max down to a hard pit. Then pushing. Then some grabbing. Then shoving. Into walls mostly.

The hit didn’t bruise Max. It was more of a swipe to make her go to her room for talking back. Whatever that meant to Neil. But, he was drunk and he caught her jaw with an open palm. That stayed red for the day until she snuck a pack of frozen peas, not wanting Susan or Billy to know.

But, the swipe sent her into the dining room table. Left the violet petals bursting under her skin. Evie lost the urge to skate and came out. Saw Billy’s eyes again and paused to help Heather usher El out for food.

“You’re a natural.” Evie complimented which earned a full smile. El opened her mouth to speak before Billy appeared in front of them.

“They’re making us sing.” He cocked his head, peering at El. “You’re the one with the funny name, aren’t you?”

“Jane. But,” she seemed to have trouble staring at him for more than three extended seconds and pointed to her chest, “El.” Red crept across her cheeks. Billy towered over her, cocking a wider grin to play up the fact that she was all blushy for a pretty older boy.

“El?” He raised one brow. “What’s the L stand for?”

“Ignore him.” Heather pulled the younger girl around Billy as he chuckled, pausing to see Evie. Her colorless expression.

“You okay?” He said it hard with a furrowed brow.

“Fine.” She tried to make it sound cold but it came out near silent. Head turned down as she flitted around him to join the party.

Neil, stiff and stoic, pressing his lips like he was at the damn DMV. Susan plastered a broader grin to dote on him after his long day, lingering close to his side as they set out pizza and readied the cake.

It was all so routine. Like getting your shots.

Pizza. Sing. Candles. Wish. Cake. Gifts. Thank you.

Billy and Evie took the farthest seats from each other. Played a game of glance and ignore that they’d made up on the spot. They both were either losing or winning.

“Strange,” Neil remarked as he pulled Max aside for another slice. “You and the high school girls.”

“Oh, I invited El too, she’s my age. I didn’t want to leave Evie out and the girls...they’re nice to me.”

“They don’t dress like nice girls.”

Heather and Carol both donned perfectly normal tees and jeans. Nothing would suffice for Neil Hargrove. Max shifted her cake around. No longer hungry for it.

“Maybe we’ll talk about the type of girl you should hang around at a later time. The Fenny girl is nice enough, even if her shirt is a little too...low. Dresses kinda tight. Bit of an odd one. She’s different. Her friends, well...I’m just not sure, Maxine.”

“Yes, sir.” She looked at her birthday cake like it was infested with worms. Carefully forced a bite and set it aside.

Max hung around. Smiled and thanked everyone after each birthday present. Even hugged Neil only cause he opened his arms at her. She said bye to El then Heather. Carol seemed to be turning in as well so Tommy went out back to get the car.

As the party went on and dwindled, Evie caught Billy’s eyes gesturing to the rental counter. He slipped around the corner into the many shelves and Evie turned back to see Max and Susan at the table. Neil seated in a chair not helping them clean up, eyes elsewhere. Casually, she skated around and got her arm snatched. A gasp snuffed against a pair of lips. Kisses hidden away from the world.

“Paid the kid a few coins and a threat to leave for ten minutes."

Music vibrated the shelves. Evie put her arms around Billy.

“I still have skates on.”

“Even better. I might have a thing for girls in red skates.” Billy was all hands, holding Evie steady. Pulling one leg around his hip. Pushing denim into denim. Hot friction might have done her in any other day.

“We are not hooking up with all the smelly rental skates.” Evie laughed into his lips, still pecking back and peering over her shoulder. She paused to see his eyes. Wanted to blurt what she’d seen on Max’s body. Even to Billy now, it felt wrong. So, she said something else.

“Hey, we should…keep an eye on your sister, you know. It’s her birthday. She’s...She needs her big brother.”

Billy huffed into her neck.

“Fine, fine, but you’ll regret not taking the adventure on here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Evie shifted. “My feet hurt and we can make-out in my bed later.” She kissed his neck. “I’ll do that thing you like if you promise you went easy on the product down there.”

“Only dotted the gold crown. Scout’s honor.” Billy winked and she rolled her eyes. He peered out first. “Give it a second then follow.”

“Wait.” Evie thumbed her red lipstick from his mouth. “Now, shoo.” Billy licked his lips and snuck out. She waited a moment. Let the happy butterflies land in her stomach then followed. Pausing, her skates came off for more comfortable tennis shoes.

