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#I did not want to grind through that stupid place twice in a row

kittyymew · 3 years

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Overstimulation- Part 1

Part 1/4

Link to- Part 2. Part 3.

********

"What! Come on! You HAVE to tell us!" Sasha squeals as she, Hanje, Mikasa, and Historia scoot closer, leaning on the table to hear you speak.

"Come on don't be shy! Help a single girl out!" Sasha presses for more information.

"I-..." you say, barely being able to form any words fiddling with an apple in my hand.

"Leave her alone. She's probably too shy" Hanje interjects placing a hand on Sasha's shoulder.

"But- she just has to say a number!" Sasha protests.

You look over at Mikasa and Historia in hopes that they'd help you out here.

Mikasa slams her fist on the table. "Fine, I'll go first. Seven times." Mikasa says, trying her best to maintain her usual composure.

All of you look over at her, your mouths gaping open.

"S- seven?" Sasha says chuckling.

"Yes," Mikasa replies as she picks up her cup and sips on it.

"So... Eren made you.... orgasm seven times in a row?" Sasha continues. That girl never knows when to keep her mouth shut.

Sasha receives a smack on her arm from Hanje. "That's what seven implies here!" Hanje says clearing her throat.

"Jealous?" Mikasa smirks at Sasha, knowing damn well what her answer would be.

"Your turn Y/N. You've been awfully quiet here" Mikasa continues.

I look up at her in a panic, trying to think of an excuse to get out of the situation.

"You're not getting out without telling us," Mikasa says.

That damn girl.

"Come on! We're not asking you to spill the details about what happens between you and Levi... unless you're up for it." Sasha adds.

I groan rubbing my eyes with my palms before mumbling, "Two".

I look up to see everyone just staring at me. Hanje is the first to speak up, "I- You're kidding right?" she says followed by a dry chuckle from Sasha. All I can do is shake my head.

"You're telling me THE Levi Ackerman has not made you orgasm more than two times?" Sasha says, still confused and shocked. "I thought your number would be higher than mine" Mikasa adds shrugging.

"Well, I mean, they're new at this moment so it's only fair to think that it's slow..." Historia says trying to make it less awkward. I just shrug and take a bite out of my apple. "We're a new thing too," Mikasa says.

"Okay stop! I am not complaining tho. It took a while for Levi to come around and I'm fine with the fact that Levi has made me orgasm just twice up until now. But-..."

Before I could continue, someone clears their throat behind us. I freeze in my seat and judging by everyone's faces, I know who it is. Everyone's expressions change quickly to a smile, acting as if we weren't just discussing our sex lives out in the open like this. I turn around smiling. "Hello," I say looking up at him.

"How long have you been there?" I ask nervously as he walks into the room and helping himself to a cup of tea. "Mmm not long enough," he says as he walks back towards our table and standing right behind me.

"Hope you ladies are having fun..." he says taking a sip. Everyone just nods in response. All of us were like kids who were caught stealing candies. I gulp and nod, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

"Well, if you don't mind, Y/N find me when you're done... talking..." Levi says and before I could even react, he was gone.

Everyone breathes in a sigh of relief as soon as Levi is out of sight. "Do you think he heard us talking about it?" Historia asks. "I don't think so. I hope not" Hanje replies.

"He definitely heard us talk," I say looking over at Hanje. I sigh and finish eating my apple in silence as everyone else continues to talk and the conversation shifts to the next scouting mission.

After about 30 minutes, all of us decide to go back to our room. I walk towards Levi's room, raking my brain with all sorts of justifications I could come up with IF he heard us talk. Levi's doesn't quite like sharing our personal details with anyone. He doesn't like the idea of others thinking he has normal feelings like everyone else. It took a while for him to be comfortable around me before we decided to take it further.

Lost in my thoughts, I don't even realise when I reached his room. I reach up to knock on the door and before my fist could even touch the wood, the door swings open.

*smut starts now*

"Oh, hey you wanted to see me?" I say, fiddling with my fingers trying to calm my nerves.

"Yes, brat. Come in" Levi says in a scary, yet sexy cold tone. It's the first time he's ever called me a brat. Does that mean he heard us?

Levi moves his body just enough for me to walk through the door. As soon as I am in, Levi slams the door shut, stepping closer to me. "JUST twice huh brat?" He says as he grabs my wrists bringing them behind my back and holding them there.

"Wha- No wait you're misunderstanding!!" I go in a slight panic mode. "I didn't mean it in that sense!" You continue your rambling.

"Shh brat. By the time I am done with you, you would've forgotten how to fucking count" Levi whispers in my ear smacking my right butt cheek.

He reaches down and slowly inches up my shirt. He pauses looking up at me, "Can I?" he asks, his voice suddenly going soft, a total contrast to the prior statements. Urgh, always the gentleman. I nod in response and he pulls my shirt over my head. He sucks in a breath when he sees that I was not wearing a bra underneath.

"Fucking naughty," Levi states, turning me around and bringing my hands behind my back, and cuffing them.

"WH- Why are you cuffing me?!" You yelp, squirming tugging at your cuffed hands.

"I don't remember giving you permission to talk brat," Levi says, before smacking my other butt cheek, this time harder.

"S-sorry," I say whimpering.

"On the bed, face down ass up" Levi commands. I quickly walk over getting on the bed and getting into the position right at the centre of his bed. He walks over and gets on the bed beside me, leaning down near my face. "You know the safe word. Use it if you want me to stop anytime" He states and with that, he's out of sight.

I feel the bed shift as Levi gets up and walks to the other side of the room. There's a long silence and I couldn't control it anymore. "Levi?" I say lowly, barely above a whisper.

As soon as his name leaves my mouth, I feel a hard smack on my ass. "Patience. I was just retrieving some toys for our fun time" Levi says, I can almost see his stupid grin as he says that.

Levi reaches forward, pressing something to my lips. "Open" he commands. As soon as my mouth is open, he shoves something in my mouth, tying it behind my head. A fucking gag.

Levi swiftly moves away and lifts my skirt, exposing my (pantie-covered) butt. I hear a small chuckle leave his mouth and I squirm in embarrassment. "Don't worry pink always looks good on you" Levi says, his fingers coming up to rub my covered clit.

"Look at you, all wet already and I haven't even begun yet," Levi says, moving my panties to the side, rubbing his fingers over my pussy, spreading my wetness. I had never seen Levi be so commanding and scary hot when we'd have sex. This was so unexpected and honestly, hot.

Levi pulls his fingers away from my core and before I could make any sounds of protest, he yanks down my panties and my skirt in one single swift movement and he starts rubbing my clit again.

I buck my hips towards his fingers, wanting more. "Tch brat!" Levi says pulling his fingers away and smacking both my butt cheeks. I try my best to not let out any sort of sound.

Levi slowly teases my entrance with his finger before slowly pushing his index finger inside, pumping it slowly before adding another finger. He starts curling them, rubbing them right against my g-spot. I let out a moan, moving and grinding my hips on his fingers.

Levi leans down and teasingly kisses my clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking and licking my clit, as his two fingers keep moving at a fast pace, rubbing my g-spot perfectly. I moan against the gag, grinding your hips faster. Levi's other free hand comes up to grab your hips and squeezing them, to steady your movements. You feel your orgasm building up, your walls clenching around his fingers as his tongue and fingers continue to pleasure you.

Before you could comprehend, you let out a muffled moan, your back arching and your pussy clenching harder around Levi's long fingers as you cum.

Levi continues to finger you and suck on your clit as you ride out your high. He pulls away after a few moments and sits up flipping you on your back.

He looks down at you, his lips still a little wet. "Did you like it?" He asks as you try to control your breathing. You look up at him and nod.

"Well, that's just one of many to come," Levi says with a grin, your eyes widening as he pulls a blindfold around your eyes.

********

I AM SORRY IF I SWITCH BETWEEN 'I' AND 'YOU'!!! Sometimes my dumbass loses track lol

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love-peterparker · 3 years

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In Extremis || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: After the reveal of Spider-Man’s secret identity and the release of Quentin Beck’s murder video, there isn’t a lot going right for Peter Parker. But he has you.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, protests and rallies, mentions of murder, a gun that is never shot, and some hair description for Y/N for plot purposes (but it should still be generic enough).

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I’m first a Captain America and Agent Carter fan, and I wanted to recreate what makes their relationship so special, but with Peter and Y/N… ‘cuz I also love Peter Parker. I really loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy it.

Also, thanks to @marvelouspeterparker, @sinisterspidey (she actually has a blurb called I’ll Follow You and it builds off of Spider-Man’s identity reveal) and @stuckonspidey for answering my anon asks for general writing tips and Peter’s character. And @spideyspeaches with her kind words after reading one of the final drafts of this fic. Lastly, a special thanks to @peterbenjiparker encouraging me with this fic and for making me so emotional with her series Invisible String (Read this!... but only if your heart can take it) that I needed to write something. This story has nothing to do with it, but it does make some small generic references to her fic, and I would like to think that Y/N and Peter are soulmates in this story.

***

This takes place in a universe where a FFH-esque identity reveal happens when Y/N and Peter are young adults.

***

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

Peter rarely admits it, but you say it all the time. When you hit a dead end in the Avenger’s database. When checking for your gun before leaving another safehouse. When reaching for him in the dark of night.

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

It had been over a year since Peter’s identity as Spider-Man was revealed and the dubious video of Quentin Beck’s murder was released. But it felt like a lifetime.

These two Peter problems were like ivy. They rooted, twisted, and spread. Winding into chokeholds around their victims.

But heroes knew how to play with fire.

Peter’s identity was dealt with in a straightforward fashion. Plenty villains who would do anything to exact revenge on Spider-Man, but they would have to find Peter Parker and identify his loved ones first. And for someone like Peter? Well, it was going to take some time.

To you, Peter was lifegiving. A shining ray of golden hope. You fell to sleep and rose to press kisses into his face. To cherish and hold. To share tears. But to the world, or even New York City? He was a nobody, one who couldn’t even hold a steady job.

You all worked fast while the wicked played catch-up. The Avengers searched and wiped all, but ultimately little personal information Peter had on the internet, as well anything that might connect him to your shared inner circle. Everyone was given an Avenger’s signal watch. And both you and May opted to move as a precaution. May to Brooklyn. You to Avenger’s Tower.

The case of Quentin Beck’s murder was a much more grinding process. Through polished superhero reputations, the lawyers secured an Avenger’s Tower house arrest during court proceedings. An overwhelming amount of evidence in Peter’s favor was gathered. Press conferences were held. Speeches were given. And when it all seemed like it was too much for too long, you and Peter would lie in bed, arms and legs entangled, whispering that everything would turn out all right. Good will win. You just had to keep going.

It was taxing, but not impossible. And just when you all thought you were pulling at the end of the thread with the jury in your favor, the ground beneath you crumbles into nothingness. You spiral and crash into a labyrinth, lush and high-walled. Maybe this was the way out- oh wait, you’ve been here- or have you? You all turn and turn only to face a new dead end. A new set of incriminating videos were released. Spider-Man’s videos took the spotlight, but videos of Wanda and Bucky were also revealed. The streets of New York bustled in whispers.

Can we really trust these heroes? What if these videos are the truth?

And what happens when these powerful people think they are right when they are wrong?

When public protests against Earth’s heroes sprouted and jury members started to disappear, it was clear that the whoever or whatever was behind this had greater motives and powerful allies. It was time to buy time.

Everyone had tried to convince Peter to go into hiding somewhere else. Anywhere else. He had enough super-friends where anywhere was possible. Lay low while everyone else above ground scrambled to unweave this massive web of lies. But Peter was infuriatingly adamant that New York, regardless of her wavering loyalties, was his to protect.

So two months ago, he started bouncing around New York City, investigating when he could, and making polarizing headlines with every swing he took.

You tried to continue as if Peter was still by your side. After being terminated from your junior journalist job for “suspect ties to Spider-Man,” Spider-Man became your mission. You originally attended press conferences and rallies as moral support, but after Peter’s first awkward mumbles of a speech, it was painfully clear that he needed a new voice. The public herself needed a normal person who interacted with superheroes. Who better than Spider-Man’s girlfriend? But after the last kidnapping attempt and the Avengers’ numbers shrinking, it was clear that this wouldn’t last. The world now knew who you were too.

The thick ivy had caught up, and you were on fire.

But to hell with it because there was no universe where you would be leaving this nightmare without him. So the next time you looked in the mirror, you donned short red hair and heavy eyeliner.

Days were spent questioning possible witnesses. Nights were spent in the light of a computer. And when you could barely drag yourself to continue, moments were spent staring at your beautiful boy’s picture. He needed you.

You had only heard from him twice since he went into hiding, though there were a few times answered unknown number calls would lead to abstract rustling and distinct web shooter noises. To those, you always whispered “I love you,” before hanging up.

That was until last night, when you noticed small slip of paper in the crack of the window of the safehouse you had been staying at. Only a time and an address were written, in messy, but undeniably Parker script.

You spent the next day visiting arbitrary places in the Bronx, trying to determine if anyone was following you and collecting items in an unsuspecting backpack.

It was a balancing act between comfort and practicalities. An extra stealth suit. A waterproof jacket you both shared. Protein bars. Extra web fluid and a first-aid kit. A hefty wad of cash, just in case. And in the smallest pocket, things to help him in the darkest days to come. Letters from you, May, Ned, and your other friends. A few packs of gummy bears. And a picture of you and him, laughing in Central Park on one of your many dates. Sunlight casting halos on your heads. Bright. Carefree. Brimming with love.

Your heart cried and cried and cried, begging for those days.

But they were gone. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, so were the people in that picture.

You travelled to the building location and made your way to the rooftop. Rows and rows of white sheets were hung, all whipping in the wind to dry.

A small smile graced your lips. You had to hand it to him. He was smart.

You folded yourself into one of the corners of the rooftop, gun in hand and waited. Eerie silence slowly lulling you to…

You woke up to the soft footsteps, sleepy eyes registering a shadowy figure behind one of the bedsheets.

“Hans?” you whispered, pointing your gun with a finger on the trigger.

“Leia,” the figured replied, equally hushed. The shadow lifted the curtain. It took a second to register, but it was really him. You raced towards each other, quick hold each other, beaming. Today, you existed in the same place at the same time.

“That was so stupid. I can’t believe you got me to do that,” you laughed, pressing your face into him, holding him tightly as if he could disappear at any moment.

“Oh, come on, you loved it!” he quipped. You hummed in appreciation.

“True, but I love you more.” His eyes brightened at your confession, pink dusting his cheeks.

“I know.” You shook your head, smiling at his response before turning your head and taking in who he had become. Gone were the luxurious curls, replaced with a buzzcut. A pair of fake glasses perched on his nose in further attempts to conceal his identity. Hallowed eyes. His skin tinted gray from the stress. You ran your fingers through the fuzz on his head, massaging his scalp. A sigh escaped his lips, eyes fluttering shut, with hands reaching to caress yours.

“You cut your hair.”

“You did too.” His fingers danced in the ends of your own tresses. A sad smile furnished your face.

“It had to be done,” you replied, before pressing your lips to his cheek and gently removing yourself from his embrace to get your laptop. “We need to get started. We’ve found a lot since you left.”

With his head on your shoulder, fingers laced with yours, and your laptop on your lap, you recounted the on-going investigation to him. The deep web that just kept going and going. Your theories and suspects. And when that was done, you kept talking. How Aunt May and his friends were fine but missing him. How the remaining Avengers were fairing. Peter was oddly quiet, sharing only a few thoughts here and there, but you attributed it to his weariness.

As the sun continued to dip, the silences between sentences stretched, but you mustered more words. As if your sentences were the delicate string that grounded him to you.

“Y/N,” he interrupted. You looked at him and hummed in reply. He began playing with your fingers, eyes never meeting your own. “I love you more than I ever I thought I could, and I’m really thankful for everything you’ve done. And you’ve done so much. Like, I don’t know if I would have even made it this far without you, but here you are, and well, you can’t keep doing this.” You cocked your head, before shaking your head, hair rustling.

“What? Peter, we are getting somewhere! I just need to visit the-“ He lets go of your hand, fingers clenching into trembling fists.

“No, no more visits. No more investigating. This can’t be your life. When this started, we thought there was a way out. But it’s been over a year. Clearly whoever or whatever is doing this won’t stop until we’re all gone. This may never stop. I can’t have you throwing away your life for me. Hell, I don’t even know when I’ll see you aga-“

“Peter,” you cut him off, your voice pitched lower in concern, “Where is this coming from? We’re gonna make it. It is just a matter of-”

“I can’t give you what you deserve! I’m Spider-Man, so we don’t get to have a house and two kids! We get this-, this fucking disaster! I live like this because I have to. I don’t get a choice. And you shouldn’t be stupid enough where you are doing the same thing!”

Your mouth fell open, ready to spit back poison when he looked at you. It was in his eyes. Behind the falling tears and redness was the glint of insecurity that Peter had always carried. This was the child whose parents died. The teenager who didn’t stop his Uncle Ben from getting killed. Who held Tony Stark in his last moments. The man who was on the run.

The hero who would never stop giving to a world who would never stop taking.

Your thoughts frenzied. If you held on to him too tightly, he would resist. The more he would thrash, determined to save you while slowly sacrificing himself until there was nothing left. Your brain was frozen, so your heart gave you the words-

“Marry me.”

Peter’s eyes widen before retracting into a tight furrow, scrunching his nose.

“What?! No! Did you not hear anything I just said-“

“I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you. The one thing you never get to doubt in the world is us. So, I’m gonna ask you again; will you,” you took his hand, went to one knee, and let your voice soften as you held his gaze, “Peter Parker, marry me?”

You both bathed in silence. His chocolate doe eyes boring straight into yours, searching for truth. The thought that maybe you had gone about this the wrong way started to crawl into your mind, but then a smile slowly creeped onto his face, bright red with blush. More salt-water pooled in his eyes. He pulled you into a near lung-constricting embrace, smothering wet kisses into every inch of your face. Mine. Mine. Mine. You could practically hear his thoughts as you basked in each kiss. I missed you. I love you. And oh my god, you’re here to stay.

“What did I ever-, I have no idea know what I ever did to ever deserve you.” A smirked formed on your lips.

“Is that a yes?” The gold stars in his eyes shined at your playfulness. There was the man you always loved.

“Yes, yes, oh god yes. I do, Mrs. Parker,” he said pulling you in for a passionate kiss. And you both stayed there, melting into the ground beneath you. Breathing each other in as moments passed. Tender “I love you’s” flowing generously from both of your lips. As if the world had vanished and all that existed was you and him, and him and you, and this understanding that this, this was a love until death do you part.

Peter was the one to break the string of kisses, leaving you to chase his lips before touching his forehead with your own. His breath hot on your face. “I- , if you go to my lab there is a secret compartment. In my desk. The code is your birthday. I was going to ask you myself, but then, well… this.” You chuckled as he stumbled on his words.

“I’ll get it as soon as I can.” You both leaned in to close the gap again when a cacophony of sirens and lights echoed in the streets below.

Frustration filled Peter’s eyes as he sat up. “Shit. I-, I gotta go. Are you gonna be okay?” You let out a shallow breath, but quickly forced a smile.

“Go get’em.” And with the whip of his webs, he was gone.

You sat there for a moment, taking in the new quiet. Your fingers graced your lips, still warm with the memory of his. A lightness had settled in your chest, and with every breathe you could feel it pulse stronger.

Because no matter what it took, no matter how long the wait, there was two things for certain.

He was going to protect the city. And you were going to save your husband.

#In Extremis #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

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cant-blink · 3 years

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Half-Life, Ch. 4 (NSFW)

Summary: NSFW!! NSFW-NSFW-NSFW!! Rated R! Contains graphic sexual assault, as this is the smut chapter where Gigan decides to have some fun with Ghidorah, and it’s anything but consensual.

Ghidorah wasn’t sure what he expected from a ‘bar’, and from what he’s seen so far, he’s less than impressed.

Especially when the half-life kept insisting on leaning against him, laughing obnoxiously at whatever pointless story he was rambling about. As if the dragon cared to hear any of it. He cared more about the lifeforms he was still sensing for miles around. They were all so small and weak; it would be so easy to fly out of here and blast them all. Destroy this entire establishment! Imagine how good that would feel, the dose of euphoria his crests would give with each life snuffed out. He can definitely use a moment of distraction right now.

But no... He’s stuck here, surrounded by lifeforms that he wasn’t allowed to harm, much less kill. All because of this blabbering idiot, who only seemed to get more stupid the more he drinks. He didn’t know how it was possible, but it was happening.

“Hey, Ghiddy!” If this half-life calls him that one more time... “Ghiddy!”

For every ‘Ghiddy’ he hears, he noted to add an extra hour to the torture he had planned for this cyborg.

“GHIDDY!!” Okay, that one was TWO hours, just for shouting it so close to his ear. He closed all six of his eyes, tails twitching with agitation before he was forced to respond through gritted teeth.

“Yes?”

“Your Masters were a real piece of work, you know that?” As if he needed to be reminded. “That they won’t even let you enjoy the simple things in life, like food and drinks, it’s insane.” Ghidorah doesn’t respond, not because the chip wouldn’t permit it, but because he didn’t want to encourage the half-life to continue. Doesn’t stop him from continuing anyway. “I took you here, to show you what an actual good time looks like; that it’s so much better than killing trees. But noooo, you’re just making this so difficult. You’re always making things difficult, all because you blame me for something I didn’t even do.”

Okay, now Ghidorah wanted to say something but his voice wouldn’t work. Probably because he had nothing good to say here. Like hell this cyborg ‘did nothing’. Even disregarding his contributions to capturing him, this piece of work tried to abandon him TWICE in a fight Ghidorah didn’t ask to be in. Did he really think something like THAT would earn his good graces?

But his mouth would not utter these words, no matter how hard he tried. No, he just had to stand here in this uncomfortable position.

“You’re so damn lucky you’re hot,” the cyborg continued. “I wouldn’t even bother with anyone else, but you...” He didn’t like the way this half-life looked at him, nor the feeling of one of those bladed arms brushing over the scales of his shoulder. “You just look so damn fuckable.” He winced as the half-life ran his tongue over his mouth; why does he keep doing that?! Worst part about it, he felt the other claw hook onto his horns, holding him in place. He could do nothing to resist it, even as his mouth is intruded. He can feel it against the roof of his mouth, wrapping around his own tongue.

He thought he would only have to endure this for a few seconds, but not this time. The cyborg leaned against him, pushing him back against the bar. He felt pain from the gash left on his chest, and every instinct told him to shove the blue kaiju away. He didn’t even bother to try to act on those instincts; he knew it wouldn’t do anything.

The half-life was really pushing against him now, so much so that he felt the blades of that chest-saw digging into his scales. A few even punctured through, earning a flinch from him. His wings folded shut, just so he can brace them against the bar and avoid falling back any further.

Finally, the cyborg pulled his tongue out of his mouth but he didn’t back off of him.

“Say my name, babe.”

......

Ghidorah narrowed his eyes, but his answer came without malice in his tone. “Half-life.”

The pain was expected, but no less horrific. The saw pressing against him suddenly went off, only for a few seconds. But it was enough to rip through his scales and flesh, spraying blood, and getting a shriek from him. And a contemptuous laugh from the cyborg.

“Half-life, huh?! Want to call me that again, Ghiddy?!”

Ghidorah snarled at him hatefully, teeth bared and body frozen. Those blades were still embedded in the muscles of his chest and underbelly. But he knew it would take no real effort from the cyborg to go in deeper, to slice through his rib-cage and disembowel him completely. He didn’t know if he would have enough cosmic energy in his reserves to repair that kind of damage.

“Gigan. That’s my name. Say it.”

“Gigan.” came his response in that stupid monotone the chip forced him to speak in. It didn’t matter to him what this creature’s name was. He will always be ‘half-life’ in his mind, because it’s TRUE. And this idiot can lie to himself as much as he wants, force him to call him by whatever name he wants. Doesn’t change the truth.

And of course, the cyborg remained oblivious to these thoughts.

“Good,” the smaller kaiju hissed. “I don’t want to hear ‘half-life’ come out of your mouth again, got it?” All three of Ghidorah’s heads gave a single nod and the cyborg’s smirk grew over his beak as he leaned his face in close once more. There’s that tongue again, sliding over his lips and pushing past his teeth. Just close his eyes and it’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soo-

Wait, what was THAT?!

He felt something poke against him, far too low on the cyborg’s body to be any of his saw-blades. His left set of eyes opened and peered down to see-

“Hey, hey, hey!!” came an unexpected yell, and both of them looked towards the lifeform behind the bar. The many-legged kaiju glared at them, particularly at the half-life. “Take that shit outside. Nobody wants to see that!”

