#I forgot his head was shaped like a chicken nugget

[mal-lay]

Ezekiel😁

This is a few months old probably like 5 months. 😵‍💫At first I was going to make all of the characters do it in elimination order but I change my mind because I forgot about it and this is the only drawing I’m actually proud of. Or this was probably a comic idea.

I have like 100 art styles lol. I’ll probably do all the gen 1 total drama characters in my style a different way.

Smiley. Happy Ezekiel !!😁

[hannie-dul-set]

THREE'S A CROWD — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. three of your friends fight for your affection, totally not because they like you— but simply because they can’t stand the idea of you liking someone else.

PAIRINGS. jung sungchan, park wonbin, hong seunghan x female! reader. GENRE. college! au, rom-com, reverse harem, just a bunch of arrogant and silly little boys in denial, a collection of italicized oh moments in succession, featuring the rest of riize and nct. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, mild possessiveness, so much petty and childish behavior, drinking, breaking and entering, may add more in the full fic. WORD COUNT. preview: 3.2k | full fic: est. 15-18k.

RELEASE DATE. november to december. TAGLIST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. i said i'd do it. so i did. i am. and i'm having so much fun writing another shitstorm of a harem so i hope you find this as fun as i do HAHAHHAHA. sick and tired of seeing nothing but smut under the riize x reader tag so here is my contribution to society. you're welcome.

preview under the cut.

THERE ARE CURRENTLY THREE HEADS IN THE MALE DORMITORY LOUNGE. One is Sungchan, tinkering with the foosball table by himself because the other two heads are refusing to play with him. Second is Wonbin laid comfortably on the couch, headphones on and using his lap as a drum set. Last is Seunghan, on the floor for some reason, and eyes trained intently on his phone with his thumbs tapping on the screen like a madman.

The number gets added when Sohee rushes in from the front door, a large McDonald’s paper bag in hand and four large cups of soda in the other. “Order’s here!” he announces. The three heads quickly pop up from their respective businesses and congregate to the dining corner of the room.

“Fuck,” Sungchan groans, following the scent of the warm, freshly cooked mcnuggets on the table. The other three are already seated and poking holes in their soda cups. Sungchan is still groaning like a zombie. The two open nugget boxes are enticing him. He won’t . He must not. “I can’t eat. I forgot I had dinner plans tonight.”

“With a girl?” Sohee asks. The number of nuggets is depleting by the second. If the rest of the guys come down, there will be none left for him.

“Yes,” Sungchan replies. He swallows hard. Wonbin takes the boot shaped chicken right before his very eyes. This is torture.

Seunghan scrunches his nose, mid-nugget. “Boo. You whore. It’s guys night. How can you do this to us?” 

“A few nuggets can’t hurt,” says Wonbin. He pokes the box closer to Sungchan. 

“You’re right. Move over.”

They snort at his flimsy conviction. Sungchan argues that he is simply experiencing the delicacies of both the east and the west tonight. You’re supposed to have Japanese with him tonight. There is nothing wrong with cross-cultural enjoyment. He is simply diversifying his palate.

“So, is it a date?” asks Seunghan.

“No. I’m just eating out with a friend.”

“Just the two of you?” 

Wonbin raises a brow with the question. Sungchan counts the numbers in his head. “Yeah.” If he eats another nugget, then that would make it five. Five can be counted with only one hand. That isn’t a lot. This is fine.

“Oh man,” Sohee snickers. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s a date.”

“No way!” he defends, the fifth and final nugget stuffed in his mouth. Sungchan swallows before continuing, wiping his hand on the pile of tissue papers on the table. “It’s not a date. I mean, she did tell me that she has a little crush on me, but it’s not a date.”

The three don’t miss the slight curl of his lips— a bastard’s sly grin. It’s a date. It’s definitely a date. Seunghan gives him a hard smack on the back. “The girl has a crush on you, how is it not a date, you piece of shit?”

“Ow! Hey!” he glares at him. “It really isn’t! We even had a whole talk we’re keeping it strictly platonic. I’m not interested in her in that way and she knows that. I’m not doing anything wrong here!”

There’s both disappointment and judgment in Wonbin’s face. “Quit leading her on.”

Sungchan gasps. “I’m not!”

“Who is it anyway?” Sohee asks right before taking an obnoxious sip on his soda. “Maybe I know her.”

“Well, I doubt it,” he starts. “I’m pretty sure you guys don’t know her, but she’s—”

Your name stumbles out of Sungchan’s mouth. It falls quiet, save for Sungchan’s explanation that he met you through the soccer team’s captain, Nakamoto Yuta, and that he’s known you for around half a year now. You’re in different majors, but it turns out you have quite a lot of friends from his team, so you bump into each other a lot. Sungchan knew about your crush on him early into your acquaintanceship— which is why having dinner with you and just you isn’t, “and shouldn’t be that big of a deal! It’s not a date. Seriously.”

“Okay, it’s not a date,” Sohee relents. Sungchan nods proudly at his victory.

“Yes. It is not.”

“But you know what’s funny—” Sohee’s eyes move to Seunghan. “The girl you told me about has the same name. What a coincidence.”

Seunghan is sitting on the table like a mound of stone. He’s got a half-eaten nugget in his hands. He’s not putting it in his mouth. “That’s right,” he simply says. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “That is pretty funny. What a coincidence.” Coincidence, Seunghan repeats in his head. Yes. It must be a coincidence. He nods to himself and throws the nugget remnants into his mouth, satisfied with that conclusion.

“What girl?” Wonbin rouses. Seunghan turns his head to him sharply.

“Oh,” he says. “A friend from highschool.”

“A friend that’s had feelings for him since highschool,” Sohee grins. “You said she was pretty. Why didn’t you two start dating?”

Is this the chicken’s fault? Why the heck does everything keep circling back to dating? “I don’t know. I’ve just never seen her in that light,” Seunghan explains. He doesn’t know why he’s getting riled up, but he is. “And just because someone confessed to you doesn’t mean they want to start dating. Dude, I feel like you’re the one that should go and find a date. Being single is getting to your head.”

Seunghan has been friends with you since eleventh grade, being classmates and all. You confessed to him early into grade twelve, and even though he didn’t return your feelings, it was never awkward because you never acted differently. In fact, sometimes he second guesses if it actually happened. Just a few days ago, he asked if you still like him to confirm. All you said was, “yeah, why?” and continued working on your assignment. That’s why sometimes he forgets. That’s why it’s not worth bringing up.

Until now, when your name suddenly keeps popping up. Wonbin utters the same. Seunghan and Sungchan’s head quickly snap towards him. “You guys aren’t talking about SM-ARTS Chairperson, right?”

SM-ARTS is an art organization in your university. It’s been a well known org since its foundation— half because of its achievements, half because of its stupid (smart) name. “That’s...yes, that is her.” Seunghan gets a bad feeling. A really bad fucking feeling, and it’s not just having too much unhealthy chicken nuggets from McDonald’s. “Why? Do you also know her?”

“Of course I do. I’m literally her Vice Chair,” Wonbin furrows his brows. This is strange. He’s been working with you since the beginning of the year and you’ve never mentioned a Jung Sungchan nor a Hong Seunghan before. What’s even stranger is their assertions that you have feelings for them. You. For them. It’s a ridiculous thought to entertain because, “she literally told me that he has a crush on me. What are you two talking about?”

Wonbin couldn’t get a more direct confession than yours. It’s typical for the rest of your org officers and members to tease the both of you— the snickers and hollers when you’d call him to discuss something in private, the teasing saying you two look good together. Hell, some of the kids even call you both mom and dad and it’s gone to the point where he’s told them off to quit it because you might be uncomfortable. But you’d always say, “it’s fine,” and “you didn’t mind,” with a sweet smile on your face. Now, he’s no stranger to those insinuations, and for the sake of your professional relationship, he needed your denial or agreement.

Turns out, you do have a crush on him.

So this has become very, very awkward.

“Maybe—” Sungchan stammers. “Maybe...maybe we’re each talking about a different person, maybe there’s actually three different— oh, hey. What are you doing here?”

Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

“Hey!” 

The sound of your voice bouncing around the male dormitory walls feel foreign and jarring, especially after the conversation that had just transpired. You set down your bag on their couch, walking up to them with a bright smile that doesn’t match their vibe at all.

There’s tension in the air. A very thick and palpable tension and the three are exchanging glances and looks as if to say, ‘Go on. Go say hi to her first if she’s the girl you’ve been talking about.’

But you beat them to it. “Wow. I didn’t think you three knew each other!” you exclaim, skipping over to the dining corner where you find yourself in the gap between Sungchan and Seunghan. The two flinch at the closeness of your presence. Wonbin tightens his jaw. “Anyway, is Shotaro around? I need to talk to him about our trip this weekend, but he’s not replying.”

“He’s in his room. Upstairs. Fourth floor.” 

It’s not a competition, but hearing how quickly the response falls out of Wonbin’s lips sure does makes it seem like it is. Sungchan has his mouth open, gives Wonbin a look, before closing it again. Seunghan never even got the chance, and Sohee is looking at the scene unfold like it’s a goddamned trashy movie.

“Great, thanks!” you beam. “Oh, and we’re still up for dinner tonight, right?”

They can’t go for another speed contest because the question is reserved for one person only— Sungchan, who seems to be caught off guard. “Yeah. Absolutely,” he manages to squeeze out. You smile.

“Sweet. Wonbin, have you prepared the documents I asked for tomorrow’s meeting?”

It’s like a question carousel. “I’ll send them later for you to review.”

“Perfect! Right, and Seunghan—” There goes another rotation. “Mind driving me to the reunion this Friday? Jaeha bailed on me at the last minute, that son of a bitch.”

Seunghan blinks at you, in a daze. “Sure.”

“Nice! And you—”

Your attention lands on the last person at the table. Sungchan, Wonbin, and Seunghan didn’t expect you to even entertain him. “Sohee,” their friend fills in, a little taken aback. You flash him a bright grin.

“Sohee! Nice to meet you! Love your necklace. Very chic.”

For some reason the smile on Sohee’s face is annoying to the other three boys. “Thanks!” he says. “Have a nugget before you go.” They didn’t think it was possible, but somehow your face glows even brighter and you lean down, still between Seunghan and Sungchan, to pick up a piece from the box. 

“Thought you guys would never offer. Thank you! I’ll see you around!”

With that you disappear up the stairs, and you take all the noise and the life in the room with you. It’s quiet. So quiet— almost like there’s a standoff. That is until Sohee clears his throat, still pink from the compliment you gave him, and says, “Well. Seems like she’s the same person.” 

No fucking shit, she’s the same person. They can’t keep making excuses anymore. 

Seunghan tries to play it off with a laugh. “I can’t believe you guys would lie and joke about her having a crush on you.” His laugh isn’t well taken by the other two. It spirals down to shit all too quickly.

“What do you mean ‘lie’?” Wonbin narrows his eyes.

Sungchan hollers in. “Yeah, if anything, you’re the one that’s lying! You and him both!”

“Why would I lie?!” Seunghan protests.

“I don’t know— maybe because you’re jealous that she likes me and not either of you?”

Before they can start throwing fists, Sohee interrupts by making himself the collective target. “Have you guys considered,” he starts, hands solemnly pressed together above the crumb littered table. “That she might have a tinge of feelings for all three of you? Not just one?”

They pause in consideration. It takes them five seconds to brush him off.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No way.”

“Why would she?”

Sohee sighs and gives up. He hears a set of footsteps rushing down and hopes it’s you, so that his three friends would finally quit it. It is you, and Sohee lifts up. Your timing is impeccable. He’s almost convinced you’ve been listening the whole time.

“Hey,” you greet them once again, flashing a smile once, before going off to retrieve your bag from the couch. The three quiet down instantaneously and have resigned to glaring at each other in seething silence. Seunghan isn’t very good at glaring at people, so he reorganizes his strategy instead.

“How’s the thing with Taro hyung?” he asks, twisting his chair to face you better. Sungchan and Wonbin give him a dirty look. That bastard. He’s even considering body language into play.

“Oh! The trip is canceled.” You sling your bag over your shoulder. “So my Sunday has been cleared. Do you guys want to make plans?”

Crap.

You just tossed them a bone.

Sohee is sure this isn’t gonna end pretty.

“Why don’t we go on a date?”

All eyes are wide. Their heads snap in the direction of Wonbin— the fast bastard. His expression is nonchalant, but his shaking knee from under the table says otherwise. “There’s a contemporary art exhibit opening downtown. Let’s check it out together,” This bitch, Sungchan’s expression seems to say. Seunghan’s disappointment seeps through the air.

“Like. A date, date?” you confirm, eyes batting expectantly, as if you have a barrier against the palpably sour and rotten mood flooding the room in ominous swirls.

“Yeah,” Wonbin confirms. He’s lucky you’re too far away to notice the sweat dripping down his neck. “Is...is that a problem? You said you liked me. Why don’t we give it a shot?”

All hell breaks loose the moment you entertain them with flustered cheeks and a shy smile.

“No! Don’t go!” Sungchan’s had it. He can’t take this anymore. “If there’s anyone you should be going out with, it should be me! You like me! Not them!”

Seunghan has left his seat and has scrambled over to you. Wonbin and Sungchan’s eyes widen. They aren’t letting him do this. They quickly follow suit but Seunghan already has a firm hold on your arms and is looking deep into your eyes. He’s put up an invisible barrier. Fuck, that sneaky bastard.

“Were you actually serious when you said that you had a crush on me since eleventh grade?” His voice cracks. If he’s trying to tap into your pity, then it’s definitely fucking working. “But why are these two saying you like them? What about us?! Am I nothing to y—”

Your index finger finds its way over Seunghan’s lips. Silence befalls. Your blank face settles into a sound smile.

“Well,” you pry Seunghan’s hands off you, still smiling pleasantly at all of them. What is this ominous feeling? Why doesn’t it seem like you’re actually smiling at them? “As far as I remember, none of you returned my confessions.”

It’s like a hammer hits all three of them at once.

“And I still like you Seunghan. We literally talked about it the other day.” You gave him a two word answer then brushed him off your essay. That was hardly a conversation. Seunghan feels wronged beyond words.

“How—how about me?”

You look over to Sungchan, who looks arguably like a kicked puppy. “What about you?”

“Well,” he clears his throat, a faint blush coating his ears. “Do you still, uh, have feelings for me too, or—”

“Sungchan, do you think I’d have kept asking you to have dinner alone with me every week if I didn’t like you?” He blinks. Beside him, Wonbin points a finger to himself. You let out a breath. “I’d be blind and tasteless if I wasn’t into you, Wonbin. Especially after working closely together since the beginning of the year. Why are you guys asking me this?”

Sohee has stopped liking all these ominous periods of silence because they’re signs that even more chaos is about to ensue. His three friends’ eyes look empty and hollow as they stare at you. Oh god, they’re far gone.

“So,” Wonbin starts.

“You like us,” Seunghan follows.

“Like all three of us,” Sungchan finishes. 

You give them a smile reminiscent of a kindergarten teacher feeling a swell of pride after her student finishes reciting the alphabet. Sohee feels sympathy pains for his friends. “Yup. I also have a crush on Johnny from med, but he’s graduating soon, so that’s a bummer. Oh! And our TA Jung Jaehyun! He has the face of a god!” Oh, dear. You stomp on them then finish it off with a spit on their faces. Sohee bites his lip, feeling both horrendously bad and curious as to how this shitshow will conclude. 

The three simmer in silence. You give them a raised brow.

“Why? Is there a problem?”

Oh, there’s a fucking problem, alright.

“Why are you guys looking at me like that? I did confess to all three of you saying I have a crush on you, but I never said I was in love with you.”

Well, damn.

Neither of them like you like that, but that shit hurt for no fucking reason.

“Don’t think too much of it, sillies! And I don’t get why you’re all so affected when you’re the ones who didn’t return my feelings.” 

Your laughter is poison and your smiling face is tearing them apart. You’re heartless. You’re a devil disguised as an angel. You’re from the deepest depths of hell and have come to earth for the sole reason of tooth-achingly sweet and strawberry scented torment. If they can fall to their knees right now, they would, but their pride is tattered enough already— ripped to shreds by your unapologetic bluntness and honesty.

“Anyway, since I already have plans with the three of you within the week, Sungchan’s later this evening—” The man in question is pouting. He’s pouting very hard when your eyes skip over him, and zones into the person that’s been quiet this entire time. “Sohee! Wanna go bowling with me and my bio friends this Sunday?”

That was a bomb. A large and dangerous bomb. “Sure?” Sohee responds unknowingly. You give them one last sweet smile of torture before finally leaving.

“Great! Get my number from any of them. I have to go meet some people. Later! Thanks for the snack!”

With that, you leave them behind, but not without a trace of disaster. Once they’ve confirmed you’re gone and out, signaved by the tight shutting of the door, Sungchan, Wonbin, and Seunghan look at each other. Then at Sohee. Then back at the closed door once more.

It’s quiet again. They don’t need to talk to settle with three mutual conclusions.

One. Sohee isn’t getting shit after the emotional massacre they went through. He can go crawl and scavenger for your number elsewhere for all they care.

Two. There’s no doubt. They all know you and you all know them. This is something they can’t ignore anymore, so they have to figure out how to behave in case a run in like this happens again,

And three—

You like them. All three of them. At the same time. 

Their pride can’t stand the idea of sharing that affection. Absolutely not. Therefore three must drop down to one. Sungchan, Wonbin, and Seunghan are dead set on making sure that that one is going to be him.

THREE'S A CROWD. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Hygge

Summary: Y/N introduces Bucky to the little things that he missed out on since the 40s.

Warnings: Absolutely none, just fluff :)

Word Count: 3527

a/n: Hygge is a Danish word, and from what I can tell it perfectly encompasses finding happiness in the little things.

