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passivenovember · 28 days

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(sharing again because I'm so proud of this one)

When Billy Falls in Love

Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.

Max stays angry red.

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here--

“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag.

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows.

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close.

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar.

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him?

About his bones and blood.

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.

“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--”

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull.

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue.

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking.

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black.

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back.

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness.

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him,

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock.

Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong.

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.

So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies.

If it kills him.

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers.

Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”

“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington? What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away.

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky.

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks.

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks.

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.

That Steve would survive losing this.

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt.

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard.

He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door.

Eddie doesn’t move.

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up.

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him.

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy.

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?”

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him.

He smells like peaches.

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch.

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare.

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”

“--Right--”

“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”

Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image.

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him.

Billy stops. Waits.

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning.

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And.

Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does.

He really does.

Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now.

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then.

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy.

The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him.

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

#harringrove #clothes sharing #fluff #love confessions

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 10: The House Of Saint Honoratus of Amiens] [Series Finale]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, weddings, Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, Rice-A-Roni.

Word Count: 6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @bungalowbear @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Thank you so much for loving this strange, sexy, sweet story. I hope you enjoy the finale. 🥰🧁

Your bare feet in warm grass, your hands around the ropes of the tree swing, no sounds except the ancient psalms of the earth: cicadas, mourning doves, goldfinches, bumble bees, bullfrogs, wind in the leaves of the dogwoods and southern live oaks. The adolescent alligator is at one end of the front yard, sunbathing up by the mouth of the gravel driveway; in the opposite corner are several nutria nibbling on cattails. The sky is a calm, cloudless blue. It’s hot, mid-80s, even when 5:00 p.m. comes and goes; but the breeze is cool as it evaporates the sweat from your temples, your palms, the nape of your neck. It’s as close as Louisiana ever gets to Heaven. It’s a good day for a wedding.

You remember thinking that it was the end of the world when you found out you were pregnant almost exactly eleven years ago, and then again when you realized you would have to divorce Willis, and so you have lived through enough moments like this—these quiet, infinitesimal apocalypses—to know that there will be a future beyond Aemond marrying Christabel. The sun will rise tomorrow, and then it will set, the lightning bugs will appear and the stars will tell myths in the night sky, and the phone will ring as orders come in for the bakery, and Cadi will be back in her bedroom playing her Nintendo, and life will roll on like currents through the bayou: slow, opaque, inevitable. The world isn’t ending, you know that. It’s just full of beautiful things that aren’t for you.

Out on Route 401, a Plymouth Gran Fury zooms by the house, squeals to a halt, and then reverses until Willis can take another look, squinting through his tinted windows. He turns down the driveway and steps out into golden July daylight. He doesn’t pay any attention to the gator as he strides past her. He belongs here, in a place that is old and strange and savage and full of beasts. You have carved out a home for yourself in the swamplands; Willis was born with veins like the roots of a mangrove tree and ancient silt instead of marrow in his bones.

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. The wind ruffles the dark curls of his mullet, the bumble bees flee as he tramples clovers. “Ain’t ya supposed to be at the weddin’?”

“I’m sick.” A lie. “But Cadi’s fine, she’s with Amir. She was so excited she actually wore one of the sundresses my mom bought her and had Amir braid a dogwood flower into her hair to match his. You should have seen it. You would’ve been so proud.”

“I’m always proud of her,” Willis says, smiling. And then: “Ya don’t look sick.”

“I am.”

“Ya got one of your headaches?”

You pause. You don’t, but this is a convenient excuse. “Yeah.”

Willis stalls, his hands on his belt. His pistol is there; you remember how he used it in the bayou, how he helped save your life. But he wasn’t the one who jumped into the water. Aemond was willing to risk his body for me, but not his soul. What kind of sense does that make? “Ya had me scared for a minute there,” Willis says.

“What? When?”

“When I thought ya were goin’ to end up with that Rockefeller boy.”

“Aemond?” you say, like it’s so shocking. “No. Absolutely not. It’s impossible.”

“And why’s that?”

You stare into the trees so Willis can’t see the tears welling up in your eyes, the tension in your throat as embers kindle there, pulsing with heat that could char flesh to the bone. “He can’t marry someone like me.”

“I could,” Willis replies, grinning. You glare at him until he recants. “Alright, alright, oublie ça. Pardonne-moi.”

“Why would you be afraid of me and Aemond being together?”

“An oil tycoon? A millionaire? He would never stay here for long. In a town like Napoleonville? Soon as he was done getting’ those rigs up and runnin’, he’d go jettin’ off to some other corner of the world, and he’d take you with him. And Cadi too. I wouldn’t be able to fight that. What’s a parish sheriff to a Targaryen? Who would listen to me? Cadi would be gone and I’d never get her back. It would kill me. It would rip the heart right outta my chest.”

You look up at Willis from where you sit on the tree swing, the soles of your feet colored with soil and grass. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No?” he asks, perhaps suspicious, perhaps hopeful.

“No,” you promise. “Cadi loves you. Cadi needs you to be in her life. I would never try to take her away from you, Willis.”

He nods; he seems to believe you. And something relaxes in him, like there’s been a tension in the lines of his spine and shoulders that you didn’t notice for years. “I’m sorry about your petit ami.”

“Yeah. Me too.” It comes out like a whisper, brittle and frail. “I’m sorry about Lake Verret.”

“They might be able to fix it. Talk around town is they got some kind of desalination”—he says this with each syllable enunciated distinctly, like he’s put great effort into memorizing it—“process that can take the salt back outta the water. And if that don’t work…” He shrugs with a sly smile. “I’ll survive somehow. The world’s a big place. There’s always another lake.”

You consider him, and you remember—like a dream from the night before that just returned to you—how Willis can be unexpectedly deep, randomly tender. “They should put that on bumper stickers.”

He chuckles and waves as he heads back to his car. “I’ll pick Cadi up on Tuesday. Back to the usual schedule.”

“Sure.” Back to real life. Back to before I met Aemond. And you find yourself wishing that you could forget what it had felt like to be with him; the absence he left feels so much heavier than the nonspecific longing that existed before. Willis’ Plymouth Gran Fury rolls out of the driveway, and you stay precisely where you are on the tree swing, absentmindedly pushing yourself back and forth with your tiptoes and trying to believe that tomorrow this will feel easier, and then even easier the day after that, and eventually it will cease to be anything but a vague recollection, a relic in a rarely-opened drawer, a whisper, an echo. One day, you will stop missing Aemond. One day, you will stop wondering whether a sliver of his life would have been better than none at all.

Inside what Cadi calls the Fall-Down House, the phone rings. You ignore it; if it’s an order for the bakery, they can leave a message. But then it rings again, and again, and you have to answer it. What if your mother had a heart attack? What if Cadi and Amir were in a car accident? You hurry to the kitchen and grab the phone, pink to match the little Panasonic boombox that is presently silent.

“Hello?”

“Hiiiiiii,” Amir says, slow and something else too. Disoriented? Evasive?

Your forehead wrinkles with confusion. “Where are you calling from?” There are definitely no phonelines running to the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens, a tiny brick-and-stucco edifice built in the 1830s.

“I’m at a McDonald’s up the road. I’ve paid them $5 to let me use the phone.” And then, because he knows it’s the first place your mind will go: “Cadi’s fine. She’s eating Chicken McNuggets. Everyone’s fine.”

“Okay…?”

“I think you should come over here.”

“What, to the chapel?!”

“Yeah.” He’s talking to someone; you can hear an indistinct tangle of voices through the hand he undoubtedly has clasped over the transmitter.

I can’t see Aemond. I can’t see Christabel. There is a lurching in your guts; you are a fish that swallowed a hook. “I thought we agreed that I wasn’t going to go to the wedding.” I can’t handle it. It might kill me.

“Yes, we did, but now…um…I think you will want to make an appearance.”

“Amir, what happened?”

There is more muffled conversation on the other end of the line. “Look,” he tells you. “Things, uh…things are…occurring. And I think it would be better to explain in person.”

“Did you drop the cake?”

“No,” he says, defensive. “The cake is perfect, thank you for your concern. Not a single frosting wildflower was mutilated in the delivery.”

“Then why—?”

“Do you trust me?” Amir asks.

The answer is obvious. Of course. More than anyone. “You know I do.”

“Then go get in your car.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. “Okay, but you know it’s going to take me like 40 minutes to drive to Belle River.”

“That’s fine.” He confers with someone else. “Yeah, that’s good actually, that will work.”

“Great,” you say uncertainly.

“See you soon!” Then Amir hangs up, leaving you alone in the creaks and groans of your ailing house.

You take Route 70 around Lake Verret, gliding past fields of soybeans and sugarcane, paddocks of cattle and horses, marshes of cordgrass occupied by blue herons and white egrets and prowling alligators, stirring awake as the sun begins its descent into the west. More than once, you notice that your Chevy Celebrity’s odometer reports you are travelling well below the speed limit. You aren’t in any hurry to reach the chapel; you don’t want to carry the weight of what you will see there, Christabel in her wedding dress, Aemond in his suit, Alicent anxiously fidgeting and gnawing at her fingernails, Viserys parading around triumphantly. You can’t imagine that there is anything less than torturous for you there. You don’t remember what you’re wearing until you reach Belle River, a small, old town full of double-wide trailers and jetties that run far out into the lake: a simple cotton sundress you threw on this morning without much thought, modest but white and therefore forbidden for a wedding guest. The sky is turning from a sun-drenched cerulean blue to something more soft, more muted, as dusk lurks just a few hours away. The radio is playing Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car.

The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens was built by a man in extremis. An acclaimed mason by trade, he had been born in France and settled in the New World in Louisiana when it was still in the possession of Napoleon. The mason had a wife and children—some people say 5, others say 8 or 10, though details always seem to grow more elaborate in the retelling, don’t they?—and he loved them dearly. But tragedy struck when every single member of the family, except for the mason himself, fell ill with tuberculosis. When healers of the earth failed to offer sufficient remedies, the mason appealed to a higher power. He built the chapel to implore Honoratus of Amiens, his wife’s favorite saint—she was a baker and a florist, both professions that Honoratus presides over—to intercede with the Almighty on their behalf. This effort proved futile, and as each member of the family died, the mason interred them in a brick vault beneath the altar where they would spend eternity together. Perhaps this makes for a peculiar wedding venue, yet for over a century couples rich and poor, religious and secular have traveled to the chapel to exchange their vows. Perhaps there are few things more romantic than loving someone in the face of total futility: illness, distance, unrequitedness, prohibitions, death.

The chapel sits in a clearing surrounded by live oak trees, massive, hundreds of years old, hanging with Spanish moss, blotting out the sunlight as aisles cascade through gaps in the leaves. As you park in the grass—joining an army of Lexuses, Audis, limousines, Porsches, Ferraris, Cadillacs, Aston Martins, Alfa Romeos, and Amir’s blue Ford Escort—you observe that there are perhaps fifty guests in formal attire milling aimlessly around the building. You peer down at your white sundress, frowning. Well, I can’t go naked. The faux pas will have to be forgiven. You step out of your Chevy Celebrity and make your way across the clearing towards the chapel.

There is a long table set up in the shade with a tower of champagne glasses, an ice sculpture of a dragon, and the banana bread cake you and Amir baked for the wedding. Grim-faced servants in black suits are cutting slices and handing them out to guests on green china plates. You recognize Aegon’s wife Stephanie chatting with a flock of young women in extravagant gowns, golds and emeralds and sapphires. Helaena is among them, wearing a shimmering blue-green color like the scales of her chameleon Dreamfyre. Evidently, the Targaryens’ exotic pets have been left at the mansion for this excursion.

“Well,” the princess of Monaco says sardonically as she takes a bite, the white cream cheese frosting covered with a kaleidoscope of wildflowers. “At least the cake is good. What is this, banana? Whoever heard of a banana wedding cake? I mean, it’s delicious, but still. I knew that Christabel girl was daft. Did you see her positively absurd dress? It looks like children doodled all over it…”

Is it over? you think as you weave through the crowd, largely unnoticed. Is the ceremony done already? Why would Aemond want to see me? To try to convince me to be his mistress one last time? To show me what I’m missing by severing ties with him?

But no: something else has happened. Viserys and Christabel’s father the marquess are embroiled in a heated argument; a nun and two priests are trying to haul them apart.

“You’re dead to me, Viserys!” the marquess roars. “And you’ll be dead to everyone back home once I tell them what you’ve done!”

“I did my part! This has nothing to do with me! Wait…wait…we can figure something else out! Wait! Wait! You can have Daeron!”

Wedding guests are gawking and snapping photos with their polaroid cameras. Upon hearing his name, Daeron glances over towards his father wearily. Alicent’s youngest son is kneeling beside where she has collapsed to the grass, patting her encouragingly on the shoulder as she sobs into a green cloth handkerchief. Criston is there too, trying to soothe her with sympathetic murmurs and a flute of pink champagne glittering with bubbles of carbonation.

“How did this happen?” she wails, peering up at Criston with her vast, dark, glassy eyes. The gold rings on her fingers clang and glint; they match the single hoop earring that Criston wears. Alicent’s gown is purple like royalty, but Criston is dressed in a suit of pale pink; it’s the exact same one Daeron has on. Groomsmen? you wonder. “He knows better than this! We raised him better than this!”

You think, stunned and petrified: Aemond, what the hell did you do?

As you approach the chapel, you note that it appears empty inside; you don’t spot anyone in the pews. Somewhere, a boombox is thundering Higher Love. At the entrance of the building, Christabel is sitting on the brick walkway in her wedding dress. It’s the one you told her to choose: elegant and timeless, long train and short flowing sleeves, silk wildflowers sewn into the white lace. Her bouquet is lying forgotten on the ground beside her. Her lips are a deep, lovely pink; her eyeshadow is gold. She’s smoking, something you’ve never seen her do before. There is a half-crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter in her left hand, a single lit cigarette in her right.