The cyborg watched this lifeform for a moment, that stupid smirk never leaving him beak before he returned his attention to the dragon. “Ain’t nobody around to see.”

“By ‘nobody’, I meant me!” the insect continued indignantly. “We’re not running THAT kind of establishment. Either dial it back or get out!”

The half-life ran that tongue over his own beak and mandibles for a moment, once more maintaining eye contact with the insect. After a long silence, he chuckled. “Fine, we’ll be back when we’re done.” His eye locked back onto Ghidorah’s, the dragon feeling the dread he kept buried underneath his anger and frustration growing stronger.

He knew what was about to happen, and for the first time in his life...

He hoped the lesser lifeform, that insect, would stop it. Can’t it see that he did not welcome any of this? Of course it could see that, and Ghidorah knew it didn’t care. He wouldn’t care if the roles were reversed; he’s seen matings before and the only reason he ever interfered at all back then was to kill the participants. Granted, he highly doubted the insect would be strong enough to kill him, but he would make it easy! He would let it without a fight! He would honestly rather be dead right now than face the utter humiliation in store for him!

But he had no way to communicate any of this...

As the cyborg pulled away, allowing blood to escape the gruesome gash left on his belly, Ghidorah couldn’t even acknowledge the pain that action brought. He wanted to stay where he was; he would sooner take part in this weird drinking thing the cyborg insisted on earlier. Sure, it hurt his throat to forcefully expel the drinks from his Gravity Beam sacs so many times in a row, but that pain was preferable.

The dread grew with every step he was forced to take to follow the half-life. For the first time that he can remember, he felt truly alone. There was nobody willing to help him.

Nothing more satisfying than seeing the look this three-headed asshole was giving him as they slowed to a stop out of sight from the bar. Even knowing he had no choice in what was to come, Ghidorah still had a defiant look on his faces, all three baring their fangs at him. It was adorable, how he thinks he can do anything.

He was quick to show just how useless the dragon’s efforts were with a strong kick to Ghidorah’s chest, and as the hydra stumbled back, his tail whips forward to sweep those feet out from under him. Down the dragon went, the ground beneath them trembling from the impact.

Ghidorah roared at him, attempting to get up before Gigan planted his foot on his chest. Directly on those open wounds he left.

“Stay down.” he told his golden prize and he felt Ghidorah freeze at the command. The look on the dragon’s face, no doubt trying to fight the chip, was so damn hot. As was the sight of him laying helpless at his feet. He can see the fear in those eyes, try as the dragon might to hide it behind that show of aggression. The fact that HE was the one causing that fear, in such a powerful kaiju...

Yeah, nothing was going to be more satisfying.

He took his time, looking over those golden scales and especially at those massive wings fanned out on either side of the hydra. Ghidorah seemed to have taken notice of his attention towards his wings, and as if in defiance, he began folding them closed. Gigan reacted quickly, both his claws slashing down to pierce into the membrane of those wings. The tips of his blades buried in the ground, pinning those beautiful sails open. He heard the stifled cry of surprise and pain from his partner and he grinned down at him.

He said nothing, lowering himself down until he sat straddled against those hips, his tail brushing back and forth between the dragon’s. The wyvern felt cold beneath him, and it took a moment for his body heat to warm those scales. He can feel those muscles tensing beneath him, Ghidorah’s defiant faces refusing to give way...

... until Gigan gave a grind against him.

Those eyes widened and the cyborg couldn’t keep in a snicker. Damn, it felt good though, those scales rough against his groin. Between the sight of those sails, and the sensation of scales against him, it didn’t take long for his arousal to become obvious once more. From beneath the base of his tail, just under the last point of his chest-saw, peeked the very tip of his member. Curious and eager.

He shifted his weight, leaning down to run his tongue along those scales. His vision was overtaken with gold, beautiful shimmering gold. Clicking softly, his body automatically began giving a few more thrusts to ensure his parts were ready, and wanting for more. He shifted slightly again, relying on instinct to position himself just right. But no amount of poking and prodding was getting what he wanted. Where-?

He lets out a growl in frustration. He couldn’t find where this dragon’s entrance was and it was throwing off the lust coursing through him. He shifted again, but still nothing. He felt nothing but scales between those legs.

...

No matter, he had three other options to work with.

He turned his attention to the dragon’s faces. Ghidorah seemed to have resigned to his fate, those three heads resting on the ground with all six eyes closed tight. Did the dragon feel any pleasure from this? He didn’t care; his own desire was his sole priority and it was getting harder to ignore. A crooked smirk came to his beak, and he pulled his claws from those wings. He shifted his position, moving himself forward. He can feel Ghidorah’s wings under his knees, the membrane puncturing from the spikes.

Ghidorah only winced, and still refused to open his eyes when Gigan settled on his wounded chest. He reached out and trailed a claw delicately along the snout of the middle head before hooking it behind those horns and pulling him up. This got a growl, soft but no less defiant.

Gigan was undeterred, running his tongue along those lips before he whispered. “Open your mouth.”

Finally, Ghidorah opened his eyes, just to glare at him before parting those jaws. Gigan wasted no time, pulling the dragon’s open maw directly over the waiting tip of his member. Not a second later, said member revealed itself explosively, its corkscrew-shaped form shoving itself inside with surprising velocity and force. Ghidorah’s eyes widened at the action, but no attempts to pull away was made, even as his throat was intruded. Said throat was surprisingly narrow and the cyborg kaiju was so well-endowed that a noticeable bulge was visible in the dragon’s neck. To Gigan’s delight, not only were those walls tight around him, but there was a tingling sensation within that moist cavern, as if the dragon’s Gravity Beams had left residue that now teased him.

A pleasured clicking sound comes from him, as his mandibles tapped against his beak.

He can feel the teeth barely raking against his shaft, that forked tongue pressing between the coils of his organ. The muscles in that throat spasmed around him as the dragon gagged. But the cyborg doesn’t withdraw and in fact, he made it a point to shove himself as far into that throat as he could. The retching got worse and he held the dragon there, savoring him.

Only a few seconds of this, he felt the dragon attempt to pull away, and he moved his claws off to allow it... before pulling him back down before he can fully disengage, his blades digging into those scales every time another attempt to struggle was made. He held him there for a moment before repeating the process once more. Up and down. His voice came as a husky growl.

“Like that. You will move like that. Got it?”

The hydra immediately froze, and he can feel a vibration in that throat, as if an attempt to vocalize was made. But no sound came out. Still felt damn good though and he gave a forceful thrust against the dragon’s snout. This got the dragon moving; he was a bit awkward at the task but soon adapted a rhythm Gigan can appreciate. A fast learner, very good.

With one head taken care of, his eye turned to the other two heads, still laying there with their eyes closed.

“You have two more tongues, babe,” he hissed breathlessly. “Fuckin’ use them.”

At those words, those two heads picked themselves up from the ground, and without hesitation, they got to work. He felt them on his chest and neck, and he used his tail to guide the left one closer to the less armored, more sensitive parts of his body. The other, he propped that chin up to meet that tongue with his own.

He heard another growl from the dragon and it encourages him to push his tongue into that mouth. And he went further, seeking that same tight tingly feeling in this one’s throat too. That growl was cut off, any attempts to pull away made useless. He tilted his head, just to lock his beak onto Ghidorah’s mouth proper, his mandibles closing tight enough on the dragon’s snout and jawline to draw blood.

The middle head was still tending to his member, and his own hips began to thrust against the motion. He was building quickly, and with hardly a thought, he pulled back his tongue and bit down on Ghidorah’s, severing it from his mouth completely. The head jolted away with a shriek, the left head screeching along with its counterpart. He felt the center head halt his administrations, and the attempt to vocalize gave a pleasant vibration against him.

Gigan smirked, chewing the severed tongue and savoring the blood in his mouth before looking down at the middle head now glaring up at him.

“Keep going,” he commanded as he chewed. “Faster now.”

The dragon did as told, and he turned his attention back to the right head. He pulled him back in with a claw, licking the blood that seeped from the hydra’s mouth. And as climax grew nearer, he pulled the head lower and bit into the back of his neck. Hard.

The resulting shriek of pain is what brought him over the edge.

He felt Ghidorah give a jolt beneath him as he ejaculated, and the middle head attempted to pull away again. But Gigan used a claw to keep him in place, his voice muffled with fur, scales, blood, and flesh. “Swallow it.”

There we go, he felt the muscles contract around him as the dragon takes in his load, and then felt the resulting wretch. But Gigan’s member kept his seed from coming back up and the other two heads began gagging as well, as if trying to expel the fluids without success.

That’s right, you’re taking it all in, you asshole.

His body began to calm, and he lets out a breath. He doesn’t let go of the right head, biting down harder if anything just to savor the taste of blood. Finally, after a moment, he pulled away. The middle head’s mouth was freed and the second it was made possible, Ghidorah retched again and out came the white fluid, all over Gigan’s chest and stomach.

The cyborg wasn’t bothered, the glare he received more than made up for it. He chuckled, nuzzling his beak against the dragon’s snout. “Not bad for your first time, babe.” There’s that typical growl in response and his smirk grew tenfold. “How about another round?”

“No.”

“Yes,” he chuckled, glancing back towards Ghidorah’s tails. Shame the hydra didn’t seem to have a proper entrance for him, but now that his mind was cleared, he had the patience to do a proper exam down there. He returned his gaze back to the dragon’s. “Stay down.”

Ghidorah’s eyes narrowed at that, as Gigan stood up and circled around towards his tails. His own tail clicked as he slowed to a stop, scanning the scales between the dragon’s legs. His tail moved to poke and prod at the folds of skin, feeling him out. Making double certain that there was indeed nothing there.

There wasn’t.

Ghidorah really had no reproductive organs whatsoever.

........

That’s okay, he’ll just get creative.

Without any warning whatsoever, he stabbed the stinger of his tail deep into Ghidorah’s flesh right where an entrance should be. The shriek that escaped the wyvern was ear-piercing this time, but Gigan does nothing to silence him. No, he savored it, as he drove his tail in deeper and deeper. The dragon kicked against the ground, trying to push himself away, but Gigan expanded the blades of his stinger so as to effectively hook himself in.

The struggles don’t stop and those tails thrashed recklessly, releasing those gasses as if that would do anything.

He gave another powerful lurch in deeper, pushing through flesh and whatever organ it was that was in the way. The shrieks get louder somehow, and the dragon’s legs and tails began twitching and spasming.

Gigan watched those struggles with satisfaction, keeping his tail embedded in the dragon before violently ripping it back out. The shrieking came to a sudden halt and blood was pooling around Ghidorah’s tails, staining the scales. There were chunks of flesh and mystery organ stuck to Gigan’s tail, which he took particular glee in licking off.

After he got it all cleaned off, he returned his attention to his partner, who was still twitching although not as strongly. Those six eyes were wide and unfocused, locked on the sky and not even paying attention to him.

He said nothing as he moved to straddle those hips. The twitching gets stronger and those legs start kicking uselessly again. But he was not to be dislodged and his claws hook onto dragon’s body, and every spasm sliced deeper gashes into flesh. His erection has settled to the point where only the tip was revealed once more, and he positioned himself so that it just barely brushed against the makeshift entrance.

Ghidorah’s tails give another useless thrash before Gigan shoved himself into that wound as deep as he can. At the simulation, his penis once more exploded out of hiding, violently penetrating the ‘entrance’. He felt those muscles tense and there was a moment where the dragon’s movements were once more reduced to just twitches. Wonderful twitches against his groin.

But the dragon wasn’t screaming anymore, even with those three jaws wide open. The dragon’s discomfort and pain was a major driving force behind his pleasure, and deprived of it, his mating was threatened. He leaned forward, running his tongue into the older wounds he left on Ghidorah’s chest and stomach before biting into it. His teeth and mandibles dug deep into the flesh. But this got nothing more from the dragon, not even a growl.

“Scream for me, babe.”

Nothing.

He glared towards Ghidorah’s faces; all three were still staring at the sky with that stupid unfocused look. Was his voice too muffled? He released his hold on the dragon’s flesh, his tone impatient. “Hey, I said scream.” Still nothing. Was he not paying attention? Fine, he’ll make him scream the old fashion way.

There was no gentleness in his motions, feeling the slippery bloodied flesh trembling against his member. He doesn’t stop, building speed as he drove himself as deep as he could, and the dragon was still not reacting to any of it. Even when Gigan stabbed a claw into Ghidorah’s wing and sliced through the membrane.

Nothing.

It was getting disappointing real fast, and he found it a bit more difficult to finish this time around. Even when he reached his climax, it wasn’t nearly as good as the first one. This damn dragon ruining everything. His seed spilled from the wound, tainted with blood as he pulled away. He looked down at the damage done, but his sadism has long since given way to frustration. The preparation was more fun than the actual mating! Without a word, he stood up over the dragon, glaring down at him.

Still no damn response. Just more sporadic twitching.

Giving a huff, he moved towards the three heads, those six red eyes still star-gazing blankly like an idiot. He knelt down, his member pulling itself fully back into his body as he does. He used a bloody claw to shift one of those heads towards him. No response, no growl, no hint of recognition in those eyes. But the damn thing was alive, still bleeding. Unconscious?

Seems the dragon couldn’t handle him.

That thought did little to make himself feel better, and he stood back up to give that stupid face a kick. Without a word, he turned back towards the direction of the bar and started walking towards it, leaving Ghidorah twitching where he laid with no intention to get him help. Damn thing didn’t deserve it.

Whatever.

A few more drinks will ease his disappointment, then he can go for another round with his new mate. This time, with lowered expectations.

#ghidorah #king ghidorah #gigan #godzilla #gigadorah #gigan is more evil than ghidorah!#ghidorah's first experience is not a good one #told you guys not to have high-expectations here

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jennywritesfanfic · 4 years

Text

hey jealousy (frank iero x reader)

Summary: (SMUT) You decide to test the limits of your relationship by making Frank jealousy on the last night of tour. He’s not happy about it and pretty soon you get more than you bargained for.

dom/sub undertones, daddy kink, very rough sex

You swing the dressing room door open with a shout, “Hands down the wildest crowd yet!”

Gerard seems to be prancing around staring at himself in one of the vanity mirrors while Frank and Mikey are on the couch downing something fizzy and full of caffeine. You don’t know where Ray was, but he has a habit of disappearing like that, so you aren’t worried. “Guys, seriously, you can hear them screaming from here,” you repeat yourself.

Frank looks at you and then at Gerard, “Man, you heard her, let’s go give them what they want.”

You hold the door open while the guys shuffle out, shoving each other and laughing as they go. Frank is the last to leave, and on his way out he makes sure to wink at you. That one little sign sends electricity through your entire body. You and Frank have been, well, you weren’t really sure, for a couple months now. It wasn’t consistent and you were pretty sure he hadn’t told the other guys much about it, but every week or so you two would somehow end up sharing a hotel room. Half of you wanted him to label it, but the other half kind of got off on the uncertainty.

As the band gets settled you rush down the stage’s side exit and sneak down the stairs to the floor. It’s packed with teens clad in MCR shirts, black makeup, and heavily bleached hair. You manage to wiggle your way between bodies until you’re right up close to the stage. It’s not something you do every night, but being the guys’ favorite unofficial assistant has certain perks.

It’s dark and the people around you are already thrashing around by the time the stage lights go up and Frank starts to play the intro to the first song. Everyone screams when Gerard blows a kiss to the crowd, it’s so loud you can barely tell what he’s singing, so you just scream along with what you think are the right words. You seem to move in unison with the fans around you, as you jump to the beat and relish in the hot, disorganized, mess of it all.

The song ends and Gerard starts talking about whatever nonsense is on his mind tonight. Everything slows down and you notice a man a few feet away who catches your eye when he look over. He has long blonde hair that gives him a sort of cool, California vibe and a lip piercing you can’t help but feel intrigued by. When he smiles, you smile, and soon he’s made his way over to you. By the time the next song picks up you’re dancing together at the edge of the stage. “I’m Y/N!” you shout over all the noise.

He nods, strands of light hair falling into his eyes, “Ethan!” Or at least you think he says Ethan, it could’ve easily been Allen or even Stephen, you’re not too concerned about it anyway.

You move closer to maybe-Ethan, putting your hands on his chest, and he hesitantly places his hands on your hips. The two of you keep dancing like this, moving against each other, and every once in awhile you look up at the band. Frank is near your end of the stage now, his hair damp and glued to this forehead in a way that shouldn’t be this hot, but it is. You turn around to face the stage, so Ethan’s behind you, and that’s when Frank notices. His eyes widen at the sight of you grinding against the other man, but his fingers keep moving and he doesn’t miss a note.

The rest of the night continues like this — you keep Ethan close by, he doesn’t seem to mind, and every once in a while you catch Frank glancing over. By the time they’re nearing the end of the set Frank is staring at the two of you with pure anger. His face is hard and you can tell he’s not as enthusiastic as usual; he hasn’t tried to hump Gerard’s leg even once and the show’s almost over.

The last song ends, everyone is screaming, Ethan says something about both of you getting out of here, but you shout an intelligible excuse back as you make a beeline for the side of the stage. You flash your badge at security and they let you through to where the guys are filing off stage. You spot Frank, hair falling limp in his eyes as he hands an assistant his guitar, moving quickly to the dressing rooms. You shout his name, but he doesn’t even turn around, so you run to catch up to him. Before he can open the door you reach forward and grab his heavily tattooed arm. He whips around, still panting and sweating from all the adrenaline of performing, “What the hell was that?”

You flinch at the quiet, simmering rage behind the question, “Was what?” You can’t help but smirk, he knows you’re playing dumb.

He clenches one hand into a fist, “The Nirvana-wannabe you were practically fucking in the front row.”

“His name is Ethan and we were just dancing, Frankie.”

You both move to the side as the other guys push past into the dressing room. You pull Gerard into a hug while congratulating him and a great finale, and you swear Frank almost pops a blood vessel.

When you and Frank are alone again in the dim hallway you continue with a lower voice, “You don’t see me complaining about the girls you take backstage every other show.”

He snaps, “It was twice, once in Milwaukee and once in Salt Lake. Way before any of this.”

That last phrase ignites something white hot inside of you, “And what is this, exactly?”

“You know what I mean, don’t be stupid.”

You start to argue, you’re on a roll here, when he grabs your arm and drags you into the other, smaller dressing room that’s empty. The door slams shut and he shoves you back against it. You cry out and he immediately places a hand over your mouth. You know you’ll have a bruise where your back hit the door, but you don’t care. The anger radiating off of him only makes this more fun.

“I mean,” he takes a tense deep breath, “that you’re mine, and only mine.”

You make a strangled noise and he moves his hand, still keeping you pinned to the door with his body. You give a coy nod and he looks relieved, but then a smile breaks across your face as you get an idea, “Well, what if I wanted to go home with Ethan? He did offer and when were dancing I could feel-”

Frank cuts you off, “I don’t care what you want,” his voice is hoarse right next to your ear, “You’re going to do what I tell you, and if you don’t want to, well, that’s even better.”

The lump in your throat prevents you from speaking, so you just nod again as he runs his hand through your hair. He leans forward and shoves his tongue into your mouth, making you moan loudly. He pulls away, “But I think you do.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and he picks you up to then place you with rough impatience on the couch. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head and you follow suit with your own. His hands are quick and practiced as he unbuttons and discards your cut-off shorts to reveal black lace. Something glistens in his dark eyes as he runs his runs his fingers down between your legs. “Already so wet for me,” he shakes his head, as if to scold you. He starts rubbing slow circles around your clit through your panties and you can feel your face start to heat up. You’ve done this before, but this time something’s different; it’s more intense, whether that’s due to jealousy or anger, you’re not sure.

Frank sits back and the couch and pulls you onto his lap. His lips find yours and travel down your next until he’s taking off your bra to lick and suck each nipple. When he comes up he makes sure to lock eyes with you, “Get on the floor, on your knees.”

You want to ask questions, but instead you follow the order silently. He grabs and fistful of your hair and forces your head up towards him. “Now suck me until I tell you to stop.”

As you unzip his tight black jeans to reveal one of the biggest dicks you’ve ever seen you can feel your own wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs. You start by taking his cock into your mouth and moving up and down at an agonizing, slow pace. Once you start to move faster, flicking your tongue over the head on each upstroke, Frank moans quietly and his whole body tenses. “Such a good slut,” he says breathlessly.

He’s never called you anything like that before, but you’re not exactly surprised, and it only works to turn you on even more. After another minute or so he pulls your head up and tells you to take your panties off. He stands up as you do and places his calloused hands on your hips to bend you over the arm of the couch. He shoves two fingers all the way into you and starts thrusting them in and out. He then bends over to mutter softly, “I’m going to fuck you hard enough to make you scream like the whore you are. Everyone in this whole fucking arena is going to know who you belong to. Okay?”

You know what you want to say, and maybe what he expects you to say, “Yes, daddy.”

He removes his fingers and your heart drops, but then he says, “Fuck, baby, you’re in so much trouble.”

Frank’s cock feels like it won’t even fit properly when he starts to thrust it into you, but he’s so rough that it goes in with only a short, sharp burst of pain. You cry out and he spanks you, only eliciting more noise from you. The feeling of his cock stretching you from the inside, sliding in and out, in and out, is pure bliss. You moan, unable to stop yourself, and everything inside of you clench tighter with each of his thrusts.

He spanks you again, harder this time, and again. You shout his name. “Good girl,” he cooes and slows his movements, “Daddy’s going to fill you with more cum than this tight little pussy can hold. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Frank, I mean-” he slaps your ass again, “Daddy, yes daddy.”

“That’s right, bitch.” His thrusts become frantic and even deeper, if that’s possible. You come around his dick, your walls constricting so much that he’s almost forced out of you, and he moans loudly. He finishes immediately; his cock pulse inside you and you can feel the warmth of his cum filling you.

He pulls out of you and spins you around to face him. There’s cum dripping down your leg and everything between your legs is sore and raw. “Tell me who you belong to,” he says and pulls you against him.

“You, Frank,” you answer, “Only you.”

#frank iero smut #frank iero x reader #smut #mcr #mcreunion #mcreturn #frank iero #frank iero x you #frank iero x y/n #oneshot

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joaquinwhorres · 5 years

Text

Bottle Rockets (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Summary: You don't need feelings. You don't need friends. You need to stop obsessing over the fact that Sweet Pea is spending his summer with Josie instead of lighting bottle rockets with you.

Based on Request: hello!! could you maybe write something where the reader was a northsider friends with sweet pea and he kind of ignored her while he was with Josie for the summer and now the reader is ignoring him and he's feeling miserable because he misses his friend (and maybe has actual feelings for her)? thank you 💚

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 14,976

Author’s Note: This goes so far beyond the original request, but I started writing it, and the story just took life. I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it. [Insert normal begging/plea for feedback in asks and reblog form]. Also, I tried to capture some of the Sweet Pea we saw flirting with Josie. Hopefully, there was some success.

Warnings: Language (there's always language). Underage drinking. Minor jokes about killing yourself (because of boredom). References to sex.

When it came down to it, it was all the Black Hood’s fault.

If it weren’t for him, the town wouldn’t have been so on edge and quick to shut down Southside High, ignoring years of hostility and prejudice and throwing over half of the student body into the already crowded halls of Riverdale High.

And while that itself was less than ideal, the situation would have at least been manageable if The Black Hood hadn’t murdered Midge. Because that changed everything.

That led to Fangs Fogarty getting arrested. Which prompted Ms. Klump to shoot Fangs. Which incited the riots and all of that wreckage. Which landed you in the seat next to Sweet Pea for the remainder of Physics.

The first day of the new seating arrangement came with little warning or fanfare—unless of course, you counted the fact that the trophy case was still cordoned off with caution tape and pretty much the entire student body all slipped on Southside Serpent jackets yesterday under threat of death from Veronica Lodge and Cheryl Blossom.

But still.

Walking into physics with your teacher mumbling “Your new seat is on the board—as if he knew he was about to cause the Riots - Part 2–was the first indication that shit was about to go down. Looking at the list of names, with you being placed towards the back right corner and seated next to a kid whose name you did not recognize should have been your second clue. Because you knew everyone who was supposed to be in this class. And maybe if you'd used a little bit of deductive reasoning, you would have known who you were sitting next to before the hulking mountain of flannel and leather dropped into the seat next to you.

"This is bullshit," he grumbled, slamming his books on the table and pushing them up out of his way.

It was Sweet Pea. Of all the people in this class, you were sat next to the angriest one of all. The one who hated Northsiders with every fiber of his being. So much so that he threw a trashcan through the trophy case.

And whose best friend was shot by his classmate's mom, a little voice inside your head reminded you.