This request honestly had me smiling the whole time I wrote it. Thank you to everyone who gave me suggestions of things to introduce Bucky to (including my sisters who don't know why I asked them that question lol)

Also, I find happiness in looking at this gif so I would like to thank @thebritishstanfan for its existence on this app

You heard the door open just as you finished running the bath.

"Bucky!" You ran out to the living room, throwing your arms around him in greeting.

"Hi, Doll." He whispered into hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He instantly relaxed at your touch.

"I have a surprise for you." You grabbed his hand, leading him to the bathtub. "I thought you might want to relax a bit, so I ran you a bath."

Just being in your presence was relaxing to him, but he wouldn't turn down a bath, especially one with the potential of you joining him.

"Are you going to relax with me?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively eliciting a laugh from you.

"Maybe later, this is about you right now." You smiled softly, eager to help him unwind.

He undressed quickly, lowering himself into the warm water as you searched through a shopping bag.

"Okay. Big Blue, Intergalactic, Love Boat, or Goddess?" You looked at him expectantly.

He stared at you, confusion evident on his face.

"Oh, do you want to smell them and then decide?" You questioned with a tilt of your head.

"Smell what?" His brows furrowed, mouth slightly agape.

"The bath bombs silly." You smiled brightly, bringing the bag closer to him.

"Why would I want a bomb in my bath?" He questioned your odd behavior.

"It's not a real bomb, Buck." You shook your head, randomly removing one of the bath bombs from the bag, Goddess. You held it out for him to take.

"Smell it." You instructed.

He was apprehensive in his movements, but slowly moved the purple ball to his nose.

"It smells like flowers." He stated plainly, waiting for you to explain more.

"Yep. Here, smell the rest of them." You handed him each of the bath bombs, waiting to hear his verdict on each one.

"Oh, that's surprisingly citrus-y." He held out Love Boat for you to take back.

"This one smells too clean." He shook his head, dropping Big Blue into the outstretched bag.

"I like this one." He held Intergalactic in his hand, smiling proudly.

"Perfect. Lower it into the water." Your eyes were filled with love as you watched him follow your instructions.

"It's fizzing." He looked at you, concern evident in his bright blue eyes.

"It's supposed to. It dissolves in the water, coloring the bath and also adding scent from essential oils." You did your best to explain.

"Why?" He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"It's just... have you ever heard of hygge?" You waited for his answer.

"Yeah, I've heard the word. It's like feeling cozy and happy from little things." He looked to you for approval.

"Exactly. That's what bath bombs are for, at least to me. They make me happy, so I thought you might like to try one."

The bath water had turned a dark blue, glitter floating throughout.

"Nobody thought to explain bath bombs to me, I guess." He smiled at you, relaxing into the bath. "What else makes you happy?"

"You know what, I'll make a list of little things that I love and then we can spend a day together where I show them to you." You bit your lip in anticipation of his response.

"I'd love that." He grinned.

"Yay! I'm going to get started!" You quickly left the bathroom, leaving him to relax on his own.

-

"What's got you so excited?" Sam gestures to your bouncing knee.

"Oh, I didn't even notice. I'm just showing Bucky some things that he's missed out on since the 40s." You smile grew as you thought about the list you had made.

You were just about to find Bucky and show him the list when you had to leave for an impromptu mission.

You were definitely annoyed your plans had been delayed, but it made you a force to be reckoned with while fighting.

"So that's why you were so ruthless. You've got a hot date." Sam winked.

"Whatever you say Sam." You shook your head. "I've got to drop by Starbucks before they close. See you later!" You called as you ran from the jet, still in mission gear.

The disheveled state of your clothing and hair earned you some looks from the Starbucks employees, but you were too excited to care.

You quickly stopped in your room to change before heading off to find Bucky.

"BuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBucky!" You said his name over and over as you ran to the common area.

Skidding to a stop, you held up the drinks in your hands. "Bucky! Are you ready?"

He seemed to be in the middle of something with Steve, but abandoned it immediately at the sight of you.

"Sorry, punk. I've gotta go." He grabbed a drink from you, sliding his other hand into your newly empty one.

"Wow, jerk. You get a girlfriend and replace me!" Steve yelled after you in a joking tone.

"Don't worry Stevie. Nobody could replace you." You called back over your shoulder, dragging Bucky to the kitchen.

"Okay, I've got a few different categories. The first one we're going to tackle is food!" You smiled brightly, nearly bouncing in anticipation.

"Can you preheat the oven to 350 degrees?" You asked as you grabbed a bag from the freezer.

You swiftly dumped the contents onto the tray, shoving them into the oven while it preheated.

"Aren't you supposed to wait until it's hot?" Bucky watched as you slid around the room.

"Yes, but I've always been impatient. It'll be fine. I promise! While those are cooking, I've got a few other things for you. These are from the 90s."

You handed him a bag of flamin' hot cheetos, watching with bated breath as he opened it and sniffed the contents.

"They smell bizarre. Why are they so red?" He looked at the cheeto in his hand with confusion.

"It's the flamin' hot cheeto dust! It may be unnaturally red, but it's so satisfying to eat." You grabbed the bag from him, eating a cheeto of your own.

He eyed you carefully, slowly popping the cheeto into his mouth and chewing carefully.

"Doll, these are terrible." He deadpanned, grinning when you pouted.

"Bucky!" You whined. "You have to eat more than one for the full experience. It doesn't matter that they aren't the best flavor wise, there's just something about them that's addicting." You laughed, eating a few more cheetos.

"Alright, alright. I'll follow your lead." The two of you snacked as you brought his attention to the next item.

"Okay, these don't really go with the cheeto flavor, but they still make me happy. Starbucks only does holiday drinks around the holidays, obviously. These are my two favorite."

You handed him one beverage, gesturing for him to try it.

"Minty..." He waited for an explanation.

"Yes. Peppermint mocha!" You swapped the cups, letting him try the next drink. "That one is an eggnog latte."

"They're both pretty good, although I still like my coffee black." He placed the cup back on the counter.

"Yeah, I thought you might say that. There's just something about them. Probably because they're seasonal drinks. It makes me associate them with the holidays and spending time with friends and family and that makes me smile."

He pressed a kiss to your nose. "You are too cute."

"I know!" You scrunched your nose, knowing he finds it adorable. "Next item!" You presented him with three different packages of Oreos.

"Why so many?" He questioned.

"Because, they're different flavors. I now Oreos were originally produced in like 1912 or something, that's why I got different flavors."

"Actually, I don't think I've ever tried one." He eyed the blue package excitedly.

"Ahh, while I got double stuffed because they're obviously better than the regular ones. I've also got peanut butter and mint. Honestly, pretty mild flavors all things considered." You laughed, picturing the key lime flavor you avoided.

Bucky grabbed one of each, excited to try all three.

"I think the mint one is my favorite. It really goes with the peppermint mocha." He nodded as he spoke, as if he needed to convince himself.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." You smiled, watching as he ate three more cookies.

Before he could reply, the timer went off.

"The dino nuggies!" You reached for the potholder, pulling the tray out of the over. "This is the last food item."

He looked at the tray, confusion clear in his eyes.

"Doll, are these just chicken nuggets?" He picked up a brontosaurus from the tray.

"Well, yes." You huffed. "But! They're shaped like dinosaurs!" You bit your lip in excitement, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

"So? They still taste the same..." Bucky clearly did not understand the hype.

"Right again. It's so much more fun to eat though. Gives you a childlike enthusiasm, even as a fully grown adult." He eyed you skeptically as he bit off the head of a dino.

He couldn't help but smile as you watched him, anticipating his reaction.

"Ya know, you might be right. That was weirdly satisfying."

The two of you spent the next few minutes eating chicken nuggets, hot cheetos, and oreos, occasionally sipping from the holiday beverages.

After quickly cleaning up the kitchen, you lead Bucky to your bathroom.

"Sit down." You gestured to the toilet.

"Why?" He still did as he was asked.

"Because." You answered petulantly. You filled a paper cup with water, carefully dumping it on his head to get his hair wet.

"Y/N!" Bucky jolted from the cold water.

"Sorry! I forgot it was cold!" You quickly plugged in the blowdryer, letting the warm air waft over his head.

"You know, if that thing was quieter, I think I could fall asleep right now." Bucky stated calmly as you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to evenly distribute the warm air amongst the hair.

"I know, right! There's something about someone else blow drying your hair that is so soothing."

You spent the next few minutes drying Bucky's hair and massaging his scalp.

"All done!" you exclaimed, unplugging the blow dryer and putting it back in the cabinet.

"Are you sure you don't want to do that again?" Bucky questioned, still sitting on the toilet.

"Yes. We've got more things to cover!" You pulled him off the toilet, nearly dragging him to your bed.

"Next category is entertainment, I guess." You brought out your laptop, certain apps already open to show him different things.

"We'll start with animals!" You were buzzing with excitement, and caffeine, as you opened two different browsers.

"Doll, animals existed in the 40s." He shook his head, endlessly amused by your behavior.

"I know that. Have you ever seen a Highland Cow?" You raised your brow, challenging his statement.

"I can't say I have." He shook his head slightly.

"Well, there you go. Animals it is. Actually, have you ever used Alexa?" You questioned him.

"No... Who is Alexa?" His confusion earned a laugh from you.

"An AI." You explained before bursting out into laughter again.

"Oh, like Friday?" He questioned.

"Yeah, but Alexa's not nearly as advanced. Here, watch this." You cleared your throat, making sure to speak clearly. "Alexa, show me pictures of Highland cows."

After a brief buffer, the AI responded. "Here are pictures of Highland cows." The google search appeared on your screen.

"So you can ask her anything?" Bucky questioned.

"Sort of, Friday knows way more. Alexa's good for little things though. Tony gets annoyed if you ask Friday to do too many small things because it can take up too much RAM and... You know what, it's not important." You decided against explaining since Bucky already looked confused.

You shifted your screen so he could see the many pictures displayed.

"Okay, so what's so special about a Highland cow?" He scrolled through the images, unaware of the smile forming on his face.

"There's just something about them. You'll find that same explanation for a lot of things I'm showing you, but it's true. They just make me smile. Look at how cute they are!" You emphatically gestured to the screen, nearly squealing at the adorable display.

"I actually see what you mean. Looking at them just makes you smile." He nodded his head thoughtfully, a small grin still pulling at his lips. "What other animal are you introducing me to?"

"Well, I assume you know what a puppy is." You said in complete seriousness.

"I do, indeed." He matched your tone, mocking the seriousness. He was really enjoying the playfulness you were showcasing.

"Well, here is a video of actor Tom Holland... you know Tom Holland, right?" You turned to face him.

"Tom Holland. Tom Holland... What's he in again?" His brows pinched together in thought.

"We've watched a few of his new movies together. Chaos Walking, The Devil All the Time, a few animated films, In the Heart of the Sea."

"Oh! The British one?" Recognition crossed his features.

"Yes! That one. Okay so, this is an interview of him..."

"Okay?" Bucky was more confused now than any other point of the night.

"Playing with puppies!" You're mouth dropped open in a wide smile, clearly excited about even the idea of puppies.

"I think I understand this one without even watching the video." he laughed, laying back with you to watch.

-

"You can't have pitbulls in England?" Bucky was affronted.

"I know. It's so sad." You pouted, still staring at the puppies on the screen.

-

"I have actually always thought puppies smell really good." He easily commented, agreeing with the famous actor.

"I know, Buck. I know." You shook your head playfully.

-

"Twinkies are pretty gross, he's not wrong." It was your turn to comment on his answers.

"I see your point." Bucky agreed as well.

-

"I definitely understand why this one makes you happy." Bucky smiled, kissing you on the cheek. "You know, he kind looks like Peter."

"I mean, maybe a little." You shrugged moving on to the next thing on your list.

"Still in the realm of entertainment, I've got some music for you." You knew Bucky was going to pout here.

"Doll, you know I'm just fine listening to my 40s music and calling it a day."

"Yes, but this is my list and you have agreed to be subjected to it." You queued up a few songs. "The first one, again, just makes me smile. I babysat a lot when I was younger, and there's something about this theme song that really hits different."

"Hits different?" Bucky stared at you like you had two heads.

"Yep. Just listen."

I was a girl in the village doing alright, then I became a princess overnight. Now I gotta figure out how to do it right, so much to learn and see.

You bobbed your head, mouthing the words as the theme song to Sofia the First played.

"I don't get this one." He figured honesty was the best policy.

"You say that now, but a week from now... You'll be singing it while you punch a bad guy in the face." You deadpanned, earning a laugh.

"Okay! Actual songs now." You took a deep breath, tring to prepare for his rejection. "Taylor Swift."

"Taylor Swift?" He repeated, waiting for you to say something else.

"To quote one of my favorite tik toks I've ever seen... 'If you don't like a single Taylor Swift song, I'm taking a crowbar, and I'm propping open your chest to see what's powering that thing in there, because it's not a heart.'"

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think." He eyed you cautiously.

"No. It's true. Her discography is so versatile, everyone can find at least one song they like." Your playful mood from earlier was still present, but hidden behind a slightly threatening glare.

"Which song are you going to play for me?" He was honestly nervous to hear it.

"Actually, you can pick. This playlist is songs of hers that make me smile, so pick whichever one you want." You smiled, eager to see his choice.

He scrolled through the playlist, reading each title carefully.

"Okay, You Are In Love or New Year's Day?" He asked your opinion.

"Both good choices, why those two?" You eyed him curiously.

"Well, You Are In Love because that's how I feel about you and New Years Day because you put it last in the playlist, so I know it must be one of your favorites."

You couldn't hide the way his words made you smile if you tried.

"I love you so much." You kissed him quickly. "Go with New Year's Day, I think it will resonate with you a bit more."

He smiled, tapping the screen gently to play the song.

The two of you remained quiet through the song, just enjoying the soft melody and storytelling.

"Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere." He quoted when the song ended.

"I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe, or if you strike out and your crawling home." You sang softly in response.

He cleared his throat. "I think I understand this one."

"I'm glad. I mean, it obviously doesn't have to be Taylor Swift, but everyone should have at least one song that makes them smile." You leaned into his embrace, enjoying the time spent together.

"What else have you got for me, Doll?" He held you close.

"Two more things. Here." You handed him two slightly sticky balls.

"What the hell is this?" He laughed, prying the toy from his metal hand.

"Throw it at the ceiling." He did as he was told, following your lead.

"Friday, can you turn off the lights?" You asked the AI.

"Of course, Ms. L/N."

The two of you were quickly shrouded in darkness. The balls you had thrown at the ceiling were glowing.

"How do we get them down?" Bucky whispered, his voice matching the darkness of the room.

"Just wait..." You stared at the ceiling, waiting a few seconds before the balls began to fall.

"So you just throw it and catch it?" Bucky questioned, again following your lead.

"Yep! It's weirdly relaxing after a long day." You smiled, catching and throwing the neon balls over and over again.

"You're absolutely right." He laughed, catching the blue ball before it could hit him in the face. "Especially just laying in the dark."

"Exactly! I'll go get the last thing, you can keep going." You pressed a quick kiss before heading to the kitchen. You tossed a few stuffed animal heating pads into the microwave.

While they were heating up, you grabbed yours and Bucky's water bottles to fill up with the fridge filter.

The beep sounded, indicating you could grab the animals and head back to Bucky.

"I'm back!" You called softly as you closed the door again. The room was still dark, causing you to turn on the lights. Bucky was frantically catching and throwing all four balls.

"It's a bit less relaxing when you've got to keep track of so many." He laughed as one fell and stuck to his elbow.

"Yeah, more like a game then." You smiled, happy to see him having so much fun.

"So, what's the last thing?"

You held up a bright yellow duck and an equally bright green frog.

"Stuffed animals? Doll, how old do you think I am?" He laughed lightheartedly.

"They're not just stuffed animals. They're also heating pads." You smiled, handing the duck to Bucky.

"What do you do with it?" He questioned.

"Men." You couldn't help but mumble it under your breath. "Well, after a mission, when you're feeling sore you can cuddle with one of these and it helps soothe the ache."

"Really? Nothing else you've shown me has been this practical." He chuckled again.

"That is true, but the fact that it's a stuffed frog makes me happy, even after the worst day."

"I guess you have a point." He pulled the duck close to his body, snuggling with it. "I like cuddling with you better." He pouted.

"I like cuddling with you too Bucky. Promise." You turned to face him, holding the frog to your chest with one arm.

"Thank you for sharing all this with me. I honestly don't remember the last time I smiled this much." He looked at you fondly, still smiling.

"Me either. There is one more thing that makes me really happy, though." You whispered.

"Yeah, what's that?" He watched you eagerly, waiting for the last thing.

"You." You watched his smile grow. "Even just spending ten seconds with you makes me happy after a totally shit day."

"Y/N, you make me happier than anyone I've ever met, Steve included." He joked. "I love you so much. More than I ever thought I could love someone."

"I love you too. So, so much." You rested your head on his chest, cuddling as close as the stuffed frog allowed. "Goodnight, Bucky." You whispered softly, eyes already falling closed.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, sighing contently.

"Goodnight my love."

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

Ichihime Week 2021 July 6th – family

A little glimpse of Kurosaki wedded bliss. Things get a little spicy under the cut, but nothing beyond heavy petting.

“Ouch!”

The sound of something metallic loudly hitting the kitchen floor sent Ichigo rocketing from his seat on the coach, leaving the papers he’d been grading fluttering in his wake.

“Orihime!” he cried, stopping himself on the doorframe, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” his wife said, looking forlornly down at the mess on the floor. At least a baker’s dozen of cookies lay strewn across the floor around an upside down cookie sheet and a teddy bear print pot-holder.

“I just wished I hadn’t dropped it,” she said. “They were for the bake sale.”

“The bake sale?”

Orihime nodded.

“At Kazui’s school. They’re raising money for the baseball team’s uniforms.”

Ichigo let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t anything too serious.”