“Evangeline, do you need a ride home with us later?” Neil had asked.

“No, thank you, I was getting a ride with Carol now.” She smiled and looked for red hair to say her goodbyes. “Where’d Max go?” Evie collected her coat and Susan paused to peer around.

“She was here a second ago. Neil?” Hands dropped a stack of plates into the trash.

“Probably went to the bathroom.” He shrugged, squinting at all the moving lights that were making his head pound. “Billy, go find your sister.”

Billy seemed to notice the look on Evie’s face and feel the same chill before he hurried off without fighting. Susan looked through the sea of kids and teens meandering as Evie passed her to check the ajar side door.

"Max!" The one flickering light at the exit made her skin crawl. A cry echoed distantly followed by a dull crash in the dark. Like a bag of trash hitting the dumpster.

Evie dropped her skates to follow the hollowed-out sound. Exhaust swept up her nose and tires gave a harsh wail, horns sounding while a faraway car disappeared around a row of trees to get to the main street with the rest.

“Max!” Evie charged out. Heart painfully thudding within her ribs.

“Evie?” Carol heard her and footsteps echoed around the building.

“Max!” Evie was near tears now. A shift in some fallen trash bags made her pause when two sneakers appeared around the side of the dumpster. This odd scratching sound left her lips. Evie threw herself over the tiny body there, turned Max’s limp frame over.

Her shirt collar was ripped open where someone grabbed her. Or tried to. Dragging then dropping her when she put up a fight. Bleeding scrapes and dirt scuffed all over her pale freckled skin from the rough tumble. Carol got to them first and pulled off her sweater to cover Max’s torso while Evie gathered her up.

“Help!” Carol called because Evie couldn’t. More bodies arrived. Tommy. Susan. Billy. Neil.

“Neil, she won’t wake up.” Susan pulled her daughter out of Evie’s arms, shaking her. Moans filtered out, but nothing else. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I saw...a car. It was too dark. I just found her here on the ground. Someone tried to...” Evie wheezed out and never finished, gesturing aimlessly.

“Susan, give Maxine to Billy. She needs a hospital.” Neil swept down as Billy urged his sister’s tiny body away. This hard. flamed expression on his face as if he wasn't really here.

Max looked broken. Not real. A doll left under the bed for too long without love or cherished stories to comfort it. Evie felt the knees of her jeans soak through from the wet pavement. Too many words hit the air and Evie’s eyes dropped to where that harsh car had gone to.

Evangeline wondered what kind of monster would grab up a little girl and throw her out into the trash.