You ignored her, as you normally did when she brought up irrelevant or otherwise inconvenient facts.

"What?" he growled turning to meet your gaze.

You blinked twice, unaware that you had been staring at him and shook your head giving what you hoped was a casual shrug. "I just didn't know that your name was--"

"Sweet Pea." His brow furrowed even more than it had a second ago making his face even darker if that was possible. "My name is Sweet Pea."

You rolled your eyes and looked back up to the front, your eyes landing on the projected seating chart once more.

The rest of physics passed by in silence between the two of you, Sweet Pea keeping his head bent close to his notes and you keeping your eyes trained on Mr. Flutesnoot so you didn't take note of any of the other empty chairs in the classroom.

The rest of the week followed the same pattern as the first day. You arrived first and took your seat. Sweet Pea arrived a little later and dropped angrily into his. The two of you would silently complete your work, pack up as quickly and quietly as possible when the bell rang and then dash off to your last class of the day.

It wasn’t until the second week of the new seating arrangement that things took a turn. When you walked into the class, all eyes were on you. You walked down the center aisle to your seat, still feeling the eyes of your classmates on your back. It wasn't until you took your seat and looked up at the board that you understood why they were staring at you.

On the board, in Mr. Flutesnoot's scrawling handwriting were two words: bottle rockets.

Your stomach clenched as you took hold of your pencil, opening up to a blank piece of notebook paper and staring fixated ahead, your face stony. Because of this, you noticed Sweet Pea enter the classroom and the way that everyone's eyes seemed to flick from you to him. "This is gonna be good," Alex Cabot whispered behind you. Hushed snickers dotted the classroom, and this didn't go unnoticed by Sweet Pea. He scowled at row after row of students as he passed them on his way to you. The look did nothing of course, not even dissuading the oggling as he dropped into the seat next to yours.

You looked over at him and then put your eyes back onto your paper as the bell rang. Mr. Flutesnoot came back into the classroom. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen," he grinned and you rolled your eyes. He always seemed like an announcer whenever he was starting class. "I hope you're ready for our final lab of the year."

"Unit-Bomber is," Cabot snickered. "She's been waiting for this day all year."

"Probably ready to finish off the school," his partner, Fletcher Foley, added and the two boys chuckled.

“And I bet her partner is just dying to help her.”

“They still haven’t repaired the banner he cut.”

You picked up your pen, grinding the tip down into your desk. Keep your mouth shut, you chanted in your head. They're not worth it. Keep your mouth shut. They're not worth it. You continued to chant it throughout Mr. Flutesnoot's instructions and mini-lesson on factors to consider during the design stage.

"Alright, talk to your partners and discuss. What materials are you going to use? Play with the simulators to design the nose cone and wings and any other modifications you may want to make. Yes, Mr. Cabot?"

"We can't make this into an actual rocket right. Like, substitute real gas for water?"

Mr. Flutesnoot narrowed his eyes in confusion as you pressed your pen tip even harder into the desk. "No, you can't use rocket fuel."

"Well there goes the Unit-Bomber's big plans," Cabot snickered. You slammed your pen down and turned to Sweet Pea.

"So, any ideas?" you asked, sort of breathless. He jerked a little in his seat eyeing you, as if suddenly aware that you were about to go off at any second.

He shrugged his shoulders with a small shake of his head, and you gave a tight-lipped smile, pulling a laptop in between the two of you. "Why don't you play with the simulation, and I'll research what materials will work the best?"

"She has to tell him what to do because he's too stupid to actually understand directions," the voice came from behind you.

You watched as Sweet Pea's face went suddenly white and then dark, a snarl growing on his face and his fist clenching. If he had been a bit faster, he might have threatened to rip their throats out if they didn't cut the shit or some other kind of barbaric and totally justifiable punishment.

But he wasn't as fast as you

"Hey, so, if you're going to talk shit about us, can you at least try to keep it down a little?" you asked, your voice a vitriolic sort of cheery. "Or, I don't know, make it vaguer who you're talking about? We just get kind of distracted by how bad you are at it."

The rage was wiped away from Sweet Pea's face, replaced with a suspicious confusion.

The two boys behind you looked at each other as if trying to decide who would respond to your constructive criticism of their assholery.

"Ok, you're confused. Umm, quick tips--" you started, hearing the classroom around you gradually grow quieter. "When you're talking about someone behind their back it usually means that they can't hear you. Not that you're literally behind their back."

Foley's face was now completely blank. Cabot looked kind of annoyed.

"And if you were trying to bully us, you usually don't target a gang member who can beat the shit out of you. So cliff notes version: shut the fuck up."

"Ms. L/N!" your teacher reprimanded.

"Sorry, Mr. Flutesnoot,” you apologized, turning back in your chair to focus on the work.

"Freak," one of the boys muttered.

"Just one more quick thing," you turned back around. "Your material's old. The whole Unit-Bomber thing is last year. This year I'm the weird bitch who does shit like this--sorry, Mr. Flutesnoot--and also, hating the Serpents and Southsiders died with the Black Hood. So if you can stop distracting my lab partner with your mediocre middle school bitching, that would be great."

Silence followed as the class waited to see if and how they would respond.

"Are you finished Ms. L/N?" Mr. Flutesnoot asked, crossing his arms.

"I think so. You got anything?" you asked, turning to Sweet Pea. He shook his head. "You guys?" Cabot flicked a finger. You swiveled back to face your rather put-out looking science teacher. "I'm sorry, I don't think it'll happen again."

Mr. Flutesnoot nodded. "Right, well. The next person who starts it back up is going to find themselves in Mr. Weatherbee's office."

"Ok," you agreed before turning back to Sweet Pea who was looking at you as if you'd suddenly turned into a werewolf or had just started speaking Dothraki or something. "So you're good with the simulator?"

"Yeah," he agreed, and the two of you began work.

To some extent, you expected there to be some kind of blowback from you snapping in class yesterday. Earlier in the year, a freshman had snapped on a group of juniors, and the phone footage had gone viral, spawning the hashtag #thehallsarenotyourplayground (which coincidentally had made quite the resurgence when the Serpents rolled into town).

So, you were fairly surprised that aside from a few whispers and the casual wide-eyed look from people who were in your science class, no one brought it up. It didn’t become a thing. The was no hashtag.

If you had to guess it was mostly because everyone else was sick of Cabot’s shit too and there were bigger and better things to whisper about.

Betty Cooper’s dad was the fucking Black Hood.

Veronica’s jailbird father was first gentleman of Riverdale.

Some weird shit had been going on in Greendale.

And Betty Cooper’s dad was the fucking Black Hood.

So, by the time you walked into science class at the end of the day, it was hardly surprising that Foley and Cabot glared darkly at you and the rest of the class watched vigilantly as you walked down the aisle to take your seat, only to find other things to direct their attention at when no words passed between you and Cabot.

You quietly went about drawing your notebook from your backpack, flipping the pages to find the notes you jotted down yesterday. Both you and Sweet Pea had made good headway on your specific tasks. In fact, so far Sweet Pea hadn't really needed any hints or oversight from you. You had given him control of the simulations primarily because you already knew exactly what shapes are the best, but he had come to similar conclusions on his own. One day and you were beginning to think that this partnership may actually work out; you wouldn't have to take over the project and do it all by yourself as per usual.

A stack of books dropped into the table signaling Sweet Pea's arrival.

"Hey," he greeted and you glanced up at him, your brows furrowed in slight confusion.

"Uh hey," you said still staring at him suspiciously. Greetings were not part of the normal. In all honesty, talking wasn't part of the normal.

He nodded before sitting down, looking as content as if the two of you had carried out a whole conversation as opposed to three words. Oooookay then, you thought to yourself, turning back to your notebook as Mr. Flutesnoot began class with the reminder that today was your last day of building the rocket and on Monday you would do launches. He finished his spiel, walking over to his desk to his usual hiding spot behind his computer.

You slid out of your stool without a word to Sweet Pea and walked to the front table, perusing the different materials and selecting the ones closest to what your research turned up.

"You know students used to set off real model rockets," Cabot said casually, sidling up beside you and grabbing the same material you had just grabbed for your fins. "Now they can't even trust us with matches because of you."

You rolled your eyes, picking up some masking tape. "I didn't use matches," you mumbled.

He snorted, bumping into you as he picked up some masking tape as well. "I'm still surprised they let you back. Then again, it seems like now Riverdale will let anyone walk through its doors. Bombmaker. Drug dealers. Gang members. I bet they'd even let that murderer back if Ms. Klump hadn't shot him."

You dropped the masking tape, picking up some duct tape instead as you glared at him. He smiled smugly. "Just stating facts," he said lightly, exchanging his masking tape for duct tape.

"Someday someone's going to kick your ass, and I can't wait to stand there and watch."

"Is that a threat?" Cabot asked, watching as you turned on your heel and headed back for your chair.

"Just stating facts," you threw over your shoulder. Besides, you thought to yourself. If I was going to threaten you, I would point out just how easy it is to torch someone's car.

You arrived back at your seat, slamming the materials down on the table. Sweet Pea looked up at you from his work with a questioning glance. "You good?" he asked.

"Fine. Ready to work," you answered, shaking off the comment and the strange feeling that came from Sweet Pea actually noticing your frustration this time. He nodded but didn't look entirely convinced until his eyes fell on Cabot making his way back to the table behind you. His face darkened, but you didn't have time for his anger issues. "Can I see what you've got?" you asked, pointing to the notebook. He nodded, pushing it over to you so that you could read it more easily.

As expected, all of his conclusions were accurate. "Good call with the fins," you said, nodding. "Not a lot of people think about making them different sizes in the simulator."

Sweet Pea furrowed his brow at you for a second before you scrawled onto the edge of his paper. Fucking with them. You drew an arrow pointing back at Cabot and Foley who had gone suspiciously quiet behind you, the same way they had all year whenever it came to listening in on your work with whoever your partner was. Sure, it was perfectly fine to treat you like shit, but you always listened to the girl who knew enough to get you a free day in science class. It wasn't incompetence that got you the name Unit-Bomber and everyone knew it.

Sweet Pea nodded, his lips quirking up into a distant relative of a smile. "Thanks."

"So, you cut these two the same size, and I'll cut the other ones into the short and the long one," you grinned back. Sweet Pea took the material from you and began tracing the shape he'd researched as you waited for the scissors and the pieces he was cutting to make them the same size.

You heard the whispers of Cabot and Foley behind you followed by the quick scratching out of something in a notebook.

"Perfect triangles?" Sweet Pea asked, holding up the fins for only you to see.

"Perfect triangles," you smiled. Taking one and using it to trace the pattern of the remaining two fins. There was more whispered argument behind you, and a devilish grin crossed your face. Sweet Pea shared the look.

Physics had just gotten fun again.

It felt like ever since they caught the real Black Hood, the student body of Riverdale High found any reason to party.

AP testing was over? Party to celebrate your brains no longer being molten lava.

Dr. Johnson went home sick today? Party to celebrate a sub tomorrow.

Kelly Gordon got a new haircut? Party to show it off.

Student Body President elections right around the corner? Party to influence the vote.

That was how you ended up in Cheryl Blossom's house at ten o'clock on a Saturday night with a beer in hand. You’d had a flyer shoved into your hand by Veronica Lodge, and with nothing better to do, you’d decided that after the Black Hood maybe you were someone who went to parties.

But even if you had suddenly become someone who went to parties, you still weren't the girl in the middle of the dance floor laughing and screaming and surrounded by a large group of friends.

You stood off to the edges of the dance floor, close to the speaker, attempting to give yourself permanent hearing loss and maybe destroy your liver while you were at it. It was easy to lose yourself in the base--to let it take control of your heartbeat and run through your blood along with the liquor. It only took half an hour for you to stop thinking about the sound waves and frequencies and to just have fun like a normal teenage girl out at a party.

You let yourself go until you finished your second beer, and you departed from the safety of your spot for a refill.

It would have been nice if you really had blown out your hearing.

Because maybe then, when you made your way out of the living room, you wouldn't have heard Ginger Lopez' not-so-quiet comment.

"She invited the Unit-Bomber?"

You paused, your grip around your beer can tightening.

"You know what they say," Tina Patel smirked, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Every vote counts."

"I don't know, I think they could do without one," Ginger snickered and Tina laughed.

"Someone should keep an eye on her. The last thing Cheryl needs is having another house burn down."

You took a deep breath and started moving again, making sure to bump shoulders with a laughing Tina as you passed by. Based on the screams that followed in your wake, her drink had sloshed into at least one of them. You grinned, moving deeper into the house where hopefully the proportion of bitches was smaller.

Thankfully, it seemed like it was. While still heavily populated, everyone in the kitchen was for the most part too far gone or pre-occupied to worry about the black sheep in their midst. You headed over to the table where drinks were piled. On your way, Ben Button was pushed sideways, bumping into you so that you stumbled into the tall figure standing next to the drinks table.

"Shit, sorry," you mumbled, looking up at the figure who turned around and peered down at you. Your eyes widened slightly with shock, seeing Sweet Pea frowning at you. Taking in your face, his shoulders relaxed a little and his brow smoothed.

"Could have just said hey." It was hard to tell if he was teasing you or angry based on the look on his face. He wasn't smiling, and his eyebrows were raised.

"Hey," you greeted, tentatively, reaching behind him to grab another beer.

"Hey," he answered, turning to face you fully. The people next to him moved away a little and your gaze fell back on him. He looked down at you expectantly as if you really had run into him on purpose and now had to carry a conversation.

"So you’re supporting Andrews now?" you asked with an eyebrow raised.

Sweet Pea shrugged. "Toni invited me."

"Forced you to come, you mean." You immediately regretted the snarky and weird way the words sounded falling from your lips. He didn't seem phased at all but shook his head slightly with a shrug.

"What about you? Don't strike me as an Andrews fan."

"I came to be swayed. You know, see what my vote was worth," you nodded, taking a swig of your drink.

"And it's worth....this party?"

You shrugged. "Better than a cupcake."

He snorted and shook his head at you. A silence settled between you two, not altogether uncomfortable but not exactly companionable either.

"Well, don't let me keep you from your friends," you said, taking a step backward.

He rolled his eyes. "Topaz left with Blossom a while ago. I think they're upstairs." And Fangs was still in recovery. "But I guess you should get back to your friends."

You shrugged. "I came alone." There was a pause as his brow furrowed lightly and he gave a slight nod in response to the statement. "I don't need moral support to get drunk and dance," you added, punctuating the statement with a sip of your beer.

He snorted again, and you grinned, basking in the warm feeling of triumph. You had made Sweet Pea, The Angry Gangster, laugh. Twice.

This time, he fully nodded, his eyes running over your body. "So, since neither of us has any friends to get back to, maybe we should stick together? It might make this party a little less...shitty."

"This party is far from shitty," you scoffed. "Free booze. Decent music. And just enough jingle jangle to make most of the people here not assholes. This is as good as it gets on the Northside. Besides," you took a few steps away from him, heading back towards the music. "I'm happy being by myself. See you later."

He raised his drink as a goodbye, and you turned around, taking a sip of yours to try to keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

It took about twenty minutes for you to realize that Sweet Pea may have been onto something when he said the party was shitty.

It was a gradual shift. The music got louder, and the bodies got a little bit closer, pushing in at all sides until you couldn't help but brush up against somebody every time you danced. Everyone's eyes were glazed. Girls' voices got higher pitched, and boys spoke less. A bad feeling had settled in the pit of your stomach, but it wasn't until you felt the cool trickle of beer dripping down your arm from where someone had just sloshed their drink on you as they tried to pass that you realized this party was no longer the best the Northside had to offer. You turned your arm in front of you, looking down to assess the damage only to realize you didn't have a napkin. You heaved a suffering sigh, staring up at the sky before bringing your eyes back down to the party and catching Sweet Pea's gaze. You placed two fingers to your head, cocked the makeshift gun and pulled the trigger, your head jerking to the side with the force of the imaginary bullet.

A smile crossed Sweet Pea's lips as he tipped some of his beer onto the ground. You smiled as well before turning and heading closer to the speaker system and proverbial higher ground.

It was only fifteen minutes until the next hint that this party had taken a downward turn. While shattering your eardrums seemed inevitable, the earsplitting music seemed to keep most of the drunks away and provide you with a little room to breathe. You were even managing to enjoy yourself once again. And then your eyes landed on Sweet Pea.

Or rather, your eyes landed on the blonde girl who was writhing all over the front of his body. Every time he backed away she would follow, too far gone to process the rejection, judging by the way she couldn't keep her head up and her hips couldn't quite match the tempo of the music. He looked up with a face of disgust that melted away for the most part when he caught your gaze. Instead, he lifted a fist and pounded it into his chest several times before his head lolled to the side. You laughed at the brutal stabbing scene before dragging your attention away to continue dancing.

You managed to stick it out for almost another full twenty minutes before suddenly the song that was blasting out of the speaker next to you turned to "Shots."

You swore loudly. Not loudly enough to be heard over the dulcet does of LMFAO, but loudly enough for a drunk girl to look at you as if you were crazy. Your eyes quickly scanned the crowd and it seemed like his must have been too because you found Sweet Pea's gaze in record time. You threw back an imaginary shot before clutching your throat and slowly sinking down into the crowd. When you rose back up he was smiling. He jerked his head towards the kitchen, and despite the fact that you were moderately enjoying your time alone, you found your feet leading you off of the dance floor.

By the time you reached the kitchen, he already had two shots in his hand--courtesy of a wasted Reggie Mantle--and passed one to you.

"So maybe you knew what you were talking about when you said this party was going to be shitty if we didn’t stick together," you said, clinking your glass to his and throwing it back. The cheap Vodka burned on the way down, but it numbed you a little to the party.

“Of course I was.” He hadn’t even winced at his shot. He plucked the cup out of your hand, putting it back on the counter and grabbing two beers instead, passing one to you.

You cracked the can open, taking a sip—a watery chaser to the burning liquor. “Well,” you gasped slightly as you finished your drink. “At least you got the true Northside experience before it imploded.”

“Imploding isn’t the Northside experience?” Sweet Pea quirked an eyebrow.

“Aw," you put a hand over your heart. "You get us."

He exhaled a laugh, taking a drink, and a small silence settled between the two of you. “So, you still happy by yourself?" Sweet Pea asked.

You raised your eyebrows. "You know when you say it like that, it almost sounds like an innuendo.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just inclined his head towards you.

You offered half a smile, shaking your head. "I'm always happy on my own. Not sure if you picked up on this in physics, but I’m not exactly a people person.”

“I don’t know, I thought it was generous of you to try to help Cabot and Foley out with their rocket,” he offered straight-faced.

You smirked and gave a casual shrug as you took a sip of what was essentially alcoholic tap water. “Anyway, I think you’re better off without me hanging around. You seem like you’ve been having a pretty good time on your own.”

He stared at you blankly.

“I saw you having a blast with Heather.” His face dropped and you burst into laughter. “Not into Northside girls?”

“Not girls like that,” Sweet Pea answered flatly.

“Shame, she seemed to really like you,” you pushed. “You’ll break her heart.”

“She’s not even going to remember any of it tomorrow.”

“I mean, that is kind of the point of drinking at parties,” you said, toasting him before downing the rest of your beer. His eyes narrowed slightly as he seemed to give you an assessing kind of look. You slammed your can down onto the counter.

“Well, I’m going to take off. Leave before the cops come,” you announced.

"Need a ride?" He asked, and you tipped your head sharply to give him a questioning look. He was staring down at you with an almost challenging look. You squinted your own eyes attempting to size up the offer.

Accept a ride home from a Southside Serpent? Bad idea.

Accept a ride home from your lab partner? Not as bad.

Accept a ride home from Sweet Pea?

You shook your head. "I’m sure you can guess what I’m about to say.”

“You’re good on your own?” He guessed disbelieving.

You gave him finger guns and to be honest you weren’t even sure you could blame it on the drinks. “I can walk from here,” you said, straightening back up.

"By yourself at this time at night?"

"Survived the Black Hood, so I’m feeling lucky. Besides if someone kills me it saves me the trouble of the massive hangover I'm destined to have tomorrow."

Sweet Pea shook his head slightly, his lips quirking into his almost smile. "See you on Monday, then."

"Maybe," you threw over your shoulder. This time you didn't even bother to hide the smile.

Your walk home was uneventful. As a result, the weekend was swallowed up by a massive hangover on Saturday and rushing to do all of your homework on Sunday. By the time school came around Monday morning you hardly felt ready or rested and judging by the other zombies roaming the halls of Riverdale High, the rest of the student population was in a similar situation.

The day passed in a slow and dull sort of misery.

Until physics.

“Grab your rocket and then line up by the door, we’re going out to the field.” Mr. Flutesnoot greeted. The majority of your chemistry class was already along the wall, and you headed to the back to grab your rocket and join the rest of the class.

Scanning down the line you looked over the different versions of rockets. Some basic but functional and colorful. Others sleek and potentially good enough to give yours a run for its money. And a few were true disasters.

Among this category was Cabot and Foley’s. Because not only had they listened to every last sabotaged direction that you and Sweet Pea has given them, but they hadn’t even followed them well.

The thing had triangle fins of three different sizes and slightly varying shapes. The weight was focused in the bottom of the rocket and the nose cone was sharply pointed. Sweet Pea had tried to get them to cut holes in the rocket, but realizing that'd be taking it a bit too far and even Cabot and Foley weren't that stupid, you'd corrected him. That said, when he had them tape the whole thing with several layers of duct tape, you'd shrugged and let it go.

“Grab your rocket and then line up by the door, we’re going out to the field.” Mr. Flutesnoot said from the entrance of the classroom. You looked up from the line, your eyes falling on Sweet Pea who was scanning the line for you.

You held up, Ophiocus, and he caught sight of your green bottle, coming down to stand next to you.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” you answered. He looked no worse for wear than usual. His hair curled above his eye in the way it usually did, and the dark circles that had been under his eyes ever since the riot seemed fainter if anything.

“How was your weekend?”

“Well, I’m here and breathing so you can guess how Saturday went,” you quipped. “You?”

“‘S fine.”

The bell rang and you waited for the sound to die down before you continued the conversation, but before you could get a word in, Mr. Flutesnoot started. “Alright, out to the field. Remember I expect you to walk through the halls quietly and respectfully.” You rolled your eyes but quietly trudged out behind the rest of your class.

“Did you see their rocket?” you murmured to Sweet Pea. He shook his head, stepping out from the line and craning his neck a little to see it. It wasn’t until the line turned to go out the side door that his eyes lit up and he fell back into step with you.

“You’re vicious.”

“I can’t wait to see it fly.” You flashed a crocodile smile.

Luckily you didn’t have to wait long. Their rocket was selected among the first ones to go, and when they brought it up for launch even Mr. Flutesnoot winced at the sight of it. When he backed up to set off the rocket you reached out and grabbed Sweet Pea’s bicep, squeezing it tightly in excitement. He looked down at you, and if your eyes hadn’t been fixated on the rocket that was about to go up, you might have noticed the warm amusement on his face.

“3-2-1,” you chanted along with the rest of the class.

The rocket made it up just a couple of feet before making a hard tilt and crashing down into the ground.

It was the worst one so far. And while the rest of the class giggled lightly at it, you roared with laughter at the looks of shock and confusion on their face, doubling over and clutching your sides.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” Mr. Flutesnoot admonished.

“I’m sorry,” you straightened, wiping the tears from your eyes and shutting your mouth to keep the next burst of laughter in at the looks of sudden realization and anger that flashed across their faces. “I know they worked hard on it,” you added trying to suppress a smile. Next to you, Sweet Pea snorted.

“Alright, well, let’s see yours then,” Mr. Flutesnoot said, as if your rocket would be a similar failure and teach you how bad it was to make fun of other kids in class.

You strode forward, handing him the bottle to set up before stepping back slightly to watch it. Sweet Pea moved up next to you.

The pair of you counted down along with the rest of the class, watching as the water poured out and your bottle shot up into the sky soaring far out over the field.

When it finally landed, a slightly shocked Mr. Flutesnoot directed Sweet Pea to measure the distance the rocket flew. And as he stood there watching Sweet Pea run out, you took the opportunity to turn to Cabot and Fletcher, both of your arms straight out in front of you, middle fingers high, one for each asshole.

But that moment was nothing to when, after Dilton came back with the distance his rocket flew, it was determined that your rocket was the top performer.

“Yes!” Sweet Pea shouted, punching the sky. The rest of the class offered some halfhearted congratulations, and you beamed at him.

“Congratulations the extra credit is yours,” Mr. Flutesnoot announced. “Everyone let’s head back in.”

“That was incredible. Fangs would’ve loved that shit,” Sweet Pea said. A glimmer of something shone in his eyes before the look passed.