Orihime pouted. Obviously, she considered cookies and baseball uniforms very serious matters, especially since he’d seen her come home today with like twenty different bags of chocolate chips, nuts, and berries.

His wife walked over to the sink and turned on the tap. Ichigo knelt and began to pick up the spilled cookies. Against his better judgement, he took a bite from one. Chocoalate chips for days and the crunch of peanuts. Orihime was getting better at this.

“These are still pretty good,” he said.

“But they’ve been on the floor,” Orihime said, “I don’t want to give Kazui’s friends sweets from the floor.”

“You’ve got a point,” Ichigo said, returning to his task. Food poisoning was probably not a way to make good first impressions on their son’s friends.

“Let me fix my finger and I’ll help you clean it up.”

Ichigo grimaced.

“What happened to your finger?”

Orihime turned, a girlish frown on her face, and held up her newly rinsed index finger, a tad more red than was healthy.

“I burned it on the pan,” she said, “I couldn’t find my Huckleberry Hound mitts, so I had to use a pot holder.”

That explained why she had dropped the pan. If Ichigo recalled correctly, those Huckleberry Hound Oven mitts his dear wife prized since receiving them from Riruka were somewhere under the laundry they had both forgotten about until tonight.

Orihime looked down at her finger.

“Still hurts a little,” she said, “I’ll put an icepack on it.”

Ichigo had just finished putting the cookies back on their sheet and setting the whole thing on the stove when he turned to tell Orihime where she might find her Huckleberry Hound mitts.

Only for any thoughts of Hanna-Barbera characters and ‘My Darlin’ Clementine’ flew from his head when he beheld the state of his wife.

Orihime rummaged through the bottom drawer of their refrigerator, the icebox, trying to find an icepack that was no doubt buried under TV dinners and bags of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

Her backside was stuck in the air, moving ever so slightly with her motions and mumblings of ‘where is it?’

Ichigo swallowed. For a second, he forgot that he was married to Orihime and felt guilty for leering at her like this.

The sweat pants she was wearing accentuated the curvature of her derriere, how her hips, fuller from childbirth then they had been before, sloped into a pair of long legs that could set any man’s blood boiling.

Ichigo thumbed the wedding band on his finger, thinking back to that storming night that followed a joyous June wedding for them.

“Found it!” Orihime cried, triumphantly!

Orihime jumped up, smiling brightly, and brandished a blue icepack.

“This’ll make sure--”

Orihime paused when she opened her eyes and saw just where it was her husband was now standing.

Ichigo stood in front of her, breathing not heavy but still intense, watching her with the kind of gaze that made her squirm and curl her toes.

“Ichigo?” she said. She backed into the refrigerator door, and a trill of excitement traveled from the cold, metal surface of the door, through her t-shirt, and across her skin.

“What?” Ichigo asked, voice husky, “what’ll it make sure of?”

“That...”

It was like they were in high school again, when they barely knew one another and every thought about kissing made them shrink in nervousness.

Her eyes traveled her husband, no longer lanky. Their adventures in youth had left him broad shouldered with jawline definition to die for.

“It’ll make sure... that I don’t have a scar.”

“Oh?”

Ichigo’s took the hand with the burnt finger and brought it up to his face.

“I think I know how to help with that.”

Before Orihime can ask, Ichigo’s tongue slips out from his mouth and gives the burnt part of her index finger a slow lick, up to the tip.

Half of Orihime’s brain must have shut down by now. The other half most certainly went dead as she watched Ichigo softly bite down on the fingertip and engulf it with his mouth.

Her eyes fell shut as her beloved Ichigo slowly slid her burnt finger in and out of his mouth, sometimes taking it all the way out and peppering kisses on it.

Ichigo was not a lascivious man. In fact, as long as she’d known him, he took pains to be a respectful (at times, even prudish) towards women’s bodies.

Incidentally, Orihime could be rather virginal (for lack of a better word) when it came to the physical aspects of relationships, as opposed to the emotional which she was much more adept at fulfilling.

But since their marriage, since they’d both read the book “Keeping it Up: the Secret Balance of Married Life and Sex”, since he’d finally seen the part of her anatomy that was... shall we say ‘infamous’ among some of their more lowbrow peers, they’d found enjoyment in slower, more tantric shows of affection.

On autopilot, Orihime gasped and arched, making her chest more pronounced. Ichigo stopped his ministrations and stared, open mouthed at her.

“God, you’re so perfect.”

His words, even though she’d heard them many times before, enough times for five lifetimes, still filled her with warmth.

“What’ll we do if Kazui comes home?” she asked dreamily.

“Kazui’s sleeping at a friend’s house,” Ichigo said, “he called me while you were out shopping.”

That meant they’d have the house to themselves. All night. The very thought of her beloved husband, loving her, worshiping her, letting her trail her hands all over his body...

“Ichigo,” she said, breathless, “kiss me, please.”

He obliges her, taking her by the waist and pushing her up against the fridge. Orihime responded by dropping the ice pack and grabbing both sides of his face, deepening the kiss.

He moans and they both want more.

She wants him to touch her breasts, he wants her to kiss his neck and collarbone.

They forget about bake sales, burns and Huckleberry Hound as Ichigo grabs his wife’s thighs and carries her, still showering her with kisses and sweet whispers, to their room.

[unlikely-cypher]

Old timey baby sittin- Jameson Jackson x reader.

💥💥PLEASE READ:💥💥

There's some background lore to this that reader is in a poly relationship with the egos, as well as my headcannon that Jameson can talk as this takes place waaaay after the cannon lore and he gets his voice back.

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

“Hey babe?” Chase’s voice called up to you from downstairs, he sounded stressed and in the midst of a panic attack. 

“What’s up Cheese?” You yell back, poking your head out from the computer room.

“Can you come down here please, I could really use your help.” he asked. You made your way downstairs and saw Greyson and Sam standing in the living room, their backpacks still on as they looked around. 

“Hey kiddos! What’s up?” You turned to them with a smile as Chase’s face sunk.

“I forgot I had to work today but I also have the kids, could you please please please watch them, it's just for like six hours. I tried to call Bing but he wasn’t free and I don’t really trust the kids in that house.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“Of course! We’ll be fine, Jamie also has off today so it’s not just me.” You reassured him and he finally cracked a smile.

“Is that alright with you kids?” Chase turned to them, ruffling them both of the head as they nodded. “You're a lifesaver! I owe you big time. Text me if you need anything or text the Doc, he might not like to think about it but he also raised two kids.” he bent down and kissed you on the cheek before heading out the door. 

“So, uh, you guys hungry?” You asked before shooting a text to Jameson begging him to come inside and help. You had babysat before but you were confident that you had no idea what you were doing. “I have dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets?” you offered.

“Dinosaurs!” They threw down their backpacks before following you into the kitchen. Jameson walked inside and walked over to the sink to wash his hands from the garden dirt before turning to greet the kids.

“Heya doll! I see we’ve got a couple of rugrats on our hands today!” Jameson walked over and helped you get the ingredients ready for dinner. 

“You talk funny.” Greyson pointed out and Jameson turned around to him, his mustache twitching slightly in amusement. 

“Tell It to Sweeney old sport.” Jameson retorted with a smirk, squinting down at Greyson.

“Yo Gatsby, you’re trying to pick a fight with a child.” You pointed out while you put the chicken nuggets into the oven. 

“I was simply…” He started before he lost his smirk and adjusted his hat in embarrassment. “Very well then, Daisy.” He turned his attention back to you. “What are we gonna do with ‘em?” 

“What did kids do back in your day?” You asked him then almost instantly regretted it as you saw the wheels turning in his head.

“Well back in my day, we would take a hula hoop and a stick and see how far we could get the hoop to go! Oh it was the bees knees!” He looked lost in thought for a moment.

“That sounds very cute but I was more thinking we could like watch peppa pig or Sofia the first? Which do you guys prefer?” You asked as you handed them their plates. 

“Those shows are for girls and whilst i’m sure Sam wouldn’t mind, a young lad like Greyson doesn’t want to see that hogwash. He wants to watch a man's show! Like hunting in the wild or golf!” Jameson retorted, cutting off Sam as she went to speak.

“I know back in your day, men and women were divided in pretty sexist terms but the times have changed, love bug.” You tried to add as much venom into your words as you could without alarming the children. They looked back and forth between both of you, munching on their chicken nuggets.

“I’m aware, Pumpkin.” He threw just as much venom back, his arms crossed, ready to make a point. “But I must say-”

“I wanna play minecraft.” Greyson said, interrupting Jameson. 

“Yeah Minecraft!” Sam agreed before climbing down off her chair and running to get her bag. 

“Oh my god I should've known, they are Chase’s kids.” You laughed in spite of yourself. “Don’t forget to eat the rest of your nuggets please Sammy Sam! I’ll pull it up on the TV and we can all play together okay?” Sam nodded, quickly finishing the rest of her nuggets then racing her brother into the living room.

“Mind craft? Is that some sort of brain puzzler in the paper?” Jameson asked, deeply confused, swiping a nugget off the tray. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, square.” You tried to walk by him with a smirk to follow the kids but he pulled you into his arms with a frown, his mustache drooping at the sides.

“Now now doll, you know I was just being fluky!” He gave you puppy dog eyes and you folded instantly. You leaned up to kiss him softly, his mustache tickling your nose. He tried to lean down into the kiss but you put your hand on his chest and pushed him back slightly.

“Back in my day the babysitters often snogged just out of sight of the children.” He whispered, his blue eyes shining with mischief. 

“As heavenly as that sounds, I haven’t played minecraft in so long and I really want to. But if you play your cards right, I’ll reward you for helping me later.” You winked as a deep blush coated his cheeks. “Come on, I’ll help you build your house.” You laced your fingers and pulled him into the living room. 

The hours flew by and soon all of you had made a very nice looking base. Jameson almost had a firm grasp on minecraft but still questioned almost everything he saw, to which Greyson would roll his eyes at him and explain. Chase returned home, pleasantly surprised that the house hadn’t burned to the ground and that both of the kids were okay. He put them to bed in him and Jackie’s room before returning downstairs.

“I’m honestly very proud of you.” Chase smiled at you after picking up the controller Greyson was playing on.

“I almost had to give Jamie here a talk about modern sexism but honestly it worked out pretty well!” you replied as Jameson shook his head at you with a smile.

“She thinks I don't know my wooden nickels but I’m hip to the jive!” He defended himself.

“Sure ya are pog champ.” Chase cracked up before heading back upstairs.

“What is a pog??” Jameson looked insulted.

“Come on grandpa lets get you to bed.” You stood up and stretched before heading towards the stairs.

“I believe I am owed a great deal of barneymugging for my help today!” Jameson stood up and chased after you up the stairs.

[sirtadcooper]

Javier Peña and the Brown-Nosed Bear

Fandom: Narcos Category: Gen, Humour, Crack Relationships: Javier Peña & Steve Murphy Characters: Javier Peña, Steve Murphy Word Count: 1,900+ For: @djarsdin and @javierian.

Warnings: Swearing, drug mentions, crack (as in a silly idea) treated far too seriously, period inaccuracies, food, McDonald’s.

Summary: Javier Peña is not having a good day so Steve Murphy brings him a McDonald’s Happy Meal to cheer him up.

Notes: This makes no sense. The Happy Meal menu is from the UK in 2021, the toys are from 2018 and the boys are in the 1980s. But just go with it, for me, pretty please?

This, all of this, was inspired by @djarsdin’s tag “someone get this man a happy meal” under this already dryly funny post by @javierian. This is for both of you. :)

Any Spanish is from Google Translate so please forgive me if it’s wrong.

(One-shot.)

Javier Peña and the Brown-Nosed Bear

Javier is staring blankly down at a page, cigarette hanging loosely from one hand as he cups his chin with the other. The typewritten words are blurring and he’s read the same paragraph countless times now, in limbo, unable to get any further.

A small red box, having evidently just been thrown in his direction, lands with a soft thud right under his nose. Javi jerks back with a start, blurry black and white suddenly replaced with bright red and… yellow? Javi blinks, his tired eyes finally focus — it’s a McDonald’s Happy Meal.

“There,” says Steve, “now cheer the fuck up.”

He sets two soda cups down safely on the desk and throws himself down onto his chair with enough force to send it rolling backwards a few feet. Identical Happy Meal box cradled lovingly on his lap, he rolls the chair forwards with his feet until he’s close enough to his desk again to put his boots up on it.

Looking over, Steve nods meaningfully at Javi’s paperwork.

Javi follows his gaze. “Shit.”

Javi’s half cigarette has been dropping flakes of ash onto his page. He swipes the tiny flakes away with the side of his hand — when only faint grey stains remain on the crisp white paper, he rests the still lit cigarette on the rim of the ashtray and leaves it sitting there, hazy wisps of smoke rising into the air.

“You look like shit,” Steve comments needlessly around a huge bite of a chicken burger.

Javi grimaces, rubbing at his tired eyes. He feels like shit, he doesn’t need to be told, thank you, he wants to say. Instead, he says aloud, “How’d things go with your C.I.?”

Chewing noisily, Steve shrugs. “No shop talk over dinner. I’ll tell you later. Eat up.”

With a pointed look, Javi sets the paperwork aside. Perhaps he will try to finish it again later, perhaps tomorrow, or even better still it may find itself in Steve’s annoyingly sparse inbox.

Opening the red and yellow box, Javi finds a bag of fries and a box of chicken nuggets. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was — as soon as the scent of fried fast food hits his nostrils his mouth starts to water. He glances at the clock — well after four in the afternoon. Last time he had checked it was just before one.

“Oh — almost forgot.” Steve plunges his hand into his jacket pocket. First he places a tiny tub of ketchup on Javi’s side of their desk, then a wad of napkins an inch thick.

“Your kid joining us?” Javi asks, meaning the excessive collection of napkins, but concentrating on pulling the lid off the ketchup dip.

Steve, halfway through his chicken burger already, adopts an enigmatic expression. “I’ve learned to be prepared.”

Javi is absolutely ravenous — the chicken nuggets and fries after almost a day’s unintended fasting are heavenly.

They both eat in companionable silence until—

Crunch!

Javi looks up from his food, takes a moment to register what’s in front of his eyes. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a carrot stick.”

“What’s it doing in a kid’s meal?” Javi asks, and then, more to himself, “Why am I eating a kid’s meal?”

“One — it’s healthy. Connie and I are watching what we eat right now and trying to keep in shape.” Javi can think of other ways two married people could keep in shape, but hasn’t the chance to voice his opinion as Steve carries on, “Two — shut up, it’s tasty, ain’t it? And three — I thought it might cheer you up, you’ve been a real downer today.” He doesn’t use a finger to emphasise each point, rather a wiggle of a carrot stick with the end bitten off. Javi decides instantly that he doesn’t like that.

“I’m touched,” he says dryly, dipping a fry in his sauce. He really is touched by the kind thought from his partner, but the kind thought is wrapped in so many layers of hillbilly bullshit that it’s hard to find the words to express that. He leaves his gratitude unsaid, veers the conversation away. “How did you order all this, anyways? Your Spanish isn’t that good.”

Steve appears offended, which Javi knows to mean that he isn’t offended at all. “Hey, I know the words for ‘drug dealer’ and ‘cocaine’ and ‘gun’.”

Javi peers into his red and yellow box — only a plastic bag with something black inside remains. “I don’t see any cocaine in here,” Javi mutters under his breath, deliberately loud enough to be heard.

“These carrot sticks are better than coke, believe me,” Steve says, shoving another piece of carrot into his mouth with a triumphant grin as if that proved it.

Javi shakes his head, sips on his soda. “Lying bastard.”

Steve’s expression gives nothing away.

“I just pointed at what I wanted. Took me a few attempts but I got there in the end. How do you say carrot sticks in Spanish? Just, you know, for future reference.”

“Palo de mierda,” Javi tells him with a straight face, without hesitation.

“What?”

“Palo de mierda,” Javi says again, unrepentant — he holds in a breath, hoping that Steve doesn’t catch on. He needn’t have worried.

Steve repeats it a few times, committing the phrase to memory. Javi stuffs a whole chicken nugget in his mouth before he can laugh.

They lapse into silence again — or as silent as it can be when one of them is crunching on raw carrots.

Chicken burger and carrot sticks finished, Steve wipes mayo off of his moustache with a napkin. A few minutes later when Javi reaches for a napkin from the pile as well, Steve looks very pleased with himself.

Javi starts tidying up, collecting the leftover rubbish from his desk and putting it inside his red box. Only his soda remains to be finished.

“Nice,” Steve says and Javi looks up — he’s got a little stuffed penguin toy in a plastic bag. “My little girl’s gonna love this.”

Javi reaches into his box and pulls out a bag too — it’s a black thing with a brown nose and tummy, some kind of stuffed animal he doesn’t recognise. He turns it over — there’s a card inside.

SLOTH BEAR, it reads.

“Here you go,” Javi says, lifting himself out of his chair to reach across their desk made out of two desks. He holds out the sloth bear in its plastic bag for Steve to take — but Steve doesn’t make a move, just stares at Javi like he’s sprouted an extra head that’s just told him the sky isn’t blue. Catching his look, Javi asks, “What? It’s for your kid.”

“No, no, man, that’s yours,” Steve says, shaking his head along with every ‘no’.

Javi doesn't retreat, just shakes his outstretched hand as if to tempt him — the little bear in the bag jumps up and down and the plastic crinkles noisily with the movement. (Javi hasn’t thought of the Serpent tempting Eve in the Garden of Eden for a long time.)

After a few moments of them staring stubbornly at each other, bear in a bag suspended between them, Javi falls back into his chair with a huff. He looks down at the bear in his hands. “What am I going to do with this?”

Steve rolls his eyes and lifts up his hand, fingers wiggling to beckon Javi — or the bear — to him.