“Um, hi, Christabel,” you say. And then, something equally brainless: “Is everything okay?”

“I should have known.” She’s staring out at the crowd, not at you. Her large blue eyes are dull, vacant.

“You should have known what?” Your heart is in your throat; blood pounds in your ears like the hooves of a racehorse.

“That he didn’t care,” she says listlessly. “I could tell that he didn’t. I could feel it. But I didn’t want it to be true, so I told myself it wasn’t. Isn’t that interesting? How we can lie to ourselves? Not that it was entirely my error. Other people meddled plenty. ‘Oh no, Christabel.’ ‘He’s just emotionally stunted, Christabel.’ ‘He’s busy with work, Christabel.’ What man is too busy with work to handle a five-minute phone call? It’s not like he was on the moon. He could have made time if he wanted to. I bet he made lots of time for you.”

“Uh.” You try to decide what to say. “I broke up with him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t want to be his mistress. I didn’t think that was fair to you.” Or me, obviously, but right now doesn’t seem to be the opportune time to voice my own grievances.

“Next time, I’m going to choose who I marry,” Christabel insists, puffing on her cigarette. “He has to talk to me. He has to like me.”

Aemond called it off? What did he say? What is he going to do now? “Christabel…do you know where Aemond is? Or Amir and Cadi?”

“Alicent is so upset,” she says instead. “Poor woman. She’s sweet, in her own way. But I don’t want to end up like her.” Christabel holds up the pack of Marlboros and the lighter. “She feels guilty, I think. She gave me these. She had them in her purse, she has so many neurotic little habits, doesn’t she? It’s not very ladylike to smoke, but it’s not ladylike to get left at the altar either, so fuck it.”

You ask, afraid to know the answer: “Do you hate me? I didn’t know Aemond was engaged when I met him. And then…” Why lie now? What’s the point? “Then I was in love with him and it was kind of…too late to try not to be. But I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hate you,” Christabel replies immediately. “I know he would never be allowed to marry…someone like you. Your options were limited.”

You don’t know if this is meant to be an insult or not. “Thanks.”

“I don’t think I ever loved him either,” Christabel realizes, exhaling smoke. “I think I idolized him. I think I loved my fantasy of what our marriage would be like. But I didn’t love Aemond. I didn’t even know Aemond. You did, I suspect. Good luck with him. He’s a bit…complex.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, rather compulsively. You aren’t sure what she expects from you. Abruptly, from wherever it’s coming from, Higher Love is cut off. “So, is Aemond, like…around, or…?”

“I don’t regret the sex part.”

“Okay.” You examine the crowd in the clearing again. You still don’t see Aemond.

“That went well,” Christabel muses. “I’m glad my first time is over and done with. I was terrified it would hurt like hell. And so few people know, so it’s almost like it never happened, right?”

“Right,” you say obediently.

“I think I’ll have a new rule. I won’t marry anyone unless he likes me and we sleep together first. Life is too long to spend it with the wrong person, don’t you agree?”

“I totally do.”

“He’s waiting for you inside,” Christabel says, flicking ashes towards the gaping doorway of the chapel.

“Really?” you peer into the shadows; there is indeed a solitary figure standing at the altar. “So…what exactly is happening…?”

“Go,” Christabel urges, and takes a drag on her cigarette. You leave her and cross through the doorway into the chapel.

The light is dim and gentle; fading sunbeams slant in through the glass of the cathedral-style windows. The mason’s inspiration was Gothic architecture, imposing, cavernous. Two candlelit iron chandeliers hang from the high ceiling; the floor is made of tiles of black and white marble. Small stone sculptures of angels watch over their realm like benevolent gargoyles. There is a single stained glass window above the altar: circular like a ring, red and gold like the sun.

He’s waiting for you in a pale pink suit, long disheveled hair, thin mustache with flecks of white powder in it, mischievous smirk. “Hey cake lady,” Aegon says.

“Um. I’m not marrying you.”

“No, you’re definitely not.” Aegon offers you his hand and you take it with some hesitation. “I’m here to be your guide. Just like on the Oregon Trail.”

“What…?”

“Let’s go.” He pulls you out of the chapel, past where Christabel is still sitting at the entranceway, and across the clearing towards the trees. When you look to the crowd, Otto is elbowing his way through disgruntled guests towards a limousine, already idling.

Viserys bellows at him: “Where the hell are you going?!”

“Back to Kiribati!” Otto shouts back, not breaking his stride. He vanishes into the limo.

“Hurry,” Aegon says. He leads you into the forest, a thick canopy of verdant leaves and Spanish moss and the narrow rays of sunshine that tumble down through the gaps.

“Aegon, I don’t think we should be in the woods, it could be dangerous—”

“No, this part is fine. We already checked.”

“Who’s ‘we’?!” You’re wearing flip flops that catch on gnarled roots; the shrieking of cicadas grows loud. One of them buzzes towards Aegon and he screams as he backhands it away.

“You good?” Amir’s voice calls from farther within the trees.

“Yeah. I’m fine. We made it.”

You turn to Aegon. “What’s going on—?”

Suddenly, there is booming music that startles you: “Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth? Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth! They say in Heaven, love comes first, we’ll make Heaven a place on Earth! Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth!”

“Aegon, what is that?”

“Uh, I think it’s Heaven Is A Place On Earth.”

“Yes, okay, but why?”

“Ask that guy.” You round a thicket and there under a colossal southern live oak tree, surrounded by hundred-year-old branches that twist down to the earth, is Aemond; but he’s not looking at you. He and Cadi are lighting the last of the candles. She picks them up, he ignites the wick with the same lighter he uses to smoke his Marlboros, and then Cadi places them back on the ground or on top of a branch. Amir is standing by the large black boombox, the same one Aegon always listens to by the Targaryens’ pool. Amir grins craftily, pushing his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. His suit is orange, the single dogwood flower in his hair white.

“Did we get them all?” Aemond asks Cadi.

“Yeah, I think so. Wait, no, there’s one over there!” Cadi darts to it and Aemond lights the candle, then spins around and sees you. He smiles. “Hi, Cupcake.”

“Hi,” you say, so shellshocked you can’t form any of your very vital questions.

“Okay, so we have the candles,” Aemond informs you as Cadi and Aegon go to join Amir. “White with wildflower patterns.” And you recall how Alicent mentioned needing to pick out candles with Christabel, and how you didn’t see any scattered around the chapel. They brought them here. They did it for me. “And we have some actual wildflowers.” He takes the boutonniere off the lapel of his white suit and tucks it into your hair behind your left ear. “And we have Heaven Is A Place On Earth.” He gestures to the boombox. “And I think those were the three things you said you wanted if you were ever going to get married again.”

I did say that. Just once, months ago, the first time he ever came over, the first time he ever touched me. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.” He takes both of your hands in his own. Amir lets out a little squeal and covers his mouth as his eyes begin to glisten. Aemond takes a deep breath. “So, I don’t have a speech, because this is very last-minute. I mean extremely last-minute. But you were right about everything. And I realized I couldn’t live that way. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to me, but it wouldn’t be fair to Christabel either. So I broke it off.”

“Literally at the altar,” Aegon says. “In front of everybody. It was so fucking awkward.”

“Those are not necessary details!” Aemond snaps, then looks back to you and is smiling again. “I know what I want. I’ve known it for as long as I’ve known you. But I wasn’t a strong enough person to make it happen. I’m so sorry. I should have done things differently. I can’t change the past. But everything is going to be different now.”

You gaze up at him as Belinda Carlisle sings, thinking: This can’t be real. I’m going to wake up now.

“On the night we met, you told me you’d never felt chosen,” Aemond says. “I’m choosing you. And, you know.” He nods to her. “Cadi too. And Amir. And the bakery. And dealing with Willis too, I guess. All of it. I’m choosing you and your whole life and that’s exactly where I want to be.”

You can feel the warmth in your face, beaming and hopeful and full of possibilities. Under the shade of the southern live oak, the first lightning bugs are blooming in the air like stars. “What about your family?”

“I’ll figure it out. I don’t think my father can entirely disown me…turns out I’m the only one who understands how the stock market works. But no matter what, you and Cadi are the priority. And my father will have to learn to live with that.”

“Or he can drop dead,” Aegon says. “Whichever.”

It’s possible? We can be together? Not just for a night, an afternoon, a stolen moment, but forever?

“I said I don’t have a speech.” Aemond tells you. His right eye is bright, elated, gleaming like a mirror. “I don’t have a ring either. But I’m going to get you one, if you’ll let me. So I’m asking you, Cupcake: Will you marry me?”

“Say yes, Mom!” Cadi yells, and Amir bursts out laughing.

“Say yes, cake lady!” Aegon adds. “Unlimited Cap’n Crunch Treats!”

When am I going to wake up? When is this going to end?

But it’s not a dream. It’s real. And Aemond reads the answer on your face before you can say it, and so it’s only a murmur as he kisses you, a whisper, a prayer: “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you drive from the new house all the way to San Francisco; you still call it the new house, even though you’ve owned it for a full year. The journey takes seven days, with overnight stops in Dallas, Wonderland Amusement Park in Amarillo, Albuquerque, Flagstaff, Las Vegas, and Bakersfield. Aemond sold his Audi Quattro and replaced it with a Dodge Caravan. It’s July 1989, and Tom Petty’s brand new single Runnin’ Down A Dream is strumming from the radio. It’s always temperate in San Fran, in the 60s even at the height of summer. The sky is overcast and grey. When Cadi complains that she’s cold despite the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles hoodie you packed for her, Aemond gives her his Marlboro jacket.

Amir, his boyfriend, and two other roommates share a sunshine yellow Italianate townhouse in the Castro District. Aemond parks his wood-paneled Caravan on the steep, inclined street—he narrowly misses colliding with a whooshing cable car, which he blames on poor depth perception—and then helps you carry the luggage inside. There are no alligators on the front porch, but there are neighborhood cats that Amir puts out Friskies for; there are no screaming cicadas, but there are swooping seagulls and the melodies of sidewalk musicians. When Amir opens the door, he nearly tackles you with enthusiasm. He still wears his loud colors and short shorts, but he’s traded in the dogwood flowers he once wove into his hair for dahlias.

Amir’s boyfriend is named Don, but everyone calls him Donald Schwarzenegger because he looks so much like the Austrian bodybuilder turned actor. When Amir first arrived in the city, he got a job as a cake decorator for a very popular bakery, and quickly segued into handling much of their marketing as well. He’s thinking of getting a degree in advertising and trying his luck in corporate America. You very much enjoy teasing him for being a sellout; what would socialist Bayard Rustin say?

“Call your Daddy and let him know we made it safely to the West Coast,” you tell Cadi once her things are unpacked in the guest room she’ll get all to herself; you and Aemond are consigned to the living room futon. Cadi chats with Willis for a while, then says he wants to talk to you. You take the phone, slightly concerned; you hope nothing is amiss with the house. “Hello?”

“What the hell is wrong with this horse?” he demands. “That ain’t no pet. That’s a demon. It’s a goddamn Rougarou.”

“I told you not to try to touch him,” you say, amused.

“I feed him and water him, don’t I? Ain’t that the least he can do? Lettin’ me scratch his big ol’ idiot head?”

“Patches is not very well-behaved. But Cadi loves him.”

“And don’t even get me started on the dog. Ugliest fuckin’ dog I ever saw. Growls every time I show up. Shows its teeth and everythin’. I’d take twenty gators over that son of a bitch any day.”

“Vhagar is a girl,” you say. “Thanks for watching them while we’re out of town.”

“Sure thing, sugar. Although I still don’t understand why the bon a rien can’t do it.”

“Aegon isn’t always…reliable.” But he does seem to be improving. He’s cut back to mostly just booze and marijuana, because otherwise he and Sunfyre aren't allowed to stay at the new house for sleepovers. There’s a guest bedroom, but Aegon prefers the sunken conversation pit in the mauve pink living room. He likes to be where anyone can stumble across him if they wake up in the middle of the night for pancakes or ice cream. He likes to be where people are; he likes to be included. “Anyway, I gotta go. Cadi will call again tomorrow. Enjoy your fishing.”

“Will do. Maybe I’ll toss your accursed animals in as bait.” Lake Verret is still a bit too brackish for a proper freshwater lake, but that’s changing gradually with Daeron’s desalination efforts and a subaquatic plug affixed to the opening of the breached salt dome. He views it as a pioneering experiment in reversing such drilling accidents, potentially for application globally. Now there are more bass and lampreys and catfish, and less breams and gars, but life goes on in Napoleonville’s 14,000-acre lake. Daeron has replaced Aemond as Viserys’ heir apparent, and he is thriving in the role. He is bookish yet empathetic, focused but never ruthless. Furthermore, he happens to be genuinely in love with his aristocratic fiancée: Princess Alexandra of Denmark.

Aemond was right; Viserys didn’t disown him, but he did fire him, ban him from the mansion, and reduce his available funds to a modest living stipend. Fortunately, Viserys has a very limited comprehension of how money works for normal people, and he considers $200,000 per year to be “modest.” With that plus your bakery earnings and a paid-off house, you, Cadi, and Aemond will be living comfortably for the remainder of your lives. Also fortunately, no one else will enforce the no-Aemond rule at The Last Desire, so anytime Viserys is out of town—which is far more often than not—you get to visit the Targaryens at the mansion as much as you please. Cadi loves the water slide and the koi pond. She’s named the fish after Greek deities, her latest obsession: Zeus, Narcissus, Athena, Dionysus, Artemis, Apollo, Echo. Viserys will not acknowledge you, but the rest of the family is polite enough now that the drama of the broken engagement has blown over. When you finish the cookbook of Southern baked goods that you’ve been working on, Alicent had pledged to mail copies to all her friends and relatives back in the U.K. Otto has offered to take a box of them with him next time he jets off for Kiribati; the wealthy housewives marooned in paradise are always on the hunt for new reading material.