“You know,” you said, casually. “This experiment is entirely reproducible at home.”

“Maybe the rocket, but how’d you launch it?”

“Bike pump,” you answered, simply.

He nodded, the grin reappearing on his face. Which slid off as Cabot pushed past, shouldering you. “Fucking Unit-Bomber.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sweet Pea barked. Your eyes flicked up to Mr. Flutesnoot who was busy opening the doors to the school ahead.

“Why don’t you make me?” Cabot spun around stepping up into Sweet Pea’s face. Sweet Pea pushed him backwards, and Cabot pushed Sweet Pea. A few of the other Serpents in class noticed the scuffle and ran back to step in and crowd Cabot.

“Alright guys back in the building!” Mr. Flutesnoot called. Your attention snapped to him, seeing him craning his neck to see what was happening and who should be written up. Cabot held up his hands in the face of all the Serpents and under the scrutiny of your physics teacher.

Little bitch.

“Better a Unit-Bomber than a dumbass,” you remarked, walking past Cabot who was still held there by the rest of the Serpents until you and Sweet Pea were back in the building.

“You good?” Sweet Pea asked with a quick glance down at you as you rubbed your shoulder.

“Fine,” you shrugged, letting your hand drop.

His eyes remained on you, and you met his gaze, a strange and completely unwelcome flipping sensation in your stomach. You shook your head, stepping into the classroom, pushing the feeling down. You’d deal with this later.

The bell rang, signaling the end of physics and the fact that only one more class stood between you and the weekend.

“Hey, y/n,” Sweet Pea called out, stopping you on your way out of the classroom. You slowed down, waiting for him to catch up so you could walk out together. “I was thinking, do you come over to the quarry after school?”

You narrowed your eyes, looking at him suspiciously, ignoring the way your heart seemed to speed up a little at the offer. “Why?” You asked, drawing out the word.

“I got stuff to make a bottle rocket with Fangs. Thought we could use your expertise.“

You grew stiff and your face went blank. There it was. There was always something. “My expertise as the Unit-Bomber?”

Sweet Pea’s head snapped to you. “You think I’d say that?”

You gave a jerky shrug, looking straight ahead and continuing to your math class.

“Or do you just not want to be seen on the Southside?”

“Think what you want,” you said quietly, your throat feeling tight with disappointment.

Next to you, Sweet Pea bristled. “I asked because I thought you’d enjoy it but forget it,” he stormed off.

Guilt flooded through you. This always happened. Fuck. Things were easier when you just stayed by yourself. “Wait,” you called out, hurrying after him. “I’m sorry. I’m not... I don’t...” you ran a hand through your hair. “Can you give me a ride?”

Sweet Pea’s face remained stony as he looked back at you. You stood in silence until the warning bell rang. His shoulders didn’t relax. He didn’t ease up. Instead he said, “I’ll meet you out front after school.”

You were surprised when he actually pulled up and parked his bike out front at the end of the day.

You walked up to the bike. “Hey,” you said, softly.

“Hey.” The word came out short, and he didn’t offer anything else except for an intense stare.

Despite the fact that your skin tingled with discomfort, you refused to break his gaze. “Can we forget about how I was a touchy asshole who is apparently new to the concept of friendship?”

Sweet Pea snorted and visibly relaxed, shaking his head. “Get on the bike.”

You hauled yourself onto the back, wrapping your arms around his middle and trying to lose yourself to the feeling of the wind in your hair and sun on your face as he tore out of the parking lot and towards the quarry.

The drive passed mostly in silence. Slightly more comfortable than your other silences if only because you were fairly sure you’d have to lean up and shout in his ear for him to actually hear you. Instead, you occupied yourself by watching the landscape pass and ignoring the way your arms wound their way tighter around him every time he turned. Kind of like how, when you arrived, you fought to keep down the shock and outrage at his living situation.

He lived in a tent.

In fact, it seemed like most of the Southside now lived in tents. And it seemed like complete bullshit that the mayor or someone hadn’t spoken up to address the fact that half the town had lost their housing and were now living with minimal running water and plumbing.

If it weren’t for years of practice pushing things down, Sweet Pea might have seen it all on your face. But instead he looked at you and found only a blank sort of contentment. “Fangs!” Sweet Pea called, and out of a nearby tent popped Fangs Fogarty’s head.

He didn’t look like he’d been shot just a couple of weeks ago. His smile was bright and genuine even as he hauled himself up on crutches and hobbled out to greet you.

“Hey, what’s up?” He greeted, coming over to you. You moved a little faster to meet him halfway.

“Fangs, Y/N. Y/N, Fangs,” Sweet Pea introduced before disappearing into a tent. The introduction was hardly necessary. Everyone in Riverdale knew exactly who Fangs Fogarty was.

“Heard a lot about you,” Fangs said, reaching a hand forward and you shook it even as you cast a glance at Sweet Pea’s tent. Fangs chuckled at the look on your face. "You're one of the few Northsiders Sweet Pea thinks 'Isn't that bad.'" You snorted.

“Wow. High praise,” you said flatly, and Fangs full out laughed.

“For him? It’s about the same as declaring—“

“Shut up,” Sweet Pea cut him off, appearing with a couple of grocery store bags. “Or I’ll throw your crutches in the lake.”

“Whatever man I’m about to be off them anyway,” Fangs dismissed goodnaturedly but thankfully didn’t finish his statement.

“Sooo rockets?” you asked, changing the topic just in case Fangs decided he did want to make things more uncomfortable than they already were.

Fangs grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Yes.”

You wished you could have blamed how bad Fangs was at building rockets on the fact that he was injured. But given that most of his tasks were literally groundwork, it really came down to the fact that he was too excited and a shit listener. Without your constant intervention and shouting at him, the rockets would have turned out similarly to the SS Clusterfuck you saw in physics. As a result, it took twice as long to build the damn things than it should have, but eventually you had your rockets, Cobra, Viper, and Galileo ready to go on the launcher you talked Sweet Pea through building.

And while Fangs was a shitty engineer, at least he was funny and a good conversationalist and had just enough of a saving grace personality for you to not want to drown him in the quarry like you would have for anyone else.

“Mine first,” Fangs declared, pushing Cobra into your hands. You rolled your eyes and set it up, looking back at the boys.

“Ready?” You called back, and they flashed a thumbs up.

“Go!” You shouted, moving back towards them as Fangs pushed down on the tire pump, sending the rocket up. It was fairly impressive the thing went up at all.

He let out a whoop as if he had actually been a part of a real-life rocket launch. Behind the three of you there was some clapping. You turned to see Toni Topaz standing with Cheryl Blossom.

“Impressive Fangs,” Toni commented with a smile.

“Wanna set one off, Topaz?” Sweet Pea asked, holding Viper out to her.

“Nah, we’re heading over to Cheryl’s, I just had to grab a few things,” Toni shook her head, disappearing into her tent. It was hard to miss the way Sweet Pea’s face fell.

“Teaching them all your tricks Unit-Bomber?” Cheryl asked, quirking an eyebrow with a smug little smile. You glowered at her.

“Why? Looking for new ways to set your house on fire?” You shot back.

“Shit,” Fangs remarked.

Cheryl stepped forward and opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by Toni who re-emerged from her tent. “Ready to go, babe?” she asked, looking expectantly at Cheryl. The redhead plastered on a smile.

“No need to be here when y/n inevitably blows up half the tents.”

Well, shit. Toni was making her soft.

You watched as they climbed onto their motorcycles and pulled away.

“I’ll say it: that was incredible,” Fangs said, looking over to you. “You out bitched the bitch.”

You shrugged, feeling significantly worse than five minutes ago.

“Why'd she call you the Unit-Bomber?” Fangs asked, genuinely. Sweet Pea reached over and hit him upside the head. “The fuck?”

“It’s what everyone calls me,” you shrugged, sitting down on the ground next to Fangs. “It’s Riverdale. You do one thing and suddenly that’s all you are. You guys know that.”

A shadowlike feeling settled over the group as the three of you looked out over the water.

“What’d you do?” Fangs asked, breaking the silence. Sweet Pea hissed words you didn’t catch. “What? She knows what I did. Half the town knows about your anger issues—“

“I caused an explosion during a unit final last year in chemistry. By accident,” you added.

“You are too good at science for it to have been an accident,” Sweet Pea commented.

You rested your head on your knees. “Well, it was.” You simply hadn’t known that the reaction would go that wrong and be that big. It had nothing to do with the fact that your boyfriend just broke up with you because you refused to tell him you loved him, so you canceled class because you wanted to go home, not sit behind him in chemistry.

The silence once more settled over your group, each of you in your own thoughts and miles away from the quarry.

That was, until Fangs spoke. “Well let’s blow some more shit up. By accident.”

"What are we doing today?" Fangs asked, clapping his hands and rubbing them together in his excitement. You rolled your eyes, continuing to unpack the contents of your grocery store bag onto the bank of the quarry.

After the first bottle rocket experiment, Fangs had insisted you come back to teach other 'actually cool science experiments.' "You can homeschool me until I'm cleared to go back," he'd suggested. And like a sucker you fell for it. Even after Fangs returned to school, you always found yourself climbing onto Sweet Pea's motorcycle and riding down to the quarry with them.

Out of habit. You told yourself. Because that's definitely why you did it. Habit. Nothing else.

As a result, there was a direct relationship between the proximity to summer and the frequency of you exploding shit on the Southside.

"Well if Sweet Pea remembered to get the brake fluid this time, I think we're ready for a real explosion," you answered, your eyes darting up to Fangs just in time to see the look of absolute glee light up his face.

"I have it. Hold on, it's in my tent," Sweet Pea grumbled, disappearing into his tent to grab the supplies. Neither you nor Fangs had let it go for the entire week that last Friday Sweet Pea had forgotten the crucial part of your experiment. As a result, the three of you had resorted to sitting by the quarry’s edge and just talking for five hours. It was boring, uncomfortable, awkward, and the reason you were thoroughly convinced that these boys may just be your best friends.

"Fangs," you directed, holding out the Dr. Bob soda bottle.

"On it," he chirped, ripping the label off of the bottle before unscrewing the cap and beginning to chug down the drink. You watched him, counting in your head as the off-brand soda slowly disappeared, stopping when Fangs finally pulled away. Half of the bottle was empty.

"31," you announced. "Best yet."

"I can do better," Fangs said, punctuating the statement with a burp. He handed the bottle off to Sweet Pea who had reappeared with the brake fluid in hand. He reached down, offering the chemicals to you, and you took it from him, your fingers brushing against his. Your skin tingled at the contact, and as normal, you swallowed hard and ignored it. Sweet Pea did too, instead bringing the Dr. Bob to his lips and gulping down the soda quickly. By the time he was finished, only a little remained in each of the pockets at the bottom. You took it from him, careful to grab it at the top and away from his hand and finished it off.

You also pulled out the notably smaller plastic water bottle and finished that by yourself.

"Alright," you gasped, putting the water bottle down. "I need you to fill the chlorine up until here." You pointed to a groove on the water bottle and let your shoulders drop when Sweet Pea took the bag of chlorine from Fangs. As always he stopped right when he was supposed to, placing the water bottle back on the ground next to you.

You offered the soda bottle up to Fangs, and he took it, swapping Sweet Pea for the chlorine.

"Fangs, I swear you better listen to me," you warned, rising up from where you crouched to point a finger at him threateningly.

"I always listen to you," Fangs scoffed, rolling his eyes and stepping forward towards the bottle.

"I mean it. This is actually dangerous."

"I mean it too," he agreed, but that damn glint was in his eyes, and you knew you were in for it.

"So when I say stop, you're actually going to stop pouring it into the bottle."

"Relax. Trust me," he soothed.

"No." Both you and Sweet Pea spoke the word at the same time, and Fangs face split into a grin.

"Ok, I promise I'll stop after you say stop," he agreed, and you nodded so that Sweet Pea reached out the bottle for Fangs to pour the chlorine in. You kept a careful eye on the mark you set in your head, watching as the chlorine fell to the bottom of the bottle.

"Stop," you instructed a little before the mark. The chlorine continued to pour.

"Just a little more," Fangs stated, his lips twitching into a smile.

"Fangs, stop," you snapped as the chlorine piled up over the mark.

"I am--"

Sweet Pea yanked the bottle away from Fangs and some of the chlorine fell out onto the bank of the quarry. He held the bottle out with one hand and punched Fangs hard in the arm with another. Fangs swore as he laughed.

"Give me that," you said, taking the bottle from Sweet Pea and glaring at Fangs. "You're the worst science student. You know that right?"

"You're saying that because I'm from the Southside," he folded his arms.

You shook your head, turning away to place the bottles even closer to the water. "I'm saying that because you're a moron. Sweet Pea, can I have the brake fluid?"

"Sometimes you're just as mean as Toni," Fangs complained.

"She's meaner. That's what makes her such a good replacement," Sweet Pea corrected.

You looked over your shoulder at Sweet Pea, your eyebrows furrowing. "Stop saying that."

"What that you're mean?" Fangs teased.

You stood up straighter, crossing your arms against your chest. "No, stop calling me a replacement."

"What should we call you then? An upgrade?" Sweet Pea smirked.

You shook your head, maintaining your serious expression and ignoring the way your stomach dropped at his words. While he had been making fewer and fewer comments about Toni (maybe due to the fact that she and Cheryl stopped by less and less), there was always one or two about how they didn't need her now that they had you. And you didn't like them. You weren't sure why. "You can't just replace someone Sweet Pea, that's not how it works. People are different."

The smiles fell from the boys' faces. "We know that," Fangs said, earnestly. "It's just a joke. Right?" He hit Sweet Pea in the shoulder who nodded. His face had a new look on it. Something you hadn't seen before and couldn't quite trace to a specific emotion or thought. You decided you didn't like it though. It made you squirm.

"Ok," you swallowed, tearing your eyes from Sweet Pea and turning around back to the bottles. "Bring me the brake fluid.

You didn't look to see who pushed the container into your hand, focusing instead on pouring a proportionate amount of fluid into each container and swirling it to mix it.

"Alright, step back," you instructed, and the boys followed you back to stand a few feet away, all of your eyes glued to the bottles.

The three of you waited in silence. Fangs leaning on your shoulder and Sweet Pea standing so close that if he were just a centimeter to the left, his arm would be touching yours. You waited as a minute passed.

"Fangs, you fucked it up," Sweet Pea commented.

"No," you turned, tilting your head up to face him. "Chemistry takes time."

He raised his eyebrows and moved a fraction of an inch closer so that his arm bumped against yours. You turned your attention back to the experiment and shifted to your left, leaning more into Fangs.

A new silence enveloped the three of you, this one slightly less comfortable than the last. So much so that twenty seconds later you were stepping forward towards the bottles. "Maybe I should have shaken them more---"

A whoosh of fire shot up from water bottle, flames shooting up to five feet high. You jumped, but before you could step back or react in any other way the soda bottle burst into flame with a roar, pieces of chlorine shooting up out of the bottle and whizzing past you. A hand wrapped around your wrist and yanked you back as the three of you scrambled away to escape the burning bottle.

To your left you could hear Fangs' uncontrollable laughter as you slowed to a stop, colliding with Sweet Pea. His arms wrapped around you to steady you, and you glanced up at him. "You good?" he asked, looking down at you with that face again. Your mouth seemed to go dry and the world seemed to spin, and one word rang through your head: out.

You stepped out of his grip, whirling on Fangs with your chest heaving, ignoring the way Sweet Pea's face fell.

"You almost killed me!" you shouted.

"I didn't tell you to step forward," he protested hands up, his eyes flicking from you to the smoldering remains of plastic. You opened your mouth to argue but instead laughter burst out. And then Fangs was laughing again. And Sweet Pea. And the three of you laughed until you cried and then you scavenged bottles from around the campsite to continue setting off explosions until it got dark.

You had taken to sticking around until it got dark after that. Most of the time the three of you would make dinner and eat together after the experiment, and then you'd talk until one of the boys offered to take you home.

Tonight, Fangs had let you know that he wouldn't be available to chauffeur you. "I have a rendezvous," he announced a little while after dinner, standing up from where the three of you had been stargazing.

"A rendezvous?" you repeated, leaning up on your forearms. "With who?"

"I don't kiss and tell, you should know that," he winked, and you rolled your eyes.

"Just make sure you don't get shot this time," Sweet Pea called out from his position on the ground.

Fangs flipped him off, turning to head over to the motorcycle, and you watched him go, a small spark of anxiety making it's home in your chest. You turned to look at Sweet Pea. "Do you know who?"

"Could be anyone," Sweet Pea shrugged, continuing to look up at the stars. You stared at him for a second longer, trying to figure out if he was deflecting or if he really didn't care before laying back down next to him.

It was tempting to push it. To see what he knew about Fangs’ love life. But something about the thought of continuing this conversation set off warning bells. Change the topic, the little voice told you.

"You know," you said, tucking your arms under your head. "I used to want to be an astronaut."

"Really?" Sweet Pea asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Mhmm," you hummed, keeping your eyes on the stars. "Back before I realized how much fun it is to blow shit up."

Sweet Pea snorted, returning his gaze back up to the stars. "Why?"

"They're so far away from all the bullshit," you whispered expecting to hear him snort again, but instead he was quiet. "And when I look at them, I don't feel so..." you trailed off, your chest growing tight with discomfort as you treaded close to the intimate. You abandoned the statement, taking a different route. "They just make you realize how small all of us are in the grand scheme of things. I like that." Sweet Pea was still quiet next to you and that tight feeling took hold of you once more. You'd shared too much. Gone too deep. You turned to him, fully intending to make a sarcastic comment--something, anything to alleviate the tension, but when you faced him you found that his eyes were on you once more, and your throat closed up, not letting any of the words that you'd planned get out.

"I like that too," he said. His eyes remained fixed on yours, and even though you desperately wanted to look away and back up at the stars or anywhere else, you stayed focused on him. Because dammit, you were going to keep this friendship. You would not self-eject. You would not break away. You would keep eye contact and continue the heart to heart even if it felt like you were being strangled by every prolonged silence.

"Can I ask you a question and you won't be on my shit for getting too personal?"

"Depends on the question," you offered a wavering smile before breaking your promise to yourself and staring back up at the stars, your eyes searching for familiar constellations, anything to separate you from the thoughts and the uncomfortableness of living in your own body.

"Do you really like being by yourself?"

You were somewhat relieved, and a wistful sort of sigh escaped you. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" Sweet Pea repeated.

"I can't do...I'm not a feelings person. It's easier to be by myself." You let a hand fall to the grass, twisting a couple of blades before tugging them out of the earth. "But it's not always...good."

Beside you, Sweet Pea started to laugh, and you swung out your fist, bringing it down to punch him in the stomach. The air left him in a quick exhale even as he continued to try to laugh. "You really are bad at feelings."

"Shut up," you grumbled, a prickly feeling on your skin. "I was being honest."

Sweet Pea attempted to pull himself together. "I know, just...you couldn't find a better word than 'good'?"

"This is why I don't do this shit," you grumbled pushing yourself up into a sitting position so you could get up.

Sweet Pea's hand darted out and grabbed your forearm. "Hey, I'm sorry, stay."

"Not unless we change the subject," you glowered.

The corner of Sweet Pea's mouth quirked up. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. Tell me something embarrassing. Or don't. We can talk about motorcycles or movies or Hot Dog or anything else," you suggested, breaking from his grip and wrapping your arms around your knees.

Sweet Pea was quiet again, and you wondered if you could somehow disappear at this moment. You could just get up and walk away. Tell him that it was past midnight and you were tired.

"Can I tell you about this girl I like? Or will that make you uncomfortable?" Your stomach rolled, and you suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Instead you shrugged.

"As long as you don't expect me to tap into my romantic side and give some love advice, it should be fine." Your voice came out thankfully flat and sarcastic. You could practically feel Sweet Pea rolling his eyes.

"Like I need love advice from a robot," he scoffed, and you ignored the twinge of pain in your chest but didn't bother to hide the annoyance from your face.

If he noticed the fact that your spine straightened and you grew still, he didn't say anything. There was definitely no apology. Instead, he heaved a dreamy sort of sigh. A sound that quite frankly you should never have heard come out of Sweet Pea's mouth.

"Alright, Romeo, spill."

"She's just extraordinary," he stated simply. A part of you wished you had laid back down so you could sneak a look at his face, but you couldn't move. Instead, you picked at your nails, letting your science partner turned friend--probably best friend--spill his guts. "I don't know her that well...we just started talking a little in school, but I noticed her the first time I ever walked in Riverdale. She just has that sort of presence you know? When she walks into a room, people notice. And not just because she's beautiful. It's like, you can sense how confident she is. And she should be. She's the best at what she does, and I just know she's going to make it big one day, so I kind of want to take my chance now before I lose it forever..." he trailed off and you chanced a glance at him. He was staring up at the stars wistfully, and you looked back down at the ground, rolling a twig between your fingers. "I don't know. Even though she's a Northsider, she's kind of...intimidating. Hard to make a move on."

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. "If she's intimidating, she's probably used to guys keeping their distance and never saying anything," you murmured. "Maybe take it slow. Play the long game."

"You know that almost sounds like love advice."

You turned back at him, throwing the stick you were twirling so it bounced off his side and onto the ground. He smiled and looked back up at the stars. “I don’t know. She seems more like a bold move type of girl.”

You shrugged. "I'm just a robot."

He didn't say anything. And despite yourself, you could feel your hopes slightly raise.

"But you think I should take a chance?"

Your heart beat faster. "Yeah," you whispered.

He nodded, thinking it over. “Maybe I’ll ask her in math or something.”

Your stomach dropped. You couldn't tell if it was in relief or something else. Because that would be wrapped up in your knot of feelings. What you could tell--what was factual--was that you and Sweet Pea did not have math class together.

That was the last time you saw Sweet Pea.

At least, it felt that way.

You started riding down to the quarry on the back of Fangs' bike, Sweet Pea meeting up with you later mid-way through the experiments. At first, you had made jokes that you needed him there in order to keep Fangs in line. After all, if he was gone, who was going to actually help you with the experiment?

But then he started coming just to watch the results of the experiments.

And then it started to take him hours to come back to the campsite, and he missed them completely, having to ask questions about just why there was rainbow covered foam everywhere or what had that charred out bottle even been originally.

And then he stopped asking about the experiments. By the last day of school he stopped coming at all.

It was the second week of summer before either you or Fangs talked about it.

The two of you sat by the edge of the quarry, covered in paint and the marks of your explosions littering the trees and the ground around you. It had been your most successful Post-Sweet Pea experiment yet. Presumably because Fangs was allowed to shake up the experiments and hurl ziplock baggies full of paint anywhere he wanted. The experiment was practically tailored to his destructive soul.

It was probably the post-chaos peace, the most disarming kind of quiet and calm there was, that made him ask.

"So," Fangs said slowly, looking over at you out of the corner of his eye. "How are you doing?"

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you turned to face him. "Good?"

He let out an amused exhale, shaking his head. "I mean with the whole Josie thing."

"Oh," you responded, still confused. "Also good?"

"Good," Fangs said, turning his full attention back out to the quarry.

You followed suit, watching as the water gently moved, the sunlight reflecting off the surface so that the water glittered. You tried to keep your mind focused on how beautiful the day was. How nice it felt to feel the sun on your skin. How peaceful the quiet was and how you didn't feel suffocated in silence when you were next to Fangs. Being still next to him was easy in a way it just wasn't with Sweet Pea.

"Why?" The word escaped. Lulled out of you by the calm afternoon and immediately your stomach clenched. You could see Fangs shift to face you slightly, his eyes running over the profile of your face as you purposefully kept your eyes out on the quarry, staying as still as possible.

Fangs shrugged, joining you once more in looking out over the water. "I just thought the two of you would be a thing."

Your heart stopped. Everything stopped. You’d been expecting it to some extent, but still. Carefully, you pushed down all of the feelings and discomfort that rose in your chest, keeping your mind focused on the moment you were in now, not letting it slide back to the night you and Sweet Pea stared at the stars or any of the times you rode on the back of his motorcycle, your arms wrapped around his middle to get to here. You focused instead on the facts.

Sweet Pea and you had never been anything more than friends.

You had gone into this wanting to be friends only.

Friendship was easier.

Friendship was safer.

"We're just friends," you said picking up a rock and throwing it into the water. "It's cool."

"Cool," Fangs echoed. He didn't say anything else, and after a while you let yourself be wrapped up in the silence too, enjoying just sitting with him.

You meant what you told Fangs.

You and Sweet Pea were only ever friends. Just friends.

You believed it with every fiber of your being.

Until you saw him and Josie at Sweetwater River.