He gets the bear — it flies across the desk and slaps him on the cheek with some force, bouncing off of him and to the ground. Steve bends over in his chair and it rolls back slightly as he strains to reach the bear where it has landed. He straightens, the bear clenched securely in his fist, and fixes Javi with an outraged look. “What the hell?”

Javi takes a drag of his half-finished cigarette, blows out the smoke. “It’s a tiny stuffed animal, Steve, it can’t feel a thing.”

“He’s got a brown nose.”

“He?” Javi mutters to himself, but is talked over.

“He’s got a brown nose, d’you know what that means?” Steve points at the bear’s pale brown muzzle, just in case Javi hasn’t noticed — he has noticed, he just doesn’t see why the hell he should care.

Steve’s expecting an answer — Javi rolls his eyes, feebly attempts, “He — it — has been using a sun bed wrong?”

“No, it means he’s your mascot,” Steve declares with childlike glee.

Javi blinks in the face of Steve’s unaccountable delight. “You’re losing it, Murphy.”

“He is. Think about it — how much brown-nosing do you and me have to do on a weekly basis? It’s a fuckton. I can handle it fine because I am calm and collected and an excellent people person — but you? You look like you’re constipated the whole time — quit flipping me the bird, man, I’m serious here — and the big cheeses know it, Javi, they’ll start taking a real dislike to you. But this bear is an expert, look at him, it’s all over his face. You take inspiration from him and he’ll show you how to brown-nose like the best of them.”

Steve holds out the bear in the bag for Javi to take. The three of them stare at each other — Steve with a look of ridiculous seriousness, Javi with straight-up disbelief, and the bear with the blank expression of the fucking inanimate.

“Kiss my ass,” Javi says, and in one swift and graceful movement he’s out of his chair and heading for the restroom. His knees protest after sitting for most of the day but he’s not fucking stopping. He has to get away from this maniac. “I’m going for a piss,” he throws over his shoulder as he disappears into the corridor.

When he returns several minutes later Steve is gone — but the brown-nosed bear is unwrapped from its plastic bag and nestled in between his outbox and his pen pot.

Javi sighs, but the bear stays.

TWO DAYS LATER

“Ambassador Noonan wants to see us about my C.I.,” Steve tells Javi, almost apologetic, as he puts the phone back on the hook.

“Both of us? Great,” Javi says, the final word sounding chipper but dripping with sarcasm.

They both head for their desks, collecting I.D. badges from drawers and putting their coats on. Steve fiddles with his hair — which makes very little difference, Javi thinks — and picks up his car keys. “I’ll drive,” he says, and goes on ahead.

The brown-nosed bear catches Javi’s eye as he turns to leave. He pauses despite himself, mutters, “Fuck it.”

He puts the bear in his pocket and follows Steve out of the building.

In the meeting, every time Noonan says something that will needlessly halt their progress in catching Escobar, Javi squeezes the bear hidden in his pocket and tries to look less ‘constipated’, as Steve succinctly put it.

Steve’s C.I. will get them a small step closer to Escobar but a small step is better than none at all. Noonan is pleased, grants them some extra funds and manpower to follow the C.I.’s lead. In all, the meeting goes much better than usual — they leave with more than they arrived with.

Javi and Steve are descending the stairs to the underground parking lot together when Javi says, “Palo de zanahoria.”

“Huh? What’s that?”

“Palo de zanahoria. Carrot sticks. In Spanish.”

[alfred-braginsky]

RusAme Secret Santa 2020

My secret santa this year is @grapeautumn​ !!! I hope you like it, Merry Belated Christmas! 

Gift requested:  Human AU Alfred accidentally summons a demon while making Christmas cookies. The problem comes when Alfred just vehemently doesn't believe in demons and just figures some random guy showed up at his house. The demon, Ivan, starts out fairly miffed but warms up to Alfred (Comedy/fluff, any rating)

Shit, shit , shit, shit!

Alfred simply cannot believe he forgot to make the Christmas cookies for the office potluck. Well, he could believe it. It was common knowledge that he was known to have one or two things slip from his mind. There was no way he could go out now at this point in the night. The roads were icy, and it was too snowy for anyone to see in this weather even with their brights on. All he had to make cookies was lingering ingredients in the cabinets. There wasn’t even a recipe he could follow, everything online looked like either too much work or too basic.

He couldn’t exactly serve up ‘banging your head against the wall’ at the party, so what could he do? A sense of clarity washed over him. He would call his friend Francis! After all, his pastries always seemed to kick ass at any event, formal or just your average potluck. Pulling out his phone he dials his number.

 No answer.

 Things seemed bleak. There was no hope. Nothing he could do. He didn’t have an inkling on the seemingly complicated mysteries to baking cookies. Another thought came to him in his time of need. There is no other choice. He was going to have to call Arthur.

Alfred shuddered at the thought of having to call his cousin for baking advice. The first reason being is that he would never hear the end of it from Arthur. He would have that smug smirk on his face as he brings it up every other Christmas with the family in that condescending tone Alfred hates so much.

The second reason being that any recipe he would get from him would probably end up as piles of ash. Arthur isn’t exactly known for his baking. Alfred hoped his improvisation skills would save him as long he had the building blocks for a cookie.

 Swallowing his pride didn’t seem so hard when he was this desperate. As the phone range he immediately regretted his decision. Too late to hang up now, Arthur would know he called.

 “Hm, hello?” the line stopped ringing as Arthur’s sleepy voice answered.

“…”  

Alfred hoped if he didn’t say anything maybe it will just be just be ignored and Alfred can go back to panicking in peace.

“Hello? Alfred? This better not be another prank call; I won’t fall for it twice! I’m hangin---”

“No! Wait…I’m sorry. This isn’t a prank, I swear.”

“What time is it there? Did something happen? Do I need come over there earlier than expected?”

“What? No! I need your help with something, and it doesn’t require you to come over.”

Arthur was silent for a moment out of curiosity.

“What do you want?” with cautious hesitation.

------

Alfred had explained everything. Arthur was as smug as expected. Luckily for Alfred, he didn’t need to write anything down. Arthur stored some of the books he likes to read  at his place for when he comes over for the holidays. An unpublished cookbook that Arthur had written himself was among the box of books.

Alfred went to the hallways closet and quickly located the box. Rifling through the book he was intrigued with a mix of disgust at how many cheesy romance novels were in the box. They all looked the same. His eyes widen as he spotted a book that looked different from all. The book was black and faded. It didn’t seem like Arthur’s style, but it was the only one that was different. Well, maybe if he looked more…

Nah!

There was no time for that. Alfred flipped through the book and was positive there had to be something in there. If it turned out to be Arthur’s diary, that was even better! Maybe he could find some dirt on him.

Speaking of dirt, it seems like that was the first ingredient for the cookies. Weird? But Alfred wasn’t going to question it.

He grabbed his coat and tried to get as much dirt as he could from the frozen ground. He collected all the dirt required in a bowl. Next step was flesh? Okay…this was going a bit off the track of cookies, but if this is what the recipe asked for who was he to question it?

He grabbed chicken nuggets from the freeze and heated them up in the microwave. Once heated up he put them in the dirt and began to mix the ingredients.

Alright, what did he need to do next? His eyes scanned the very old pages and his eyes widen at what the recipe asked for next.

“What the hell, cut a lock of my own hair?!” he exclaimed.

That had to be some kind of health code violation. Alfred is certain that the recipe will call for him to take it out later. The recipe required a few more ingredients that he was able to find nearby. After it was all mixed together, he rolled the nasty concoction out and began using Christmas cookie cutters to make them into holiday themed shapes. He sprinkled them with peppermint for a pop of color.

The final step was to leave them under the light of the full moon. Alfred looked out the window to see the entire moon above him. What luck! With a yawn he set them down with the window open for the full effect of the full moon’s rays. Baking took a lot of work and he deserved to rest. After taking a quick shower, he got into some comfy pajamas, and went to sleep.

The next morning, Alfred woke up to the sound of his alarm blaring in his ear. Letting out a groan he put his phone on snooze and shut his eyes hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. His eyes snapped open as he heard a loud crash coming from downstairs. He jumped out bed and immediately dug through his closet and pulled out a wooden baseball bat.

With caution he tipped toed out of his bedroom and around the corner where the banging and clashing was coming from. Swallowing hard, he gripped the bat tightly, ready to swing at whatever was in his kitchen. What made him think that leaving the window open at night was a good idea?!

Maybe it was a hungry raccoon. Maybe a party girl who went into the wrong house. Or maybe---

A tall man dressed in all black EATING HIS COOKIES!

“What the hell are you doing? Do you know how long it took me to make those!” Alfred shouted as he lowered the bat, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. His eyes held a pang of defeat. He was going to get scolded by his boss for not bringing anything to potluck again. His boss already didn’t like him. God, he was the fucking worst. At least bringing these cookies would have gotten him off his back today. Well, that is if this stranger hadn’t eaten them!

“Watch your tongue mortal.” A sweet yet threatening voice came from the intruder.

“What? Shut up! You’re the one who broke into my house and ate my Christmas cookies!” Alfred was so frustrated with this entire situation. The day started out so poorly he doesn’t know how it could possibly get any worse.

“You made me an offering. I was supposed to eat the offering.” The man had calmly explained. His previous demeanor shaken when the human who summoned him spoke to him in that way. No mortal has spoken to him like that, but he was unable to harm the entity who summoned him so there was nothing he could do about it.

“What offering? Dude, you literally broke into my house and ate the cookies that took me all night to make!”

“I am a demon from the 5th realm of Hell. I would not be in the house of someone like you if I was not called upon.” For the most part, people who summoned knew what they were doing. This man seemed clueless.

“A demon, huh? Where are your wings? Got any horns? You look like someone dug you out of the clearance section at Hot Topic.”

This references completely flew over Ivan’s head. This is taking into account that he could speak any mortal language, but he could not understand what it is the other man was going on about.

“I am in my most simple form to survive in this realm. You added unnecessary things to the offering, I could not come in my true form.”

“So ya can’t even prove it then?” Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow.

There was a moment of silence. Ivan was trapped in this realm with no powers, and no one to call upon. He hung his head in defeat.

“No. I cannot.”

Alfred sighed. Well, there was nothing he could do at this point.

“Alright, you’re gonna come to the grocery store with me and replace the ones you ate. Wait there, I’m gonna get dressed.” Alfred held a calm tone as he noticed things becoming less hectic. He nodded before leaving the kitchen.

Quickly getting dressed and packing his work stuff into his side bag, Alfred comes back to see the man standing in the exact same spot. This man has not moved an inch.

“Are…you alright?” he asks hesitantly, looking at him up and down. His eyes landed on the strange man’s face. Their eyes locked. He had purple eyes. How strange.

Alfred’s face flushes red as he realizes he was staring at him.

“Yes, I am fine. I was told to wait. You on the other hand look feverish? You are quite red.” His tone did not waver.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine. Let’s just get going, don’t think I forgot about you eating my cookies.”

“I have already explained myself, that was an offering!” The demon becoming increasingly frustrated with the other man. Ivan was at a complete loss as to how this man did not know he had summoned him.

Alfred rolled his eyes and exited his apartment with the other man in tow. They got to his car and Alfred proceeded to get in. The demon looked confused.

“What are you standing around for, get in!”

The man had a look of embarrassment.

“I do not know how.”

Alfred was inclined to believe him, although it was something so unbelievable. However, his tone seemed too meek to say otherwise. He gets out of the car and makes his way over to the other man as snow crunches under his boots.

“See this? It’s a handle you just pull.” His voice laced with patience as he explained the tricky technology that was a car door. He was a faster learner, on the second try he managed to open the door.

Both were seated in the car and Alfred began to drive away.

“By the way you never told me your name. I’m Alfred. Alfred F. Jones!” A bright smile adorned his face as the other had a tint of red on his cheeks. Probably from the cold.

“My name is I̶͖̠͋̿̐́v̸͈̥̗͇̂a̸̺̿́̆̈́͑n̸̞̐͑̑.”

Alfred could not understand the sounds the other man had just made. He blinks in confusion and clears his throat to hide his nerves.

“What?” asking for clarification.

“Ah, I am sorry. My accent is very thick. My name, to translate it into something you would understand, is Ivan.”

Alfred rolled the name around on his tongue. He offers him a kind smile.

“Cool!”

They arrive at the grocery store. The doors had just opened and it was full of elderly people and tired moms. Alfred hopes the lines aren’t too long, he really doesn’t want to be late, who knows what his boss will say.

“C’mon. We’re here for one thing.” Alfred motions Ivan to follow and he does. The grocery store was just like any other.

Full of food, noises, smells, bright lights. Ivan hates this place. The demon follows Alfred a little too closely. The shorter man can practically feel his body pressed against his own. Damn, he was so touch starved.

“Hey buddy, you think you can take a step back or two?” Stopping in his tracks to confront Ivan about the problem.

“I am here to serve you. I cannot do that if I am far.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking for 6 feet, just a few inches.” Alfred massaged his temples, so this was how the day was going to go, huh?

Ivan thought it over and took a step back.

“Very well then.”

“Thank you.”

The grocery store wasn’t as packed as he thought. Although, because it was only a few days before Christmas he wasn’t sure how likely it was that there were going to be any cute cookies left.

Rushing over to the baked goods sections his eyes zeroed in on the last box of Christmas cookies. A smile curled on his lips that fell just as quickly when he spotted an old woman reaching and then grabbing the box of cookies he so desired.

A look of sadness washed over Alfred; a defeated smile replaced his disappointed frown. Ivan watched as his bright energy seemed to vanish. Something inside of him told him that he needed to do something. They haven’t known each other for very long but the way Alfred has been treating him has been different than the other humans who have summoned him in the past.

The demon has some magic left on reserve for emergencies. Seeing the smile wiped off Alfred’s face was considered an emergency.

A dark aura enveloped Ivan and in an instant he appears in front of the now frightened older woman.

“You are not worthy of those cookies. Your mortal hands are unfit to hold possession of the power and responsibility they yield. Put them down and you shall not be harmed.” Ivan’s pitch was lower than Alfred has ever heard. The man just stared in shocked with his jaw dropped as the older woman practically threw them back on the table and went off speeding as fast as she could with her cart.

Ivan immediately went back to his human form. He picked up the mostly intact cookies and brought them to Alfred.

“For you.” He says, moving his hand up to Alfred’s face to shut his open mouth.

Alfred’s eyes were still wide.

“W-Why did you scare her like that? It was important but not that important she probably shit herself!”

“You are very crass. I did it for you.”

Alfred was upset but the action was very endearing. The way the black aura shrouded Ivan was pretty hot. Wait, why was thinking that? He needed to stop.

“Thank you. That was really nice of you. But you can’t scare old ladies like that! Maybe next time, ask her if she’s willing to give them up. You’ve probably traumatized her for life.”

“It does not seem like she had much time left.” Ivan said with complete seriousness. Alfred elbowed Ivan trying not to laugh.

“Alright! Let’s go pay for this bad boy.”

“Why must we pay? We fought for this, we won. We deserve to keep the spoils.”

“That’s not how it works, big guy.” Alfred claps the taller man on the shoulder as he leads them to the cash register.

“By the way. You gotta show me that magic trick you did earlier with the old lady.”

“Magic?”

“Yeah! Like did you have some smoke bombs? A voice changer?” Alfred’s eyes sparkle never taking his eyes off Ivan as he pays.

“I am a demon.”

“I see. A magician never reveals his secrets.” Alfred nods in understanding. “Artie’s the same way! He never thought we could see him practicing. But he wore this goofy cape everywhere.”

They talk as they make their way back to the car. Ivan opens the passenger door like a pro. The cookies seated safely on Ivan’s lap as they continue to talk.

“Artie?” he asks, the name tumbling clumsily on his lips.

“Yeah! My cousin Arthur. Yeah! He’s the one I got the book from that had the recipe of the cookies you ate.”

Ivan felt like he was talking to a brick wall. Alfred seemed nice enough, but he simply cannot believe that he is a demon and that Alfred summoned him. He needed to save his strength and peace of mind and just played along.

“Come with me to the office Christmas party? We get a plus one and since you’re already with me, and since we’re already on our way.”

“Yes.” There were too many things in Alfred’s sentence that flew over his head and it was just easier to accept them. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

They park by a plain building with grey brick, the parking lot covered in the fresh snow that was falling. Getting out of the car, Ivan vowed to protect these Christmas cookies with his life. He would ensure their safety until they arrived at their destination: The Break Room.

Alfred pressed a button, and they entered the elevator. He saw Ivan flinch and took his hand to calm him. Ivan’s shoulders dropped as he took a breath; he was grateful for the hand. The hand was soft and warm against his. The elevator bell dinged, and Alfred let go much to Ivan’s disappointment. Both of them stepped out and into Alfred’s workplace.

The shorter man greeted a few of his co-workers as he wore a friendly smile making his way over to the break room. His boss was there already, telling a story clearly no one wanted to hear.

“Look who made it on time for once, huh?” As he laughed. Ivan saw Alfred twitch and the demon narrowed his eyes at the small man. The party had plenty of treats and goodies. With more than enough cookies.

“Oh, I thought you asked me to get the cookies?” Alfred asked through gritted teeth.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I figured you wouldn’t so I asked Martina to bake some instead. Sorry, completely slipped my mind.” Alfred wanted to kill him. He has never wanted to murder someone so badly.

“I mean you’re not exactly the brightest, which is fine, we all have our strengths.”

Ivan has no clue what is happening, but he knows Alfred is not as stupid or forgetful as this man is making him seem. From what he has seen Alfred is kind, generous, and patient. Qualities he does not see from most mortals.

“Just let this be a lesson for ya, okay?” walking over to Alfred and putting a hand on his shoulder. Alfred was visibly uncomfortable. Ivan snapped. It didn’t matter if it used up the last of his power in getting home. The black aura returned along with blue flames. Horns protruded from his head as dark wings ripped through the back of his shirt. Wings that expanded the entire length of the break room.