On your first night in San Francisco, Amir serves a dinner of cioppino, sourdough bread, and (not homemade) Rice-A-Roni. You provide dessert, a recipe you’re still perfecting: Saint Honoratus cake, a pastry that dates back to Paris in the 1800s. You want to be able to include it in your cookbook, along with photographs from your wedding in the chapel this past May, almost exactly a year from when you and Aemond first met. Your engagement ring has a gold band and pink diamonds arranged to resemble a rockrose, a dauntless little wildflower native to Aemond’s ancestral homeland of Greece. For over a decade you have loved that wildflowers are grown and not bought, small but tenacious, humble yet untamed. They do not wait for other hands to tell them where and how to grow. They are the architects of their own fortune.

When everyone is finished with dessert and gathers around the tv to watch The Golden Girls, Aemond says he’s going outside for a smoke break; but you know he’s trying to quit. You follow him into the small backyard and as soon as your bare feet touch the grass, he’s pushed you against the wall of the house, forced your thighs apart, slipped his hand down the front of your shorts as he watches the amazed, electrified desire rise in your face like heat from a stove. “It’s been a week, and I need you,” Aemond murmurs, his lips ghosting across your throat, his hips braced insistently against yours, and then he kisses you to stifle your moans as you bury your fingers in his hair, to swallow down the vicarious ecstasy of every wondrous thing he’s ever done to you and ever will. “I don’t even need you to get me off. I just need to see you like this.”

Trusting him, wanting him, letting him make me come.

Aemond has been accepted into UC Berkeley’s History PhD program and will start there at the end of August. He wants to write books about underrecognized heroes, extraordinary and yet unassuming people like Bayard Rustin and Bobbi Campbell and Phillis Wheatley. You’ll miss him of course, but there will be breaks for holidays and summers when he can return to Napoleonville, and you can fly out to visit him too, and there are phone calls, and postcards, and one day you’ll be able to go anywhere together—

You gasp, a shaky, starving breath, your lips grinning into Aemond’s. You’re close, you’re so close.

There is a shrill whistle from the back porch of a townhouse from the row behind Amir’s. “Get it, honey!” a man in a leopard-print robe cheers, waving the newspaper he’d been reading. You and Aemond unravel from each other, laughing hysterically.

“Okay,” you tell him, still panting. “Bad plan. We are clearly not accustomed to city life.”

“Tonight,” Aemond says, low and commanding. He returns to you, kissing the side of your face: temple, cheekbone, the curve of your jaw. His voice is dark, jagged glass; his lips are soft like kind dreams. “On the futon, on the floor, anywhere.”

You want it too, but you know the game. “No.”

He pins you to the wall again, powerful, irresistible, his hardness grinding against you through his jeans, everything about him—voice, flesh, rhythm, soul—promising you the peace only he has ever given you, proving that being at the right person’s mercy can make you free. “I’m in charge now. Let me take care of you.” And for a split second you almost beg: Just do it, Aemond, right now, please touch me again, I don’t care if a stranger sees. I want you now, I want you forever.

Instead you smile up at him, the whirls of your fingerprints skating harmlessly over his scarred left cheek as you answer: “Yes sir.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 2 months

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the bafta livestream out of context: top 60 cursed quotes.

There is nothing more cursed than the livestream I just witnessed, and I made a summary post but now I'm just going to put in quotes by the worthy maggots in the stream with no context, because BELIEVE ME THE CONTEXT DIDN'T MAKE ANYTHING BETTER. The livestream chat was NOT A PLACE OF THE LORD.

I'm going to make the quotes that were by me a different colour. Please know that I am NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR A SINGLE QUOTE OTHER THAN THOSE. SO HERE'S THE TOP 60 IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

Barbenhimer awakened things in me ok

aroace people the most disturbingly sexual talkers on the planet fight me on this

WHO JUST GASPED

MICHAEL SHEENS BABY TALKING BARK BADK IM A DOG BARK WOOF

I feel so sorry for this woman. She's being so heartfelt and we're here thristing over a slinky that possessed a man

IRELAAAND PLEASE ADOPT ME AS YOUR OWN PLEASE TAKE ME TO THE LAND OF UNPRONOUNCABLE WORDS, GREEN FEILD, CATHOLISISM AND HOZIER PLEASE

the urge to go to france and misgender a croissant is real

Devastated the slutty knees have gone away

So many men nowadays are so submissive and breedable like thank you lord for these men thank you

witches and murder slime tutorial

speaking of royals did the bloke who ISN'T lizzy's husband but her son apparently die yet

Turtleneck Crowley is my gender.

WE COULD HAVE LEFT IT AS NOT SAFE FOR WORK WHY THE DRTAOLS ASMI

SAY AN BFUIL CEAD AGAM DUL GO DTÍ AN LEITHREAS AN WE'LL LET YOU THROUGJ

"Oompa loompa doopety dee, I really hated being in this movie" -Hugh grant probably

IF YOU'RE A CHILD AVERT YOUR EYES FROM THAT MESSAGE IM SORRY

i want the kilt back this a betrayal

if someone put me in a room with kilt!david tennant one of us is walking out of that room pregnant and its not gonna be me

a lot of these words are in the bible and none of them should be in that order you need jesus

Can we vote to make david wear that kilt back? Maybe make him do a twirl this time

You mean Bildaddy? 😏

Honey what make you think a dude who roamed around with prostitutes and got himself more holes for mankind won't be calling bildad bildaddy? [this was about jesus btw.]

FREE THE KNEE

Show us the knees!

AND YOU'RE COMING AFTER ME FOR MY BLOWJOB BANANA

He looks like those fancy chocolates. Imma take a bite outta him. Think you'll leak molten goo like them?

My brain isn't working, I read "bratty couch jr"

i'm sorry the what holes

FIND ME ON GOAD AND I WILL MAKE YOU PAY APPROPRIATELY

I genuinely thought it was a road typo and I thought you were threatening asmi with physical violence on the road

OHH FLOWER OF SCOTLAAAAAAND

Combine that with the unfortunate oranges and see what happens.

DEVASTATING NEWS I ATE UP ALL OF THEM SO I'VE BROUGHT A BLOWJOB BANANA INSTEAD

That reminded me of the army video where the guy was deepthroating a 7 inch banana without a hitch.

OMG THEY JUST FLASHED BACK & I GOT A GLIMPSE OF THAT KILT 🥵🥵🥵

thats why apollo had to deliver you at an illegal sushi restaurant

How long do you think it would take to get david naked from his chocolate man suit? Can we set a new speedrun category?

SUPERBOWL FOR TENNANTISTS

Big feelings about pants straps in the chat tonight

Last time i check yoire supposed to thank the lord gor his gifts

HEY GUYS ASMI'S FROM A PARALLEL UNIVERSE CONFIRMED

I just have a deep appreciation for ireland

Can you use suspenders as bondage gear? I mean it looks like it would be fine? I mean if you make the length a bit more they might be more comfortable than ropes. Just sayin

All i can think when i see him in the costume is the one specific ken and oppenhimer slash fic. Lord help me i can't be saved

GIVE MY LOVE TO THE LEPRECHAAAAAAAAAAAUNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Like a giant orange slice on her one arm.

Stop hitting the lectern geez / what if its into that?

Men who wear suspenders are such losers like why do you need so much cloth to keep your pants up. Why dont you just wear a belt. Where do you live. What is your timezone. What are you office hours

what is this suspender shaming ari chappal for you

Aziraphales office hours are: fuck off

Put me ina room with a suspender wearing man and he shall have the same fate as kilttennant

MARIYADAM E ILLAI

It was titled "snake in my b***" It meant butt lmfao

CROWLEY AND LOKI MY GENDERFLUID ICONS

THE KNEES ARE BACK

THEKNEES GOD SAVE ME FROM THESE SINFUL THOUGHTS

What if slutshaming is my kink?

NOT THE BLOWJOB FACE NO

AT THIS POINT IF NEIL HASN'T UNFOLLOWED ME YET HE'S ASKING TO BE MENTALLY SCARRED IM SORRY

I am failing

Tagging the main culprits whose tumblr handles I know:

@thearoacemess @vitrilol @queermarzipan @good-usernames-were-taken

Cheers, maggots.

#good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #good omens #maggots #good omens fandom #crowley #bafta awards #bafta 2024 #bafta #suspenders #discord livestream #david tennant #michael sheen #barbenheimer #oppenheimer

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jjasen · 1 year

Text

have you ever been in love?

summary: confessions at Midsummer’s with JJ

warnings: alcohol, cursing, angst aplenty

a/n: for context, reader is Kiara’s childhood best friend and hangs out with the Pogues, and is also family friends of the Camerons ❀

word count: 2.9k

You and Kiara made your way across the neatly manicured lawn of the country club towards the Heywards, who were setting up the grill, arms linked as you tried not to stumble in your heels or trip over the hems of your dresses. Kie disentangled herself from your arm in order to approach Pope as she called out in an absolutely atrocious British accent, “Excuse me sir, but are we supposed to shuck these ourselves?”

Pope spun around, ready to chew out another entitled kook, but relaxed when he saw it was the two of you. He nodded at you, then addressed Kie, “That accent was really bad,” he laughed. She made a face and scrunched her nose at him.

“Looks good, Pope,” you smiled at him. “What are you making?”

“Oysters,” he replied. You wrinkled your nose, and seeing your expression, he offered, “You know, oysters are supposed to be natural aphrodisiacs.”

“You’re not really selling it well, Pope,” said Kie, rolling her eyes and adjusting her purple flower crown.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, “Anyways, I thought the two of you weren’t coming to this Midsummer’s shit.”

“Kie’s mom made her go, so she forced me come to ‘suffer in the oppressive horde of elitists’ with her,” you explained, turning your head as you heard somebody call out your name. Sarah waved at you from the porch and beckoned you to come over.

“Little miss Kook princess is summoning your presence,” Kiara grumbled. Pope snorted, glanced at you, and unsuccessfully tried to play it off as a cough.

“Kie, you know I’m not getting in between whatever happened with...that,” you said patiently, rolling the shell pendant of your necklace between your fingers. She rolled her eyes but waved her hand at you and smiled gently, signaling you to see what Sarah wanted. You trekked back across the lawn and smiled as you approached the vivacious blonde.

“Babes, you made it!” Sarah cheered, looping her arms around your neck and pulling you in. You could smell her flowery jasmine perfume, and her wavy blonde hair tickled your nose.

“Yeah, I did! Sorry I missed your entrance, though, Kie and I were running late. You came with Topper, right?” You asked, glancing at her aforementioned boyfriend, who was sulkily nursing a crystal tumbler full of amber liquid and glowering at everyone who approached him.

She winced. “Sore subject. Let’s go get something to drink, yeah? I’ll tell you all about it.” You followed her to the bar on the edge of the dance floor, where Sarah ordered you both glasses of lemonade with sparkling water, sprigs of edible flowers and mint adorning the glasses.

You smiled as you sipped your drink at one of the tall bar stools. “Tastes like childhood,” you said, having drunk countless glasses of the fizzy lemon beverage at Tannyhill with Sarah. The two of you continued to chat, watching couples, including Ward and Rose, drift in their finery and flower crowns across the dance floor.

“I swear to god, she’s going to poke Wheezie’s eye out with that thing,” Sarah laughed as you watched Rose squeeze the youngest Cameron sibling to her side as she talked to the Dr. Thornton. She suddenly frowned and glanced over at you, fiddling with her necklace and biting her lip.

“Do you think you’ve ever been in love?” she asked, her face solemn, her honey-brown eyes widening.

You thought of your friends, of the Pogues, all of you laughing together at the Chateau. You thought of JJ slinging his arm around you, belting out Taylor Swift lyrics with you, a beer can in his hand, of his casual, lopsided grin when he called your name.

“I don’t know,” you said uncertainly. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I just- I just don’t think Topper gets me, y’know?” Sarah said, eyeing him and Kelce, who were downing shots and laughing on the porch. She traced a finger absentmindedly across the rim of her glass. “He’s just...so serious about everything. I don’t know, he’s getting really possessive all of a sudden, and I feel so- so suffocated, I guess.”

You nodded and hummed in contemplation, understanding that she already felt smothered by her father’s expectations, but in the back of your mind you were still thinking about Sarah’s question.

Had you ever been in love?

Was it love that you felt when JJ plucked a blushing pink beach rose off of the bushes that lined the boardwalk and tucked it in your hair, saying it reminded him of you? Was it love that time he taught you how to surf and applied aloe to your sunburnt back, and every muscle in your body tightened when his touch lingered a moment too long over you? Was it love when you answered his drunken 3:00 a.m. calls, and he slipped through your bedroom window just to hold you tight as he cried over his father?

You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the thoughts of him from your mind, and turned to Sarah, who sprung up off of her stool all of a sudden. “Come on, let’s dance!” she exclaimed, grabbing your hand and dragging you onto the dance floor impatiently, her hand gripping yours tightly, and you tried not to stumble over the hem of your dress.

“Sarah, you know I don’t dance,” you insisted, resisting her insistent tugs on your arm.