While you spent most of your evenings with Fangs, destroying shit, causing mayhem and laughing until you couldn't breathe, you enjoyed spending the long summer days by yourself. Sometimes it was reading. Other times it was gardening. And on days as hot as today, you would go swimming, regardless of the risks.

You pulled your car in behind a maroon sedan, throwing the keys into your bag with your towel and heading down to the secluded spot on the river you favored. The fact that there was another car parked by the river wasn't too unusual. After all, it was the best parking space, nearest to where the river was widest and most of the high school kids and college kids home from break did their swimming. Your spot was firmly in the other direction, a narrow section of the river where it was a little shallower and therefore not quite as dangerous to swim alone in.

Due to the trees and brush surrounding the path, it wasn't until you were most of the way down to your spot that you saw them.

Laying out on a blanket, Sweet Pea hovered over Josie as she wrapped herself around him. You snapped your eyes shut, turning quickly and trying to block out the breathy sounds that were escaping her as you scrambled back up the path. You felt dizzy and nauseous. Even after you climbed into the front seat of your car and slammed the door shut.

You held on tightly to the steering wheel. So tightly your knuckles were white and your elbows locked into place and your back pushed against the seat of the car. And then you saw it again. Sweet Pea's hands gripping at Josie's chest as he kissed at the underside of her jaw. The look of ecstasy on Josie's face as she gripped tightly onto Sweet Pea's shoulders, his hand moving and cupping the side of her neck as he dipped his head to kiss along her collarbone.

You collapsed suddenly, your forehead banging against the wheel as you choked out a sob. Your body shuddered and shook with the force of your crying as you beat the wheel with the palm of your hand, every now and then missing the edge and startling the animals nearby with a honk.

It took a few minutes before you pulled yourself together enough to sit up, shoot off a text, shift your car into drive, and start back onto the main road.

It was another twenty minutes or so before you parked at the edge of the Sunnyside Trailer Park campsite.

"Hey, Y/N are you ok?" Fangs asked, coming to meet you as you slammed your car door closed, brushing past him as you stormed down to the riverbank, the plastic grocery store bag swishing and bouncing against your leg.

"Let's blow some shit up." Your voice was still gravelly, and you were certain your eyes were still red and wet. You may’ve even had a red mark on your forehead

To his credit, he didn't try to make you talk. He turned on his heel and followed you down to the river bank, following your instructions precisely before standing back and waiting patiently as you poured toilet bowl cleaner into the different plastic bottles. You walked backward slowly, your eyes on the bottles, only stopping when you felt your arm brush against Fangs'.

You watched as the bottles slowly filled with white smoke, the plastic expanding and elongating before finally erupting loudly, one after each other.

Fangs chanced a glance at you, concern and hesitation obvious as he stared at the tear streaks running down your face. You wiped them off with the back of your hand. "It's just the loud noises," you mumbled weakly, and he nodded, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you stared at the smoking remains of your bottle rockets. You stood there completely still for a minute, maybe two before you turned into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you, holding you close as you sobbed onto his shirt.

Neither of you talked about that day ever again.

You found other conversation topics to fill up your summer. From Archie Andrew's court case, to Fangs string of unnamed conquests, to new methods of creating explosions, and once or twice the proposition that you should join the Southside Serpents.

You didn't go anywhere besides your home and the Quarry, and as it turned out, you liked your summer that way. It was safer. Better. No anxiety that you might run into anyone you didn't want to see. Which was why when Fangs invited you to come to Cheryl's end of summer pool party with him, you declined.

Because everyone would be there.

Fangs didn't try to convince you to change your mind. Because he was the best friend you could ever wish for. He didn't even tell you how in one week you were going to have to face the facts whether you wanted to or not. He nodded and mentioned offhand that Jughead had asked him and Sweet Pea to meet here in fifteen minutes. Which coincidentally reminded you of the chores your mother had asked you to do at home that you needed to get to immediately.

And that was why you were entirely unprepared to find Sweet Pea by your locker at the end of the first day of school.

"Hey," he smiled.

You didn't say anything, focusing on keeping your hands still, keeping your face straight, keeping your shit together. You raised your eyebrows, silently moving to open your locker. Sweet Pea turned, leaning his shoulder on the locker next to you.

"You look familiar. Weren't we lab partners or something last year?"

"Or something," you remarked quietly, putting your books back into your locker.

He snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "How was your summer?"

"Good," you shrugged. You tugged your backpack out, slipping it onto your shoulder.

"Yeah?" he asked. "Fangs told me about some of the shit you did." You hummed, closing your locker door and ignoring the way his eyebrows furrowed. "We should do a repeat tonight."

You paused, keeping your hand on your locker. "I can't."

"Hey," Fangs greeted, coming up to the two of you and hanging an arm over Sweet Pea's shoulder despite the height difference. Both you and Sweet Pea ignored the greeting.

"Why not?" Sweet Pea asked, shrugging Fangs' arm off of his shoulder.

Your eyes found Fangs' and then darted back to your locker. "I have homework for my AP classes already. Sorry," you said firmly and with noticeably absent sympathy. "I'll see you guys later." You gave them a brief tight-lipped smile before turning around speed walking your way to the bus.

You thought that maybe after the first week back your stomach would stop doing that dropping thing every time you saw him.

It didn't.

You also thought that maybe after the first couple of weeks you wouldn't want to throw up every time you saw Josie.

You still did.

Even though you knew she and Sweet Pea weren't together, you could still hear those sounds in your head which almost made it impossible to not puke.

But it did get easier to not think about it over a few weeks. You changed your seat in all of the classes you shared together, sitting in the front of the classroom, closest to the door so it was easy to scoot out. You ate lunch in the band practice rooms, primarily because it was easier to hide there than anywhere else and the band teacher had long since given up on enforcing school rules. You started to remember why you loved being alone so much.

By the time it was almost the end of the third week of school, you had once again perfected the art of being by yourself. Only caving every now and then to respond to Fangs' texts.

Life was better this way.

"Y/L/N!" You had been on your way to English when suddenly someone had grabbed your arm, pulling you to a stop. You jumped a little, turning to see Sweet Pea holding you by your bicep. "What's going on?"

"I'm going to class?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows at him and attempting to calm your rapidly beating heart.

"No," he pulled you over to the side of the hallway and you stumbled a few steps before ripping your arm out of his grasp.

"Let go, shit," you mumbled, turning your arm to look at it as if expecting to see some kind of damage.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Sweet Pea demanded, folding his arms as he stared down at you.

"I'm not. I'm going to class. Trying to get an education," you rolled your eyes attempting to push past him.

He stopped you, grabbing you by the shoulders and bringing you back to face him. "Cut the bullshit."

"Get your hands off of me," you snapped, your eyes darting around him to see other students slowing down on their way to class to watch the confrontation. As if you were a spectacular car crash for them witness and assess the damage. Sweet Pea let go immediately, but his face grew darker.

"What's your problem?"

"No problem." You shrugged, keeping your face closed off and distant.

"So you're pretending I don't exist for....fun?" Sweet Pea guessed. "That's fucked up, Y/N."

Your eyes followed the students who were now blatantly rubbernecking, looking anywhere other than Sweet Pea. "Like you can talk.”

"What's that supposed to mean?"

No emotion. No feelings. Nothing. Just facts. you chanted to yourself. Just state the facts.

"Just that it's pretty convenient you want to exist and be a part of my life now, but where were you this summer?"

"I was busy," he said exasperatedly as if you were some toddler who didn't understand why her parents went to work instead of playing with her all day.

"And now I am. Sorry I don’t fit into your schedule," you shrugged, moving past him and out into the hall. The warning bell rang. It was the surprising sound that made your eyes sting.

"I thought we were friends," his voice called at your back. You whirled around, finding him much closer than expected. So close that if you had wanted to, you could have easily stabbed a finger into his chest. But you didn't want to. You didn't want to ever touch him.

"Yeah, so did I. Until I sat by the quarry all summer with Fangs while you were busy fucking Josie all over town." You turned back around to head off to class. "Fuck off," you called over your shoulder.

"Did you have to yell at him?" Fangs asked, leaning against the locker next to yours. You looked up slightly startled from where you had been exchanging your books. "Because he's being a huge pain in the ass now."

"I don't want to talk about it," you answered, shoving harder on your binder to try to get it to fit inside.

"Of course not."

You glared at him but didn't rise to the bait.

"You told him you saw him and Josie?" he raised his eyebrows.

"I told you I don't want to talk about it." You rotated the binder, hoping to fit it in the new way, pushing it until finally it slipped past the edge of the door.

Fangs sighed. "We didn't talk about it all summer. Give me this one conversation now."

"No." You slammed your locker closed, starting to walk away.

"This is why," he stated to your back, and you turned to face him, shocked to hear any sort of annoyance pass Fangs' lips. The words weren't heated, more exasperated. "This is why you two are so fucked."

You crossed your arms and remained silent.

"Neither of you will talk to the other."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Bullshit." Fangs dismissed. "You like him. He likes you. Discuss."

"Sweet Pea didn’t tell you? I’m just a robot. Nothing to discuss"

"You’re not a robot. You may not like to talk about your feelings, but it doesn't change the fact that you have them."

You felt indignant. At least you tried to hold onto that feeling even as your chin began to quiver. Fangs' shoulders dropped as he stared at you, taking a few steps closer.

“It’s not fair.” Your voice came out petulant and broken. “Why do I have to forgive him and get over it, and he gets to do whatever he wants. He ignored me for months but I can’t do it for like three weeks?”

“Are you really that petty?”

“Yes," you answered. “I don’t know.”

“Talk to him, y/n. Tell him about the day you went to Sweetwater River.”

“No. Never.”

“Then don’t. Just stop making me watch whatever this is,” he said, and with that he turned around and left you standing in the middle of the hallway.

You got fairly good at avoiding both Sweet Pea and Fangs after that. If anything, the confrontation with Fangs was a reminder of why it was always better to be by yourself. Even friends got too annoyingly involved for their own good. Analyzing you. Evaluating your emotions and your actions. Eventually everyone expected too much out of you.

And you didn't need that bullshit.

What you needed was to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and carry on without them. Like always. Show them you didn't need their approval. You didn't need their advice. You didn't need their presence in your life.

You were happy alone.

You were fine alone.

You would be ok alone

As soon as you showed them you didn't need them.

And that was exactly the opportunity presented to you by Veronica Lodge's invitation to attend her new speakeasy's opening night. It was also the reason you got dressed up as requested and put more than a minuscule effort into your appearance for once in your life. Because you wanted them to see that you were thriving own your own. And he could just eat his heart out that he had to live without you from now on. They. You meant they.

You pulled yourself from your thoughts, instead focusing on the details of the room around you. At how absolutely fabulous everything looked. The old-fashioned lighting. The velvet curtained stage. The classmates dressed in dazzling clothes. Everything exuded charm and class, and it was easy to lose yourself in the time capsule.

"Hey."

You turned to face the person who greeted you, ignoring the lurch in your stomach that you wished would vanish.

Sweet Pea stood there, hands in his pockets, staring down at you. He was dressed head to toe in black, his silky button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows and arms decked out with the usual bracelets he never took off. You couldn't help but notice the absence of his dog tags and wondered if he tucked them in for the night or left them at home. You hated yourself for noticing.

"Hey," you greeted softly, and he stepped closer, and now you couldn't help but notice that despite the fact he dressed up his hair was still a tousled mess, falling over his forehead in random curls.

Dammit.

"I didn't think I you'd come to this thing," he said with an exhale, stopping a few feet away.

"Why not? I like mocktails and music," you shrugged, swirling your own mocktail in your hand as if the action gave more authenticity to your words.

"Josie's singing," he answered simply. It took everything in you to keep eye contact.

"So?"

"I didn't think you liked her."

You shrugged, taking a careful sip of your drink. "I don't have any problems with Josie."

"Then why were you on my shit about this summer?" his eyes narrowed.

"Because it wasn't particularly fun being blown off all summer regardless of you were spending time with," you answered, tightly.

Sweet Pea crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. "What happened to you like being alone?"

You paused, and his eyes glittered with triumph. Inside your chest, your heart constricted as if it recognized defeat as well, and the only honorable way out was through a sudden heart attack and death.

"Fuck this," you muttered, placing your drink on the bar and brushing past him to dart up the stairs.

He followed, pushing people out of the way in his haste to catch up to you. "Can you stop leaving every conversation I try to have with you?" he called at your back as the two of you rushed through Pop's and out the front doors.

You stopped and spun. "Why? There's nothing to talk about. I thought we'd hang out this summer; we didn't. Obviously we're not as close as I thought. We're on the same page now."

"Why are you so mad about this?" he shouted, stopping a few feet away from you.

"Why are you so mad I'm ignoring you now?" you returned, watching people scramble to get out of their cars and speed walk inside. As if they were running away from a bomb they knew was about to explode. Which might be appropriate.

"Because it doesn't make any fucking sense!" he held out his hands as if he wanted to strangle you but instead curled them into fists and shook a little.

"I missed you, you dumbass!" You blurted out, chest heaving as you stared at him. He took the confession in the same way you imagined he'd take a punch. A look of shock passed over his face as he stepped back towards Pop's and then seemed to regain his balance and took a step forward. Your shoulders dropped as the anger seemed to drain from you, leaving you with all of the feelings you'd been so careful to push down. "All summer. I missed you. And you didn't miss me because you had her," you continued softly.

"What?" He asked trying to follow your words as your face heated up like it was on fire, and you felt like you wanted to cry or throw up or explode into tiny bits. You pressed your lips together, trying to keep it in, keep it down. You offered a jerky shrug. "So what was this all some kind of revenge?"

You shook your head.

"Then why the hell were you ignoring me if you missed me?"

You looked away from him.

"Dammit, Y/N!" he shouted, and you turned back to him.

And in the next second you darted forwards swiftly putting a hand on his shoulder to help launch yourself up, standing on your tiptoes and leaning into him, pressing your lips to his. His hands caught your waist, almost reflexively, supporting you even though his lips didn't move. Didn't press into yours. Didn't open. Didn't do anything.

You pulled back, sinking down onto your heels. Sweet Pea didn't say anything. Or move his hands. Instead he looked down at you with an eyebrow quirked.

You had thought---You swallowed the thought, pushing it down with the other ones, and letting the feeling that you had taken a bad situation and fucked it up even more wash over you. Fucking feelings. Your lips moved, trying to make any sort of words, but every time you attempted to say something your voice caught in your throat. "I can't--" you finally whispered, attempting to take a step back and out of Sweet Pea's grasp, but his hands tightened on your hips.

His face still seemed angry. Maybe even more now than before you had kissed him. "You've been avoiding me because you have feelings for me?"

You looked down at your feet.

"How long?"

You shook your head.

"How long?" His voice was slightly angrier, and he gently shook you by your waist.

"Since we set off the rockets in class," you whispered, still refusing to meet his eye.

He exhaled a disbelieving kind of laugh. "And you let me feel like an ass for liking you? And then again for having a summer fling so I could move on from you since you were clearly not interested?"

It would have been nice if you could tell him that you had no idea he liked you. Tell him that you hadn't purposefully distanced yourself and tried to make it seem like you weren't interested. That you hadn't convinced yourself you weren't interested. Because then you wouldn't have felt like such shit in this moment.

"I'm sorry." Your voice was still quiet. "I wanted to save you from this."

"This?"

"Me. Being a disaster who can't feelings. This always happens. It's why I blew up a lab. It's why I'm alone. I'm broken, ok? Just let me avoid you, and you'll be better off."

"No." Sweet Pea said quietly, pulling you closer to him.

"No?" Your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to.

"Not this time. No," he shook his head.

"It'll just get worse."

"We'll work it out."

You felt the familiar claustrophobic panic rise in your chest. The one from the way he looked at you the first time you set off an explosion by the quarry. The one that had taken hold of you at the lake while you were gazing at stars with him all those months ago. You looked up into his eyes and found them fixated on you, and it all felt like too much. The fact that he knew you liked him. And he liked you. And you guys would be in a relationship. Together. And how could a robot like you ever deserve someone like him or even come close to making him feel as happy as you did when the two of you were running away from a soda bottle that was about to explode.

But the promise of more moments like those and not having to see him with someone else, the knowledge that to some extent he hated not being with you too, the feeling of having him stand close to you with his hands firmly on your body. Those things would be enough to push through this moment and maybe even the next.

"Ok," you whispered, looking up at him.

"Good," he nodded, bending over and capturing your lips into his. And it felt like bottle rockets. Not the thrill of setting one off and waiting too long to run away, but as if you were the water bottle expanding and expanding, full of longing and anxiety and happiness and other emotions you weren't sure the names of, and now, kissing Sweet Pea, you were exploding into a billion pieces, feeling everything all at once and enjoying every second of it.

#sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea #riverdale #riverdale imagine #sweet pea fic #riverdale fic #sweet pea fanfiction #riverdale fanfiction #cw riverdale #sweet pea imagines #sweet pea fics #sweet pea fanfic #riverdale fanfic

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chaneltae · 5 years

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Mångata pt.1 | kth

Pairing: Taehyung x reader Genre: College!AU, fluff Warnings: none Words: 2,8k Part: 1

↳ When faced with his final art project for college Taehyung considers himself royally fucked if it weren’t for class mate Yoongi to come up with a rescuing idea. Struggling herself, Y/N can’t help but accept to work together with the just introduced strawberry enthusiast. And it’s just for this one assignment anyway, what could possibly go wrong? ⋆ aka your local broke college students + strangers to lovers trope

“Okay, that’s it. I quit.” Taehyung groans into his hands, covering his face. All this time he knew exactly how important this moment is going to be, but he never expected to be so utterly confused and helpless once he was confronted with it. The final project. The last piece of art to determine his grade, his degree. If he even gets one. At this point right now, he feels like rather giving up than spending another six months trying to figure out a final… something to present at the grand exhibition. Ten minutes ago, he was motivated, ready to tackle this last mission, excited to pack out whatever medium required and start working on his most important piece so far. But that already seems to have been an eternity ago, his mind long gone into the depths of a feeling equivalent to watching paint dry. Glancing around the lecture hall it seems he isn’t the only one questioning the choice of his major at this given moment. As if anyone had a realistic chance of actually escaping this. The topic couldn’t have been worse. Human. What’s that supposed to mean?

“Human? What’s that supposed to mean?” Next to him a disheveled mop of hair lets out a snorting giggle. A weird sound Taehyung notes, as if it’s supposed to sound unbothered but it sounds more like anxiety laughing. “Whatever it is, our professor definitely is not.” The raspy voice states, clearly not having it. “She really wants us to suffer, huh? Even forcing us to work together with a person… a human.” another undefined sound of displeasure leaving his lips. “I would say it couldn’t get worse, but we have complete freedom regarding nearly everything and there is honestly nothing more constricting than freedom in this situation.” A sharp voice cuts them off of any further conversation. Faced to the blackboard the professor continues her monolog, scribbling down the time schedule everyone is expected to follow suit. The last number mentally already saved as funeral date in Taehyung’s head. “I repeat once again, the overall topic of your project is ‘Human’. Interpret that however you want, you have no restrictions in terms of media, but keep in mind the size of our gallery is limited, and so is your designated space in it.” A few grunts erupt around the boys’ seats, everyone knowing very well that calling the gallery limited is a huge understatement. As if anyone of them would come around with a giant truck loaded with massive pieces for the exhibition when they are still unable to even have the grasp of an idea. Even the sculptors wouldn’t. “Regarding the person we are supposed to work with. Any restrictions?” Taehyung hears his seat neighbor ask, eyes fixed to the front of the room. An evil smirk gracing his professor’s lips, he can almost feel everyone’s heart in the room dropping in to their pants. “Good question Mr. Min. Yes, there are restrictions. You are, of course, not allowed to work with anyone in your class. Your final project is supposed to reflect your own work and inspirations and not end up being a group project. You’re not particularly searching for a partner, I want you to take a person and add them as a human aspect to your work. Again, interpret that as you wish.” The silent grimaces of confusion paint the rows of students as the professor leaves with the promise of an email with more detailed information and a threatful reminder of the set schedule. With a sigh of defeat Taehyung turns his body towards the smaller man next to him “Hyung, what now?” Finally looking up, the other stares right into his eyes, dead serious “We’re fucked.”

The door opens, the annoying bells chiming at the disturbance. Your cue to put on a smile and look like selling beverages to sleep deprived students at this ungodly hour is the one thing to bring you joy and mental strength. Despite the fact that you are anything but joyful at this given moment. You were just about to start your generic greeting when you spot ashy grey hair sticking out of a blue beanie, catlike eyes gazing through them in a warm hello. “Oh Yoongs, you’re early! How was class? Did I predict your topic right?” you wiggle your eyebrows in expectation, hands already working on the coffee machine as you grab his favorite mug. It was a production mistake, the city skyline somehow printed on the ceramic twice, leaving it unable to sell, so you kept it as your own. Even though it ended up being Yoongi’s favorite once he started to visit you between his classes and you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him that when he looked like a proud puppy holding it in his hands. You get an annoyed scuff as an answer as he peels himself out of his scarf and jacket “I wish. That would have been better.” Surprised you can’t hold back a slight chuckle, answering once the machine in front of you stopped loudly grinding coffee beans. “That would have been better? What could possibly be a topic worse than ‘Developing a prototype to translate text and speech to sign language with bilingual subtitles: a framework’?” “Developing a what?” a third voice suddenly stutters half laughing, obviously taken aback by your statement. Bewildered you turn around to take in the sight of another man standing in the café, one corner of his mouth rising slightly at your expression. Having him next to Yoongi is nearly amusing, while the older is dressed in ripped skinny jeans and his favorite Kendrick hoodie, muffled up in huge scarfs and beanies during the biting winter air (“no I’m not going to wear ‘unripped’ jeans, I’m not a monster”), the taller looks quite the opposite. A dark red flower shirt decorates his broad chest, tucked into wide-legged, black pants which hug his unnecessarily long legs, unfair, in a way that make it look like he is too expensive for clothes. His fluffy black hair frames an unreadable face on one side, while the other half is tucked behind his ear, barely long enough to stay there in place. “Oh Y/N, this is Taehyung. We’re both in arts class with Professor Power Point but he’s one of those motivated kiddos who chose a double major, consider yourself warned.” Yoongi mindlessly gestures his hand through the air, as if that would give the introduction more substance. “Taehyung, this is Y/N. The only reason I actually attend morning classes.” With that he plops down on the armchair, apparently done with his excellent characterization. Confused, Taehyung’s eyes skim from the older to you behind the counter, waiting for further annotation. “What he’s trying to say is that I’m his flat mate and have to drag him out of bed and provide him with free coffee when I’m on shift.” You laugh at his confused façade falling with realization as you turn your attention back to the roaring machine. “Well then double major Taehyung, who I have been warned of, what drink can I get you? Full offense, you don’t look like someone who would drink the same hell-brew like Yoongs does.” The last bit of awkwardness falling off of him Taehyung steps to the counter, taking a quick look at the menu only to end up pouting “Do you have anything with strawberries?” Cute.