“How dare you say such things when you are nothing but a miserable pile of waste. You are a pitiful excuse for a mortal. You are a worm beneath my feet and the feet of the one who summoned me.”

Ivan stomps over to the shaking manager and effortlessly picks the man up by the throat. The manager struggles in his grip. The employees gasp and watch with shocked expressions.

“You will show some respect and reverence to those who deserve it since you are only the dirt under my foot.” Ivan drops the man with a thud and the manager wriggles away and hides behind the other employees. Alfred stands tall as Ivan turns to him and reverts to his human form. Ivan lets out a heavy sigh as Alfred wraps his arms around the other man and kisses him. Ivan doesn’t know what this means but his human form seems to know instinctively to kiss back.

They break it and Ivan sweeps Alfred off his feet and picks him up bridal style. Alfred laughs and wraps his arms around his neck. Ivan goes to leave but Alfred stops him for a moment.

“Also. I quit. Merry Christmas, bitch!”

[hermannsthumb]

Idk if you doing requests or not rn buut, feriowind has been posting a bunch of vampire!Hermann and I needs some modern vampire Hermann and professor Newt...

uwu ily

SO I feel like I should open by saying a WIP fic with this concept by @coloredpencilroses exists and I Love it, so read High Stakes for something much better than this lol (and leave a nice comment). HAPPY OCTOBER!!!! warning for very mildly implied sexy stuff. EDIT: and of COURSE I forgot to tag @theloccent for my extremely belated fill for the “Vampire” square on my bingo card :/

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

Newt has always been an extremely persistent type. He considers it, naturally, one his greatest strengths—no theory goes untested, no question goes unanswered, no experiment goes…well, unexperimented. You don’t get more PhDs than you can count on one hand if you’re not persistent. You don’t get a date with the hot new engineering professor down the hall if you’re not persistent, either, but Newt is finding this venture is taking a little more effort than usual. That’s fine, though. He likes challenges.

Dr. Gottlieb was hired by the university at the start of the semester, after the head of the engineering department—who’s nearing her seventies—finally decided she’d had enough and announced her retirement somewhat last minute. He is, frankly, unlike anyone Newt’s ever seen before, a weird combination of cheekbones, wide lips, and a turn-of-the-century old-fashioned air that carries over into everything from his wardrobe to the stiff way he carries himself. He wouldn’t look out of place in a black and white photograph, Newt thinks. Or maybe even the illustrations of a Dickens novel. That’s not why Newt’s into him, though—well, not the only reason why.

In the entire month and a half Gottlieb’s been here, he hasn’t spoken a single word to anyone his contract doesn’t require him to; when he is forced into conversation, he scowls and snaps and mumbles his way through before making a polite excuse as to why he needs to leave the room right now, immediately. No one knows anything about him other than the bare minimum—that his name is Dr. Gottlieb, he lectures in engineering, and he exists. Shit, Newt doesn’t even know his first name. The little plaque outside his office just says Gottlieb.

The mystery just makes Gottlieb all the more alluring to Newt.

Anyway, his continued failures in winning Gottlieb over aren’t a result of a lack of trying. On Gottlieb’s first day, Newt stopped by his office to introduce himself. He didn’t bother knocking. Maybe that was his first mistake. “I’m Newt,” he said. “My office is a few doors down from you. You’re the new department head?”

Gottlieb looked stricken, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said. He didn’t say anything else.

“Cool,” Newt said. “Anyway, I’m technically in the bio department, but I teach a few interdisciplinary courses with engineering, so I requested they stick me over here to get a bigger office.” He cracked a grin. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Hm,” Gottlieb said.

Newt tried again the next day.

“Your office is so dark,” he said, conversationally, because it was—lights all off, books stacked up everywhere, maroon drapes drawn tightly in front of the single small window. Dark and stuffy. “Feel free to stop by my office whenever you want a break from it. I have a corner one, so I have two windows.”

“I requested this office,” Gottlieb said, not looking up the article he was marking up.

Newt became desperate by his third attempt and did something that’s left him burning with shame even now, weeks later, and that would probably warrant the immediate transfers of sleep-deprived engineering majors out of all his courses if word ever got out it was him: he deliberately broke the department coffee machine. “Man, I can’t believe that thing is busted again,” he declared to Gottlieb. “Good thing I have a Keurig in my office.” Newt had gone out and purchased a Keurig immediately before destroying the coffee pot. “Seriously, come by whenever you need caffeine.”

Gottlieb blinked at him, long and slow, and Newt had the strangest sense that he knew exactly what happened to the coffee pot. “I never drink… coffee,” Gottlieb finally said.

For all Newt’s troubles, the list of things he knows about Gottlieb has expanded by two pitiful points: that his accent is English and posh, and his voice is low and sexy. Helpful.

It’s a chilly day in late October when Newt finally decides to enlist the aid of his interdisciplinary undergrads. Some of them—he learned after poking around their registration records—have a seminar with Gottlieb, and they seem his best bet at learning anything. A spouse—a first name—Newt would take Gottlieb’s favorite color, even. “So,” he starts class, unwinding his scarf off his neck, “that Dr. Gottlieb sure is weird, huh?”

In Newt’s firsthand experience, undergrads love to gossip about their professors, and his certainly don’t disappoint. Gottlieb’s classes are all held in the basement of the engineering building. All run well into the evening, after the sun’s set—most not finished until nine—and Gottlieb hustles out of the lecture hall the moment he can. He walks with a cane and a slight limp. He always dresses like that. He’s never mentioned any sort of family, and wears no wedding ring. He’s scary good at math. No one knows his first name.

“You’ve been an invaluable help,” Newt tells them all seriously.

He mulls the new information over in his office later as he grades some tests. So Gottlieb is a bit of shy, reclusive, genius. No surprise there. Well, his apparent hatred of sunlight is kind of weird (if unsurprising, given how pale he is) but maybe he just has sensitive eyes or something. Who is Newt to judge? At least he knows how to improve his next plan of attack—he just has to ask the guy to come over and sit in a dark room in silence with him. That’s probably Gottlieb’s dream date, actually.

There’s a knock on Newt’s office door. Newt looks up and drops his pen: it’s Gottlieb.

“Uh. Hey, dude!” he squeaks, unsure of how to proceed in this entirely unfamiliar territory. Gottlieb, willingly interacting with him? Willingly leaving his office? “Is there…can I help you with something? Did you want that coffee after all?”

“Most definitely not,” Gottlieb says coolly. He’s standing far enough back from the door that not a single sliver of lamp light from Newt’s office hits him, instead shrouded by the shadows of the dark engineering department. Newt didn’t realize how late it had gotten. “My students informed me that you were interrogating them about me.”

It’s not a question. Newt is struck by a wave of nervousness that he doesn’t quite understand—maybe it’s the sour expression Gottlieb is giving him, something in those dark brown eyes that are piercing through Newt. He feels, foolishly and briefly, like cowering under his desk. He swallows. “Yes,” he says, and adds, stammering, “I mean—I wasn’t interrogating them. I was just asking a few questions.”

“Why?” Gottlieb says.

“Uh,” Newt says. “I guess I was…curious, about you?”

He works up the guts to look Gottlieb in the eyes; he sees Gottlieb’s eyebrows jump the tiniest fraction of an inch. “You’re attracted to me,” Gottlieb says, another non-question, though Newt hears a flicker of surprise.

“Yeah,” Newt admits.

“I see,” Gottlieb says. Then, to Newt’s surprise, he suddenly smiles. “I’d like if you invited me over for dinner, Dr. Geiszler.”

“Dinner,” Newt says. He feels strangely dizzy; but, shaking himself, he quickly gets over it. “I mean, dinner! Yes! Shit! When?”

“Tonight, I should think,” Hermann says.

Tonight is Friday, which means they don’t have work tomorrow. By the time they make it off campus it’ll be almost ten—way later than people eat dinner—and besides, Newt already had a sandwich at around seven. Is dinner a euphemism? Is Gottlieb propositioning him? God, why didn’t he wash his sheets with the laundry this week? “Tonight,” Newt says. He stands up abruptly and grabs his leather jacket with trembling fingers. Why is he trembling? Nerves, he guesses. He’s about to hook up with total hottie Dr. Gottlieb, he’s allowed to be nervous. “Fuck yes. Let’s go now.”

Gottlieb is not impressed with the messy state of Newt’s apartment, and even less impressed with the state of Newt’s refrigerator and freezer. “Dinosaur chicken nuggets and canned Lime-A-Ritas,” he says with a sniff. “Hm. You ought to be getting more vitamins, Dr. Geiszler. I’m certain you’re deficient in something.”

“You sound like my dad,” Newt snorts. He throws his car keys on the counter and shrugs off his jacket. “There’s some leftover Chinese on the second shelf if you want it—just some lo mein. Or I could put a frozen pizza in the oven. Or I guess we could order something too?”

Gottlieb shuts the fridge door delicately. “How kind of you to offer,” he says. He doesn’t sound like he means it. Newt is suddenly struck by how bizarre a sight he is in the midst of Newt’s chaotic kitchen: buttoned up to the throat with his stupid shirt and blazer, prodding at the fraying lime lizard-shaped rug by the sink with the end of his ornately-handled cane. Out of time and out of place. 

“It’s Newt,” Newt says. “Please don’t call me Dr. Geiszler, it makes me feel ancient.”

“Hm,” Gottlieb says.

“And what,” Newt says, deciding to test his luck a little, “uh—what should I call you?”

Gottlieb considers him. “Hermann,” he says.

The name rings a bell in the back of Newt���s head. He swears he’s heard it somewhere before—an article, maybe. A book. Has he stumbled across Dr. Gottlieb’s research before without even realizing it? He’s on the verge of asking what publications Gottlieb’s been featured in when Gottlieb suddenly snags hold of his hand; then, raising it to his mouth, he kisses it. His lips are as cold as his skin. “Would you like to show me to your quarters, Newton?” he murmurs.

Newt shivers; he nods.

“Hermann Gottlieb,” Newt says aloud later, while Hermann redresses himself. “Now I know where I’ve heard that name before.”

“Yes?” Hermann says. He’s lacing up one of his Oxfords.

“I worked with his research in one of my dissertations,” Newt says. “Another Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, I mean. He was a brilliant mathematician from—God, 1830-something. German. His work was groundbreaking for the time, or shit, for our time, too.” He remembers seeing a portrait of that Hermann Gottlieb in one of his sources; the whole of the similarities between him and Newt’s Hermann Gottlieb (the dark eyes, the mouth, the cheekbones) are a little too much to be entirely coincidental. “You must be related to him, right? Like, he’s your great-great-great—”

“Yes,” Hermann cuts him off quickly. He turns to Newt and smiles. “A distant ancestor, certainly. I believe you are the first in some time to have made that connection.”

“Always thought he was cool,” Newt yawns. “Man, I’m tired.” The romp with Hermann had been fun, if not unexpectedly exhausting, and a little…out of the ordinary. The dude apparently has some sort of weird biting kink that left Newt’s neck stinging a little bit, but it’s cool, Newt doesn’t mind. It was like boning a vampire or something. Kinda hot. “Do you need me to show you to the door, or can I just stay here? I’m serious about spending the night though. I really don’t mind.”

Hermann fiddles with the laces of his other shoe, then, slowly, draws the whole thing back off. “If it’s not an imposition,” he says, and smiles again, shyly. “Though, I warn you—I’m a bit of a late sleeper.”

“Good, so I am,” Newt says. “Could you toss me the sweatshirt hanging on that chair? You can grab one for yourself too, if you’re cold, I’ve got another hanging in the closet. No, not--yeah, that door.”

They dip under the covers and get cozy, Newt taking on the task of big spoon, because Hermann is a cold sonofabitch and could use a little insulation. The last thought on his mind before he drifts off to a comfortable sleep is how strange it is he can’t feel Hermann’s heartbeat—though, he realizes, it’s probably just muffled by their clothing.

[ericsonclan]

A Zoo of a Day

Summary: Clementine checks on Prisha and finds that she is dealing with bat fever again.

Word Count: 2224

Read on AO3:

Clementine let out a yawn, her hands stretching up before lazily falling back down upon the grass. It really was a nice day: the gentle breeze, the warm sun on her skin, the goofy shapes of the clouds in the sky. It felt like the perfect Saturday to just laze around in. Her eyes began to flutter and she started drifting off into a peaceful nap when her phone rang. Shifting around and sitting up, Clementine picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Clem!” Violet’s voice blasted through the phone’s speaker. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to yell,” The werewolf’s voice softened. “I need a favor.” The chattering and other sounds happening besides the monster's voice nearly drowned her out.

“Vi, where are you? It’s kinda hard to hear you.” Clementine leaned forward and began to fiddle with the grass.

“I’m on my bike, heading to the grocery store to get some chicken nuggets. Full moon tonight.” Violet’s voice sounded slightly out of breath. Probably wasn’t easy biking and holding a conversation on the phone at the same time. “The thing is, Prisha usually is with me each full moon, helps me not freak out as much and shit but she isn’t picking up her phone.” The worry in the werewolf’s voice was palpable.

“Do you want me to go to the Ericson dorm and check on her?” Clementine rose to her feet, already knowing the answer to her question.

“Could you?” Violet’s voice crackled through the phone; she must be going through a bad connection point.

“Sure, I don’t mind.” Clementine continued to talk to her best friend for a little bit before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. With a yawn the human shook off her sleepiness and began to walk towards Ericson High. Luckily she was nearby so it wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get over there. Clementine strolled along casually, waving and saying hello to the people that passed her and gave the same courtesy. It really was a nice day. Her eyes focused on the sky and before she knew it she was standing in front of the Ericson dorm building. Opening the door, she made her way up the stairs to the second floor and casually walked down the hall until she spotted it: Room 203. Clementine stopped in front of the door and gave a quick knock.

“Prisha? Are you in there?”

No response.

Clementine knocked on the door again and was about to speak up when she heard some books clatter to the ground and some sort of animal sound. Her hand shot down to the doorknob and with a twist she pushed the door open. Her golden eyes looked all around the room until she noticed Prisha in her bat form trapped under a book of love poetry. The vampire gave a panicked squee and tried to free her wing that was stuck when she let out a small sneeze and fell back over.

“Prisha!” Clementine ran over and picked up the book, placing it back onto the desk. Gently she picked up the vampire bat who blinked with big black eyes up at the human. “Bat fever again?”

Clementine’s question was met with another bat sound before Prisha sneezed three times and nearly fell out of Clementine’s hands. “Hold on, Prisha. I’ll find your sling.” Clementine looked around the room and noticed the small scratches on the door as well as the multiple items that had fallen to the floor. It was clear that Prisha had tried to get out of the room, most likely to get to Violet. Prisha did seem to get more nervous around the full moon and had always made sure to clear her schedule so she could be there for Violet. Clementine kept looking around the dorm room when she noticed the gray bat sling. Navigating over the different objects on the floor, Clementine shuffled the sling on and placed Prisha inside. The vampire bat looked up at her best friend with big eyes, her ears twitching this way and that. Prisha began to make worried bat noises and her little wings frantically waved as if she was trying to send a message.

“Prisha, it’s okay. I’m going to call Vi to let her know you’re safe,” Those words made the vampire calm down and she let out a small sniffle then burrowed deeper into the sling. Clementine smiled down at her friend then dialed the werewolf’s number.

“Hey, Vi. I found Prisha, Seems like she's suffering from bat fever again.”

“Shit! I can be over there in a few minutes and-” The werewolf gew silent for a second. “Fuck, I forgot I have something I promised I’d do after shopping. Maybe I can…” Violet’s voice sounded worried. Prisha poked her head out of the sling, her ears twitching as she made a sad bat sound. She had been able to hear her girlfriend’s voice. Clementine scratched the top of Prisha’s head to calm her down then returned her attention to the conversation at hand.

“It’s okay, Violet. I can stay with Prisha for a while. If you want, I can even drop her off at your place a little while before the full moon.”

“Really!” The werewolf sounded relieved; the little whacking sounds coming from Violet’s side made it clear that her tail was wagging back and forth like crazy. “I owe you one.”

“It’s no big deal. I’ll drop off Prisha in a bit.” Clementine said goodbye then placed her phone away. “Okay, Prisha. Wanna go for a walk?”

The vampire bat’s eyes grew large with excitement at the idea before she sneezed again and fell back into the sling.

Clementine gave a soft laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.” The human made her way out of the Ericson dorms, vampire bat in tow. Clementine strolled down the street and looked down at her friend with a smile. Prisha gave a happy squee and wrapped her wings around her own body. Clementine’s attention quickly turned elsewhere and she noticed a fruit stand nearby. “Want a snack, Prisha?” The human’s question was met with a happy bat noise followed by a few more sneezes.

“Hi there. Care to buy some fruit?” The fruit stand owner gave an odd look towards the sling but soon forced it away and replaced it with a friendly smile in hopes to get Clementine buy some produce.

“Yeah, I’ll take one order of fruit,”

“Coming right up!” The worker got the small plastic box filled with fruit then handed it over, gratefully accepting Clementine’s money. Clementine gave another thanks hen continued down the street. Prisha’s head popped out of the sling and she made a series of small squees as her wings tried to reach out for the fruit.

“Give me a second,” Clementine opened the container and handed over a strawberry which the vampire accepted gratefully. Her small mouth struggled to conquer the red fruit as it shifted around her mouth. Clementine laughed then tossed a piece of fruit in her own mouth.

“Y’know I was thinking it would be fun to have a beach day sometime soon,” The human’s words made the vampire bat take pause for a minute, her small black eyes looking into Clementine’s. “We’ll have a long weekend in a few weeks so I don’t know, I thought it could be fun to have everyone go to the beach together.”

Prisha gave excited bat noises and munched down on the rest of the strawberry.