And why the world bore so many of that same design.

~~~~~

Mad Max :( Her story line is gonna start to push toward the front here and there with Evie's in pieces. Thanks again for following the fic, I really appreciate it! Please please leave some words if you enjoy the fic. XOXO Taglist open

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mermaidxatxheart · 4 years

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Dream a Little Dream of Me {1}

Ok. So, this is my long overdue post for @cake-writes and her 1940′s challenge. I suck so bad and I”m so sorry it’s late Bri. This bullshit writer’s block hit at the worst possible time. Anyway. I hope you like it. I’ve decided to break this one up into parts as well because tackling it as a whole was just too overwhelming.

*Disclaimer* I don’t own Marvel, Bucky Barnes, only my reader character. Also, I know there’s another story by this title, I have nothing to do with that one. If I remember correctly with my gold fish memory, it’s @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan ? maybe? I haven’t read it, although I’m sure it’s amazing. This story is my own idea.

Prompt: Dream a little dream of me- Ella Fitzgerald.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader.

Word Count: 1779

Summary: Bucky’s world shifts on it’s head and he finds himself daydreaming, and really dreaming, about a beautiful mystery girl. Is she real? Or is his head in the clouds?

Warnings: I don’t think there are any. I don’t even think I swore. Just a little shock at the faces.

(A/N: I have a old story that I’m dusting off and editing to keep my mind busy while I sort through this nonsense I’m dealing with. It’s a Teen Wolf story, but it goes beyond that. If anyone would be interested in being added to a tag list for it, just let me know. Since it doesn’t run along the lines of what I normally post (Marvel) I won’t be using my everything tag list, since that’s not what you guys signed up for. Just send me an ask if you’re interested in reading it)

The dancehall is loud, pulsing with the beat that the band is playing. Just the way Bucky likes it. That way, he can hold his dame close, can feel her nails against his neck.

So, naturally, his dream would follow his waking preference. Only in his dream this time, he can’t feel her nails rasping against his scalp, he can’t feel her body heat against him. He almost doesn’t notice at first, too wrapped up in everything else overwhelming his senses. It’s not until her lips are almost on his that he realizes something’s wrong.

He pulls back and looks at her, confused. Her pretty face starts to get blurry, eyes and nose smudging together. Her mouth rubs away at the edges until her entire face is detail-less.

Bucky tilts his head as he looks at her. She’s not panicking that she doesn’t have a face, so he doesn’t panic, either. It’s strange. When the dance started, he thought she was pretty, probably one of the prettiest girls in the hall. But now, as he looks around at the other people crowding him, he realizes she’s just like everyone else.

Plain, holding no interest for him.

There’s an empty feeling in his chest where his heart should be. It’s as if an echo of a heartbeat is there-faint, fading fast.

He wanders through the crowd, searching for some kind of face that stands out. Faces follow him, but everyone he sees is the same as that girl, blank as if they’ve ceased to exist anymore. He pushes the front doors open to step into the lobby and there you are.

Your face is full of exquisite details and the room fades away. He doesn’t feel the hardwood beneath his dress shoes. He can’t hear the band anymore, or the endless, pointless chatter of the crowd. All he can see is you.

You in that gorgeous blue dress, your soft hair curled delicately around your face. Your makeup is sharp and crisp, even more so in contrast to the empty faces.

“Hi.” You say softly, fondly, like you’ve known him for years and he’s your favorite person in the world-not just some stranger.

“Hey, doll.” He says, a warm familiar feeling wrapping around him. You’re quite possibly the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his entire life.

In fact, he can’t remember any other girl he’s ever laid eyes on-but he knows they pale in comparison. He can’t stop staring at you.

“Are we going to stand here all night? Or are you going to ask me to dance?” You ask, a playful smirk tugging at your red lips.

He’s an idiot, an idiot who’s forgotten all the manners his ma taught him. He nods like a buffoon and holds out his hand. You places your hand in his and you’re soft and delicate as he pulls you close, leading you back into the crowded hall.

The band plays a slow song and you step effortlessly into his arms. Now he can feel everything that was missing before, the heat of you, the breath on his skin, your heartbeat matching his echo of one. You rest your head against his chest like you’ve done it a million times.

“You got a name, handsome?” You prompt, fingers twisting slowly into the hair on the back of his neck.

“Bucky.” He mumbles into the crown of your head, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Bucky.” You repeat with a soft sight and he could listen to that all night. “I’m Y/N.” You tell him and he whispers it softly.

The dance passes far too quickly for Bucky’s liking. He doesn’t want to let you go, wants to hold you in his arms for the rest of forever. He would gladly sleep his life away for another five minutes with you.

The rest of the audience applauds the band and he reluctantly steps back from you. You’re slow to open your pretty eyes at him, smiling the sweetest smile he’s ever seen.

“You won’t leave me with just one dance, will ya?” You ask, leaving your hand in his.

“Course not. I’m a gentleman.” He promises and you laugh, stepping back into the circle of his arms.