A few minutes and tired customers later you join the two boys gathered around the tiny table in the rather hidden corner of the shop, Yoongi’s favorite spot to no one’s surprise. With a grin you place the pastel pink drink in front of a curious Taehyung “Here is your ‘Very Berry Gurt’, hope you like it.” Cautiously he wraps his lips around the straw, obviously suspicious, as you let yourself slouch down on a nearby chair “It used to be the favorite drink of our Yoongurt here.” “Yah, don’t call me that!” the small male retorts at your stupid nickname, swatting his hand in your direction with the weak attempt of hitting you. Bursting out in giggles you can’t stop yourself but continue “He was berry passionate about it, you know.” Yoongi groans out in annoyance, his head falling into his palms, wishing he could morph with the chair as a deep, breathy laughter fills the room. Pleased you take in the sight of Taehyung’s boxy grin as he tries his best not to choke on said drink. “Since when did you plan to set up this joke?” the grey-haired asks while gently hitting the youngers back, judging look on his face. Shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly you sip at your own drink “The second I saw the name.” “How come I never met you before Y/N? Even though I have the feeling I saw you around somewhere.” Taehyung asks once he is able to breath properly again, carefully placing his drink back on the table. Keeping a safe distance in regards of his own health. “My classes are practically on the other end of campus if you are at the arts building, so I’m sure we never ran in to each other there.” You try to think of a possible scenario but nothing comes to mind, knowing for sure Yoongi most definitely didn’t invite him over to your shared flat. That you would remember. Tilting his head to the side his somewhat puppy-like but also fascinatingly intense eyes scan your face, searching for an answer in your contours. Yoongi shifts in his armchair, pulling his knees up to wrap his arms around them, looking more huggable than anything else. “Maybe you recognize her from the photos.” He states, leaving Taehyung even more confused than before. “You remember my last years’ final project? Part of it is still hanging in the gallery if I’m not mistaken.” Slowly nodding the younger seems to vaguely remember what the older is referencing, his mind wrapping around the information. “There were a few pictures with Y/N in them.” “Oh yeah right, I helped you with that project!” you chirm in, remembering the small favor to save him from an existential photographer crisis. Taehyung’s eyes widen, finally envisioning the pieces in his head. You didn’t really think much of being in the background of a few photos if it prevents your best friend from going insane over a potential failed class. But now that you are faced with the situation of someone actually paying enough attention to take in your features, let alone being able to somewhat remember you, leaves a weird taste behind. You can’t help but wonder if there are more people who looked at those pictures, looked at your face, able to recognize it in a crowd. A familiar face but nothing behind it. A familiar stranger. The shrill notification sound of different phones interrupts the moment, the two males starting to frantically fish around in their pockets as if their life depends on it. “Oh god, it’s Professor Power Point with her details mail.” Yoongi states once he found the device before scanning through the text on his screen. Taehyung falls just as silent with a concentrated expression on his face, brows slightly furrowed and his tongue quickly poking out to wet his lips. Somehow it reminds you of Yoshi’s little ‘mlem’ sound. Adorable. Not long after starting to read a desperate rampart of ‘no’s, slowly increasing in volume, leaves Yoongis lips as he continues scrolling. You just raise your brow in question, waiting for him to elucidate his distress. However, all he does is start to whine, gripping his phone as if he would try to strangle it, wishing for it to be something else “What did I ever do to deserve this?”. “In all probability, something terrible.” He shots you a disappointed, judging look at your remark, not even worthy of an eyeroll. “You’re not helping Y/N.” Shifting in your chair you plant yourself in a position that says ‘you can tell me everything’ as Taehyung chimes in, apparently done with reading “What is it, hyung?”. With a sigh the older tugs his phone into the armchair gap and turns to you “Okay, let me summarize quickly so you can understand, Y/N. Our project theme is ‘human’. Yes, I know, stupid, please don’t say anything. Thank you.” You nod slowly, no intention of adding anything. “And our delightful professor had the audacity to force us to work with a partner. A human, hah. But we are not allowed to work with people from our class, even if they have a different major. Which means I can’t work with Taehyung here since he’s in fine arts and photography. So, my brilliant thought was to ask you again, since y’know, you saved my ass with the last project and of all people you should know the best what to do with the topic ‘human’.” At that Taehyung sends you a questioning look but doesn’t dare to interrupt the older as you keep nodding. “However, we are also not allowed to work with people we paired up with before. Aka, I can’t ask you either. Aka, I’m lost.” That said Yoongi looks at both of you with a face that resembles the smiling upside-down emoji horrifyingly accurate. For a few seconds no one is quite sure what to say, staring into their beverages as if the liquid would give them the needed advice. Helpless you turn to the tall male sitting next to you “Do you have any plans on how to find a partner yourself, Taehyung?” A pained smile crosses his features as he ruffles through the hair at the back of his head, fluffy strains floating through his ring accessorized fingers. “I’m was also going to ask my flat mates, but I’m not sure what they’ll say. Especially since I have no concept or idea whatsoever… they might be too busy with their own stuff.” He trails off, obviously unsure about his own words, a wave of anxiousness hitting at the realization this might be harder than initially anticipated. Given the lack of ideas everyone returns to stare at the table in front of them. The drinks still far from illuminating. “Hm, it makes sense to work with someone from my classes though, even if it’s not me. But on the other hand, it also might be a little too literal to pair up with a social major, don’t you think?” you attempt to reason, trying to think of a person who would be willing to accept such a challenge when everyone is busy themselves surviving their own classes. Eyes hovering over Yoongi’s hoodie you suddenly get an idea “I could ask Namjoon from Legal! You know each other, right?” “Legal?” Taehyung asks, even if not the person involved, he can’t hold back his curiosity. “Legal and ethic issues in social work.” You mechanically respond before turning back to Yoongi “He has more business focused classes, but still shares the social ones with me. It’s worth a try.” Relieved you note that his face seems at least a little less anxious at the mention of his former music school acquaintance. Carefully he takes a sip of his hell brew coffee, still hesitant but eventually agreeing to your idea. Interrupted by the aggressive bells announcing a new customer you get up to move back to work with the promise to ask Namjoon in behalf of Yoongi, hopefully saving him once again.

“Jimin, please! I’ll even do your laundry for the next month.” Taehyung almost begs into the phone he’s holding on to for dear life. After he left the café with Yoongi, parting their ways, he couldn’t help but dial his best friend’s number in an instant. The fear of having to search for someone who isn’t one of his two flat mates creeping up his spine, now that realization finally hit. The problem of the concept itself long forgotten, all he can think of is persuading the male on the other end of the line to help him out. However, the soft voice coming through the speakers only fuels Taehyung’s desperation “I’m so sorry Tae, but I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. You know how busy Hobi hyung and I are with the studio and we don’t want to agree on helping you, when we might end up having to bail out.” He can hear the sincerity in the others voice, knowing very well they only mean good and want the best for him. But still – “Well, shit.”

#bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts fluff #taehyung x reader #bts series #kim taehyung #mangata #chanel;series #[this is my first fic guys please talk to me; shoot me an ask; every kind of feedback is needed ♥]#[is this worth continuing? ;;]

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daryls-dixon-antoni · 4 years

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Chapter 29.) Twice as Far

"You're getting big," Daryl comments.

I pause, staring at him a moment as Mason laughs. "Excuse you?" I ask, taken aback.

"Your stomach, it's growin'."

"Dude, run while you still can." Mason warns.

"Why, your pregnant, your s'posed to get fat."

My mouth drops, and Mason leaves the room mumbling something about homework before work. "So I'm fat now?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Wow, Daryl... just, just wow."

"What?"

I put my hands up, standing from my stool mumbling "Wow," under my breath as I walk outside to go cover my watch shift.

When it's over I find Daryl staring at the figure the blond man had given us in exchange for insulin.

"You still think about them?" I ask, walking over to him. He got his bike back when they took down the Savior's compound. Some asshole was riding it.

"Yeah, you still mad?"

I shake my head, "No. You didn't mean it," I quickly put a hand up to stop him from speaking and say, "And don't say anything otherwise; because if you did mean it, I really don't want to know."

"Kay." Is his only response.

"Didn't even notice," I hear Carol say as she approaches us. "Got your bike back."

"Yeah," Daryl nods.

"You got another one of those?" He asks, noting the cigarette in her hand.

As she starts pulling one out, I ask, "Mind if I snag one as well."

"No, you ain't smokin'" Daryl says, while lighting his up, I roll my eyes and huff, but can't fight his logic.

"Those people you met," Carol says, changing the subject. "The ones in the burnt forest, they took it from you?"

"Yeah. Left me to carry Anne."

"You saved them, right?"

"Yeah, he did." I agree.

"Sorry," Carol responds. "It's who you are. We're still stuck with that."

"No, we ain't," Daryl contradicts. "I should've killed them."

Carol stands up, not responding, so Daryl says, "Hey. The ones that took you and Maggie what'd they do to you?"

"To us? They didn't do anything." She then walks away.

"Your worried about her?" I guess, observing his gaze.

"Yeah, she ain't the same since."

I put an arm around his waist, "She'll come around. She's tougher than any of us here, she'll persevere."

"Yeah." He agrees, but doesn't take his eyes off the direction she left in.

"Hey," I say gently, and he looks at me. "She'll be okay, really."

"Yeah." He agrees, and then Denise and Rosita approach us.

Denise shows us a map, explaining, "After I got out of DC, I just drove. I remember seeing it right when I realized I had no idea where I was going. Edison's Apothecary and Boutique. It's just this little gift shop in a strip mall, but if it's really an apothecary, they had drugs."

"How do you know they still got 'em?" Daryl asks.

"It isn't that far. I just wanna check. And you and Rosita aren't out scavenging or pulling shifts."

"We'll go," Daryl agrees.

"Can I come?" I ask, looking between the three.

Daryl's jaw clenches, but we made a deal. He doesn't boss me around anywhere but the bedroom, and I try not to be stupid and impulsive. "If it's just a small run to check for any medicine, it shouldn't be too dangerous. Especially not when I'm with you and Rosita. Please, Daryl."

"Actually, I wanted to check." Denise says. "I just wanted to help."

"How much time you spend out there?" Daryl asks.

"None."

"Forget it."

"I can ID the meds. I know how to use a machete now. I've seen roamers up close. I'm ready."

"You good with this?" Daryl asks Rosita.

"No," she responds.

"I'll go alone, if I have to." Denise threatens.

"You'll die alone," Daryl responds, simply.

"I'm asking you to make sure I don't."

"I'm not babysitting her by myself," Rosita says.

"I'll go," I volunteer, looking between the three.

We end up in a junked up old truck, Daryl is not happy about it, and I know I'll be hearing about it later. But I'm just happy to be out of the walls.

Daryl obviously has very little experience driving a stick, which becomes incredibly obvious to all of us as he continuously strips and grinds the gears.

"It... the-" Denise cuts herself off.

"What?" Daryl snaps.

"Forget it," Denise mumbles.

"No, what?"

"I think maybe you're disengaging it too soon. I've been driving stick since I was 15, usually beat-up trucks like this. I mean, before... you know, before I left home. My brother taught me, so I just know."

Daryl continues to grind the gears with a painful sound for a while longer until we reach a place in the road with a knocked down tree.

"Daryl," Rosita warns to which he replies.

"Yep." He comes to a stop and says, "Stay here."

Both he and Rosita get out, so I look to Denise, "You hate watching as bad as I do?" I ask.

She shakes her head, and then Rosita opens the passenger door, "Come on, it's clear."

"What'd you find?" Denise asks, as we exit the truck. "Bottles of booze. Any takers?"

"Pregnant," I respond, shrugging.

Rosita nods and then offers to Denise who responds with, "No, thanks."

"For later. I'm not bringing these to the pantry." Rosita says.

"I'm good. They were kind of my parents' thing. Which is why they aren't mine."

"That truck ain't gonna make it past this tree," Daryl observes. "Come on, let's walk."

"Hold up," Denise stops him, "Looks like a straight shot if we follow the tracks."

Daryl and I exchange looks before he says, "No. No tracks. We'll take the road."

"That's twice as far," Rosita argues.

"Go whichever way you like. I ain't taking no tracks."

"I'm with him," I say, hearing my son tell me the horror stories they went through in the back of my head. I follow Daryl and it isn't long before I hear Denise behind us.

We meet back up with Rosita once we hit the town, and she grumpily says, "About time."

Daryl and I keep walking as the girls hang back.

We make it to the shop, and Daryl knocks before looking to me and Denise, "All right, me and her are gonna do this. You two're gonna stay back, got it?"

I purse my lips; but don't argue. I'm lucky I made it this far.

Daryl crowbars the door open.

He goes in first and Rosita, Denise and I follow, Denise gagging at the smell.

"We gonna find out what you had for breakfast?" Daryl asks.

"Oatmeal," Denise mumbles. "Just so you know."

I shake my head at her, but don't say a word as we peer around the shop.

"Hey," we hear Rosita call, and when I look up, she has her flashlight pointed at the writing on the wall saying 'Pharmacy'. "Nice one." I compliment, as Daryl starts to open the slide down window lock.

"You want me to hold your bags... or?" Denise asks Rosita. When she doesn't get an answer she just whispers, "Yeah."

I watch as Daryl gets the window locks open and slides them up revealing rows upon rows of medicine bottles, "Jackpot," I say, cheerfully.

Daryl hops over as Denise says, "If you set 'em on the counter, I can tell you which-"

Daryl cuts her off as he helps me and my pregnant waistline over, "No, we're gonna take it all."

"Are you sure?" Denise asks, sounding uncertain. "Because-"

Rosita cuts her off this time saying, "No, it's fine."

We start collecting medicine when we hear a distinct thumping.

"It's just one," observes Rosita.

"It sounds like it's stuck," agrees Daryl.

The three of us continue collecting the medicine.

All of a sudden, we hear broken glass and when we rush to look, Denise has ran into a display case with glass bowls on it.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rosita chastises.

"Nothing," is her quick response before she goes outside.

Daryl and I exchange looks before going back to our task.

When we've finished we leave to find Denise sitting on the ground crying.

"Hey," Daryl says, getting her attention. "You did good finding this place."

"Tried to tell you you weren't ready," Rosita says. "We all did."

"I know," she mumbles.

On our walk back Daryl breaks the silence asking, "So was he older or younger?"

"Older," Denise responds. "By six minutes. My parents came up with the Dennis/Denise thing on one of their benders. Hilarious, right?"

"I guess, but I wasn't the one stuck with a rhyming name." I respond.

"You had brothers, right?" She asks.

"Ten of them, I had a twin, too. Also older." After a moment I ask, "What was Dennis like?"

"Nothing scared him. He was brave. He was angry, too. It's kind of a dangerous combination."

"Sounds like we had the same brother," Daryl says.

"I had a few of them," I agree.

"I'm glad there was only one Meryl."

I scoff, "Hey, it was occasionally entertaining having multiple angry persistent brothers. Never had a dull moment in our house."

When we get to the train tracks, and Daryl turns onto them, Rosita call out, "Hey." To him.

"This way's faster, right?" He asks. I shrug, and we follow him.

We get to an area where a few cars seem to be run off the tracks, why they were on the tracks in the first place is beyond me.

As we keep walking we suddenly hear Denise yell, "There's a cooler in there! Might be something we can use inside." She's near the cars and pointing in one.

"We got what we came for," Rosita states.

Daryl agrees with, "Nah, ain't worth the trouble, come on."

We keep walking, I can feel my feet swelling up and I am very excited to make it home. That's when we hear the struggle.

So we begin running back.

When we get there and are ready to jump in to help, Denise yells, "No, don't!"

She then stabs the dead guy and I shake my head in frustration. Just what we need, an amature trying to show off that she has what it takes when she clearly doesn't.

Which is proved as she suddenly upchucks.

"Oh, man," she mutters. "I threw up on my glasses."

Then she opens the cooler to see a six pack of soda.

"Hot damn," she says, pulling it out.

"What the hell was that?" Daryl asks, finally snapping. "You could've died right there, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do." She responds, much too calmly.

"Are you hearing me?"

"Who gives a shit? You could've died killing those Saviors, both of you, but you didn't. You wanna live, you take chances. That's how it works. That's what I did."

"You takin' chances and puttin' my pregnant girlfriend in danger for a couple of damn sodas?" He seethes.

"Nope," she responds, holding up an orange crush. "Just this one." She then walks past us.

"Are you seriously that stupid?" Rosita asks.

"Are you? I mean it. Are you? Do you have any clue what that was to me, what this whole thing is to me? See, I have training in this shit. I'm not making it up as I go along, like with the stitches and the surgery and the..." she turns to Daryl, "I asked you to come with me because you're brave like my brother and sometimes you actually make me feel safe." She turns to me, "I wanted you to come along because you let me believe if this wouldn't have been how the world turned out to be, that my brother would have eventually been happy!" She turns to Rosita, "And I wanted you here because you're alone.

Probably for the first time in your life. And because you're stronger than you think you are, which gives me hope that maybe I can be, too." She looks at all three of us. "I could've gone with Tara. I could've told her I loved her, but I didn't because I was afraid. That's what's stupid. Not coming out here, not facing my shit. And it makes me sick that you guys aren't even trying; because you're strong and you're smart and you're all really good people, and if you don't." An arrow goes right threw her eye and my heart stops as she continues, "wake up... and face your..." she then falls, Daryl orders me to get down so I do. Crouching next to Denise's quickly dying body.

"You! Drop 'em now!" My heart drops right to my stomach as I recognize the man, who is also holding onto Eugene. The man we traded the figurine with. The one who stole Daryl's bike and crossbow.

Daryl and I exchange looks, and I can tell he's pissed off.

"Well, hell." Daryl mutters.

"You got something to say to me?" Blondie challenges. "You gonna clear the air? Step up on that high horse? No. You don't talk much. That's the girls job. Looks like you got her knocked up as well, nice one." He has a smirk on his half burned face. Something he didn't have last time we saw him. He gestures for his men to check us for any weapons, which of course we have.

He then glances at Daryl's crossbow saying, "Still getting the hang of her. Kicks like a bitch, but-"

"I should've done it," Daryl interupts him.

"Oh, what's that? Seriously, I didn't catch what you said."

"I should've killed you," Daryl clarifies.

"Yeah, you probably should've. So, here we are. Kind of begs the question, right? Who brought this on who? I mean, I get that you'll just have to take my word for this, but she wasn't even the one I was aiming for. Like I said, kicks like a bitch. It's nothing personal. Look, this isn't how we like to start new business arrangements, but, well, you pricks kind of set the tone, didn't you?"

"What do you want?" Rosita demands.

"I'm sorry, darlin', I didn't catch your name. I'm D, or Dwight. You can call me either. So? What's your name?" He prompts.

"Rosita. What do you want?"

"Well, Rosita it's not what I want. It's what you and Daryl are going to do. You're going to let us into your little complex. It looks like it's just beautiful in there. And then you're going to let us take whatever and whoever we want or we blow Eugene's brains out. And then yours. And then hers. And then his. I hope it doesn't come to that, really. Nobody else has to die. We just try and start with one. You know maximum impact to get our point across. So what's it gonna be? You tell me."

"You wanna kill someone," Eugene says, a quiver in his voice. "You start with our companion hiding over there behind the oil barrels. He's a first class a-hole and he deserves it so much more than us three."

I glare at Eugene, unable to believe he'd sell one of our own out like that; and if memory serves me right, I think Sev had mentioned Abraham was going to be going out with Eugene today.

"Go check it out," Dwayne demands. Some of his men do, and to my surprise, while we're waiting with held breaths, Eugene bites Dwayne right in the crotch, causing Dwayne to start screaming.

We then hear the gunfire, and not from oil barrels.

Daryl is able to stab a man and get his gun from him, Rosita and I both find ours on the ground and start shooting.

The noise begins drawing the dead out to us, and as we shoot up Dwayne and his men, I hear Dwayne yell, "Fall back! Fall back!"

As they retreat, Daryl grabs his crossbow and goes to run after him.

Rosita and I call his name, but he seems to ignore us.

"Daryl, please!" I beg, and he stops, coming back to us.

I notice Eugene's been shot, and it takes Abraham who came from the woods, Daryl and Rosita to carry him along, I go to grab Denise but Daryl gruffly orders me to leave her. I shoot him a glare, but listen, following after the group.

"Rick's coming," I hear Abraham say as he walks into the infirmary. I don't even glance at him as I'm stood by Daryl, both of us looking out the window.

"How is he?" Abraham asks.

"Bullet just grazed him," Rosita explains. "But it's a good thing we got him back when we did. Antibiotics we picked up could save him from an infection. Could save his life. That's what Denise did."

I hear the coughing and Rosita ask, "You here?"

I hear Eugene respond, "Present."

"Good."

"I was not trying to kill you. I was looking for a moment."

"You found it," Abraham states.

"Do you apologize for questioning my skills?"

"I apologize for questioning your skills. You know how to bite a dick, Eugene. I mean that with the utmost of respect. Welcome to stage two."

"Don't need to welcome me. I've been here a while."

Daryl went back for the body, he and Carol bury her, neither will accept my help, but Daryl does start drinking the mini alcohol bottles Rosita had found.

I glance at Carol, begging her with my eyes to help fix him.

"You were right," she starts. "I knew it when you said it." She doesn't continue. And watching Daryl continuing to bury Denise's body hurts me in ways I couldn't have predicted it would.

#dary dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #season 6 #chapter 29

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notsissannis · 7 years

Text

Library Magic

Percy Weasley x Theodore Nott

one-shot: Complete

Rated: M

Read on [FFN]

A/N: Massive thank you to the lovely @nachodiablo for helping me to understand aces more. Tho’ we’ve decided to cut down the ace part cause that, deserve its own story. So I’m going to tag you on that one too. Thank you!

Huge thank you to @honeyweeds for being the loveliest beta ever!

The first time it happened was when Penelope Clearwater dragged him into a hidden broom closet at the end of a quiet hallway. He was seventeen.

“Oh, Percy,” Penelope moaned.

The space had been small, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was their situation, a situation where it should have felt good ー her hands had roamed his body, hips shifting in a way he knew should have been sexy, and her lips kissed him, slow and sensual and nice. But it just… It should have felt good.

Percy wasn’t stupid.

He wanted to be aroused. He wanted to feel himself grow hard and have something to talk about in the dorm room at night.

The problem was, Penelope just didn’t do it for him.

Penelope’s hands roamed freely from his chest to his torso then straight to his trousers. Her slender fingers fiddled with his waistband, and she teased him by playing with his button. He could feel her smirk in their kiss.

“Now what should we do, Mister Head Boy?”

He really had no answer for that. Because honestly, he had no fucking idea what he should do now.

But, Penelope took his silence as a challenge, as his desire. She bit her bottom lip and tilted her face to stare straight to Percy’s eyes while her fingers skillfully unbuttoned his trousers. She gave a quiet moan of satisfaction as she pushed his trousers and boxers down his hips. They pooled at his feet as she leaned in to kiss him again, her hand brushing his leg as she moved toward his inner thigh.

“Percy?” She questioned, hand hesitating over his limp cock. She settled instead on the curve of his stomach, the tips of her fingers slipping under his shirt as her wrist brushed his curls. “Are youー Am I moving too fast?” she asked with obvious concern in her voice.

He resisted sighing.

Percy was most certainly not okay, but he wasn’t a quitter, either. He jerked off to Bill’s Playwitch magazines and heard Charlie talk about the girls he’d slept with in Romania. His brothers had given him pointers and he wasn’t fucking stupid.

“Yeah, Penny,” he told her. “Let me just,” he changed their position, drawing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. His mouth found hers as he forced himself to kiss her.

The moan she gave encouraged him, and he brushed his fingers against the sharp bone of her collar, revealed by the open throat of her uniform shirt.

He remembered his hand wrapped around his own cock, the calloused warmth of his palm tugging along his length, and he had moaned too, hips thrusting against his hand. He’d nearly forgotten what or who he was doing. Until she cried, “Oh, Perce,” and he found himself pulling away from her as if he was burned.

“Shit,” he murmured. His eyes burned and cock ached and he wanted to come, it just… He couldn’t. Quickly he pulled his pants up, eyes not meeting hers anymore. “I’m sorry, Penny. I’m sorry. I apologize, Iー”

But he couldn’t think of anything.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and he left, body cold and ashamed as he escaped her.

For the first time in his life, he felt like a failure.

Breakfast the next day was awkward. He couldn’t find the words to be himself, and the feel of Penelope’s hand on his shoulder before she passed him a small piece of parchment only made it worse. He stole a glance at his girlfriend and he felt his guts twist in an unpleasant way. He knew she’d been crying from the swollen state of her eyes, and he swallowed thickly in response.

She gave him a curt nod before she left. He stared after her as she left the Great Hall, considering how he could fix things, but came up short. Remembering the parchment, Percy excused himself and found an empty hall to read it in. It wasn’t long. Instead, her clean, familiar writing read: “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you.”

He wondered, however briefly, if he was supposed to feel guilty. And it angered him. Because it wasn’t about her, and it wasn’t fair of her to think so. He was angry at himself, which upset him even more. He wasn’t stupid, but his action had been. And he needed to fix it. He was going to fix it.

Right after first period.

The first time it happened to Theo, he was confused. So. Fucking. Confused.

Daphne was in his bed, straddling him, unbuttoning his white shirt, kissing, biting, licking and sucking his neck and his chest. But he felt awkwardly… Indifferent?

This wasn’t their first time fooling around, grinding into each other until they found release, but Theo couldn’t bring himself to get into it this time. Daphne was beautiful, she was damn hot, the same as always, butー

He pushed her off of him.

“Sorry, love. Maybe next time?” He ran his hand through the mess Daphne had made of his hair, and crossed his ankles as though he wasn’t perturbed at all. “I’m knackered. Close the door on your way out.”

Daphne buttoned her shirt and smoothed her skirt over her hips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Theo’s closed eyes snapped open. He looked at Daphne, waiting for her to laugh and make fun of him, and when he didn’t see any said reactions, he slowly sat up and rubbed his face tiredly.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on, Daph,” he said as Daphne sat down next to him.

“Hey, don’t overthink it,” she said.

He replied with a hollow small laugh.

“Don’t overthink it? Fucking hell, Daph! My cock was limp! And believe me it wasn’t you.” He leaned in, trying to kiss her again, but Daphne pushed him back gently.