“It’s not that hard! I’ll teach you, I promise. It won’t be the same as our Just Dance battles, I swear, I’ll go easy on you,” she wheedled. You rolled your eyes and relented, allowing her to take both of your hands and place your left hand on her shoulder, the other resting on her waist. She guided you through a basic waltz, despite the jazzy, fast-paced music that was floating through the night air, the string lights bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.

“Okay, I’m going to spin you now!” she exclaimed gleefully, twisting her arm and letting you go. Your eyes widened as you felt her hand slip from yours, and you stumbled into Rafe instead of whirling back to Sarah. He was standing at a table alone, tumbler in hand, and he grabbed your waist with one arm, lifting his drink higher with his other hand so as not to spill it.

“Hey, watch it!” He exclaimed gently. “You okay?” His forearm clenched around your waist to steady you as he looked down at you and set down his drink, a mixture of concern and amusement in his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, avoiding eye contact and tucking your hair behind your ear. You were unsure with where you stood with Rafe after his altercation with JJ and Pope at the annual summer movie night. “Sarah was trying to spin me, she was teaching me to dance, and I-”

Rafe cut you off, waving his hand. “It’s all good,” he said absentmindedly, his eyes focused on something over your shoulder. If you had looked behind you, you would have seen JJ drawing near. “Here, show me what you got.” You glanced up at him as he caught your hand smoothly and twirled you, the skirt of your dress gently swirling out around your legs.

“Okay, okay, pretty good!” He encouraged, looking you up and down. You laughed and let go of his hand, turning around to look around for Kie and biting your lip.

Instead, you saw JJ approaching the dance floor, a tray of empty glasses perched with ease on one hand. He adjusted his bowtie with his other hand as he jogged down the porch steps towards you, looking dashing as ever in his server’s suit despite the purple bruise shadowing his jawline. You furrowed your brow, sure that you’d asked him yesterday if he was serving at Midsummer’s today, and that he had replied that he wasn’t.

JJ strode past you and lightly brushed your waist as he slipped behind you to hand a note to Sarah, and a shiver rushed down your spine at the brief contact. He glanced at you, at your dress, his gaze hardening as he saw Rafe standing behind you.

“JJ!” you greeted him, “I didn’t know you were serving tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know you were here with him,” he said, jutting his chin at Rafe, “so I guess we’re even.”

“What? No, I’m not-” you faltered, but he turned around to go back inside.

“While you’re at it, get me a Mai Tai, huh, buddy?” Rafe called out. “Make it two!” Kelce jeered, making his way over to you.

“Rafe, please stop,” you said coldly, sending him a scathing look as you tried to follow JJ up the steps, where Kiara’s mother grabbed your wrist.

“Mrs. Carerra!” you exclaimed, startled, straining to to see if JJ was okay. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Rafe, Kelce, Logan, and Noah follow him into the club. Your stomach sank with dread. Not again, you thought, please, don’t hurt him.

“Honey, just let him go,” she said, with sympathy in her eyes. “Boys like them, they’re not worth it.”

You jerked back, unexpectedly stung at her words. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Carrera, but I really have to go,” you said, looking for JJ desperately through the club’s windows. “He’s worth it to me.”

Striding in purposefully, heels clicking on the floor, you ran through room after room of the country club in search of the blond pogue. “JJ?” you called out, hearing nothing but the distant music and chatter of the people outside in response. You made your way back outside, disheartened, hoping to find Pope and Kie to help you find JJ.

You hurried across the wraparound porch, looking for a glimpse of Kiara’s lavender dress or a flash of brown curly hair as you rushed down the steps.

“Look- look, man, I can walk myself, I got legs,” you heard. JJ. Wide-eyed with disbelief, you watched as a security guard roughly manhandled JJ across the porch. Heads turned to watch the confrontation.

“Hey, Mr. Dunleavy, I see you got your drink there, I’m actually gonna down that,” JJ rambled, “Whew!” The security guard tightened his grip on him and jerked him down the steps. “Thanks, Daryl, really appreciate the discretion,” he said sarcastically, “I actually just need to find my date and I’ll be going...oh, there she is.”

JJ turned to Daryl, spreading his arms wide and giving him a mocking salute before snagging your hand. “JJ, what are you even doing?” you whispered, taken aback. He shushed you. “Pope, Kie, Rixon’s cove! Let’s roll!” he called over his shoulder, and you could hear Mr. Heyward and the Carreras admonishing their respective children as they ran to join the two of you, whooping with delight.

Your heart began to pound as JJ took your hand and led you through the crowd with ease. You grinned despite yourself as the two of you broke into a run across the grass, hand in hand, veering around the club to where his motorbike was parked. Pope, Kiara, and John B were right behind you, panting and laughing, as JJ grabbed the extra helmet he kept for you and held it out.

“We’ll meet you guys there, just give us a sec,” he announced, leaving no room for discussion. You wondered what had happened with Rafe, what had been said or done, that had gotten him so worked up. Once the others had loaded into the Twinkie and left, sending the two of you curious, questioning glances, you turned to JJ, helmet in your hands.

“Okay, what’s going on?” you asked gently, stepping towards him and setting your helmet on the seat of his bike.

“Did you come here with Rafe?” JJ asked, his voice rough and scratchy, a strange tone of urgency in his question. The way he was looking at you made you feel feverish, a flush rising to your cheeks, and you were the first to break the intense eye contact.

“Why do you care, JJ?”

“Because- because I just do, okay?”

“That’s not a reason,” you frowned. You fiddled with your necklace, the grooves of the seashell familiar and soothing to your touch. It was a tiny white clam shell that JJ had pressed into your palm once at the beach, a hole already bored into it. “For you,” he had said, grinning, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “a good-luck charm.” Later that day, you had strung it onto a dainty chain and clasped it around your neck, and hadn’t removed it since.

JJ ran his hands through his hair roughly, pacing back and forth in front of his motorbike. “Fine. You really wanna know?” he snapped. He gesticulated wildly in the direction of the dance floor. “That was supposed to be me and you out there.” He huffed. “Listen, I like you, okay? I fucking- I fucking really like you, and I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I let myself think that I could ever deserve you. Shit, I’m falling in love, and I don’t know how to stop.”

He rubbed his hands over his face and glanced at you, his gaze softening.

“We- we can pretend this never happened, I swear- shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ll get over you, I promise, just please- please don’t leave me,” he said desperately, his voice breaking and his blue eyes shining with unshed tears, begging you to respond with something, anything.

Something in your chest broke at the thought of JJ believing you could ever be capable of abandoning him. “JJ,” you whispered. You wanted, in that instance, to touch him more than ever, to pull him close to you. To hold him tight and never let him go.

“Listen, just tell me nothing is going to come out of this so that I can stop hoping, ok? I just- just please -” he rambled, before you reached for his face. You gazed into his clear cerulean eyes so intently you could have counted each of his eyelashes, and flickered your eyes down to his lips.

“JJ, stop,” you whispered. “I didn’t come here with Rafe. I would never do that to you.”

“What?” He blinked at you slowly, scanning your face in confusion, furrowing his brow.

There was a blond eyelash on his cheekbone, and you brushed your finger over it, your cheeks burning, warm all over. You looked down. “I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.”

“What?” he said in disbelief. You gave him a gentle smile, and leaned in closer. You could feel the contours of his chest, feel his biceps flex as his arms hovered unsurely around your waist, the heat of his body incandescently burning through the thin silk of your dress.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, light as a feather. You continued to brush your lips down towards his jaw, stopping at the sultry curve of his mouth. You could feel the pounding of JJ’s heart, his pulse quickening at your touch and his breaths shallow. Pulling away, you looked into his blue eyes questioningly. Was that ok? Did you like that as much as I did? You tried to communicate through your gaze.

“Oh,” JJ mumbled. “Oh.”

Leaning down, with that casual crooked grin of his, he brought his hand up to cup the bare skin of your neck, the other now firmly pressed into the small of your back, drawing you into the delicious heat of his body. Before you could blink, his lips were crashing down on yours and your hands were tangled into his hair and his hand was tracing your jaw, blissfully hot and feverish and oh, so this is love. This is what love feels like.

Breathless, you moved to gasp for air as JJ continued to lean into you, wanting more, nestling into your neck and trailing hot sloppy kisses down your collarbones. “I thought,” he murmured between kisses, “that I’d never get to do this with you.” He pulled away to look at you, his expression soft, vulnerable, blue irises gleaming beneath half-closed eyelids, the crescent shape of his mouth curving gently. You felt giddily intoxicated with his proximity, as if the edges of your body had melted into him, and you pressed him closer to you.

JJ cleared his throat and let out a low laugh. “We should, uh- we should probably head over to the cove,” he whispered, his breath heady and hot against your cheek. You nodded, reluctant to let him out of your embrace as he tenderly put on your helmet and clasped it beneath your chin. You straddled the bike behind JJ, and he glanced back at you, as if to check that you were really there, that this was real, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. You smiled at him widely and pecked his cheek in reassurance.

And then you were flying through the air, cheek pressed against JJ’s neck as the wind whipped through your hair, your arms wrapped around his waist. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen flex as he leaned forward, accelerating, and you thought, yes, yes, I have been in love. I am in love.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #obx jj #obx fanfiction #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #jjasewrites

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forpiratereasons · 11 months

Text

meeting stede bonnet

a slow meandering through June. first day, first prompt: sunlight

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | day 10

There was a thought Stede had never thought before.

He’d suspected it was there for a long time, honestly—he’d caught it before, here and again, hovering in the corners of his eyes. He’d been very good at looking away. He’d been looking away since the divorce six months ago, or maybe for every day of the twelve-year marriage itself. Or—maybe for a lifetime. Depended on how you looked at it, he supposed.

But now it was here. The day. The day, the day he was going to finally let himself think it.

If I wake up on June the 1st and I know, I’ll really know.

He’d taken two sleeping pills around nine. Didn’t want to stay up waiting for it. Didn’t want to shatter the fragile thought under the pressure.

Stede’s alarm went off as scheduled. Freddie Mercury’s voice belted through the room, big, breaking free.

The sun was already shining. He’d left the curtains open the night before; he’d wanted the light first thing. He’d wanted to wake up already soaked in all that warm, beautiful light, and now here he was.

It was suddenly so easy.

I’m gay, Stede thought.

The next breath shuddered into Stede’s lungs, rough and unexpected, like he’d never taken a breath before in his life. He knew.

He’d always known.

As a boy, picking flowers, running from kids who’d already known there was something different in him—as a teenager, smoking his first cigarette, avoiding the gaze of the girl who’d lit it for him—as a man, holding Mary’s hand in their wedding bed and swallowing against the crush in his ribs that told him every reason he ought to love her, like he could force the logic of her into the heart hiding underneath—he’d known.

I’m gay, Stede thought again.

He had sort of thought he might feel different. Or might—be different, somehow. But no, not really: he got up on the same side of the bed he’d always slept on. Showered the way he’d always showered, dressed the way he’d always dressed. Fixed his hair the way he’d always fixed his hair. Drank the protein shake for breakfast he’d always drunk.

He was still himself. He’d always been.

June the 1st, he repeated to himself, standing in the kitchen, tapping his fingers on a little brown paper package that had come from Etsy three days ago. Bit like a birthday, maybe. The start of something new.

One manicured fingernail slipped under the tape on the package. The sun was in Stede’s eyes as he whittled along the length of the flap, undoing the tape bit by bit. Cloudless day. The sunlight stung.

The contents of the package clinked on the granite when it fell out.

Stede counted to three. Then he counted to ten. Then he counted to fifty, and finally he counted to a hundred and thought, come on, then. You’re gay. Be gay about it.

He looked down. On the worktop was a small enamel rainbow pin.

Just a pin. Gold backing. He’d spent ages looking for one that matched Gilbert Baker’s original flag, with the pink and the aqua. A progress Pride pin was coming too, but for this day, for the first day, he’d wanted the first flag.

For something so tiny, it carried so, so much.

It took a minute to undo the backing with trembling fingers. Punching the pin through the fine fabric of his shirt—white, which he never wore, but he wanted the pin to really stand out—felt like releasing something inside himself that had been building for years and years. Like lancing a wound. Like the first sharp, hot moment of healing.

“All right,” he said out loud, forcing himself to pass the mirror in the hall without stopping to look, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. His heart was pounding under the weight of the pin; his hand was sweating where it’d settled on the handle of his front door.

It was a fifteen minute walk from here to the bookshop on the wharf. Stede was going to walk it, and open the shop, and wear the pin. He was going to let people see.

Just a fifteen minute walk from here to the rest of his life.

He took a deep breath.

He stepped out into the light.

#ofmd pride bingo #darcy writes pirates #ofmd #gentlebeard

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lorre-verie · 1 year

Text

₊˚ʚ ᗢ. ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ᴏʀ ᴅᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴛ. ꜰᴏᴜʀ ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

aka, the chapter where the title of the series really comes into play.

the unfortunate pair: ao’nung x fem! sully! reader

chapter summary: crossing off stuff from your bucket list is fun, but in your opinion it was just going too slowly. so what if you sped things up a little? your decisions garner unexpected results, but i suppose in the end, you’re satisfied with the way they turned out.

warnings: cussing, kissing (just a light lil peck yk) reader being an absolute tease, ohmygawd the TENSION IM SCREAMINGGG, sully family shenanigans

word count: 4.7k

“I keep thinkin’, bout his angel eyes!” you belted out, eyes on the screen in front of you.

“I keep thinking, AAHHH!” Kiri followed, putting all her soul into the song.

Bucket List!

Dance with a partner to my favourite song.

Drink alcohol

Go on your first date

Have a sleepover with my friends and siblings

Karaoke night

Have my first kiss

Receive an oshalia flower

Per your wishes, your family had graciously agreed to having a karaoke night in your marui. It was really a good thing that your tent was isolated from the rest of the metkayina’s, lest your neighbours would have to try and sleep through incessant screaming all night long.