“Good answer.” You give another contented sigh as he pulls you close. The feel of you warms him all over. You smell like apples, a whole orchard of fresh, crisp, mouth-watering apples.

Dance after dance pass the night and he hardly steps away from you.

“I think I have to go.” You say softly, pulling back from him.

“So soon?” He pouts and you smile wide.

“Don’t worry, handsome. I’ll see you back here tomorrow night.” You promise, curling your fingers into his shirt and rising up to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for the dance.”

He opens his eyes to look at you, but you’re fading away, becoming invisible and he already misses you. “Bye.” He mumbles.

***

“What’s got you in such a good mood, jerk?” Steve asks Bucky as they walk through the park.

“Nothin.” Bucky shrugs, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

“You’re a terrible liar, Buck.” Steve sighs. “It’s amazing that you can ever win at poker.” He shakes his head in dismay at his best friend.

“I just had a good dream last night. That’s all. And I’m a great poker player.”

“What was the dream about? Another girl?”

“The only girl who will ever matter.” Bucky sighs dreamily.

“Wow. That’s a big statement from you.” Steve says, his voice dripping with snark.

“You’re so mean to me.”

“C’mon. You’ll forget all about her by the end of the day.” Steve promises.

He doesn’t want to forget about her. He wants to see her again.

Work is agony. From the second he punches in, he wants nothing more than to go home. He knows it’s probably pointless, but he wants to sleep, to see her again. He’s aching to hold her close, to smell her sweet perfume. But what are the chances of having the same dream two nights in a row?

“Pay attention, will ya?” Steve snaps, yanking his arm out of the way of one of the big machines. Bucky stumbles back, jerking out of a day dream. “Are you tryina get yourself killed?” Steve shoots a furtive glance towards the floor foreman before stepping back to his position.

Bucky tries to focus after that, but slipping back to that dance hall is so easy. He finds himself humming along with the song, still so fresh in his mind.

More than once he catches himself just in time to avoid getting hurt. Steve is mad at him, doesn’t talk to him the whole way home. Bucky tries to see it from his perspective, what if he hadn’t woken up from his daydream in time? Who else would have gotten hurt? Or worse? Probably Steve as he tries to save Bucky.

Bucky would never forgive himself if Steve got hurt because of him.

He pushes open the front door and pecks his mom on the cheek. She’s already making dinner and he wants to be hungry, knows he should eat; but all he can think about is getting up to his room and falling asleep. He wants to see Y/N again. Something deep in his bones tells him he will, that he can see that beautiful vision every night if he wants to.

And Lord Almighty does he want to.

“How was work, honey?” His mom asks as she stirs the sauce on the stove.

“It was work.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t focus today, so Steve’s a little miffed at me.” He scrubs his hands in the sink, getting rid of all the grime and muck from the factory before touching his mother’s beautiful china.

“He’s your best friend, I’m sure he’ll be over it by tomorrow.” She says helpfully. “Everything alright? Why couldn’t you focus?” She asks, turning to face him.

“Just too many thoughts, ma. I’m fine.” He promises.

“Good. Now, set the table and then you can go bathe before dinner. You look a mess.” She tells him and he grins.

“You don’t want a hug first?” He opens his arms wide and moves towards her.

“Don’t you dare.” She warns, pointing the wooden spoon at him. He steps closer. “James Buchanan Barnes!”

He laughs and drops his arms. “Alright, ma. Settle down. Where Becky?” He asks.

“Upstairs, doing her homework. Check on her when you go up there.”

“Sure.” He climbs the steps and knocks on his little sister’s door.

“No boys allowed! Can’t you read?” She calls from inside and he chuckles.

“Can you make an exception for your big brother?” He asks through the thick wood.

“No! They’re even worse!”

“Becks, let me in.” He says. “Two minutes to check on your homework and then I’ll leave.” He promises.

“Fine.” She huffs and he can hear her scrambling to the door. She yanks it open, her dark hair a mess, cheeks rosy and flushed.

“Hey, little monster. What happened to you today?” He asks, brushing her hair back.

“Not part of the deal, Bucky.” She pouts.

“Alright. But just so you know, big brothers are really good listeners.” He lifts her up onto her bed and pulls her papers towards him. “If you need to talk, that is.”

She opens her mouth but he puts his finger to his lips with a conspiratorial look. “I’m doing homework.” He tells her and she sticks her tongue out at him. He looks over all her math problems, always correct. She probably knows more than the teacher does. He checks her history and her science, all looking good

“Just spelling left, huh?” He asks and she nods. “Alright. You keep working on that, I’ll check it after dinner and then I’ll braid your hair before bed.”

“You don’t know how to braid.” She tells him, rolling her little eyes exaggeratedly.

“Sure, I do. I’m the best hair braider there ever was.” He says, puffing up his chest. But she laughs, so it’s worth it.

As it turns out, Bucky can’t braid for shit. Strands are sticking out everywhere, one side is bigger than the other; but Rebecca loves it. Or rather, loves having it done.

Then it’s a quick quiz on her spelling before bed. Bucky cleans up the kitchen, absolutely itching to go to sleep. He makes sure to set an alarm for the morning, because he knows he won’t want to wake up once he’s in his dream.

He gets comfortable in his bed, lights off, covered up against the chill. He’s asleep almost instantly.

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