“Tell me, how was it? What did you feel?” Seeing his hesitation, she held his left hand between hers supportively. Theo squeezed her fingers in silent appreciation. “Don’t be ashamed, okay? Tell me.”

“I felt ー sorry Daphne ー really odd, ” he paused a second to gauge her reaction. Seeing none, he continued, “I enjoyed it. Really, I did. We’ve been doing this for what, two months? And you know what you do to me. It takes a long time sometimes, butー” Theo pushed down his embarrassment “ーin the end I’ve always been able to get it up. But today… I don’t know, Daph.”

“Have you ever, you know, tried anything with the guys?” Her face flushed as she asked.

Theo mulled over her question. Now that he allowed himself to be honest, he felt his body responding to thoughts of Draco and Blaise. He’d even found himself drooling over Wood when he first saw his biceps during a match. He took a sharp intake of breath.

Could it be?

Daphne noticed the hitch and quietly took a moment to think about how she could help him.

She knew first hand about the oppression and fear that came with liking the same sex. Sealing herself, she softly shared, “I like you, Theo. I really do. You’re very handsome, with your black hair, your mysterious green eyes, top in our class, well, after Granger and Draco of course, andー” she leaned closer to him and playfully sniffed his neck “ーsmells good too. Wow, Nott. A full package? Exciting!”

She wiggled her eyebrows and it made Theo laughed. Daphne gave him a soft smile as she spoke. “But you know who else excites me? Pansy.”

Theo raised his eyebrows as he digested her words.

“You’reー You like Pansy and me?”

Daphne nodded twice.

“You like both girls and boys?”

She smiled softly and nodded her head again.

“Merlin. Is it okay? I meanー” Theo jumped off his bed and paced in front of Daphne. He looked repeatedly between the blonde and the floor, “ーis it okay? For usー For me to like boys? For you and Pansy? It doesn’t feelー It isn’t fucking normal.”

Daphne chuckled. She got up and stood beside Theo, taking in his scared and confused expression. “Normal? Is anything about us normal, Theo?”

Theo snorted, “I guess not.”

The two Slytherins shared a laugh, obvious understanding between them. She let him collect himself before she continued.

“But aside from that, it’s okay, Theo. You can like boys. I can like girls. Sexuality is not something that should be controlled, so long as no one’s hurt.” She cupped his face with both her hands and tip-toed to peck his nose. “This is where the Muggle have us beat. They know all about this. Research and books. If you want… I can show you what helped me.”

“I can’t believe I hear a Slytherin says ‘Muggle have us beat’.” Theo smirked then sighed in defeat. “Alright, Daph. Show me. Enlighten this problematic lost puppy.” Daphne chuckled and muttered “drama queen” as she handed him his white shirt.

“Let’s go to the library. I know just the perfect source for you.” Her eyes twinkled with excitement.

Daphne drew her arm through his and dragged him out of the dungeon, to the one place she knew would help him: the library.

The second time it happened was in a quiet corner of the library, between two shelves, when Penelope Clearwater once again pulled him into a heated kiss.

“Penny,” Percy said in between kisses.

“Shh. I just, I’m sorry. I need you. I’mー”

Penelope didn’t get to finish her sentence as Percy pushed her deeper into the rows of books. He kissed her deeply and nipped her ear, causing her to moan in pleasure.

It was incredible, having that power. Especially over her, his girlfriend, after what had happened, butー

But there was something missing, and he couldn’t keep the thought from his mind, no matter how hard he tried. He was confused, but he quickly pushed it aside. He wanted to show his girlfriend that he wanted her. He couldn’t get enough of the idea of making her knees weak with desire.

Pushing her skirt up her thighs, Percy lifted her off her feet and leaned against a windowsill for support. She drew her legs around his waist, rolling her hips against his, and he moaned her name in response. Penelope pushed herself back a little and slid her hands into his pants and slowly stroking his length.

And as she kissed his neck, he looked up and saw a young boy, maybe in his little brother, Ron’s, year, ー he wasn’t quite sure as he was currently occupied ー watching them between the stacks. His dark eyes reflected the green of tie, and as their gazes locked, Percy couldn’t deny the excitement that pulsed through him.

He liked it.

By the time Theo got to the library, his nerves felt as though they would eat him alive. The feeling only intensified with Daphne dragging him over to Hermione fucking Granger. He couldn’t say that he was surprised she was the source, but he was certainly surprised that Daphne was comfortable enough to ask her anything.

After she’d answered his questions, they shifted into even more personal topics. Theo decided he’d had enough.

Wandering the library for a moment, he realized he wasn’t sure where to start.

“Maybe Genetics,” he muttered as he made his way to the deepest corner of the library. He froze when he heard moans, the sound echoed in his ears in the silence of the library. Low loud moans in this quiet area. He tried to escape, ー still half looking for Genetics ー and ended up a shelf away from them. Theo peaked between a gap of the books on impulse, blinking in surprise when he saw them.

Her skirt was pushed up to her hips, offering him a view of her long legs. her hands were everywhere, roaming his body as though it belonged to her. But, what really caught Theo’s attention was who she was touching. A Weasley. And not just any Weasley.

The Head fucking Boy.

Theo watched as the girl tugged Percy’s shirt and undid his belt. He glanced over the hard curve of Percy’s stomach, gaze climbing his body to his face, and Theo watched Percy’s eyes rolled back as her hand slipped into his pants. Theo wanted to look away from them but he couldn’t. He couldn’t look away from Percy’s tousled red hair, his crumpled uniform, and his clenched jaw as he bit her ear.

Theo’s breaths quickened, overwhelmed by the scene before him.

Then, as the girl kissed his neck, Percy looked up and their eyes met, looking at each other as though they’d done it before. Theo remembered how he felt whenever Draco smirked at him, whenever Blaise made lewd jokes at him, whenever Wood left the quidditch pitch shirtless, and it all came to him at once.

Fuck.

Percy quickly let Penelope down back on her feet and righted himself. He was the Head Boy for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t be caught fooling around in the library. He cleared his throat and confidently asked, “Can I help you?”

Theo rounded the shelf, surprising both Penelope and Percy.

“Mr. Nott?” Percy prompted, finally recognizing him.

Penelope pecked him on his cheek and ran past Theo, leaving the two confused men alone.

“Weasley.” Theo moved to stand before Percy, acutely aware of their bodies. “I do need help, but I’m not sure if you can help me.”

“Do you now?” Percy lifted a brow, studying the Slytherin boy. “Why don’t you tell me what it is, and I’ll determine whether or not I can help you.”

Theo hummed in response, shifting closer. They were less than an arm’s length away from each other, and Theo lifted a hand to touch the bottom edge of Percy’s tie. “I need you to kiss me.”

Percy’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t expected that. “Excuse me?”

“Kiss me,” Theo said and before Percy could give him his answer, Theo panicked. He reached out and took hold of Percy’s arm. “Iー I won’t tell anyone. Just a kiss. I thought, maybeー”

Percy looked down to the hand on his arm and gently removed it. “Mr. Nott, I apologize, but I can’t help you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He righted his uniform and summoned his robes, shrugging them on. He didn’t meet Theo’s gaze, the request echoing in his ears as he picked up his school bag. But, Theo was blocking his path, forcing Percy to look at him.

“Tell me, Weasley. What’ll happen to your Head Boy reputation when they find out what you were just doing? In the library, of all places?” Theo smirked at Percy’s panic-stricken face.

“They won’t believe you. You’re a Slytherinー”

“And we always get what we want. Always,” Theo cut him off.

Percy’s head was whirling, thinking of the absurdity of this whole situation. First, he still couldn’t figure out his manhood problem. Second, a Slytherin caught him in action, threatening to ruin his reputation if he didn’t kiss him. Third, he actually wanted to kiss said Slytherin. Wait. What?

“What?” He repeated.

“Us Slytherins are cunning,” Theo told him with a sly smile. “And I’m ambitious, Percy. I’m sure you can relate to that.” He stepped closer. So close he could smell the girl’s perfume lingering on him. “And I know you love your reputation more than anything.”

Percy rubbed his face frustratedly with both his hands, trying to remember if he’d forgotten that today was the twins’ birthday, 1 April. He felt as though they were having one over on him, using a fucking Slytherin to do it.

He was already exhausted and confused. He didn’t need this. Not now, and definitely not haunting him when he tried to go to bed later.

“When?” He questioned, the heels of his palms rubbing at his eyes in attempt for some clarity. It felt foolish even asking the question.

“Now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Percy groaned, looking at Theo in annoyance. Did this boy really have to make it hard? “Yes, okay, alright, agree, deal ー”

Theo shut him up quickly, taking Percy’s face in hands and pressing his lips to his. Percy went rigid. Theo could feel his shoulders tense and worried that Percy would pull away, but relaxed when he instead began to kiss back.

It was raw. Pure instinct and desire that Percy never had felt before. It felt wrong. He could nearly hear his mother now, but he couldn’t be bothered, because Theo’s tongue had brushed his, and it felt so right. It was different than his kiss with Penny. This one, Merlin, this one was everything that he had imagine how it would be with Penny, but never did. He felt his body responding; touching and pulling Theo’s hips closer to his. Theo was sucking on his neck when he felt a bulge brush over him. Percy’s body stiffened as he realized. He quickly pushed Theo away and excused himself.

It shouldn’t have happened. He was Percy Weasley. Head Boy. Perfect son. He would marry a good woman that would bear his children and live the normal life expected of him.

He left the library without looking back.

That was the first and last time he talked to Theodore Nott.

Third time it happens it reminds him of the broom closet. But more importantly, of the library.

Percy is twenty-five, working under Kingsley Shacklebolt for almost three years. The war is long over and there is so much devastation that all anyone wants is love. So it isn’t crazyー

Well, it is.

But it isn’t as crazy when Nott slides into the empty seat across from him at lunch. A sneaky smirk on his handsome face as he says, “Weasley.”

“Nott,” he replies. “Lunch?”

A waitress comes to their table with Percy’s fish and chips and both of their Firewhiskey. Percy take out his wallet to pay but Theo stops him as he says, “Already taken care of.”

They talk for more than an hour about everything: quidditch, politics, work, family, Hogwarts.

Hogwarts.

Normally when anyone mentioned Hogwarts, his first thought is Fred. But now, hearing it from Theo’s mouth, he remembers the library. The quiet corner between the shelves. He remembers Theo’s dark eyes between the books. His lips upon agreement to help him.

Percy swallows at the memory.

He silently studies Theo’s face and yes, he is still so handsome. It was almost offensive.

“Are you seeing anyone, Percy?” Theo asks, bringing his glass to his mouth.

“No. Not seeing anyone.” Percy takes a sip of his own Firewhiskey, considering his past lovers. They were a blur of men and women, but none that ever stuck. He’s grown a lot since graduating. He understood that his interests were different from others, and he is comfortable with who he is now.

Unexpectedly, Theo asks, “Do you remember?”

Percy doesn’t need any clarification.

“I do,” Theo grins mischievously.

“Of course I remember,” Percy replies, eyes sure on Theo’s.

Theo clears his throat.

“Right. I wanted to apologize, for forcing the kiss on you. But, I wanted to thank you, too.“ Theo observes Percy’s confused face. “I was struggling with my sexuality then. When I saw you… I thought… I understood, but I wanted to be sure.”

Percy nods in understanding.

“And after that kiss, it was clear to me,“ Theo smiles, his eyes distant with happiness for a moment. “I knew that I was not interested in women after that.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Percy asks, searching Theo’s face.

Theo seems pensive for a moment, staring down at the table. Percy can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Remembering the excitement that Theo’s kiss had inspired him.

As Theo looks back up, he smiles, so handsome and assuredly that Percy smiles too.

“I’ve heard that you’re interested in men, too,” Theo tests.

“From time to time,” Percy offers with a grin.

Theo chuckles. “Not so worried about reputation now, huh?”

Percy grins wider. “Not as much.” He shifts in his seat, angling towards Theo. "Can I help you, Mr. Nott?”

“Weasley.” Theo’s toothy grin slowly etching on his face. “I do need help, but I’m not sure if you can help me.”

“Do you now?” Percy raises a brow. “Why don’t you tell me what it is, and I’ll determine whether or not I can help you.”

Theo guffaws. All his aristocracy forgotten.

“Alright.” He crosses his arms on their table and leans toward him. A goofy smile spreads across his face. “I need you to kiss me.”

Percy shortens their gap as he too leans forward. He lifts a hand to hold the bottom edge of Theo’s tie, pulling his face closer to him before he gives him his answer.

“Okay.”

And just like in the library, the kiss is pure instinct and desire.

#percy weasley #theo nott #hprarepairnet #hp fanfiction #fic #hp #lol it took this long to post because i got hooked on other WIP #and mostly cause i couldnt decide on a title #slytherdornet #slytherdor #mine #library magic

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mariequitecontrarie · 7 years

Text

Meet Me in the Courtyard

Summary: Belle hosts a monthly movie night in Storybrooke, always leaving the seat next to her empty. Gold loathes movies, yet movie night at the library is the one community event even he can't seem to resist. Rating: T WC: 2500 A/N: Written for @a-monthly-rumbelling Movie Night prompt. It’s Rumbelle movie night fluff!

{ON AO3}

Gold glared out the window of his shop, catching Gretel Snyder’s eye before she covered his new window display with one of those stupid movie night posters. Belle French was paying neighborhood children to hang those blasted flyers—again. Young Gretel’s green eyes were as large as dinner plates as he scowled at her in a fierce yet silent showdown. She blinked, and he smirked in satisfaction. Then, with a triumphant grin, she slapped the paper against the glass and fled.

He hobbled to the door and snatched the paper, grinding it beneath his heel with a satisfactory crunch. “Meet Me in the Courtyard indeed,” he muttered aloud to the empty shop. He picked at a stray bit of tape with his fingertips. Gold loathed movies, and he wouldn’t take part in advertising this foolish community event, no matter how gorgeous and engaging its organizer was.

Movies reminded him of his ex-wife, Milah. Milah, who went to the theatre around the corner twice a week from their Boston apartment, a harmless habit which later evolved into bopping the concessions manager, who also happened to be a wannabe actor. Killian Jones, it seemed, had larger Jujubes than he did.

Not like it mattered. With his bum leg and too-sharp nose, he was hardly movie star material. He’d grown frustrated trying to fulfill Milah’s ideal of a fantasy hero and when she wanted out of their loveless marriage, it had been a relief to let her go.

Besides, movies were silly, contrived stories with cardboard characters and unrealistic happy endings. Nothing of substance or real life in them. Watching only led to disappointment when reality didn’t measure up to the ideal.

Movies. Gold shuddered. Even the smell of popcorn made him nauseated.

But the truth was, he was a hypocrite. He couldn’t resist strolling by the library when Storybrooke hosted its monthly movie night. “Meet Me in the Courtyard” was Miss French’s answer to the town’s lack of a theatre. On the first Saturday of each month, citizens of all walks and ages gathered to watch a film and scarf gallons of “free” popcorn and oversized boxes of Raisinettes. Gold snorted. Nothing was free. Hard-earned tax dollars payed for those movie nights, but the unwitting victims seemed not to care. They were all-too-willing to trade precious time and money for ninety minutes of mindless pleasure.

Idiots.

Gold never attended these ridiculous affairs—at least, not technically. Instead he would lean on his cane behind a well-placed poplar tree, dividing his time between gawking at Miss French and contemplating the always-empty front aisle seat beside her. In all the months he’d been spying on her from the shadows, no one ever sat there. Person after person gave her a fond smile, patted her shoulder, and sidled by in search of another chair.

Puzzled, he shook his head. Belle was a pleasant, intelligent young woman with a bright, sweet voice, who always paid the rent on time. Between her visits to his shop and his trips to the library, he’d been in her presence often enough to know she didn’t suffer from disgusting breath or bad body odor. No, she smelled of crushed rose petals and spring rain. Certainly she should have company at her own gathering. What was the matter with these so-called friends of hers?

An hour later, as dusk settled over Storybrooke, he found himself lurking behind a hedge as the petite town librarian struggled to push the snack cart through the damp grass in five-inch heels.

As usual, Belle was doing all the work alone. Why wasn’t anyone helping her set up?

He may be a right bastard, but he was also a gentleman, and he couldn’t in good conscious stand by and watch her muscle equipment into place. Gold flexed his fingers and stepped forward. He rested his cane against the south wall of the library, which served as the movie screen, and finished lining up the chairs in neat rows.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold. You’re always so kind.” Belle squeezed his forearm and the sunny smile she offered made his stomach flip-flop.

He brushed clammy hands on his suit pants and managed a stiff nod in reply. She continued to stand before him, her eyebrows raised in expectation. Mystified, Gold stared at her, then took a look around the courtyard in silent inventory; the snacks were out, the projector in place, and he’d done the chairs. What else could she want? He racked his brain for safe conversation topics, but he had nothing of value to say to this stunning creature.

“So, you, ah, like movies Miss French?” he asked around a cotton-filled mouth. Scintillating, Gold.

She nodded, her auburn curls bouncing with enthusiasm, then chirped, “the only thing better than a good movie is a good book.”

“Ah,” he said, trying not to roll his eyes. She was almost hopping up and down in excitement. In his mind, books were a great deal more superior than movies, but best not to rip off her rose-colored glasses.

“Will you be at the movie tonight?” she asked. “We’re showing The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Such an underrated classic…”

He winced. Was she kidding? Why would he want to bear witness to the misery of a hunched over, lonesome orphan who cloaked himself in darkness, staying hidden from polite society? Poor Quasimodo was even in love with an unreachable woman.

The theme was far too familiar, and further proof he and Belle French may both reside in the same small town, but their lives were worlds apart.

“Not bloody likely,” he bit out, then picked up his cane and beat a hasty retreat back to his shop.

xoxo

“Leaving the aisle seat empty again, Belles?” Ruby shook her head, then slid into her chair next to her boyfriend, Archie, right as the movie began. “He won’t come. He never comes. What makes you think tonight will be any different?”

“He might,” Belle insisted, lifting her chin. “There’s always hope.”

“Whatever.” Ruby rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh.

The music swelled and the opening credits began, and Ruby turned her face toward the screen. Belle worried her lower lip as she looked down the row of chairs, hugging her popcorn for one to her chest.

Five minutes into the movie, Belle glanced at her patrons’ faces, reflecting the glow of the screen. She was pleased to see so many townspeople enjoying the movie, but their joy left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. Mary Margaret’s head was nestled against her fiancé, David’s, shoulder; Ariel and Jefferson were holding hands; Mulan was feeding gummy bears to Merida; and Ruby had slung one long leg across Archie’s lap.

It wasn’t the movie making them happy; it was having someone to share it with.

All her friends were paired off; each of them had someone special to share movie night with—everyone except her. Afterward they would all go to Granny’s for coffee and pie and chat about the movie, and once more she would be the third wheel, (or in this case, the ninth), squeezing into the corner of the booth, surrounded on all sides by loving couples. She was better off going home to a box of half-stale brown sugar Pop Tarts and re-reading Pride and Prejudice.

Belle sent a longing look toward the street, hoping Mr. Gold would reappear. She’d been delighted earlier this afternoon when he offered to help prepare the courtyard for the movie. The salty sea breeze had carried his spicy, masculine scent toward her, making her nostrils flare with pleasure. He smelled better than buttered popcorn.

It figured the one man she was interested in eschewed community gatherings. Belle’s stomach dropped. Maybe she was the problem; when she dared to suggest he might break with tradition and attend tonight’s festivities, he’d all but sprinted down the street to get away. Perhaps it was her choice of movie. Was he not a fan of Disney films?

She snapped her eyes back to the screen and tried to focus, but her thoughts returned again and again to Mr. Gold. Moments later she was scanning the streets once more, praying for a glimpse of him.

“Belle.” Ruby nudged her with a sharp elbow. “What’s with you? You’ve missed the entire first hour of the movie.”

“Nothing,” Belle whispered, massaging her sore neck between thumb and forefinger. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right.” Ruby snorted, sending several kernels of popcorn flying. “You’re going to need a neck brace if you keep whipping your head around looking for Mr. Wonderful. Unless you want an excuse to visit Whale? I mean, he is pretty hot…”

“Ruby!” Belle shot a pointed look at Archie whose attention was thankfully on the movie.

“What? I meant for you, not me. For some reason, though, you’d rather have Gold.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to get it,” Belle hissed.

“Shhh!” Leroy Kline pummeled Belle’s shoulder with a box of Junior Mints, then leaned forward to poke his head between her and Ruby. “Take it somewhere else, sister. I’m tryin’ to watch the movie here!”

“Sorry,” Belle said, slumping in her seat before chancing another glance behind her.

xoxo

From the shadows on the street, Gold cringed. She was doing it again…turning around to look at him. No doubt wondering what he was doing there. Hell, he wanted to know himself. He should have snagged a chair in the back row or walked on when he first caught her watching him. Now it was too late. Now Belle—and everyone else in town—knew he was a pathetic stalker.

Miss French approached, and he froze like a deer staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Feeble attempts to look busy were in vain when he was standing under a street lamp, gaping at the makeshift movie screen. His hands started to sweat, then his cane slipped out of his grip and clattered on the sidewalk.

Belle bent down to retrieve it, and handed it over with a soft smile. “Are you all right, Mr. Gold?”

“I’m on my way. Don’t bother.” He turned around with a huff and stepped back into the shadows.

“Wait! Please!”

He spun on his heel and crossed his arms. “You think I don’t notice, is that it? The way you’re looking at me?”

“What? Oh.” Belle pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “Am I...I didn’t realize I was so obvious.”

So he’d embarrassed her? Good.

“Quite, Miss French.” He stabbed the sidewalk with his cane for emphasis.

“Please call me Belle,” she said, a bit too sharply.

He raised an eyebrow. “As you wish, Belle.”

He spat out her name like it tasted bad, and Belle shook her head. He was misinterpreting every move she made.

“Need I remind you I don’t need your permission to walk this street during your preposterous movie event or at any other time?” He gave an imperious wave to hide his trembling fingers. “I own this block,” he barked. “I own this whole town.”

“I know.” Belle shivered, then hugged herself. “I keep turning around because…”

He cut her off, unwilling to listen to excuses.

“I thought you were different, Miss French. But I suppose that’s only one-on-one, eh?” Furious and hurt, he considered her visits to his shop when she quizzed him about the antiques on display and chatted about old books, or her winsome smile as she’d accepted his help earlier this evening. All a ruse to make him look like a fool. “In public—where it counts—you��re just like the rest of them.”

Belle’s teary eyes shimmered in the moonlight. “You don’t understand anything!”

She slapped him on the arm, the blow carrying surprising bite through three layers of fabric. He took a half-step back in surprise.

“And you didn’t let me finish!” Her hands were on her hips now, her eyes sparking in the dark. “So you noticed me watching you, but you never noticed I leave the seat beside me vacant? While all my friends pair off with their sweethearts to watch the movie, I turn around to look at you because…because…”

“Why?” he asked in a half whisper, and oh, God, all at once he knew the answer. He was terrified to be right, but even more terrified to be wrong. He leaned closer, needing to hear her say the words.

“Because I’m an idiot!” she snapped. “I keep hoping you’ll stop being such a pompous ass and come sit with me!”

Well. That certainly put him in his place. Several moviegoers turned around to see what the commotion was, and he waved at the wall. “Show’s over there, folks!”

Two dozen heads swiveled back toward the movie, and he returned his attention to Belle.

“Pompous ass, am I?” he asked, unable to stop the smile cracking his face.

Her eyes widened and she twisted her fingers in her skirt. “Not usually, but…yes! At the moment, you’re being a first-class jerk.”

“Forgive me, Miss French, please. I didn’t realize…” He grimaced, raising his hands then dropping them in defeat. He thought she’d been embarrassed by his presence. “You’d be right to snub me. I’m the town pariah.”

“Not to me.” She took a step closer. “You’re handsome and witty and sweet, and I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I’ve had a terrible crush on you for ages. For months I’ve racked my brain, trying to come up with a movie even you couldn’t resist. Anything to get you to meet me in the courtyard.” She laughed weakly at her little pun.

“I’m not much for movies,” he admitted.

“You don’t say.” She smothered a giggle. “Hard to believe the same man who feeds stray dogs and cats in the alley outside frightens away children who dare to hang flyers outside his shop window.”

Gold bowed his head. For someone who valued privacy and solitude, he was an open book to this beautiful, extraordinary woman. A flush of embarrassment radiated from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Movies don’t quite offer the same escape for me as they do for others.” He kept his voice soft, attempting to explain without saying too much. He darted his eyes toward the audience and licked his parched lips.

Belle nodded, and linked her arm through his, pulling him closer until they stood flush against one another. “We could leave,” she suggested. “Late dinner at Granny’s?”