Your mother didn’t really want to participate though, understandably. And of course, your father followed her. Even though he really, really did want to join in on the fun, he loved your mother more than he loved Taylor Swift.

It had been a week since your official diagnosis, Norm and Max confirming your illness from all the way in the lab in the forest. But there was still hope for you. And they were doing everything in their power to find a cure.

While they were probably pulling their hairs out, you and Kiri were singing your souls out, so passionately that even Eywa would stop the wind to listen to how unbelievably horrid hypnotising your voices were.

“LAST NIGHT, I WAS TAKING A WALK ALONG THE RIVER!” you half shouted, taking bold steps across the floor, your brothers laughing at your strutting.

“WHEN I SAW HIM TOGETHER WITH A YOUNG GIRL,” Kiri followed behind you, before pointing at Tuk’s rubber duck with a tophat (whom she dubbed Paul).

“AND THE LOOK THAT HE GAVE HER MADE ME SHIVER-” you scooped Paul up, ignoring Tuk’s whining. “Give him back!”

“CAUSE HE ALWAYS USED TO LOOK AT ME THAT WAYYYY!” Kiri and you sang in unison, back against each other, and you held Paul up to the light that seeped in through the night, glaring at him accusingly.

Kiri yanked Paul from your hands and threw him down to the floor, much to your littlest sister’s distress.

“HEY!” Tuk screamed, crawling to save her poor Paul.

Just then, 3- no 4- metkayinan teenagers stepped through the flap of the marui, wondering what the hell the noises coming from your marui were.

Veyä went through first, followed by Tsireya, Rotxo, then Ao’nung. You continued singing with Kiri, unbothered by their sudden presence. “What is going on here???” Rotxo practically screeched, trying to make his voice heard.

The four looked horrified at the alien technology in front of them, the giant projector showing the lyrics in english, and the mics in your and Kiri’s hands.

Combined with the background music playing out of seemingly nowhere, it looked like you and your siblings were performing some sort of ritual.

“LOOK INTO HIS ANGEL EYES, ONE LOOK AND YOU’RE HYPNOTISED!”

Eventually, with some explanation that this was not a demonic ritual from Neteyam, the metkayinans settled down to enjoy the show, you and Kiri breathless after finishing the song. You stumbled down to the floor, acting as if you were passing out.

Lo’ak grabbed your mic and switched to a different song (a rap song 💀) and you crouched along the floor to talk to your friends and the frog.

Veyä tilted her head, smiling welcomingly as you sat in front of her. Tsireya and Rotxo waved, and Ao’nung just..looked at you.

“You’re all invited to a sleepover tomorrow night,” you smiled.

Tsireya’s ears perked up. “A slumber party? Here?” she sat up straight.

“Yep, it’s going to be super fun. There’s gonna be a movie- I’ll explain what that is later-” you added, internally groaning at their confused faces, “and we can play some games! And after, you can sleep here. We have a few extra sleeping bags.”

“We’ll be there!” Tsireya almost shouted, she was clearly excited about spending some time with a certain someone who was stumbling over his words at the moment. “Won’t we, dear brother?” she turned to Ao’nung, a hopeful look on her face.

He frowned, eyes flickering from Rotxo to Tsireya, who were both looking up at him with stars in their eyes.

“Well I, for one, am definitely going to be there,” Veyä shrugged, angling her chin upwards.

“We can go.” Ao’nung turned his head to you, the corner of his lip twitching upwards once he saw the bright smile etched on your face.

What he didn’t know was that beneath your “genuine” smile, your brain was meticulously planning all the ways you could trick him into doing whatever you wanted.

“Just wear whatever you sleep in,” you put your hands on the floor to push yourself back up. Eywa forbid Neteyam got to the tablet before you, he’d show off his singing skills like he was Ninat’s son and not your mother’s.

Soon you all were divided into 2 groups; the girls and the boys sat in separate circles, each one hyping their sully member up as they came up to sing.

“It’s kinda like..a moving picture? A picture is like a memory captured in time, like you can see the videos- moving pictures- being displayed on the screen there” Kiri painstakingly explained to Veyä, who seemed to catch on rather quickly.

“Where is Tuk?” Tsireya whispered to you with her signature sweetener smile. “I miss her presence.”

You looked back at her, about to respond, but you closed your mouth back up again once you saw that she wasn’t looking at you, but rather behind you.

Lo’ak, you rolled your eyes, turning to confirm your suspicions.

Lo and behold; they were making sickening lovey dovey puppy dog eyes at each other, completely oblivious to you and your twin brother who were about to projectile vomit onto the floor right next to them.

Rotxo was trying his best to pronounce the english words on the screen, but his singing was rather alright. Nothing compared to Neteyam, of course, but pretty good.

You shared mirrored frowns with your older brother, shaking your head at the exact same time. You mouthed, “How’d he get a girl that quickly?”

Neteyam shrugged, “It’s the good girl and bad boy trope.”

You winced, remembering all the books you read about the relationship dynamic as a child. It was okay, but you loved the enemies to lovers and sad stories much more. *wink wink*

The best idea you’d ever conjured up in your life tugged at your lower lips, that devilish smile appearing on your face as it’s done every time you were about to dare someone to do something stupid. Neteyam picked up on this immediately, his eyes widening and immediately mouthing ‘NO’.

As you shook your head up and down, you both were unaware of Ao’nung confusedly looking back and forth at your wordless conversation, his fingers intertwined. He was an excellent lip reader, but you guys weren’t speaking na’vi, so he wondered if you guys just made up your own language.

‘I dare you to pretend you like her.’ you mouthed back, but by this time, Lo’ak had seen the words come out of your mouth.

Alas, your beautiful plan was fooled. (but wouldn’t that be funny as hell)

You let out a laugh, covering your mouth as you did so. His eyes fell on you, gazing at the way your body buckled forwards, at the way your yellow eyes were fixed on the floor as you tried to stop the giggles spilling out of your mouth, at your w-

“Hello??? Are you okay?” Tsireya waved her hand in front of his face, to which immediately jolted backwards like she was threatening to cut all of his beautiful hair off.

“Brother, are you sick? You seem very out of it today.” she crouched down in front of him concerned, for his eyes seemed like they were popping out of their sockets.

Today had been an incredibly stressful day for Ao’nung. He’d been unable to focus on any of his duties today, because of well, you.

You showed him a different side of yourself, above the petty insults and the snarky exchanges you two would have everyday.

That night he didn’t see you as the nasty forest imp.

He saw you, for you.

And he was unable to get you out of his mind for the whole day.

“Ao’nung, the fish have all already gone at this point,” Tonowari signed. It was the next day; the day of the slumber party.

The afternoon light seeped into the water, illuminating beautifully the hunting grounds that Ao’nung and his father would often traverse to together, and the Olo’eyktan quickly noticed his son’s strange behaviour.

Ao’nung gripped his crossbow with such intensity that if he squeezed it just a little bit tighter, he’d be able to break it into two. Besides that, he was aiming at an empty spot in the sand, the rest of his body hidden from nothing by a rock structure.

As he stared at nothing, his father grew increasingly concerned. Tonowari tucked his knife into a strap wrapped diagonally across his chest, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder to get his attention.

Ao’nung whipped around to face him, releasing the trigger on the crossbow as he did so. The arrow flew into sand, scattering tiny bits of it everywhere, floating aimlessly in the water.

Tonowari simply shook his head with a slight frown, signing ‘Up.’

Even as they rose to the surface, Ao’nung’s heart felt like it was dropping lower and lower as he pushed his arms back. What if his father was angry that he was slacking off and getting lost in his thoughts? He should’ve been more focused- he should’ve been more aware-

“So, who’s the girl?” Tonowari half smirked, placing his hand on Ao’nung’s head.

“What?” Ao’nung looked at his father, his eyes as wide as a tulkun’s.

“Don’t try to lie to me, son. I had that exact same look on my face when I was in love with your ma,” he chuckled, resisting the urge to ruffle Ao’nung’s hair– if that even was possible, being tied up into a bun.

The frog said nothing, only parting his lips in surprise.

First of all, why would his father assume he’d been thinking about a girl? He wasn’t. He was thinking of someone completely opposite a “girl.” No, no, no, absolutely NOT. You had attacked him, beat him up, left him with bruises on his beautiful face- Why would he like you??? (what he’s been repeating to himself for the past 24 hours)

Second of all, his father’s huge hand was threatening to ruin his beautiful hair.

Third of all, ew, he didn’t need to hear another story of how his dad pined over his mother like his life depended on it.

“Is it Veyä? I heard she’s been a hot topic with the teenagers these days,” his dad pondered, and he gagged in response. “Ugh, no way.” Ao’nung snorted, wanting to punch himself in his own face for not even trying to deny he was thinking about a girl in the first place.

“Hm. I can see that.” Tonowari pursed his lips. “It doesn’t seem like you’d be her type either. From what I’ve heard, she’s much more popular with the girls.”

“Ew.” Ao’nung cringed, a shiver running down his spine at the thought of his childhood friend being subjected to such….affectionate thoughts? gossip? He didn’t know the word for it, he just knew it wasn’t something he wanted to hear.

“On that subject, is it a boy? Perhaps I’ve been getting all of this wrong.” Tonowari looked at his son, seemingly assessing who he thought he liked.

“Dad, please no. I am not thinking of anyone,” he groaned, a pained expression on his face.

“Bah! Nonsense! I know that look when I see it. I am wise beyond my years my son, you cannot fool me that easily.” Tonowari dismissed him, Ao’nung’s shoulders slumping down.

“It must be someone you’d be embarrassed about if you’re this desperate to get me off your back,” he jutted his lips out as he thought.

Ao’nung slapped a hand to his face, groaning even harder. He wasn’t even desperate. Was he?

His father let out a sharp gasp, looking at his son panickingly, seemingly choking on his words.

“What? What? Father, what is it?” Ao’nung swam closer to his father, brows knitted together in concern. He placed a hand on his dad’s chest, checking his heartbeat and breaths like his mother taught him.

“Great mother-” Tonowari spurted out, causing Ao’nung a greater deal of worry. But upon examining his heart and the timing of his breathing, he seemed perfectly fine.

“It’s that girl from the Sully’s, isn’t it?? What was her name- Y/N?” Tonowari stumbled over his words.

“Great mother, father you had me thinking you were having a heart attack-” Ao’nung sighed in relief, backing away from his father who was in fact, not dying in front of him. But then his eyes widened. He had said your name.

The look on Ao’nung’s face when they locked eyes said it all.

“Dad NO-”

“MY SON IS COURTING THE DAUGHTER OF TORUK MAKTO????”

“And remember, do NOT let any of the boys touch you,” Jake pointed his finger directly into your face.

“Yes, dad, I get it.” you rolled your eyes, shoulders slouched and a pout on your face.

Eclipse had fallen, and your dad for the past 5 minutes had been laying down all the ground rules for the slumber party as Neteyam and Lo’ak set the sleeping bags on the floor behind you, Kiri off to accompany the metkayinan teenagers here, and Tuk sleeping over at one of her little friend’s homes.

“And that Veyä girl too, I don’t trust her. She’s already gotten your sister-”

“What??” you looked at him.

“Yeah, didn’t you see them yesterday? They were giggling with each other and all,” he rolled his eyes, “and when I tried to talk to her about it she flipped me off. My poor baby is beyond saving.”

“You’re insane, dude. She flipped you off cause there’s NOTHING going on between them. Honestly, I thought you watched enough romcoms to know they’re just friends? You’re getting so old.” you crossed your arms, a slight smile on your face as you teased your own father.

Neteyam chuckled behind you. “If Lo’ak said that, he’d get 40 lashes right then and there.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes, unable to say anything cause he knew his older brother was right.

“Hey hey, first of all, don’t “dude” me, young lady.”

You rolled your eyes, there he was with his over-a-100-year-old father attitude, like seriously didn't those expire in the 2050's?

“Second, I’m not that old alright?”

You pursed your lips, holding back a laugh.

“Third, there’s SOMETHING going on there, I’m tellin’ ya, but if you don’t believe me, just see for yourself,” he raised his arms in the air surrenderingly.

“And fourth, Neteyam, where’d you get that from? You guys know I have never punished any of you by physical force–” he was interrupted by Lo’ak’s scoff.

“Hey, come on now.” he frowned, his heart sinking slowly, looking at how Lo'ak ignored him as he pat the wrinkles off his own sleeping bag.

“Y’know what, I’ll let your mother take over.” Jake whispered to you quickly.

“Lo’ak, walk with me.” he called him over. Your younger brother begrudgingly agreed, and they stalked off into the night.

“If he wasn’t such a troublemaker, he’d be the favourite child,” you stared at their backs as they disappeared into the trees, seemingly having a conversation.

“Well you’re the favourite child and you’re a troublemaker.” Neteyam responded nonchalantly, shrugging behind you.

“Well that’s just cause I have irresistible charm,” you smiled smugly at him, crossing your arms.

“Not to mention I inherited mom’s boldness, dad’s charisma, grandma’s wisdom, oh and I’m super talent- AGH” your list was interrupted by Neteyam throwing a pillow right smack into your face.

He laughed in your face, using the walls as support. You were about to throw the pillow back at him, raising your arm and gathering the force in your shoulder, but your mother stopped you.

“Y/N,” she leaned on the archways to the entrance of the marui, one of her hands holding up the flap. “Come. I wish to talk to you,” she gave you a small smile.

You dropped the pillow immediately, hopping outside after your favourite parent (shh, don’t tell Jake), abandoning Neteyam in the process.

“I suspect your father has given you enough rules to work with?” she smiled knowing how protective Jake was of you (AND your siblings, of course).