“I’ll take that as a yes. That reminds me, I saw this really cool statue of some old dude in a park nearby,” Clementine knew Lee would be disappointed that she didn’t recognize the historical figure. “I think the plaque said that they were alive when you were during your early vampire days. Wanna check it out?”

Prisha gave a small bat noise in response and reached out for another fruit. Clementine gave her a blueberry then made her way towards the park. Every few minutes she would continue to hand over more fruit which always got a positive response out of her friend. It would be a bit of a trek to get to the park. After nearly twenty minutes when they were about halfway there, Clementine realized it probably wasn't the best timing to check out this statue. Prisha couldn’t really respond and share if she did know the historical figure. Her face scrunched up in annoyance at her own stupidity before she realized that there were plenty of flowers and trees nearby. She could just sit with Prisha and make a flower crown. Maybe there would even be small enough flowers to make one for Prisha while she was stuck in her bat form. Clementine was caught up in these thoughts, not paying attention to the world around her until she heard a gasp.

“Momma! Momma! Look, that lady has a bat!” The little girl’s declaration made her mom look over as well as the other humans nearby.

“My word,” A man looked over in shock. “That’s no ordinary bat. That’s a rare species - the only one of its kind is at the Prescott Zoo!”

Clementine looked completely lost until she noticed that she wasn’t that far from the Prescott Zoo.

“No way! Did that lady steal Batsy?” Another person gasped in disbelief. Slowly people began moving towards Clementine.

“Wait, you don’t understand. This is my friend who is a vamp-”

“That bat species is nearly extinct! I’ll have the zoo security deal with you.” The man who had spoken before had led the charge and was reaching out to grab Clementine’s arm. Prisha poked her head out and began to give warning sounds as her small teeth poked out.

“Prisha, no,” Clementine backstepped and seeing that this situation wasn’t going to get any better decided to run. Turning on her heel, she sprinted away. Not many followed besides the man who seemed determined to save Prisha who he had mistaken for another bat.

“I won’t let you harm that animal!”

“She’s my friend and I’m protecting her!” Clementine called back and held the sling close to her as Prisha clung on tightly. The bat bounced with each step Clementine took and her ears twitched at the angry yelling that her friend was receiving for doing nothing wrong. Her little bat body was filled with anger.

“Prisha,” Clementine jumped up and grasped a tree branch to vault to a safer spot. “I know those eyes. Those are your fighter eyes and no, we will not fight them. We’re running.”

Prisha began to squee angrily in disagreement but a large sneeze shook her body and she fell back into the sling.

After around ten minutes of frantic running Clementine had gotten away. She gave short, sharp breaths and collapsed against a tree in exhaustion. Prisha struggled until she broke free from the sling. Her small bat wings fluttered as she glided over to Clem’s shoulder. Tilting her head over, she leaned it against Clementine’s.

“Thanks. That was insane,” Clementine shook her head and looked down, a frown forming on her face. She had lost the container of fruit when she ran away. “Looks like no more strawberries.”

Prisha gave a few sad bat sounds but quickly worked to cheer her friend’s mood up. Fluttering her wings, she got Clementine’s attention again then softly nuzzled her head against Clem’s chin. The gesture made Clementine smile and soon she turned her focus to her surroundings. Her eyes immediately locked on a field of flowers. Amongst them was a small cluster of miniscule blue flowers. Picking up Prisha and putting her back into the sling, Clementine moved over and grabbed a few of the small blossoms. The vampire bat’s head popped out of the sling and she gave an excited squee at the sight of the flowers.

“Looks like we can make flower crowns after all,” Clementine returned to her spot and began to make them two flower crowns. Prisha flew out and tried her best to help make the one for Clem, her claws gently holding stems in place while Clementine interwove them. Once it was complete the vampire’s claws gingerly picked up the flower crown and with some shaky navigation Prisha dropped the crown onto her friend’s head. Clementine thanked her then placed the tiny flower crown onto Prisha’s head. The vampire bat gave dozens of little micro squees of happiness then snuggled back into the sling.

Clementine glanced up and noticed that the sky had changed to a deeper orange. “Time to get you to your girlfriend. I’m sure Vi is worried.”

The human’s words made the vampire squirm around, her nervousness rising once more. Hesitantly, Prisha reached out and tried to grab one of Clem’s fingers.

“Don’t worry, Prish. I’ll get you there in time.”

The bat looked into the human’s eyes as she held onto her finger. After a few seconds she let go and let out a small sneeze before disappearing back into the sling. Clementine looked down with a soft expression then jogged forward and grabbed a tree branch to swing on for fun before landing on the sidewalk. They would arrive at Violet’s just under the wire, but she had made a promise to her two best friends and Clementine had no plans of breaking it.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Some Sense of Normalcy ch.1 (baon)

Summary: It's Edge's first day back to work at the Embassy, but his job isn't the only thing on his mind. 

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Injury

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Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read Chapter 1 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge’s internal clock was accurate to nearly the minute. It was a rare day that his alarm actually woke him; normally he was awake minutes beforehand to shut it off before it could buzz and Stretch often teased him about it, asking why he even bothered to set it. Such was the difference between someone who never wanted to oversleep versus one who was committed to it.

Today was no exception to the alarm rule; being off work for a short time hadn’t reset his internal clock now that it was the day for him to return. But for once, Edge wasn’t reaching for his phone. Instead, he kept his sockets closed, his focus entirely on the warm, skeletal body snugged in his arms, as if perhaps he could draw out time and stay here in his bed with Stretch for a little longer.

Unexpectedly, the one to stir first was not him. Stretch let out a sleepy sigh and mumbled, “you’re gonna be late.”

“No, I won’t.”

“yeah, you will. unless you’re gonna skip a shower and coffee, and we both know what kind of mistake that would be.”

Yes, the kind that would make everyone else in the office suffer, either from surliness or stench. Edge wasn’t quite ready to concede the point and nuzzled a kiss against the top of Stretch’s skull. “The person in charge is never late.”

A soft chuckle and Stretch squirmed at the ticklish touch, shifting until he could rest his chin on Edge’s sternum to look up at him. A chance to gaze at Stretch always made for a lovely vision, even as exhausted as he obviously was.

After their discussion in the kitchen, surrounded with chickens as an impromptu audience, they’d stayed sitting together on the floor long enough for Edge’s leg to cease pulsing out operatic scales of pain and gone straight to a throbbing rendition of ‘The Marriage of Figaro.’ Once he’d struggled back to his feet, Edge had been forced to allow Stretch to handle the chickens, even Nugget in her planter, still nesting on her dubious egg.

Even through his discomfort, hearing Stretch joke that, ‘this isn’t usually what they mean when they say a bucket of chicken,’ sent a pulse of affection through him. Ridiculous jokes were always a good sign, for Stretch, if not for Edge’s sense of humor.

Dinner had been sandwiches, also made by Stretch, and they’d gone to bed early, and from the look of today, Stretch was feeling more his happier self. Except, appearances could be deceiving, especially when Stretch was trying to keep from being what he thought was a nuisance and what Edge considered giving loving support to his partner.

If Stretch was doing better, Edge wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, but neither was he about to let it come into the house and tromp all over their living room. Today was supposed to be his first day back to work at the Embassy and he’d stay home if Stretch needed him.

“How are you feeling?” Edge asked, seriously. He ran a gloved finger along the delicate rim of Stretch’s socket, lingering at the darkened half-moon beneath. Stretch leaned into the touch, his sockets falling half-closed.

“not terrible but not great,” Stretch said, frankly, with enough honesty to soothe some of Edge’s misgivings. “i have a video appointment with doc lee in a couple hours. i’m not feeling very public right now and she said if i was comfortable with it, it’d save me the bus trip downtown.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Edge said softly.

“oh, yeah?” Stretch raised a brow bone. “glad to hear it, since she also told me to tell you she can schedule your appointment whenever you like.”

Ah. “Of course,” Edge agreed crisply. He would call her later in the day, schedule his appointment, of course he would. He gave Stretch a last, light kiss than got out of the bed, taking a moment to retrieve his cane. “If you have a few hours, then why don’t you go back to sleep for a while, love?”

Stretch only piled up the pillows, propping himself up against them with a contented sigh. “and miss the show? c’mon, handsome, let’s see what you’re wearing your first day back.”

Edge stopped halfway to the closet and gave Stretch a look that stated clearly that he was a brat. Then he remembered, “I forgot to mention, Bruno stopped by yesterday.”

That wiped away a little of Stretch’s smirk, replacing it with wariness. “oh, did he.”

“Mmhmm.” On his side of the closet, a garment bag hung unassumingly and innocent. Edge stripped away the bag and brought out its contents unobscured, holding it out so that Stretch could take in the full effect of the kilt with its jacket.

Stretch’s sockets went wide, his pale eye lights flicking from the outfit to Edge contemplatively, surely already playing out a mental movie in that clever mind of his how Edge would look in it.

“Interesting choice,” Edge said lightly. He smoothed a hand down the fine cloth, picking away an imaginary speck of lint. “A little formal for work, isn’t it?”

It was and it would likely draw unwanted attention. But Stretch chose it, Edge would be more than pleased to wear it for him and take a few stares as his due.

“yea, think it is, actually,” Stretch said slowly. His tongue flicked nervously across his teeth, “not exactly the same standard you set with those power suits of yours. might be better to save it for a special occasion.”

Or rather, an occasion where Stretch could bear witness instead of one with him buried into his office all day. He hid the smirk threatening to reveal itself and zipped the kilt suit back into the garment back with only a twinge of regret. “Perhaps you’re right.”

And perhaps a private viewing could be arranged in the near future.

A more sedate suit choice later and Edge hesitated at the side of the bed. He had enough time yet for coffee, but Stretch was right, he needed to hurry, or he’d be late for his first day back. And yet— “Can I call you on my lunch?”

“ain’t it ‘may’ you call?” Stretch drawled. His smile was softer. “babe, you don’t need to ask to call me. i’ll pick up, okay?”

“Okay.” Then he gave into temptation, pushed Stretch back into the rumpled blankets and took a kiss, trying without words to express the depth of his love, his concern, all the emotions wound up tight inside him.

He couldn’t say if he was entirely successful, but the gentle reflection of love in Stretch’s briefly heart-shaped eye lights was a good start.

“oh, hey, before you take off,” Stretch got out of bed, unselfconsciously naked, and went downstairs, leaving Edge to trail behind him as he tried not to stare at the tempting sway of Stretch’s bare shapely pelvis as he walked.

Of all things, Edge did not expect Stretch to retrieve a rumpled paper bag, about the size of a lunch sack. He held it out expectantly. “can you take this to janice? we did a craft thing the other day and oscar’s wasn’t dry yet so he couldn’t take it home. figured it might be safer for his mom to carry it than for him to run with ceramics, anyway.”

“Of course.” Edge took the bag, carefully tucking it around the contents, and added it to his briefcase.

One travel mug of coffee and his laptop bag later, and Edge headed out the front door, cane in hand. He hardly made it down the steps before he stopped with a scowl.

Red was standing by his car, hands tucked into his pocket and a grin on his face. It made his hackles rise, particularly considering the way Red handled the situation with Nugget. He wasn’t unappreciative of his brother’s efforts, but he couldn’t truly say he was exactly thankful, either.

Edge stopped several feet away and well out of arm’s reach, a long ago lesson learned when it came to those who could teleport. “What do you want?”

“good to see you, too, bro,” Red snorted. He was chewing on a toothpick and that alone was suspicious, that he wasn’t smoking one of his horrible cigars. Confirmed when he added, “here to drive you to work.”

“No,” Edge said immediately. “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

“yep,” Red agreed.

“The doctor cleared me to drive as long as the distance wasn’t excessive.”

“sure did.”

“And I’ve driven several times since I’ve had the cast removed.”

“i know. gonna argue with me in front of the honey bun?”

Sure enough, when Edge glanced behind him, Stretch was peeking out the curtains curiously and he knew damn well that the chances of him hastily snagging a raincoat out of the front closet and coming out to see what was the problem was dangerously high. The very idea of arguing with his brother while his husband stood by naked beneath a coat while their overly interested neighbors looked on made him stifle a shudder of pure horror.

Edge gritted his teeth and went to the car, putting his case in the back. He went to the passenger side and stood by the door, looking at his brother directly, meeting that irritatingly amused crimson gaze with his own. “Why do you want to drive me?”

To have Red look away first was inconceivable, illogical. His crimson eye lights slid to the side, a fleeting expression of discomfort grossing his face. Edge took a cautious step towards him, “Brother?”

“need someone to have your back. get in the fucking car,” Red muttered.

Wordlessly, Edge did as he was told.

Red drove with a combination of careless skill and blue magic, disconcerting and impressive at the same time. He wove through traffic and more than once, Edge bit back directives that would only open him his brother’s mocking. Backseat driving was a great deal more enjoyable with Jeff and far more likely to actually have results.

It was right after Red sped through the very tail end of a yellow light that he said. “you sure you’re ready to wade back into the shit?”

Edge gave his brother a narrow look. “Of course I am.”

“yeah? got that psych eval scheduled already, didja.” That was unexpected. For all that Red was more likely to sacrifice an arm to satisfy Papyrus’s obnoxious dog than to schedule a therapist appointment of his own, he’d never mocked or derided Sans and Stretch for doing so. In fact, he never really discussed it at all, less an elephant in the room and more a blue whale crammed inside, tail tucked behind its head.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Edge told him coolly, “but not yet. I’d planned on doing it today.”

“yeah, you do that.” It sounded suspiciously like an order. Honestly, this was giving him an entirely new perspective on Stretch’s irritation with his brother’s obsession with his mental health.

Red said nothing else as he drove, the irritating twang of the country station he’d chosen filling the silence. His brother dropped him off directly at the entrance, parking in such a way that allowed the car to act as a barricade against the protesters that lined the sidewalk across the streets. A quick glance confirmed that while some of the signs had changed in the aftermath of the California attack, the message certainly hadn’t. There were enough mentions of dust to make any person crave a glass of cool water and to give a Monster nightmares.

He turned away and went inside, leaning on his cane a little heavier than he would have preferred. His mobility scooter was supposed to be delivered today and as much as that was supposed to ease his travels, Edge couldn’t say he was looking forward to learning how to use it in the Embassy hallways.

“Morning, Edge.” The security Monster didn’t look up from the screens, most displaying camera angles from outside and in, and one showing what appeared to be reruns of ‘I Love Lucy’. A believable façade of disinterest, one that Edge knew was tested from time to time by his own brother. If hostiles believed security was lax, they didn’t put in as much effort to thwart it, it was a technique they’d used back in Snowdin on their own house and out in the woods against XP hunters, tricking them into bypassing the obvious traps only to step into the better concealed ones.

Details might change, but their techniques worked, no matter what Universe they were in.

Edge nodded in greeting and swiped his badge, heading to the elevators. By the time he was nearly to his office, a trek constantly interrupted by greetings and well-wishers, Edge was very much looking forward to using his scooter even if he made him appear like a castoff Tony Hawk impersonator. His leg was aching furiously and consistently, there was probably still some residual swelling from yesterday.

Once he was in his office, he could put it up, he told himself, even as he struggled not to be curt while another Monster offered delight at seeing him back.

The sight of his office door had never been such a relief and Edge only nodded distractedly at Janice’s greeting, limping into his own office.

He nearly fell to the sofa with a sigh of relief, propping his leg up on the arm. The angry throb of pain began to ease almost immediately, dulling down to bearable. This was starting to become a concern, he might need to—

“Edge?” He startled, clenching his fists against the sudden surge of his magic even as he cursed himself; he hadn’t even noticed Janice following him in. She stood just inside the door, asking cautiously, “Are you all right? Can I get you anything?”

Motherly concern surrounded her almost like an aura, her long ears high and alert. Edge almost refused, then changed his mind. “There should be an ice pack in the freezer, if you don’t mind?”

She retrieved it hastily and helped him settle it between the straps of the splint. The cold was immediately soothing, and Edge sighed in relief, letting his head drop back on the sofa arm. He opened a socket to find Janice watching him with the expected concern. She didn’t try to hug him, she was far too professional for that, but the urge was vividly obvious.

Edge reached out and lightly patted her arm, “I’m fine, the walk took more out of me than I expected.”

That seemed enough and relief filled her soft brown eyes, “Of course, it is a bit of a jaunt up here. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Please,” Edge said gratefully. Not only for the coffee itself but for a chance to gather himself without an audience.

She returned all too soon with a cup and set it on the table, saying, “I would have been by to see you at home, but I didn’t think you’d like an audience.”

That was one thing to be grateful for, considering the outfits he’d been forced to wear while convalescing. “I appreciate that.”

“I knew you would. Besides, it isn’t as if we didn’t speak enough between emails and messaging.” She straightened and professionalism settled over her like a shield. “Speaking of which, let me get your schedule for the day. It’s a light load to start, per Asgore, of course.”

“Of course,” Edge repeated wryly, “Ah, before I forget, here, I brought this for you.”

He pulled the crumpled paper bag out of his briefcase, handing it over. Janice opened it curiously. She took out what was perhaps supposed to be a coffee cup, if it were made by someone who’d had it described to them by Salvador Dali and then exposed the results to absurd amount of radiation. It was lumpy and lopsided, the handle managed to be both entirely too large and also positioned where it couldn’t be comfortable held. The colors could be best described as ‘muddy’ and worst as a visual nightmare rained down upon a ceramic that had already seen its fair share of suffering in its short life.

Janice held it up appraisingly and gave Edge an oddly gentle smile, “Thank you. You did a wonderful job.”

Realization hit and embarrassed heat rose in his face with the force of an explosion, spreading all the way to the top of his skull. “No, no,” he sputtered out, “your son made it with Stretch and the other children, I was only delivering it!”

“Oh, thank heavens,” Janice almost sagged in relief, pressing a furry hand to her chest, “I was worried you’d hit your head, too. It’s lovely, of course, but from you I’d expect something a little more…” she hesitated, and Edge raised a brow bone as she settled on “…precise.”