Hesitant, Gold lifted his gaze to the screen, watching the scene when Quasimodo rescues Esmeralda in the square unfold. He turned to Belle. “Perhaps we should stay.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He gulped. He wasn’t sure at all, but Belle had gone out of her way to reserve him a chair and make him welcome. She’d shown him kindness, not pity, and he wanted to do something to please her in return.

“Maybe we can find a way to make movies a happy experience for us both?” She held out her hand, offering more than he thought possible with the small gesture.

“I would like that,” he said, lifting her hand to his mouth to kiss her chocolate-scented fingers.

He followed her into the soft crush of grass, winding through the cluster of chairs, and took his seat.

###

#rumbelle #a monthly rumbelling #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fluff #mr. gold x belle #belle french #Rumplestiltskin #meet me in the courtyard #mqc writes

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necrotext · 7 years

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Post-post AC update

“Geewiz Necro on twitter you said you’d talk about stuff like two weeks ago or more! All you’ve done in the mean time is post that weird dragon picture...” “Damn right I did, and I’ve been busy with things like that dragon picture; and I think it’s great, not weird thank you! I also did theeeeeseee... and I had a lot of.... things... to do...“

The short of it was I had an amazing time, thank you. But if you’re really in it for the news buckle up and click the break and enjoy. Because I’m gonna ramble which is probably my most fostered skill outside of art and I’m happy about it damn’it. (Hey it’s me from half way through this write up, get popcorn, this shits a little.... uh... l o n g. But you should still read it because past-past me worked really hard and you’ll hurt her feelings if you don’t read it.)

So here I am like LEGIT a month post AC. My vacation actually started back on the 25th of June. But that’s not entirely relevant other than that’s when my pre- and post- furry fandom friend Serpentsaurus flew into Ohio from halfway across the country to visit for two weeks. Specifically to attend AnthroCon with me but also just to vacation, because why not. Which, for the two of us, would be our first furry convention specifically. Having attended GenCon twice myself I wasn’t really rattled too much by the idea; already having gotten used to the head spinning number of people and the floating feeling the sheer number tended to cause me (I’m bad in large groups :B). We spend a few days chilling out, learn Arms can’t make it this year (sad face duuude) and setup to hit-up that grinding drive. Leaving the morning of the 29th at 8-ish A.M to drive on the highway for about 4 to 5 hours. All things considered pretty spectacular for a road trip to a con. Not many get that kind of ease of arrival so I definitely cherish it lol. Also makes me partly wonder why I never went before? But it’s probably for the best because I needed some time. Regardless we arrive without incident, pay up the rest of our hotel fee for the furthest possible major hotel we could’ve POSSIBLY BEEN BECAUSE WE DIDN’T REGISTER SOON ENOUGH AND YOU ALL SHOULD PRE-REG FURTHER THAN A MONTH OUT BECAUSE THAT WAS A MISTAKE. And put our stuff in the room, which was certainly okay. And then... it was time... So stumbling and fumbling we use our maps we had gotten to look up where the heck to go and wind up using our stupid phones to GPS walk our stupid butts to the convention center. Because neither of us had ever been in Pittsburgh and of course we’re lost. We got lost finding the parking for the hotel. As if I’d/We’d make it blind to the damn event. We get there and I come to an astounding realization. Its HOT, like... really really hot outside. Like so hot that walking that 15 minute distance drenched my shirt hot. Which would become a major problem AND IS WHY YOU STAY NEXT TO THE CENTER, PAST ME, HOLY, SHIT. Let’s not even get started on the fact that my right foot had a blister from a walk along the bike trail back at home the day prior. Was awful. So we sit. I catch my breath because I’m totally out of shape physically and then explore the whole center. Which frankly was a great place. I liked the layout there far and away better than that of the GenCon center (take that GenCon, I’ll probably never go to you again, jerk). We get a nice photo on the top of the center with my phone and experience the pretty night lights and humid air of Pittsburgh, catching food just after. I could talk about the food a lot longer than I should so were just gonna say “It was all very very good”. K? K. Eventually Serpent walks back to the hotel and I suffer my way there behind him in short enough order even if it didn’t feel like it at all. I shower off the sweat of the day (a common theme of the event, mind) and we bullshit before bed for Friday. It was around this point in time a slight feeling of worry looms in the room. See, my biggest hang up with Furry Cons™ is I always think to myself “What would I even do there?” I had never been to a con without a purpose before. This year I went purely because ‘it was time I did’ and part of me wanted to cure my social life issues. But Serpent was firmly in the same boat I had rowed in for a long while before diving into the FurOcean™ head first. And I guess it became my job to flip the boat... violently. (Its a fucking metaphor, okay? Thankyou). We get to bed and plot our wake up time and course for the opening ceremony. Which we need to get up an hour before hand for. Wasn’t too terribly hard to do outside of my badge I had made breaking and needing repairs and us being frugal losers and making sandwiches for later during lunch hours. So I swallow my hopes and dreams and take the walk of shame to the con center. The worry following like a stink all the while. But as we get closer we see more and more tails; which is about all you need to really see to know you’re going the right way. By the time we were through the doors the number of people ahead of us was staggering, honestly. I knew the con average population due to prior research, but Thursday was such a poor marker from what we were in for. Especially since Serpent had never been. We follow the flow of traffic and wind our way into opening ceremonies and sit down, which is the best part about it for me honestly. It frankly was a bit hype, really getting me motivated to re-explore the (now repopulated and changed) con space. It was a large smattering of looking around the Dealer’s Den and Artist Alley. In which I got to very briefly say hi to and shake hands with SonicFox5000. Who I admire quite a fair bit for his skills at like... everything. Boy’s got a genius or something, I dunno. But after sending EVO related well wishes we parted and gave him back his space to enjoy the con too. Then going further to pick up a commission from art_eric. Which was a great treat to see the next morning and I love and cherish the piece and will forever. And at his point I can essentially sum up my experience of the con. Not totally, but mostly. We just kinda hung out -- “Okay Necro, I’ve been listening[reading] but that seriously sounds like no fun...” Hush, you see, you’d think that. Anyone would. But Serpent and I didn’t have any friends attending. So we had few people to visit. In return though we got to just kinda... take everything in. And seriously and honestly and truly?.. it was amazing. It was an immensely relaxing and enjoyable atmosphere. Even for someone who doesn’t take being swamped in 7000 people well. Attending the con is easily one of the best things I’ve done for myself in a long time, especially this year. Re-walk, re-suffer, eat, re-shower, sleep. Aside from the notable hanging around with some absolute furry strangers at dinner; which was not only a loud experience (although not because of them), but also a quite enjoyable one. The next day had arrived. This was around when it really sunk in that flipping the boat like an Orca playing with it’s food was worth it. We did so much, yet... as I lay there dying falling asleep we both could just prattle on about what to do tomorrow. Even going so far as exclaiming “I can’t believe its still Friday”. Call it fate or whatever. But I mean here we are, away from home, and I don’t want to leave it. But swallowing a little dread of it ending (yeah it took a day and a half to get pre-PCD) I get to bed. Tomorrow rolls in with it’s painful heat and humidity to batter the con and I for one reason or another get up way to damn early. Well before Serpent and cut my way to the con letting him sleep more. I pick up my commission, choke up a little, and relax. I needed it. A bit different than previous since I was alone this time but at this point I just kind of settled into a nice sitting space and enjoyed the con goers. Talking with some people and then catching up with Serpent for the parade. Which, like everything else so far had been wonderful. Beyond just taking in everything and attending the Sketchbook Swap as well as playing some games we cap the night off with the Saturday night rave (its rave right? like it counts? it counts) and turn in. Really it’s just kinda of an assumed statement that the whole while this is going on I’m at the bottom of the FurOcean™ and loving it. See I can make my bad jokes relevant and still bad~ Sunday is a lot harder than Saturday though. I somehow managed to replace the worry of ‘not having anything to do’ with ‘I don’t want it to end’. But Serpent and I just soak up the last bits of AnthroCon while we can and finally attend the closing ceremony. We didn’t exactly do much Sunday but in a way I, at the very least, was whipped. So it was totally okay just kind of decompressing from the mess that was the past two and half days. Then comes closing ceremony and the two of us migrating all our purchases to the car before grinding our way home. What can I say other than “Would go again” really? It’s hard to think of the past month because of it. It’s just kind of this whirl of emotions, and frankly I’m okay with that. Its really a huge motivator to put myself in the community rather than the fringes on the net. Also somewhat eye opening what the true shades of it all is really like. You get a hugely different perspective when you’re there. Sure it had its hangups here and there, you see it mostly from social media like twitter where its easier to find. And sure that those hangups suck. But as an attendee it was awesome and I’m sure the staff will smooth out the remaining rough edges they got snagged on. To which I look forward to next year and hope I can attend for sure. Beyond AnthroCon, this month has just been idly working on some art here and there and getting my social media more up to date. And I’ll have more art rolling down the tubes as we move into next month. Things have taken a huge upswing and I’m more capable of keeping up with things as it is. As well as far more motivated to make art. To anyone who made it this far, thank your for reading! I don’t really blog like this often. But I hope you enjoyed and I luv u <3.

#anthrocon #furry trash #blog #pls forgive typos

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chennan-121 · 4 years

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Learning that getting those on a turning and dailies you can tolerate or want is one of the ways to get going

So I was an OSRS RuneScape participant for awhile and have been watching RS3 videos for a couple nights and I want to give it a solid try. I do not want to rekindle it unfortunately and wound up doing something stupid and lost everything in my OSRS account. I understand the basics of runescape for the most part but is there anything for starting out you guys could indicate? I'm a massive fan of slayer and PvM. Did this to enter my slayer mission of bronze dragons, worked towards what lies under pursuit in order to gain access and that led to abyss miniquest, then becoming lvl 35 runecraftingwas able to do exactly what lies under. Reminded me of the days of grinding out stuff. Reobsessed with RS again.

Learning that getting those on a turning and dailies you can tolerate or want is one of the ways to get going. Some of the obvious dailies I would recommend: RuneScape player Owned Ports (the big blue portal in NE Port Sarim) go once or twice a day as soon as your voyages are done or use the journal without needing to move there. Guthixian Caches - Proceed to train Divination a day to the -:30 markers of any hour, it is possible to enter at any Divination site. Sinkholes - Move it is possible to run it twice in a row while a Sinkhole is active once a day on the hour to train Dungeoneering; teleport into Daemonheim and talk to get a teleport and utilize the Dungeoneering server.

This one gets the strangest program but the benefits, too much to explain and too hazardous. Basically it spawns every 7 hours at one of three places from the Wilderness, however, the perfect way to acquire rewards with low risk is to bank whatever you have except 3 pieces of food, teleport to Edgeville and run North past the Fortress to your left where you'll see a cluster of run down Tents. While standing at the tents until you find the Tents you want Jump worlds, if you're the first one there not to alert the NPCs by attacking or jogging near 36, and be careful. Another issue but check out Manor Farm at Ardougne and start farming daily, it's an enjoyable skill as soon as you find out it!

It's encouraged to do a flanking sunlight. The sun is placed on the borders of the octagon, by luring a minion directly to the middle of the octagon through surge. The sun is placed too far from the edges of the octagon some minion tanks can descend in their sunshine, Even though this is a pupil tactic. At a solo base team where Nex faces West, the Umbra and Glacies minion tanks cannot flank after they surge (without moving out of the sunshine).

Following your minion spawns perform the following: surge, wait for your minion to run to the center, then walk behind Nex while remaining within the octogon. You can walk freely to acquire a flanking angle. See the diagram below for how this works. Once detonating run to the spot shown in the picture below while assaulting Nex so that dbreath strikes both Nex along with the amalgamation (standing on the amalg functions fine but be sure you don't walk yourself). Once the minion is at the centre time it and you run to the sun spot Following the amalg dies by surging through Nex lure the minion.

Please visit the following URL if needed https://www.rsgoldfast.com/News/osrs-varrock-diary-easy-and-medium.html

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switch-writes · 6 years

Text

Vanilla and Pavement

((Author’s Note: This is old. I wrote this over three years ago. It was one of the first things I ever wrote that I was happy enough with to share with a broader audience, and I still really love it. It feels like a fitting first post on this blog.)) She smelled like vanilla.That was the first thing I noticed about her, as she walked behind me to an empty corner of the otherwise crowded bar. Strange that no one went over there; people were standing and waiting for tables to empty despite the three empty booths where she now sat. I wasn’t sure why I’d come tonight. The acquaintances that had invited me out to listen to some jazz show in the basement of this bar had stood me up twice before in as many months. I figured I ought to make the most of the night anyway, I suppose. My phone said I’d been there three hours, though it didn’t feel it. The music was just white noise in my ears, and I hadn’t noticed I’d finished my drink until the bartender brought me another. Couldn’t quite remember asking for it. I stole another glance at the woman in the corner. The bartender looked bored, and tired. The bodies of a small group brushed against my back as they squeezed past. I’d always felt enamoured with that subtle, accidental intimacy. “You want another?”

Excuse me? “Another drink? Gin and tonic, right?” The bartender was starting to look annoyed. How long had I been holding eye contact? How long had I waited to answer? I flinched away and mumbled, “Sure.” As he made the drink, I looked back at the woman in the corner again, only to find that this time she was staring back. “You okay?” he said as the drink slid between my hands, my eyes still on the woman in the corner. I looked away. “Yeah, sorry. Weird night. I’ll close my tab now.” Why did I care who she was? Just another lonely patron. In the whole time that my attention had been focused on that corner, no one else had approached. Even the waitress had avoided her, and the woman had never ordered a drink. Probably stood up too, the way she sat alone in the booth. Perhaps that made us kindred… Not that we could have anything else in common. Not with that confidence in the way she sat; not with that fierceness in her eyes. I couldn’t even muster the courage to glance her way again. It didn’t matter, I told myself. Like most moments, this one would probably be forgotten soon. The stranger to my left brushed his leg against mine and I savored the contact. “You want me to summon a ride for you?” I shook my head no, and waved in the payment. My apartment wasn’t far, and I needed fresh air. I could walk. I had to focus to avoid looking back as I pushed through the crowd to the exit. Fresh air and the smell of the city street hit me in waves. At the threshold I paused. Why shouldn’t I? What difference does it make now? The familiar ache in my chest protested. I ignored it, turned back inside and pushed back through to the bar. The music lulled to a quiet stop, and I saw through the press of bodies to the empty corner, empty completely now. You deserved that. Still didn’t matter. Just another moment lost in another night.

The sidewalks were mostly empty, but that wasn’t a great surprise at this hour. The buzz of the alcohol was already fading, and I walked with a slow steadiness. Home meant an empty bed and the pushing, incessant thoughts of another vaguely sleepless night. Nothing to rush towards. She wouldn’t have been interested anyway, I thought to myself. You would have bored her, too. Bothered. Memory is so fragile. The most significant events are never remembered with any real clarity. I could remember all the emotions of the last two years, but my mind just brushed over the details. The words, the images, were paraphrased or lost entirely. Their order was jumbled. Even the evening still being walked away from was shrouded. I tried to recall the woman’s face, but it was already gone. But not the scent. Vanilla. Not overwhelming, but strong enough to notice over the human smell of a crowded bar. So familiar and comforting. Missed your chance. There would be other nights. Other people, other bars. If what might be is limitless, then does it really matter what potentialities you miss? Somehow I found myself at the door to my apartment. Hadn’t I just left the bar? Sliding out of clothes and into bed without noticing much of the process, like autopilot. The lights outside the window flickered. I hated regret. Rationally I could agree that it was stupid and pointless, but it always found a way in anyway. Should’ve said hello said your name should have bought her a drink should have not let your life get so fucking empty. The secret was to hold on to something outwardly pragmatic. The real, rational end point of those spiralling thoughts was never so bad as the despair they tried to create. There would be other nights. Other people. Other moments to forget. I reminded myself that this would pass, like everything else. The scent of vanilla lingered in memory as I fell into sleep.

“You’re becoming a regular.”

That can’t be a good sign. Four weeks in a row now; every Saturday, I’d come back. The bartender was smiling for once. It was a quieter night. Earlier I’d overheard some other patrons say that there was some kind of event at the place across the street, which meant this establishment was nearly empty. “Yeah, well. Your drinks are good.” “No, they’re not. Overpriced, too.” I stared into the empty corner. As it was the past two weeks, the woman had not returned. I tried to tell myself that wasn’t why I kept coming around; the drinks were good, and the service was always excellent. I wasn’t much of a drinker though. This was starting to smell like a bad habit in the making. “Are you looking for someone?” “No. Maybe. Does it matter?” “Not really. Tell the truth I’m just bored. If I were to guess, I’d say it’s some guy you’re crushing on. What’s his name?” I didn’t feel like answering. Didn’t need to explain. Still didn’t really understand why I couldn’t shut out the memory of that night. It might have been the lack of anything more interesting to shut it out. Grinding through the weekly work in a regulated job didn’t do much to fill the mind or motivate much else. I didn’t even think of her much, not as a person. She was no one. It was about what she presently represented: lost potential. Missed opportunities. So many, now. I looked up at the bartender. He was cute. Average, but cute. And he’d been kind, at least in the way all service professionals faked. Probably shouldn’t be such an ass to him. “I don’t know her name. She was here a month ago, first night I came in. Sat in that far corner alone.” He didn’t answer. His expression didn’t really shift physically, but somehow the emotion it conveyed changed to pity. Or perhaps that was only in my head. I waved in the payment and left, again.

#short fiction #fiction #writing #creative writing #my work #very short story

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lady-lover-lisy · 7 years

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Part III: Thee Most Terrifying Night Of My Life...Reuploaded

I actually cozied up to the thick black curtain that was the entrance doorway, and planned on letting it slowly devour me into its folds, when my master plan was halted by the presence of H. She made a straight bee line for me, and asked if I was alright. By this point I was tired with stress and didn’t want to hassle her anymore than I already had, also I was beginning to wonder wtf was wrong with my face that everyone kept asking me that, but I digress; I ended up telling her I was fine where I was and that I could find my own seat (which I didn’t plan on doing nor moving from the spot I occupied), but she saw through me and said, “hm I don’t believe you.” I responded with, “Neither do I.” And thus I somehow ended up with my hand in her hand, again, following her lead, again, before being plopped down not 5 feet from the railing of the marble(?) dance floor, where she told me to stay and to let anyone who tried to take the seat next to me know that it was saved for my friend. Naturally I obeyed and made sure no one sat in the seat to my left, and was politely asked by a young man to my right who I had had dance for me, so I told him, letting him know that H was a beautiful dancer, and than a few minutes later, R came out, found me, sat next to me, and I relaxed a tiny bit, before the next dancer came on stage, and a whole new set of problems arose as a result. The next obstacle I faced was–how to put it, um….dancing, but eventually, naked dancing. Basically stripping, but with a lot more acrobatics and on my part, worry for safety but also intrigued. No seriously, while R and I sat there, we saw many girls do twirls, spins, splits, in foot wear that was a foot high, with teeny tiny heels that didn’t look like they could hold up a feather let alone twirling masses of female bodies in constant motion. One young lady even dared to climb the pole in the center of the stage, almost to the top, and than proceeded to drop down into the splits. At that I almost screamed because I thought at first she had fallen and I was poised on the edge of my seat, ready to jump into action and help, only to realize that I was the only one reacting in such a manner, and soon realized that she was fine. Sense she than proceeded to–slip and slide over to a man sitting in the front row ahead of R and I, and…I’m not sure what the move is called, so I’ll just name it how I see fit: Pussy Meets Face. We all applauded her technique, me more than any of the others because I’ve seen behind the scenes of circus folks and the tireless work they put into training their bodies, so I could only imagine the grueling work outs these young ladies had to go through in order to do half the stuff they were doing. And don’t even get me started on the diets, and shaving or lazer removal they probably have to go through on top of all that work out stuff. Oh! And their poor feet! I was wearing kitty heel boots, not even two inches off the ground, and after an hr and a half, I was ready to take those off and throw them in the trash, and I was sitting! Can you imagine the stress their poor feet go through? And there’s no way for them to pad those stupid heels! But to be fare, most of those heels they wore would make excellent stabbing weapons if the need to put a perv in his place arouse. Hopefully they have received free lessons in self defense from the club, if not, I’ll be hard pressed to incline that clubs such as this one, do that to insure the extra safety of their workers. Woah that was a serious side track moment, ok back to the main story! R and I sat for a good 40/45 minutes watching girls walk on and off the stage, throwing money periodically. I’ve never thrown money before, not literally, and I was damn near petrified with fear to do so. So I waited for the opportune time when one of the ladies was on the other side of the dance floor dancing, to swoosh in quickly, placed the money on the edge of the dance floor, before retreating back into the gloom of my chair cause holy hell was that dance stage lit up like the 4th of July! Everything was fine up to that point, and I actually began to relax, when I noticed that most men who were sitting in the first or second row of the stage, we’re not–being generous. Most of them in fact where just there to watch, without giving anything in return for these amazing performances! Clothes on or off idfc! These girls were working their asses off and theses men weren’t paying a single dollar, naturally I informed R and we worked together to give each girl that came onto the stage at least 4 or so dollars from each of us. As a result, we got a call out from the DJ who said–something about us being the coolest couple there and that R was a lucky guy to have a partner so willing to be there with him and blablabla. All I know is that I sunk down into the plush chair during the Dj’s tirade and tried to become one with the chair, which sadly did not work. So when they ran a quick spot light over R and I, I opted for the more obvious move of hiding my face in my hands, before hearing the DJ correct himself that, “Oh! Oh! Hey they aren’t a couple, they’re just good friends!” Murdering the DJ where he stood off to my right in the far corner seemed to suddenly be a very good idea. Though that would include leaving my seat, and that wasn’t about to happen. Guess the damn DJ got to live another night. hm From there, R and I continued to do our duty to give what we could to each girl that came up to the stage. Until Sapphire came up, some blonde who’s name reminded me a little of the dragon from the book series, The Inheritance Cycle. Her thing was hair flips, twirling, and sliding, all of which she was very good at, and she was the lucky winner who ended up getting my last few dollars, which is where things got weird. R also threw money up onto the stage for her, so idk why they targeted me. And I say ‘they’ because suddenly to my right, there was a tall Amazon of a women, heels or not, she would be tall no matter what, who was egging me to get up and walk toward the stage. Reluctantly I did, because at first I thought they just wanted to move R and I to the front row, but that wasn’t the case, because R didn’t follow, and instead of sitting in the chair right in front of the stage, Sapphire decided she just had to grab my arms, which brought me towards her, almost in a hug, before gently turning me to face the crowed of men! Which was a mistake cause holy hell there was suddenly twice as many men out there than there was 20 mins ago! And before I could step away and out of her grasp, I was gently being pulled onto the stage, laying down facing upward, the lights blinding me before being blocked out by–Sapphire’s body. Specifically her lower region, which suddenly didn’t have underwear covering it anymore, and when my right hand twitched to move her away from me, she grabbed it, placing it back to my side, while my left hand rested near my head, under her ankle. At this point I was just trying to control my erratic breathing and NOT look at her body, by turning my head away as she kind of–air grind onto my face, before I stopped caring about all of that. Because there was a bigger problem than a strange woman’s vagina up in my face, who’s real name I didn’t know, let alone what her favorite color was: my Cheshire Cat dress had just risen up by a good 8 or 10 inches. Sapphire was purposefully moving her hands in such a way that my dress gave up an inch with each grind, for all the world to see. And all I remember after that realization was of my right hand snaking down between our bodies, trying to halt the rising process of my dress, before Sapphire was off of me, and I was rising immediately in her wake, and hoping down from the dance stage. A thank you on her smiling lips, and ice in my veins as I retreated back to my seat by R, completely frazzled by the experience. But it turns out I really had nothing to worry about, because R kindly informed me that he had been prepared to step in front of me and block the views of those around if my dress had risen any further up; luckily the–whoever was in control of lights had dimmed them just as Sapphire had begun to air grind on me. So I guess that’s a plus. I’m simply happy to have made it through without flashing everyone. From there the excitement slowed down and less and less girls were coming up to dance, which was understandable, because the asshole men around us were still not tipping, accept for 2 or 3 who were just throwing money like we breath air, and at one point, a young man standing at the bar across the dance floor made it literally rain with money down on a petite brunette who was dancing circles around the pole. So thankfully as it neared 12:50am, R and my night drew to a close, where’s he drove me home, we chit-chatted in the car for a bit, figured out how much money we had spent, I thanked him for the experience, headed into my house, took off my clothes and make-up, and silently vowed to wait at least another 5 yrs before doing anything that crazy and random ever again. The End

#reupload #lady lover lisy #journal #wild night #lesbian stuff #strip club

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