You nodded rather aggressively, and she laughed slightly, the sound spreading a warmth into your heart. She hadn’t really been the same since the news about..you know.

As you stood there with her, feeling her left hand tenderly pressed against the side of your head, you couldn't help but be grateful for her unwavering support.

With a small smile on her face, she shared the news that your dad's friends had made a discovery - something that could potentially cure you. “But they are unsure,” she trailed off, lips straightening into a thin line.

You could see the tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes, but you pretended not to notice.

You wished above all else you could say something, anything, to comfort her, but you knew that this was something beyond your control. At least, for now.

Without uttering a word, she pulled you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as you both hoped for a brighter future. It was the type of hug a mother would give if her only daughter was leaving for something like college.

But permanently.

You felt her basically crush your lungs, but you didn’t bother commenting about it. Luckily for you, she noticed how hard she was gripping you and loosened up a bit.

“Have fun tonight.” she whispered into your ear. You nodded, and the pain around your body served as a reminder of how much you meant to her.

You finally broke away from her death hug, waving a goodbye as your mother went away with her arms interlocked with your dad’s for their fun little date night.

“I hope they have fun.” Lo’ak stepped up behind you, watching your parents head to the ikrans together. “Just not too much fun, we really don’t need another sibling.”

“Ew! Why would you even say that??” you covered your mouth with your hand, unable to get the image out of your head, as Lo’ak laughed.

“That’s what I said like 7 years ago, and then Tuk appeared.” he shrugged, a cheeky smile on his face as he scampered back into the marui before you could hit him on the head.

“Lo’ak!” you sighed, following him back inside to wait for the rest of your friends to attend.

“Lo’ak, I dare you to take a dip in the water!”

“WHAT?” Lo’ak yelled. “Please bro, it’s freezing cold at night!” he pleaded to Rotxo, practically gruelling at his feet as the metkayina simply held in a laugh.

“It’s alright baby bro, worst case scenario, you’ll get hypothermia and die.” Kiri commented, waving her hand around in the air as she did so, Veyä giggling in response.

The metkayinans were getting situated with your favourite game, which would’ve made you super excited under normal circumstances. But your mind was stuck thinking about your bucket list. How in Eywa’s name were you going to find someone to go on a date with you?

You could’ve just asked Veyä, but unfortunately, your dad seemed to be right. Kiri and Veyä had sat directly next to each other, and everytime one of them spoke, they’d look at each other like… ew? Okay, we get it?

Rotxo was 100% oblivious to Kiri and Veyä’s relationship so unfortunately, he was still pining over your dear sister. So he was out of the question.

If you even tried to imply anything to Tsireya, Lo’ak would slit your throat while you were sleeping.

And Ao’nung would never say yes.

You would have to find some other metkayinan your age, be friends with them, woo them over, and ask them to go out on a date with you, and then have to explain to them that you were dying soon. So, that was out of the question too since you didn’t even have the energy for the first step.

“Ah Lo’ak, don’t be such a wuss.” Neteyam slapped Lo’ak on the back, earning a hoarse growl from the boy.

“After all, you have an audience,” he whispered, subtly nodding his head to point in Tsireya’s direction, and once he did, it’s like a fire arose within Lo’ak’s chest. He stood up immediately, stomping outside.

“It looks like he’s got his source of motivation.” Veyä chuckled wryly, and everyone went up to follow them.

Everyone except you and the frog.

“Are you not going to watch?” the frog spoke, eyes blinking slowly. He hugged his knees as he sat, his usually neat bun having strands flow down the sides of his face. With that, you realised that you’d be able to see him with his hair down tonight, which was certainly interesting to think about.

“Hm, no. I’m busy contemplating the best way I can do something that I need to do,” you responded, looking down at the floor. But then you thought about the game.

Oh.

Your gaze switched from the floor to Ao’nung immediately, a light twinkling in them like nothing you’d ever experienced before. As he tilted his head, wondering what was up with you and your sudden mood swings, your resolve was set.

The right half your mouth curled up into the most wicked smirk he’d ever seen on you. Goosebumps ran down his shoulders down to the very tips of his fingers, his lips parting subconsciously. Just then, Lo’ak burst through the flap of the marui.

“JESUS BALLS THATS FUCKING COLD” was one of the endless strings of profanity he shouted out as he grabbed a cloth from near his sleeping bag, rubbing it all over his soaking wet body in desperate attempt to free himself from the chains of being ‘shitting my ass freezing’. In order, Tsireya, Neteyam, Kiri, Veyä, and Rotxo came inside, laughing their behinds off.

By the time Ao’nung looked back at you, you looked as sweet as the dessert they’d serve at the day of an official mating, sitting cross legged with your hands placed on your knees, blinking your eyes innocently with a seemingly genuine smile on your face, acting like nothing had happened just moments before.

The laughter died down slowly, Lo’ak’s breaths becoming shaky as he struggled to regain his body heat. The order of the circle went: Neteyam, Lo’ak, Tsireya, Ao’nung, Rotxo, You, Kiri, and then Veyä. So by the rules, it was your turn to ask someone a truth or dare.

You pretended to look around, pretended to consider your options, pretended that you didn’t have everything planned out in your head already.

“Ao’nung.” you smiled innocently.

“Truth or dare?” you tilted your head to the left, trying to make your smile seem as innocent as possible so that it would seem wrong.

So wrong that he’d think you’d have a trap for him placed on truth. As he took his time thinking, he decided that you couldn’t possibly make him do something that would genuinely inconvenience him if he picked dare.

“Dare.” he nodded, and Neteyam’s eyes widened, knowing first hand how cruel your dares would be. Your smile turned wider on the right side, the sweet smile now turned into a grin of malicious victory.

He cringed; he knew that look. The look that would make the person his dear twin sister dared regret all their life decisions leading up to that very point. Would you make him lick the sand? Would you make him dance for everyone? Would you make him cuss out his friends without explanation? The possibilities were endless-

“I dare you,”

everyone held their breath.

“to go out on a date with me.”

And the circle erupted.

Neteyam was the first to react, letting out an extremely loud WHAT THE FUCK, Lo’ak let out a high pitched squeal that would’ve been Tsireya’s if she wasn’t covering her mouth out of surprise, Kiri’s jaw dropped straight to the floor, Veyä was just impressed, and poor Rotxo didn’t even hear what you had said.

And Ao’nung?

Oh, Ao’nung.

He was frozen.

Veyä started to hush everyone down, intrigued by the reason you’d even suggest that idea.

Without a single word leaving his lips, Ao’nung stood up, walking behind Rotxo. Then he grabbed your hand and led you outside, Veyä and Tsireya sending whistles and ‘whoops’ your way, and Rotxo had joined the fight in trying to push Neteyam back before he kicked Ao’nung in the shin.

You would’ve thought his grip on your wrist would hurt, but it didn’t. He was surprisingly gentle with you, and you willingly did most of the work getting yourself there.

He pulled you in front of a tree, his face just centimetres from yours. You looked up at him amusedly, smugly, even.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Ao’nung?”

His proper name on your tongue sounded like the most bitter of venoms and the most sweet of honeys to him at that moment. He searched your eyes as if he’d find anything other than yellow and black in them, and you stood there, back pressed against the smooth bark of the tree.

“Why?” he whispered, the huskiness of his voice combined with his metkayinan accent sending a delicious blaze down your spine.

“Why not?” you replied coolly, going so far as to let your eyes wander down his face, landing on his lips for a brief second.

It didn’t look like it, but you were doing your best to keep your heart from pumping out of your chest. He was so painfully close to you, his right leg in between yours.

He was already confused about you–– everything about you made his head spin. You spoke not truth nor lies, always in riddles. You were a troublemaker yet deemed responsible. Your personality was blazing hot, yet your skin always felt cold to the touch.

His eyes landed on your cheek, a tiny scratch embedded between the stripes that adorned your face like a piece of beautiful art. You were smaller than him in every aspect, yet you were stronger.

His attention turned to the little strip of hair above your eye, which enunciated the differences between you even further. You were a human, but you were also na’vi.

Then, his eyes finally fell on your smile. It described you like no other part of your face or body did. It could smile like a goddess but grin like the devil.

Without thinking, he leaned in (rather harshly, as you recall), pressing his lips to yours.

Bucket List!

Dance with a partner to my favourite song.

Drink alcohol

Go on your first date

Have a sleepover with my friends and siblings

Karaoke night

Have my first kiss

Receive an oshalia flower

It was just a small peck, and you both pulled away in an instant, and you looked at his neck blankly.

This was NOT what you intended.

You wanted a date and instead you got a kiss, but hey, something crossed off is something crossed off, righ—

His fingers pulled your chin up, interrupting your panicked train of thoughts. And the moment you looked into his eyes, you knew you were fucked.

You turned him insane. He spent the last 2 days thinking of not kissing you and there you both were.

As you both took a breath and processed things, Ao’nung brushed his thumb over his lips to see if he wasn’t dreaming, which made you smirk just a teeny tiny bit. (You were on the verge of screaming your lungs out cause what in the divinity of Eywa just happened?)

“So… I take it it’s a yes to that date?”

“...can you shut up”

STOP iiiiiiidk if that was the right thing to DOOO my plan for the first kiss was not supposed to be in this part but it just happened and i think it’s good??? Idkkkkkkkkkkkkkk im having doubts but i hope u guys enjoyed it 😭

but as for the rest of the slumber party they def stopped playing truth or dare because of neteyam, so they watched a movie instead, then they played charades, would you rather and whos most likely to :) originally i was planning on including all those things but it’d be way too boring and way too long so 💀 nvm!!!!!

So yeah! as always, i appreciate you all so much 💗💗💗💗 tysm for your support on this series! it means so much to me, you couldn't imagine.

much loved, lorre.

Taglist: @eywas-heir @elegantkidfansoul @yeosxxx @whoreforpomegranates @fanboyluvr @thecrazyswamp @shkudss @stvrligghtt @ratchetprime211 @dearstelll @littlecrisisworld @itssomeonereading @goodiesinthecloset21 @ilovejakesullysdick @larkkyoris @opalescentblog @lovedbychoi @plzfeedmebread @holysaladapricothero @arminsgfloll @evans-bitch @seashelldom @quest-for-pluto @bananasplits-world @ken-zah @anxietydrogz @inluvwithneteyam @www-interludeshadow-com @anonmously-anonomous

note: names in red are the ones i've added to the taglist but i couldn’t tag!

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noroi1000 · 10 months

Text

Flower Kimono

Requested on Wattpad

Warning: Short NSFW Sukuna x fem reader (heian era)

When you entered the room, you saw a woman kneeling in front of a four-armed man.

It wasn't a new sight. That was often the case. But you never expected Sukuna to spare anyone.

Because that woman only seemed scared. Nothing more.

And you also saw a wicker basket in front of her in which the material lay.

One thing is for sure. Sukuna had no intention of killing this woman. Still...

As long as she's alive, you're happy because you're not going to touch him if he's covered in blood from head to toe.

Even if he only has a drop of blood, you slide away from him. If he tries to catch you, you will run until you have the strength.

You don't want him to get blood on you!

Once when he chased you, even though you were laughing, your body didn't feel it was fun. You don't know why... After all, every time you turned around, all you saw was a three-foot-tall man with four eyes, four arms, and a mouth on his stomach that fangs could chop.

You don't know why you were running and scared.

Behind you was only the man-monster, considered the king of curses. Mass murderer.

There's nothing terrible about it.

If people didn't know what your relationship was like, they would surely think you were running away from it because you were afraid.

You run because you don't want to die.

However, that was not the case.

Right, at first you ran away from him. But that's changed since you've been living with him.

To be honest, he looks less scary in its more human form.

But if you have him as he is now, you won't complain.

And you still wonder why he wears his kimono when his whole chest is exposed to everyone anyway...

Everyone likes it...

And here you like his tattoos.

Perhaps that's why he doesn't cover his body at home? For you to look at him?

You stood by the slightly opened door and he stared at the scene before you. You hoped to go unnoticed for as long as you could.

However, he has four eyes!

And one of his eyes has just turned in your direction and is looking at you!

And you couldn't avoid eye contact with the scarlet color of his iris.

When your legs wanted to lead you back to escape his gaze, you must have heard it...

Your legs stood still on the floor by the thin sliding door.

As you stared straight ahead at him. His now all four eyes were on you. And his smile made his face.

He had to say something...

"(y/n), come here." He called to you, and waved one of his four hands.

You sighed and gently opened the door to enter.

And slowly in your white socks you walked over to him and took his large hand as he passed it to you.

His other right hand was placed on your hip as he gently pulled you towards him.

As you stood next to him as he sat on a chair, you saw the eyes of a woman kneeling on the floor.

She looked at you in awe, even though she was still terrified.

Well, you're supposed to be beautiful for Sukuna. He buys you the most beautiful things that can be. Treats, clothes, cosmetics.

Because you're supposed to be beautiful to him.

And also, he likes it when he can hold your body with softness.

You are to be like rice pudding to Him.

It's important to him that you're beautiful and soft. so lovely. And also to be yourself.

You are beautiful to him because you are marked by him as his property.

And he loves your personality. Because he doesn't think you're boring.

"I have a gift for you." he said with a smile and lightly pushed you towards the woman.

You looked at him questioningly, then at the woman.

She quickly got up and took the fabric from the basket she had brought.

Showing you an embroidered kimono. White, with a combination of your favorite color as flowers.

In addition, an obi belt, also decorated.

"Do you like it?"

You looked at him with a smile.

"Yeah... It's beautiful... Thank you very much for this gift." You said with a sincere smile as you saw the beautifully embroidered patterns on the bright fabric.