Fair enough.

“Yes, well, as fascinating as this has been, let’s get to work,” Edge said crisply.

“Of course, let me bring in your schedule.” She bustled out and while she was gone, Edge made his way to the desk, carrying along the ice pack. He settled it back into place as he sat in his office chair and the simple act of signing into his computer was nearly as soothing as the ice.

By the end of the day, his leg would surely be singing another tune, but for now, he was focused on getting back to work.

Back to normal, one painful step at a time.

~~*~~

tbc

[inactiive-shit]

Of Love And Knives

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Warnings: crude language, weird Remus things

Pairing: Romantic Dukexiety

Words: 2,996

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Remus had a plan. It's just...a work a in progress.

I wrote Dukexiety because there is not enough of it and I love them. Happy Valentine’s Day everybody! Also, there is French in this, but I don’t speak French and had to use Google Translate for it. I am so sorry for any inaccuracies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A box of chocolates was simply far too plain. Something as expected and unoriginal as a hollow fake-heart shaped box filled with chocolate did not do his creepy crawly death dealer justice. It had no flair, no pizzaz, nothing special that would let Virgil know exactly how much he meant to Remus.

He could always take Virgil to a movie, but the only thing in theaters at the moment were preposterous rom-coms that would not do on this favored holiday. Remus had been hoping for a horror movie to be out, something worthy of taking Virgil to so that he would really feel loved and appreciated, but it just seemed like horror movies seemed to be skipping the theaters these days.

Remus’ next plan was to go out and watch a thunderstorm. They both liked being in the rain, and the lightning made sexy times that much more exciting. The possibility of being struck by lightning or of being found by someone while fucking in the rain was truly the kind of Valentine’s Day experience that Remus wanted to give to Virgil. But it wasn’t thunderstorming out—it wasn’t even raining!

(And Virgil tended to worry about how clean that really was, but they hadn’t died yet.)

All of this together meant that Remus was being relegated to getting his boyfriend a box of chocolate like every other panicked sap in the area who forgot to get their dates something.

Except, Remus hadn’t forgotten. All his plans had just...fallen through.

Maybe he should have taken up his brother’s offer of a fancy restaurant double date with him and his husband Dee.

But Remus wanted it to be special! And their friends always got annoyed when Remus and Virgil got too into each other for their tastes. Though Virgil did look ravishing in a suit...

Remus sighed and drudged toward the giant shelf of sickeningly commercialized sweets and tried to pick the one that would make Virgil laugh the most. If they couldn’t watch somebody get gutted on the big screen, the least Remus could do was make sure everything that did happen was funny enough that Virgil would still enjoy it.

Just as his hand descended toward an overpriced box of chocolate, Remus noticed a left-over bag of spider chocolates from Halloween. A thought hit Remus like a brick to the head. He smiled, running that same hand through his tangled hair, and felt the excitement spread through him like a wildfire. Yes, that plan would work. Virgil would like it, Remus could enjoy it, and he could set it up quickly enough that he wouldn’t have to be late for their dinner.

Rushing out of the store to his car and feeling almost maniacal, Remus dialled Logan’s number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, Scarebear!” Remus sang, flinging himself into their apartment and setting a box down. The door bounced off the wall and shut itself, but Remus didn’t notice all that, too busy beelining for Virgil. He lurked in the small area between their kitchen and living room, where they had placed a table and declared it to be their dining room.

It was a small, two bedroom apartment. There wasn’t much space for things like tables. Or eating. Remus didn’t mind all that, though. There was plenty of room for other things, such as snuggling and sleeping and smoking and fucking.

“Hey, babe. What have you been up to?” Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil from behind and Virgil nestled back into the touch. Remus pushed his head onto Virgil’s shoulder to press a wet kiss on his neck before watching how steadily Virgil’s hands moved the food around their table.

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” Remus shrugged. Virgil wiped the spit off his neck with one hoodie sleeve and then bapped him in the face with it. “So how’s our lovely meal coming along?”

“Great,” Virgil said dryly. “We have the veggie fried rice, Quorn chicken nuggets to add to the rice since you’re trying to go vegetarian, fortune cookies, and also whatever this thing is.” He held up something dark green and slimy.

“What is it?”

“Not a clue, but I saw it at the store and it made me think of you. I figure we could try it and if it turns out bad, throw it at people on the sidewalk.”

“You know me so well!” Remus exclaimed, jumping with Virgil in his arms. Virgil laughed lowly, and that voice made Remus think absolutely lewd things that would probably get him arrested. Things he would love to do both to and with Virgil

Some of those thoughts could be acted on later, but not right now. As much as it pained Remus to admit, there were more important things to attend to.

“The couch?” Virgil asked.

“The couch,” Remus said, picking up some of the food and moving it to the couch. Virgil followed him with the rest of it.

“Oh, and one more thing before we eat,” Virgil said. He went to the kitchen and took something out of the freezer. He brought it back to Remus and offered it to him.

“A lemon!”

“That’s cut into a heart because I love you,” Virgil said. He kissed Remus as he sat down and then Remus took a bite out of the frozen lemon. He grinned at Virgil, cackling as he winced.

“I love you too, Virge,” he said. “Now, how do you suppose this fake chicken will taste with the rice?”

“One way to find out.” Virgil rested his legs across Remus’ lap as they relaxed and started eating. Remus tore into the rice like a starving man and Virgil laughed while threatening him with a vacuum cleaner. It made an alarmingly cute scene.

Remus didn’t think he was made for cute, but this sure did make him wonder if it would really be so bad.

Once their meal was finished and they had shoved all the dishes into either the trash or the sink to deal with the next day, with the exception of the mystery item that they placed on the table to give a few more minutes before trying, Remus grabbed Virgil’s hand. “What’s the plan, Duke?”

“You know how I always tell all of the truth?” He waited for Virgil’s curious nod before continuing. “Well, I’m using all the squishy stuff up here,” he tapped his temple, “to not explode the potatoes before the microwave gets too hot. But if you keep asking I’ll just go ahead and tell you anyway.”

“Alright, alright,” Virgil laughed, covering his mouth with his free hand. “I’ll wait patiently.”

“Thank you,” Remus sang, kissing Virgil’s lips and then kissing his cheek and then moving on to his neck before Virgil finally pushed him off.

“It’s time for presents. There will be plenty of time for that stuff later.” Virgil sent a chilling grin to Remus. He almost ripped Virgil’s clothes off without any further prodding, but then Virgil pouted at him instead. “It’s your turn to go first.”

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” Remus ushered Virgil to sit back on the couch and then collected the box from where he had left it by the door. He carried it over to Virgil and solemnly said, “This is the first part of your gifts.”

“The first part?” Virgil asked, raising his eyebrows.

“There are three parts. But you can’t have the third one until tomorrow because it’s living with Roman and Dee right now. At least, it should be. I hope Dee’s snakes haven’t eaten it.”

“Remus, what did you get?”

“Something just as terrifying and fluffy as you, ma rose,” he said, rugging on a lock of Virgil’s hair.

“A kitten?” Virgil asked, hesitant smile crawling over his face. “Remus, did you buy me a kitten?”

“Stop asking or it won’t be a surprise when we go to pick it up tomorrow,” he whined. Virgil beamed at him, smile so bright that Remus could go without the sun and have no complaints.

“Okay, okay, but if you got me a fluffy black kitten, I am going to kiss you, we are naming them Asura, and we are going to fuck.”

“I like the way you think,” Remus said. “But maybe you’ll be kind enough to still bestow the same gift upon me tonight even though the mystery creature isn’t here?” He offered Virgil the box.

Virgil, still smiling, carefully picked apart the tape holding the flaps closed and opened the box. Inside was a second box, but this one made of plastic. He discarded the cardboard box and began inspecting the clear one. “What…” he said, and then his eyes widened with a gasp. “Is that a tarantula?”

“Yep.” Remus stuck a hand on his hip, watching Virgil. “Perfectly safe to hold. Well, mostly. She’ll flick the hairs off at you if she feels threatened, but it’s mostly just going to irritate the skin they hit. Unless they go in your eyes. Then you might go blind.”

Virgil wastes no time in sticking his hand in the box to get her out. “Her name is Tengu,” Virgil said, bringing her right up to his face to get a good look. “She is beautiful. Look at those legs.” Virgil spent the next few minutes admiring his arachnid and spewing off random tarantula facts. “This is a smaller species than the goliath bird eaters, obviously, but I bet she can still live twenty years or so. Some can be multicolored but I’ve always liked the plain ones more.”

Eventually, Virgil put Tengu back in the little box. “She’ll need a bigger home than that.”

“I’ve got all the supplies out in the car. I just didn’t want to bring them in and ruin the surprise.” Virgil jumped forward and crushed himself to Remus in a heated, passionate kiss. Remus growled into Virgil’s mouth, pulling him even closer.

“You are the best boyfriend in the world,” Virgil said, breathless.

“It’s the shock factor.” Remus kissed Virgil again, but then he was pulling away.

“I have something for you, too. Let me go get it before we get too caught up in,” he motioned to Remus’ partially undone shirt, “this.”

Remus threw himself onto the couch as Virgil left and took the tarantula with him. He was happy and excited and wanted to bounce off the walls like a super bounce bouncy ball. Still, he tried to wait as patiently as he could for whatever Virgil would bring out. It was easier said than done.

Virgil reappeared and thrust something at Remus. “Here you go. I wrapped it like that because I know you love Valentine’s stuff.” He refused to make eye contact with Remus. The package was rectangular and wrapped in bright red paper with silver hearts all over it. Remus smiled at it and ripped the paper off the same way he would later be ripping off Virgil’s clothes. Inside was a collection of all Remus’ favorite horror movies, ranging from classics like Chucky to newer ones like IT. All in all there were ten movies, with an additional five that he hadn’t seen yet.

Remus launched himself off the couch at Virgil, knocking them both onto the floor. “Virgil! Scarebear! Creepy crawly! I love you so much!” He plastered Virgil’s face in kisses that left Virgil gasping for breath around laughing so hard. Then he started tickling at Virgil’s sides, and it was another few minutes before both of them could breathe.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Virgil said. Remus nuzzled his head against Virgil’s chest and Virgil ran a hand through Remus’ longer hair, gently working out the tangles.

“Ooh, I have one more thing for you, and then we can play a sexy game.” Remus shoved himself off the ground and swung Virgil up into his arms. Virgil didn’t even yelp at the sudden move, just grabbed the suspicious green thing and looped one arm loosely over Remus’ neck, allowing Remus to carry him to the roof of their apartment building.

Before coming in, Remus had set up the telescope that he had snatched from Logan’s house. It was pointed up at the night sky, though not at any stars in particular. He didn’t know anything about constellations, but Virgil did, and he was more than happy to let Virgil go to work with the telescope.

“Holy shit, did you steal Logan’s telescope?”

“I asked first,” Remus said, playing at offended. Virgil’s hand absently worked at the button’s on his shirt, and Remus doubted Virgil was even aware he was doing it. He didn’t mention it, though. He liked Virgil’s little subconscious habits.

“So Logan’s isn’t going to come over tomorrow, fuming, demanding that you give his telescope back?”

“I didn’t say all that. I never even said he said yes,” Remus argued, placing Virgil on his feet. Virgil snorted, immediately adjusting the placement and settings on it.

“It’s a clear night,” he muttered, carefully swerving the telescope around.

“Yeah! That’s how I thought of it. I was hoping for thunderstorms, but that didn’t happen and I was mad about the sky being clear, and then I realized that meant we could steal-”

“Borrow.”

“-Logan’s telescope for the night and have a little fun with it.”

“You’re pretty damn smart. Ya know, for someone who tried to snort Pixie Stix.” Virgil laughed when Remus smacked at him and lit up a cigarette.

“Ah, but is that not better than my brother trying to snort Smarties? He didn’t even crush them up first.”

“I will be the last person to get in the middle of a contest between you and Roman,” Virgil said, blowing out some smoke.

“I thought you were going to quit all that,” Remus said, batting at Virgil’s cigarette. Virgil moved it away without looking, still inspecting the night sky.

“Finish the pack?” he suggested.

“I could eat them for you, if that would help.”

“It would not, but I appreciate the offer. Come here.” Virgil stepped back from the telescope, blowing smoke away from Remus’ face. “Look right here. Don’t move it.” Virgil placed his hands on Remus’ shoulders as though to help guide him where he’s supposed to look. “That one up there is Cancer. That’s your star sign.”

“Which of the stars is it?” Remus asked.

Virgil stepped back. “It looks kind of like a dick.”

“Oh, I see it!” Remus crowed. “Isn’t that perfectly fitting? Wow, I’m really beginning to think those Western zodiacs you keep talking about might have something to them, Virge.” Remus pulled away from the telescope to look at Virgil and crack another dick joke, and then he noticed Virgil kneeling next to him.

“Scarebear? You okay?”

“Remus,” Virgil said, “I have something to tell you. We’ve known each other for twelve years and we’ve been dating for half that time. I have loved you and been in love with you for closer to ten. You have made my life so much more wonderful than I ever imagined it could be, and I cannot wait to see where else it takes us. And I am so, so hoping that you’ll come along for it all.” Virgil paused, pulled a box out of his jacket pocket, and took a deep breath. Remus was holding his own, had been since the first word. “Remus Duke, will you marry me?”

“Oui oui oui, bien sûr que je le ferai. Oh mon dieu, c'est incroyable, tu es incroyable, bien sûr je t'épouserai,” he exclaimed, throwing himself at Virgil again and kissing him senseless. Virgil laughed into his mouth, their kiss disjointed and filled with happiness.

“Here,” Virgil said when Remus finally had to stop to breathe. “I know we’re not ring people, and I figured this would be way more fitting.” He let Remus carefully extract the knife from the box. The handle was deep green and fit into Remus’ hand perfectly. The sheath was plain and sturdy, dyed green. He unsheathed it and caught his breath at the sight. The knife gleamed in the dim light on the roof and the sharp side was sharp enough to cut someone and they wouldn’t even notice.

However, along the ridge in the middle of the blade, there was an engraving. Our love is sharper than any blade, carved deeper than any words, shines more brightly than any star. Remus flipped it over. The other side said the same thing, but in french.

“Fuck,” Remus said. “Virgil, this is fucking amazing.” He glanced up at Virgil, teary-eyed, and paused. “There is one condition, though?”

“Oh?” Virgil said.

“No more of these.” Remus tapped the cigarette in Virgil’s hand. Virgil looked down at it, dropped it, and stepped on it.

“Deal,” he said.

“We’re engaged!” Remus yelled, picking up Virgil and spinning them in a circle. “We’re going to be married!” He set Virgil back on the ground roughly, too excited for much else. “Je t’aime, ma rose! Je t’aime!”

“I love you too, Remus.” Virgil cupped Remus’ face, staring into his eyes, and Remus shattered the distance between them, diving for Virgil and kissing kissing kissing until there was nothing else. They were a mess of tongues and teeth, clashing parts that only meant the best things.

“Fuck,” Remus said again once they finally parted. Virgil dropped his head to rest on Remus’ shoulder. “I’m thinking a July wedding. Nudist beach. Ocean spray. Dicks out.” Virgil shook against Remus, laughing so hard he couldn’t make a noise. Remus hugged him closer, still awed.

“Sounds perfect,” Virgil finally said. “God, I love you.”

“Je t’aime, ma rose,” Remus murmured. “And I also love fucking you. Which is what I think we should go do now.”

“Oh yes, definitely.”

“To the bedroom?”

“Why wait that long?” Virgil asked, and then there were teeth and tongues and lips and biting and grabbing and clothing ripped free from bodies. Remus can not imagine Valentine’s Day having gone any better.

[louhooo]

Saturdays

Warnings: swearing (barely), fluff, maybe some adult themes if you squint

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Steve has a weekly routine that he looks forward to, but plans change.

A/N: Feedback is always welcomed! 💕

Saturday was the best day of the week. According to Steve, anyways. 

It was the one day he could count on cuddling without the interruption of her alarm looming in the air. Most Saturdays consisted of staying in bed until late morning, and then moseying around the apartment until their stomachs were growling. Despite whatever food was in the kitchen, she always wanted pizza from the shop a few blocks down from the apartment. Seventy-eight Saturdays had followed the weekly tradition, and Steve wasn’t going to start changing things now. 

He could hear her breathing starting to shift, and he peppered lingering kisses along her neck.

She started to stir, her body subconsciously drawing her closer to the touch. A light kiss behind  her ear and her eyes opened sleepily, a lazy grin stretching across her face.

“Mornin’, baby,” Steve’s raspy voice vibrated in her ear, followed by another kiss on the back of her neck. She hummed.

“G’mornin’.” The husk in her voice made Steve grin against her shoulder. Y/N wiggled closer to him, hiking the comforter up to her chin. More kisses along her hairline and a sigh left her lips. “Can you shower first?” His lips stilled, his brows pinching together. Separate showers did not follow the “Saturday” plan.

“Shower?”

“Yeah, so you can have hot water, too,” she chuckled at her own joke in a sleepy, delirious way. “You always complain I use all the hot water.” He really needed to talk to the landlord about the water heater.

“No-Yes, I do, but why do you want me to shower?”

“We promised to watch Morgan.” The conversation with Tony immediately came back. Three weeks ago, Y/N and Steve had reservations to make, and were rushing to get out of the Tower when Tony stopped them both in the hallway. Tony had pulled his phone out, insisting that he needed to show Y/N the video of Morgan playing dress-up. 

In the video, Morgan wore a long black dress (one that was carefully selected from her mother’s closet) and black sunglasses that covered most of her face and only stayed up if she tilted her head back. Morgan applied bright, sparkly lip gloss in the pink plastic vanity mirror located in her room and when Tony asked who she was, and she replied “Aunt Y/N”. The smile Y/N gave was blinding, and Tony knew he had her hook, line, and sinker. 