You felt his fingers swirl at the belt you were wearing. And suddenly his fingernail sliced through the fabric, tossing it aside.

"You could say. I'd put it off."

"You'll get a new one from me." he said, insistently taking off the kimono you were wearing now.

After a while you were standing naked in front of him, one of his hands on your waist as his nails gently scratched your skin.

You're supposed to be beautiful and soft. Because he loves how your body shows softness under his fingers. Your thighs, stomach and buttocks. your breasts. Any roundness is welcome. Because you look so soft and gentle next to him.

You walked over to the woman who put the kimono on your shoulders, helping you tie it perfectly.

And when her job was done, she ran out of the room as fast as she could.

When she was gone, you were standing in front of the man who was looking at your body with a smile.

He reached out to grab your hand. And he spun you around, looking at what your body looked like.

"How does it look?" he said, resting his left cheek on one of his hands.

"It's beautiful. I really like that! You bought this for me?"

"Who else? It's probably your favorite color." He pointed to the (f/c) color on the sleeves.

You smirked and jumped on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Two of his hands held your body so you wouldn't feel like he was rejecting you.

Since he had four hands, he could hold you with four.

Often one of his hands held your legs and the other held your waist or hips as he carried you. Sometimes he also used all four to carry you whenever he wanted.

That's why as you cuddled up to him, his other hand untied your kimono and he took it off you so suddenly.

You felt the chill on your naked body and he now spread your thighs with both hands, bringing your lips to his to kiss you.

He lifted your body up and spread your legs more, placing your knees on either side of his waist.

He set you down on his big tongue coming out of his other mouth on his belly.

And as he held you in place, his tongue danced over your pussy, teasing your entrance. Encouraging you to get wet by your own body.

So that you can easily accommodate him in you.

Because seeing you in that kimono was beautiful.

#sukuna jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n

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the-offside-rule · 1 year

Text

Trent Alexander - Arnold (Liverpool) - Dinner

Requested: wattpad by beloved

Prompts: 13) "Can you just pick something so we can go already!"

15) "Let's just pretend that didnt happen."

Warnings: none at all, at all

Y/n sat at the bottom of the bed as her boyfriend Trent stood deciding which jacket would look better. "See, I like this black one, but the navy is better for occasions like this." He explained. Occasions like this? He was talking about meeting Y/n's parents for the first time. He had met them before but that was before they started to go out, back when he was simply a friend. "We're just visiting the house, Trent." Y/n repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. "Gotcha." He turned back to the mirror. "So, too formal." She groaned and fell back onto the bed. "How did I take a shower, do my hair and makeup, find clothes and put them on and you still haven't decided on a jacket!" Y/n exclaimed. "It's a big thing! I'm your boyfriend now! And I only met your dad, didn't go near your mum for whatever reason." Trent replied, taking off the black jacket. "Can you just pick something so we can go?!" Trent took off the black jacket and threw on the navy blazer he was talking about. "I'll just wear the navy I suppose." Trent mumbled.

"Okay babe, but lose the shirt. That's a business shirt. Just wear the short sleeved one you were on about earlier." Trent threw his arms up. "Now you tell me." He mumbled to himself. "And don't forget to wear the scarf they sent!" Trent adored that scarf. God knows why but he loved the checked scarf Y/n's dad brought out while Trent was away at a match. "You just asked me to remind you." She smiled and kissed his cheek. "I'm gonna go down and make sure everything is locked up and then we'll go, okay?" Trent nodded. "Alright, see you in a minute."

Trent pulled into the pebbled driveway and parked. "Why am I actually nervous?" Trent muttered. "Because you're overthinking it." Y/n replied bluntly. "You're meant to be helping me here!" Y/n laughed. "When you spent a good hour picking a jacket, I don't think so." Trent groaned. "Listen, you'll be fine." Y/n rubbed his back and gave a reassuring smile. "You've already met Dad and he loves you. You just need to meet my mother. You'll be fine." For whatever reason it was, Trent had to hype himself up. Why? For confidence and for his girlfriend. "Hold on, let me get the bouquet from the boot." Trent took off his seat belt. "She's allergic to flowers." Y/n reminded him. "Oh right, I'll get the wine then-"

"She doesn't drink it."

"Does your dad?"

"Well, yes-"

"Then it's fine. Let's just pretend that didnt happen." With this new outlook, Trent became more confident. "What type of wine?" Y/n asked as Trent opened her car door. "Pinot Noir, 1990. Had to cough up 50 quid for it! It's mad that!" Trent said, waving the bottle around. "I'd love for you to drop it." Y/n joked, hopping out into the cold Liverpool air. "Don't even think that, you'll jinx me." Y/n laughed hysterically before they walked up together and rang the doorbell. Y/n linked arms eith her boyfriend as he held the wine in his hands and showed the checked scarf proudly around his neck. The door opened and there stood a woman, dressed quite nicely with a soft smile on her face. "Hi mam!" Y/n squealed, hugging her mother tightly. There were some words between the two before Y/n turned back to Trent. "Mam, this is Trent. My boyfriend." Y/n's mother's smile left and was replaced by a fake. Trent noticed, as did Y/n but neither said anything. He held his hand out and smiled. "Lovely to meet you Mrs. Y/l/n. I've heard a lot of great things about you."

"I heard some things about you too." She said,shaking his hand. The trio stood looking at eachother, unsure of what the next move was. "Can we come in or are we eating dinner outside?" Y/n joked, making the other two laugh. As the walked into the hall, Y/n's mother went to the kitchen, leaving the couple to themselves. "You saw you that too, didn't you?" Trent asked, taking his scarf off. "Yeah, she's never done that ever." Trent sighed. "Great start to the evening then."

Thankfully, Y/n's dad came to the rescue and held a conversation with Trent for the evening while Y/n conversed with her mother. "We're just gonna go outside for a bit, love. Back in a minute." Y/d/n name said, standing up to leave. "Coming, Trent?" Trent nodded and stood up, excusing himself from the table. Once they were outside, they closed the door behind them. "So, how's the night treating you?" Y/d/n asked. "Yeah, lovely evening. Thanks for having me." Trent was trying his best to be polite. "It's no bother at all, lad. You're great to have around." It grew quiet between the two as they simply stood in the cold. "She doesn't talk much." Trent suddenly said. "Who?" Y/n's father asked. "Your missus. She doesn't say a lot." Trent explained. A chuckle came from Y/d/n. "She's usually all chatter, but not tonight." Trent looked confused. "Why's that if you don't mind me asking?" He asked. "Well, she grew up in Manchester. She's a United fan." Y/d/n said. "No way." Trent was amused by this new information. "Yeah and the worst part, she somehow convinced me to move to Manchester with her before Y/n was born."

"I could never do that." Trent laughed. "I wouldn't have the patience for them." Y/d/n joined in the laugh. "You'd be surprised what you'd be able to do for the right woman. I sat saying I'd never associate myself with a United fan and here I am married to one." That got Trent thinking. How far would be go for his own girlfriend? Would he move to Manchester? No, but that's because Y/n wouldn't want to. Anywhere else, he would maybe consider it. "Why didn't she just move here? You're here now anyway."

"Well, she was in uni at the time. I was just working. I could've got a job anywhere but her dream course was in Manchester. God knows why it'd be there but I followed her anyway."

"I'm sure the in laws loved that." Trent chuckled. "Loved it." He replied sarcastically. "One time our apartment had a leak and the place flooded so we had to stay at her parent's house. By we I mean she did. I wasn't allowed. It was either just me missus and Y/n slept in the house or none of us did. Slept in our van outside the house. The next day she said we're moving to Liverpool, so we did." Trent caught glimpse of a reminiscent smile from the man beside him. "Good times?" Trent asked. "Not particularly but I had her at least. My mam didn't like her either but we made it work out."

"That's the secret to marriage, eh?"

"Just stick with her and there's nothing that can go wrong." The door opened behind them and out stood Y/n, a smile beaming from her face. "You two okay?" She asked. "I'm just heading in now but if you want, you two can stay out here for a bit." Y/d/n said, patting Trent on the back. "Okay, well be in, in a minute." Y/n smiled as her dad walked inside. "So, what were you talking about?" Y/n asked once they were alone. "Can't tell you. But I can tell you that you were born in Mamchester, not Liverpool." Y/n groaned. "Did you bring up hating Manchester again?" Trent laughed and shook his head. "No, he just brought it up."

"Our conversation got me thinking what I'd be willing to do for you." Y/n fded her arms and leaned on the door. "And what would you be willing to do?" Her features had softened. Trent stood in front of her and lifted her chin. "Well, we've got the rest of our lives to figure that out, don't we?" And with that, Trent placed a kiss onto her soft lips. "We better get back in to finish this dinner." Y/n beamed. "Come on then, we'll get going."

#liverpool #football blurbs #football imagines #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold blurbs #trent alexander arnold imagines #trent alexander arnold oneshots #football #f1 oneshots #trent alexander arnold oneshot #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander x you #trent alexander arnold x you #taa blurb #taa x reader #taa imagine

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passivenovember · 10 months

Text

When Billy Falls in Love

Max stays angry red.

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here--

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows.

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close.

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar.

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him?

About his bones and blood.

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--”

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull.

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue.

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking.

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back.

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness.

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him,

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock.

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

If it kills him.

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers.

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky.

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks.

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks.

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

That Steve would survive losing this.

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt.

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard.

Eddie doesn’t move.

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him.

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy.

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him.

He smells like peaches.

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch.

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare.

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“--Right--”

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him.

Billy stops. Waits.

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning.

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And.

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does.

He really does.

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then.

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy.

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him.

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

#harringrove #fluff #clothes swapping #love confessions #idk what this is #i'm just feeling very In Love

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ddejavvu · 2 years

Note

I don't know if this is how I'm supposed to do it, but can I request Scallops? With a side of Eddie Munson x reader and a dialogue of: "You think I'm sick of it? I wouldn't have it any other way."

combined with: hiii! may i please have an order of blueberry muffin with eddie and it’s about him supporting his girl who’s in a musical? it could be a play for mamma mia or west side story. and it just him helping her through rehearsals, easing her nerves, bringing her food and flowers, cheering the loudest during the show despite hating the fact she has to kiss another man lol. any scenario you want! this is just me trying to comfort myself bc my play is in a month hehe. ty lovie!

enjoy! <33

Striding down the darkened backstage hallway, you finally understand how Eddie feels. He's constantly a presence, the chains on his belt jingle when he walks, his boots thump hard against the ground, his hair bounces around his shoulders. The costume dress you have on rustles relentlessly at every step you take, and your thick heels click against the floor no matter how soft of a step you take. You finally reach your chair, a half-drunk coffee already propped on a side table next to it. Even though you'd just acknowledged the constant noise Eddie makes when he walks, you don't register the clanking of his chains or the thumping of his boots as you pick up your now-cold coffee, settling into your chair. You only know he's there when his hands wind around your shoulders, and his voice makes you jump.

"Boo."

"Jesus," You hiss, heart racing, "Eddie, why'd you sneak up on me like that?"

"Because it's fun," He insists, a fresh, hot coffee in hand that he passes to you, "And you deserve a laugh in between everyone yelling at you."

"I'm so sick of this," You groan, the stress of opening night tight in your shoulders that Eddie promptly massages away, "I had to run from the hair and makeup guy three times today! Three times!"

"I told him to leave you alone," Eddie scoffs, poking at your perfectly-rouged cheek, "You look stunning, babe."

You ignore his compliments, far from in the mood to be happy about anything, and continued to groan, "I'm sure you're fuckin' sick of this, too."

"Sick of what?" You hear confusion clear in Eddie's voice, his fingers still digging roughly into the knots of muscles in your back.

"Of coming here, of bringing me coffee and lunch, of hearing the same four songs over and over and over again because for some fucking reason it's never good enough the first time, of-"

"Hey, hey, woah! You think I'm sick of it?" Eddie's hands freeze on your shoulders, then drop to his sides as he comes around to the front of the chair to face you. Your brows furrow inquisitively at him, and he huffs at your genuine confusion.

"Sweetheart, I'm not sick of it. I love supporting you, I wouldn't have it any other way! Well," He glances to the side, your costar's chair beside you, "Maybe if I could rewrite things a bit I wouldn't have that dickhead makin' moves on 'ya every day. But other than that, really, I love it."

"You do?" Your eyes are shimmering with such heartbreaking hope that it tears Eddie's heart from his chest. He can feel a gaping hole where it once was, and tries filling it by kissing your forehead, delicately so that he doesn't smudge your makeup.

"Of course I do," He croons, his teeth glinting in the low light of the hallway, his grin widening at the sweet sound of your voice, "I'm like your little assistant, babe, I'm at your beckon call."

"But don't you get tired of it?"

"Tired of seeing you? Tired of eating lunch with you? Tired of hearing you sing?" He raises an eyebrow at you, then doubles down, "Never."

"No, I just- aren't you tired of having to do all that stuff?" You cock your head to the side, a ribbon in your hair shifting at the movement.

"I don't have to." Eddie reminds you, chucking your old, cold coffee into a garbage can, "I could let my girl starve if I really wanted to. But I'd rather you be alive, so I don't."

"Eddie.." You start, a protest already on the tip of your tongue, but he swats at your shoulder.

"Stop," He warns, "No more shit-talking this. You're gonna perform, and goddammit, you're gonna be happy about it."

"Fine," You huff, letting the smallest of smiles slip over your lips, "But you'd better bring me flowers after the show."

"I'll bring you flowers after every show," Eddie promises, his smile widening as yours blossoms, "Only the best for my superstar."

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princesscunni3 · 1 year

Note

hi can please a Johnny and jaehyun one!!

Daddy suh and daddy jeong, baking fun time!

Smut !

“Princess!” Johnny yells from upstairs. “I’m baking daddy!” You stir your cupcake batter. Your pretty kitten eyes laid on Johnny as he comes downstairs and he pours himself a glass of wine. “Princess.. you know how daddy has been talking about a friend of his?” “Mhm~” you nod. “And how you’ve been wanting that special friend to join us in bed?” “Mhm~” you nod again! “Well-“ “Come on daddy! Just spill it! I’m excited!” You jump around and then the doorbell rings. “Lets go get that and after we do let’s show our guest how daddy disciplines princess who don’t use the right manors.” Johnny pulls you by the waist and squeezes it tightly when you and Johnny reach the door.

Johnny opens it and you see a very handsome man. “Hello mr suh.” The mans voice was deep and sexy. “Good evening to you as well mr jeong.” You blush when the man brings his focus to you. You hide behind Johnny and giggle. “Ah my princess is shy hm? Come. Dont be rude to our special guest.” You peek your head out and smile. “Hello mr jeong. I’m y/n. But I like being called princess.” Johnny hooks his arms around your waist and pushes you in front of him.

“Well princess.” He extends and your core pools with wetness. “I brought you these.” He holds out a bag of chocolate and also flowers. “Mr suh told me that you have a sweet tooth and that you love roses.” You gasp and look up at Johnny. Your eyes begging for permission to take the gifts. “It’s all yours princess.” Without Johnny have to say another thing you shyly snatch the gifts. “Come inside jaehyun.” Johnny steps aside and allows the 5’11 man to walk in.

“Daddy is it ok if I eat some chocolate while my cupcakes bake?!” You ask And hop in place. “Alright.. I suppose. But you have to say thank you to mr jeong for bringing you those lovely flowers and those treats.” You nod and waddle over to the man. “Thank you mr jeong!” You hug the man who looks up at Johnny and smirks. “Of course princess.” You squeak and run to the kitchen. “Princess.” Johnny calls and you hum and turn to see Johnny and jaehyun standing side by side. “Water tour flowers. Would you like some help?” You shake your head. “I’m a big girl. I got it!” You grab the vase off from the dining room table and you toss out the two day old flowers and you replace the water with new fresh ones. You stick your new flowers from jaehyun into the vase and set it back onto the table. “It’s so pretty. Shank you again mr jeong.” You bat your eyes at the man. “It’s almost as pretty as you but you’re definitely prettier. And it’s a pleasure.” He winks and you blush.

“So.. mr suh tells me you’re baking cupcakes?” Jaehyun follows you into the kitchen. “I am! It’s funfetti.. I love funfetti.” You sigh and check the cupcakes that were barely up. “Oh princess.. those are my absolute favorites! How’d you know?” You gasp and jump. “Those are my favorites too mr jeong!!” Jaehyun smiles and Johnny scoffs. “Now now.. don’t get too excited. We still have to show mr jeong how daddy punishes bad princesses. Remember how you weren’t using formal language with daddy?” you frown and hang your head down. “Hm so the princess was being naughty?” Jaehyun looks at Johnny. “Care to tell me how she needs to be disciplined?” Johnny nods with a fat smile. “I’d love to.”

“Grab her by the waist.” You gasp when mr jeong grabs your waist tightly and quickly. “Push her onto her knees.” You Yelp as jaehyun shoves tou onto your knees. “Tell her why she’s been a bad girl.” Jaehyun tilts your chin up. “You’ve been bad girl because you didn’t use formal language with daddy.” You bite your lips. “Now fuck her mouth until she’s crying like a whore and not a princess.” Jaehyun slowly pulls off his belt and pushes down his pants.

“Say ah whore.” You open wide and let jaehyun use your throat. His dick making you choke and gag. You look to the side to see Johnny smiling proudly as you gulp Jaehyuns dick. “Damn baby girl.. your mouth feels so good.” He coos and forces your head to go back and forth.

Your eyes drift to Johnny who walks up with his cock almost poking out your eyes. “Stroke daddys cock while your show mr jeong how good you take dick.” You nod and bob your head while stroking johnnys big dick. “Keep going.” Jaehyun grunts. “Almost there princess.” Johnny and jaehyun both grunt.

Jaehyun pulls out and jerks his cock off before he cums all over your face. You move over to Johnny who looked satisfied. “Look at this whore.” You tear up at the degrading nickname. “I’m not a whore.” You whine while taking him down your throat. “You look like one. Sucking daddys dick with another mans come on your face.” He slaps your cheek and you smile. Johnny pulls away and jerks his dick before coming all over your face.

“A slut with two different men’s cum on her Face.” Jaehyun laughs. “What do you say now.” Johnny crotches down while jaehyun grabs some paper towel For you. “Thank you daddies.” Jaehyun smorks at the nickname and whipes your face. “You’re welcome princess.” Johnny and jaehyun say.

Dont report ! Just block !

#jaehyun smut #johnny smut #princesscunni3 #daddy jeong #daddy suh

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arotechno · 1 year

Text

O. basilicum, part vi

There wasn’t any particular moment in which Basil finally realized that the curse wasn’t real.

There was no sudden clarity, no revelation, nothing he could pinpoint as before and after. It was just the slow, gradual dawning of something that, if he thought about it, had always been obvious to him, deep down.

When he’d first heard those tall tales, so many years ago, maybe there was already a part of him that doubted their validity. How could it be that he, who was only ever a child trying to live a quiet life and make friends, could be cursed? How could he be destined to bring evil upon the world, when it was other children who had beaten and berated him? What divine irony was that, that he should be considered the monstrous one, while others—with their supposed pure and unyielding love—could attempt to maim or even kill him with impunity?

The thing was, believing it had been easy. It was not hard to convince himself that surely, monster or not, evil or not, he had been cursed with some affliction. The truth was far harder to stomach—that anyone who believed they had the right to hurt him had been deluding themselves. Basil had never truly believed that there was something inhuman about him; but when that was how other people treated you anyway, what use was the truth?

There was no divine destiny, no cosmic reason, good or evil, that he should be born the way he was. It was simply the way of things, like nature. The sun rose every morning. Basil did not have a heart.

This new understanding should have brought him solace. It should have been vindicating, to know that his belief in his own humanity hadn’t been misplaced. It brought him no such peace. But it didn’t make him angry, either. Instead, Basil only felt a quiet sense of resignation. After all, what difference did it make?

Before they knew what he was, the children of Swallow’s Point had treated Basil just like they would any other. He was strange, perhaps—he didn’t always relate to or understand the things they would joke about, like their crushes or their lofty dreams of being wed to someone wealthy from the capital—but they did not shun him. The way they turned on him so rapidly made it obvious that it didn’t matter who he was, only what he was. Once they decided there was something wrong with him, it didn’t matter who he’d proven himself to be. It wouldn’t have even mattered if he could prove the curse wasn’t real.

Deep down, Basil knew the truth: they would have considered him to be a freak either way.

When he tried to broach the subject with Jim, he’d only received a strange look in response. The others had reacted much the same, if a bit more graciously (save for Dusty, who’d jokingly agreed and then made him repeat it next to the new garden beds to “at least put that horseshit to good use”). Ann had attempted a clumsy diatribe about why he shouldn’t speak of himself that way before quickly giving up in embarrassment. When he’d mentioned it to Frida, it had been during a crying spell immediately following a nightmare, and she’d only tried to console him. Only Hank had given him somewhat of a straight answer, saying, “You know better than that by now” with a knowing expression before lapsing into silence on the trail.

And so, that had been that.

Today, Basil sat on Frida’s porch, toes in the grass, weaving. The motion soothed him, and reminded him fondly of warm days in Swallow’s Point, making daisy chains and flower crowns in the meadow. Now, however, he was working on a much more ambitious project.

“What’s that you’re working on?”

Basil looked up from his work. Ann crested the hill to the house, pack over her shoulder. As usual, she carried her bow on her back and a knife on her belt. It was rare to see her without them, even though the village was relatively safe and Hank always went about town unarmed.

“A sunhat. I want to finish it by summer,” Basil said. His attempts in years previous had not gone as planned; his best hat had only held up for a few weeks before falling apart. He hoped his new strategy would be more successful. “What’s in there?”

“Hides,” Ann said, hefting the bag. “Frida asked for them. Can’t imagine what she needs them for.”

Basil’s face lit up. “For blankets!” he explained. “Warmer ones, for when folks are sick.”

Ann’s lip twitched in a smile. “Well, look at you. Someone’s become the perfect apprentice.”

“Helping people,” Basil said, bashful. “It just feels right. Everyone took care of me when I was younger, so I ought to do the same. We have to look after one another. No one else will.”

An odd look passed across Ann’s face, and she took a knee in front of Basil with a sigh. Damn, he thought. Not this again.

“Kid, we’re not gonna be able to protect you forever.”

“I know.”

“You’re absolutely positive you don’t want me to teach you how to shoot? You have the steady hands for it.”

Basil’s stomach lurched. He’d accompanied Ann and Hank on a hunt exactly once, and he’d thrown up in the bushes and had to go home. That had been the end of that.

“I’m sure,” he said, voice strangled, idly fiddling with the loose strands of soft green grass poking out of his unfinished hat.

“Basil. I know you don’t want to hear it, but if you’re going to walk around in the woods by yourself like you have been, you ought to be able to defend yourself. This is me trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m not doing it.” Basil crossed his arms over his chest, indignant. “I promise to be careful, but I’m not shooting that thing.”

Ann sighed and rubbed at her temple. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Most people in town had never held a weapon in their life. Plenty of the villagers went wandering about, yet only Basil was subject to Ann’s incessant prodding about learning self defense. It was unfair to be treated this way—in a short time, Basil went from feared and derided to lauded as something uniquely precious. He was either a scourge on the world or the paragon of hope and virtue; there was no winning either way.

“I don’t know what it is you all see in me,” Basil said. “I’m not some kind of hero.”

“It ain’t about you being a hero. It’s just that, well…” Ann grimaced, looking rather sheepish. “You’re young, and you only narrowly survived your way here. It gives the rest of us something to live for, knowing you’ll be alright.”

Basil suppressed a smirk. It was a peculiar sentiment, given that he in his young life had experienced far more direct violence than most of the other townspeople. Ann didn’t seem to notice the irony. Instead, she looked at him wistfully before shaking herself out of it and pushing past him into the house, ruffling his hair as she passed.

Once she was gone, Basil plucked another blade of long grass from his basket and returned to his weaving. He worked steadily for a while, worming his toes in the cool dirt. After some time, he grew curious and scooted up closer to the kitchen window to eavesdrop..

“...he’s so stubborn about it, Frida! Can’t he see how important this is?”

Startled, Basil leaned closer to hear, hands stilling.

“Ann, please don’t push the boy. If it’s upsetting to him, we ought to not force him to do it.”

“Someone’s going to come for him some day. You know where he’s from. If he wanders off too far—”

“Hush now. It’s safe here. No one is going to come.”

Ann took a ragged breath. “Hank was right from the start. We should have done something about this.”

“Absolutely not. We do not need to risk further traumatizing the poor boy.”

“Frida, do you know the way he talks? Things about being cursed, about—”

“Yes, yes, he’s said the same to me too. It’s a common myth, Ann. He’s growing up, trying to understand what he is.”

“He worries me. I told myself in the beginning not to get attached, because—”

“He’ll be alright, dear. He’s a teenager now, and a smart one at that. You should see the way he is around the house; so bright and kind. Thank you for looking out for him.”

Basil set his project aside, hands trembling. Anger washed over him, though at what, he didn’t know. Anger at the people who had lied to him for so long, perhaps. Anger at those who had hurt him and ruined his life. Anger at himself, even, for still being frightened after all this time, for being too weak to protect himself, for proving Ann right with his own fragility.

Not wanting the others to know he’d been eavesdropping, Basil grabbed his cane and scurried further from the house, adrenaline pushing him a good deal across the hillside before he dropped back into the grass, legs quaking. He stayed there for a long while, arms wrapped around his knees, trying to breathe slowly through the anger and panic.

The sun was setting by the time Frida came to fetch him, settling beside him in the grass, not minding the way it stained her skirts.

“Basil, dear? Are you okay?” she asked, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. It was his quilt, the same old one she’d given him the day he’d arrived in Verdigris, those years ago.

Basil shrugged.

“Is it alright if I touch you?”

Basil nodded, and Frida draped an arm around him and tugged him close, brushing his shoulder gently with her thumb in a soothing motion. He was nearly taller than her now, though that wasn’t saying much. Both of them were still short. For a moment, they sat quietly in the rustling grass, watching the sun go down over Verdigris. Eventually, Frida spoke again.

“You know you aren’t cursed, don’t you, Basil? There is nothing evil or wrong about how you were born.”

“I know,” Basil said softly. He nestled closer to her side. “A part of me always knew. But it doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. But I thought you deserved to hear someone say it to you anyway.”

Briefly, Basil felt a twinge of regret, thinking of those left behind. Ace, if he was truly still out there, and any others like him would have to go on believing in a lie that had only been crafted to hurt them. But that pain was quickly superseded by the feeling of the huge weight he’d been carrying for years being lifted from his shoulders. Two years before everything had gone wrong, Basil had been warned of his own existence like it were a ghost story, and he and Ace had both carried that burden like a seed deep within their chests from that day on. The moment had brought them together, but it also represented a threat to whatever little peace they’d had.

Now, however futile or fleeting the feeling was, Basil buried his face in Frida’s shoulder and wept, relieved.

#struggled real hard with where i wanted to go w this chapter #but it's done! for better or worse.#aro #aromantic #o basilicum #the heartless #aro writing #long post #op

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