Steve’s head dropped forward in defeat against her back.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Humor was laced in her voice. Steve nodded, his head still resting on her back. “Your age is really starting to show, babe.” Steve growled, lightly pinching the flesh on her thighs. She squealed, giggles erupting throughout the apartment. Steve sighed, lifting his head to peek at her face.

“Do you think we could cancel?” A loud gasp and she moved to look at him.

“Steven Grant Rogers! You would deprive our sweet Morgan of the opportunity to see her favorite person!?” Another gasp, “You think you know someone….” Steve rolled his eyes, ignoring the smirk creeping onto her face. She flipped the covers off her naked legs and got out of bed, sending a swift pat to his ass as her feet touched the floor. 

“Oh, come on, ya big baby. Get in the shower and I’ll get your coffee started.” She picked up his blue button-up from yesterday and slipped it on, buttoning enough to keep most of herself covered.

Steve was not too happy with how his Saturday was developing.

“We should be back by ten. There’s numbers on the fridge, poison control, and all that. She was up late last night ‘cause she was so excited you two were coming, she didn’t get a lot of sleep, so she’ll probably nap after lunch. Bath before bed, and bedtime’s at eight.” Steve and Y/N had been at Pepper and Tony’s for about thirty seconds before Morgan firmly attached herself to Y/N, and wouldn’t let her go. Y/N didn’t mind. She loved the love the small, tiny human gave to her, and greedily accepted the attention whenever she could.

Pepper placed a kiss on Morgan’s cheek, “Be good for Y/N and Steve. Mom and Dad will see you in the morning.” Morgan smiled, looking exactly like Tony, but much cuter than Tony could ever dream to be.

“Pep, we gotta go if you want to get there early.”

“You mean on time?”

“I literally don’t see how what I said is any different.” Pepper rolled her eyes good-naturedly and moved so Tony could say goodbye to Morgan. “Come’ere, squirt.” He held out his arms for her, but she only tightened her grip around Y/N’s neck. Tony blinked and stood to his full height. “My own daughter? My own flesh and blood. You’re not gonna hug your old man goodbye? Wow, I’m hurt. Truly wounded.” Morgan was a bundle of giggles, especially with the sad pout on her dad’s face.

She finally relinquished her grip, rolling her eyes in a similar fashion to her mother and reaching out for Tony. He smiled and transferred the little girl from Y/N’s arms to his and planted a big kiss on Morgan’s cheek.

“Be good. Don’t wear out Cap, okay, little miss? He might break a hip.” Steve gave a deadpan stare at Tony, who only smiled in return. More goodbye kisses and hugs were exchanged, and the three waved goodbye to Pepper and Tony from the porch. As soon as they were out of sight, Y/N and Morgan were off to the playroom, leaving Steve behind.

The first time Y/N and Steve ever watched Morgan, he quickly discovered Morgan did not like to share the attention of his girlfriend. Steve was sure that the only reason Morgan liked Steve in any form was because of who he was dating. Y/N would tease him about being jealous of a little kid, but Steve would maintain that he wasn’t. He wasn’t. (Okay, maybe a little pang of jealously went to his heart when she gave Morgan more attention, but Steve wasn’t sharing that detail with anyone. He talked with Bucky about it once and he got smacked on the back of his head for being an idiot. Never again.)

Steve was just fated to be the tall guy that helped reach the hidden cookies in the pantry and saved Morgan and Y/N from insects. It was fine. Just fine.

He finally made it to the playroom and leaned against the doorframe, watching as the girls dumped an egregious amount of glitter into a plastic bucket. Y/N looked up, feeling eyes on her, and smiled at Steve’s confused face.

“We’re making slime. For the team.” Steve raised his brows in understanding and watched them work, talking animatedly to one another, and paying no mind to him.

“Well, I’m gonna go over some reports down in the kitchen.” An eager “Okay!” from Morgan, and a wide smile and nod from his girlfriend. Steve sighed and went back downstairs.

Steve definitely was not jealous of a six year old.

After the slime had been divided into equal containers and labeled accordingly, Morgan and Y/N were ready to eat. Slime creation works up quite the appetite, after all. 

Breaded chicken in the shape of dinosaurs were placed in the oven, and watermelon and pineapple were cut into the shape of stars and hearts and placed in a glass bowl. Steve was in charge of cutting up carrots into sticks, though he was pretty sure Y/N only gave him the job so he wouldn’t feel left out.

They ate lunch outside on a yellow quilt in the shade, the breeze blowing every so often, enough to keep them cool. Morgan picked out where everyone should sit, unsurprisingly keeping Y/N directly beside her, and Steve on the other side of them. Morgan talked enthusiastically about what they could do after lunch.

“We can build a fort! And-And-And Daddy made me my own Iron Man helmet, so-so we can play Avengers!” The adults chuckled at her excitement.

“Do you have knives I can borrow? And Steve’s gonna need his shield….”

“I’m not supposedta touch the knives, but I think you can since you’re a grown-up! And we can make a shield for Steve.”

“Ooo, can we use glitter? I, personally, think we should use glitter.” Steve couldn’t hide the grin on his face when she smiled like that. Cheeky and entirely proud of teasing him. Morgan giggled and bit the head off the dinosaur nugget.

“And, I have glow-in-the-dark stars we can use, too!” Y/N wiggled her brows at Steve, a half-eaten carrot stick in her hand.

“How’s that sound, babe?” He chuckled when Morgan gave him the same look Tony gives when he’s impatiently waiting.

“Sounds perfect, girls.” She held up her hand for Morgan, and they shared a high-five in victory.

“We should probably rest, first, don’t ya think? We can’t fight the bad guys when we’re tired.” Morgan chewed on her lip.

“Yeah… I guess.” Y/N nodded with a serious expression on her face.

“Steve, don’t you always say ‘You can’t fight bullies without taking a quick nap first’?” Steve nodded back with a matching serious look.

“I do. Ask Sam and Bucky, I have to make them take naps all the time. One time they didn’t nap before a mission and we almost lost,” Steve’s gaze shifted over to Y/N, “But your aunt here… well, she basically saved the world.” Steve could hear her heart start to beat a little faster, and could see a faint pink making its way to her cheeks. Morgan stared wide-eyed up at Y/N, her mouth agape in a similar fashion to a fish.

“Is that true…? Did you really save the whole world!?” Y/N grinned and nodded her head, tucking Morgan’s hair out of her face. “Wooooow….” Morgan was stunned that her aunt had saved everyone from the bad guys. She had the coolest aunts.

Lunch was finished and Steve and Y/N were in a food induced sleepiness while Morgan searched for dandelions. Y/N rolled over to Steve, curling into his side. Her back was to his chest  and she was currently tracing the lines of his palm, both of them propped on their elbows.

“You’re sweet for telling her I saved the world.”

Steve grinned and kissed the top of her head, “You did save the world. On more than one occasion.” Y/N rolled her eyes and lightly pinched his palm. “What? I can’t brag about my girlfriend?” She snorted.

“You’re exaggerating.” Steve chuckled and kissed the shell of her ear. He wasn’t exaggerating, but he knew she would hear none of it. There were very few things she bragged about, and none of them involved anything she did with the Avengers. Baking cookies that the whole team loved? Couldn’t shut her up about it. Saving the world from an alien attack? Wouldn’t even know she was there.

She giggled, her shoulder coming up towards her ear, “That tickles.”

“Oh, so then you probably wouldn’t like if I did this…” Steve rested his hand on her hip. He felt her tense in front of him as he started to tighten his grip.

“Steven…” A warning that he could hear her smile through. He’d been too focused on Y/N, that he didn’t hear the soft crunch of the grass getting closer.

“Y/N, can you make me a flower crown?” Y/N laid her hand on top of Steve’s and squeezed, a silent question to let her move. Steve moved his hand back and watched her move and sit beside Morgan, bending and tying the stems into a crown. Morgan beamed and let Y/N place it on top of her head. Steve watched as Morgan tried to hide her yawn behind her hand as she twirled for them.

“Alright, girls, let’s go nap, then we’ll protect Earth.” Steve pushed himself up, collecting the dinnerware into one of his hands. Y/N stood up next, collecting the quilt and asking Morgan to carry her empty juice box. Morgan ran up so she was the first one inside, her little bare feet slapping on the hardwood flooring in the kitchen.

“Aunt Y/N, will you lay with me?” Eyelashes were batted and Y/N chuckled, dropping the quilt on the bench by the door.

“Of course, honey,” she looked back at Steve and grinned, “Don’t fall asleep without me. I’ll be right back.” Steve smirked, nodding his head. The girls walked upstairs, and Steve settled on the couch, turning the TV on. Y/N and Steve were over enough that they had their own playlist of shows and movies, something Y/N just went ahead and made, insisting Tony and Pepper wouldn’t care. They didn’t, but Tony did like to tease her about how many “obnoxious reality housewife shows” she watched.

Steve could hear faint giggles upstairs as he searched through the options. He settled on an episode of “I Love Lucy” he hadn’t watched yet when he noticed the giggles died down. Ricky was in the middle of lecturing Lucy, when Steve felt the couch dip. He turned and saw the little girl with brown hair who was supposed to be asleep. She prided herself on being a good “sneaker”.

Morgan turned and looked back at him, “Y/N’s asleep.” Steve blinked, tilting his head slightly.

“Aren’t you tired? Your mom said you stayed up late last night.” Morgan shrugged and turned back to watch Lucy cry dramatically.

“I’ll just go to bed early.” Steve gave a skeptical glance, but didn’t comment. He was sure she would. Even if she didn’t think she was tired later on, Y/N would read Morgan as many stories as it would take until she fell asleep. 

“Alright.” Steve turned back to watch the TV. A few minutes later, Morgan scooted closer to him, picking up his arm and resting her head on chest. Steve was frozen. It wasn’t that he and Morgan didn’t get along, they did, but she liked Y/N way more than she liked him. He wasn’t used to her affection being directed at him.

“Uncle Steve?” Steve rested his arm her after snapping out of his haze.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Big brown eyes looked up at him.

“Are you and Aunt Y/N gonna get married?” Steve blinked. Was this one of Tony’s pranks? He had mentioned something about “Candid Camera”, and when Steve looked it up later, he was slightly worried of the extremes Tony would go to, to prank him.

Using his daughter to ask Steve if he was marrying his girlfriend, was not something he had imagined.

Steve cleared his throat, “Why do you ask?”

“’Cause you love her.”

“Well, yeah, but you can love someone and not get married. Doesn’t mean you love them any less if you aren’t married.” Morgan’s brows pinched.

“But…” Her little brain was having a hard time processing. “You look at her the same way Daddy looks at Mama, and they’re married.” Steve grinned, rubbing his thumb over her arm.

“Maybe one day, but your aunt and I are happy just the way things are right now.” Morgan hummed, dissatisfied with that answer. At this rate, she wasn’t going to get to be a flower girl for anyone!

“Well, I think you should…!” Steve chuckled.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Morgan sat up more to convey how serious she was.

“Be-cause, I think you should.” Steve laughed.

“I’ll take your reasoning into consideration.” Morgan seemed satisfied enough with that answer and laid her head back down. Two more episodes played before Steve heard her breathing soften. Steve watched one more episode before his own exhaustion got the better of him.

When Y/N finally woke up and headed downstairs in search of the six-year-old who abandoned her in her bed, her heart nearly melted when she saw Morgan and Steve asleep on the couch. She took a quick picture before turning off the TV, and going into the kitchen to wash the few dishes from lunch. 

As she was finishing up, Steve came in, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Y/N dried her hands after draining the water and wrapped her arms around his waist. They stood in quiet contentment, until they heard quiet footsteps coming into the kitchen. Morgan leaned against Y/N’s leg, joining in their peace.

For about… two minutes.

“I’m hungry.” Y/N chuckled and removed herself from Steve.

“Ants on a log?” Morgan smiled.

“Ants on a log,” she repeated back in agreement.

Raisins were replaced with chocolate chips, and they ate while they made Steve a substitute shield. Y/N thought her heart melted seeing Morgan and Steve asleep on the couch together, but she nearly lost it when Morgan sat on Steve’s lap while she colored the blue of his shield. 

He looked at her with undeniable shock as Morgan went on like everything was perfectly normal. Y/N gave him an impressed eyebrow raise in return.

Once the shield was finished and doused with glitter, Y/N went in search of knives she could use. Of course she wasn’t going to use real knives like she normally used, something she had to reassure Steve of multiple times before she went downstairs. 

Accidentally leave a knife in a purse one time, and Steve has to bring it up every chance he gets.

She found plastic ones with Mickey Mouse on the handle shoved in the back of the silverware drawer. They’d have to do. 

An elaborate scheme to save Mr. Bear from the Hydra base (located at the trunk of the oak tree in the backyard) was concocted by Morgan. It was determined that Y/N would use her knives to weaken Hydra (Troll dolls) and Morgan, or Iron Girl (official name still pending) would fly in on Steve’s back and rescue Mr. Bear and Steve would knock out any Hydra that sneaked past Y/N.

Y/N hit each of her targets, giving a two finger salute to Steve. He held up his shield with one hand, his other hand tucked behind his back to keep Morgan safely secured. As they approached the tree, Morgan shouted, “Cap, watch out!” Three Trolls members of Hydra dropped down from the tree, lime green yarn tied around their legs. Steve used his shield to protect Iron Girl, and faintly wondered how she booby trapped the toys to drop, when Y/N whistled. 

It was the same one she gave out in the field, so without questioning, Steve ducked, and a knife came flying through the air, cutting the yarn of the Hydra closest to them. Iron Girl reached for Mr. Bear and secured him under her arm, and Steve ran them out of the area Y/N named the “danger zone”. She also laughed after calling it that, so Steve made a mental note to look that up later.

They met up back on the jet (or the front porch) and Morgan, now free of her helmet, assessed Mr. Bear for any injuries. Two Sesame Street bandages were placed on Mr. Bear’s arm and nose, but the mission was a success. 

“I say we have some lemonade and go swim in the lake now. I think we deserve it.” Morgan cheered and abandoned her helmet on the wicker chair on the porch before running inside to change. Y/N could feel Steve’s eyes on her, and turned back to him with a grin. “Good job, Cap.” He grinned and set the cardboard shield next to the child-sized helmet.

“Good job, agent.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “You’re gonna have to go find that knife you threw.”

She laughed, his smile growing at the sound, “Why do you think I suggested swimming?” Steve joined in her laughter as they went inside to change. She grabbed her backpack and pulled out his shorts, pushing the red polyester material into his hands. “Steve?” His eyes met hers. She stood on the tips of her toes, puckering her lips. Steve huffed a laugh through his nose and met her halfway. Her lips were soft against his, and he could faintly taste the lingering peanut butter on her tongue.

“Y/N!” A sigh from both, and they separated, Y/N sending him a love-drunk grin.

She turned her head over her shoulder, and shouted, “I’m coming!” She looked back at Steve and pecked his lips, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Another smile and she was running upstairs to help Morgan with her swimsuit. He wandered into the bathroom and changed, answering a text from Tony, asking how things were going. Everything was perfect.

The rest of the afternoon was spent playing on the dock, listening to the pop songs Y/N had on her phone, and Steve helping Morgan work on floating on her back. By the time the sun was more in the west, they had all had enough and were ready to get ready for dinner. Pepper had left a dish that they could heat up, but when Y/N peeked at it, her nose turned up and she shook her head. Weekends are not for healthy, organic meals, and that’s a fact of life Y/N firmly lived by.

She found Tony’s stash of coupons for nearby pizza places and ordered two large pizzas, one for her and Morgan, and one for Steve. Y/N gave Morgan a bath, and after she was clean and dressed in her purple shorts and t-shirt, Morgan went to find Steve, who was cleaning up mission reports from the kitchen table.

“Uncle Steve?” Somehow she had picked up at an early age, that if her voice was sweet and innocent, Steve would do, pretty much, whatever she wanted. She may have learned that from her aunt, but the jury’s still out. (No, she definitely learned it from Y/N.)

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you build a fort in the living room?” Steve grinned and stacked the files into a neat pile, setting them off to the side.

“You gotta help me, okay?” Morgan nodded happily, and they went in search of pillows and blankets. 

Forty-five minutes later and the pizza was delivered and the fort was ready in the living room. They skipped the dinnerware, opting to just eat straight from the pizza box, a concept that had Morgan in giggles the whole time. After eating and cleaning up, they turned on another episode of “I Love Lucy” and it wasn’t too long into the show when Steve noticed Morgan’s eyes start to droop more and more. 

Steve nudged Y/N with his foot.

“I think someone should go to bed.” She followed his line of sight and grinned tenderly at Morgan. She glanced at Steve.

“Do you think you can carry her?” Steve nodded and they crawled out of the fort. Y/N rubbed Morgan’s back, “Honey? Let’s go to bed.” A soft whine and murmur that she didn’t want to, but Y/N only rubbed her back again. “C’mon, Morgan. Steve’s gonna carry you, you don’t even hafta walk.” A deep sigh, and she sat up, with a look close to tears on her face. Her lack of sleep had finally caught up with her.

Steve bent and picked her up, one arm secured under her while the other rubbed her back. She breathed into his neck and he could smell her watermelon scented shampoo. Y/N led them upstairs, pulling back the covers on her bed. Steve gently placed Morgan in her spot, and Y/N pulled the blankets up to her shoulders.

“Good night, Morgan. We love you.” A final kiss to her forehead and the nightlight was turned on as the adults retreated from the bedroom. 

Tony and Pepper pulled into the driveway about an hour later. Tony glanced around, inspecting his home.

“Nothing looks broken…” Y/N rolled her eyes as she stood up from the couch. 

“I’m ignoring that for your own sake, Tony.” Pepper hid a yawn and stood next to her husband.

“Was she good?”

“A perfect angel.”

Pepper hummed, “I feel like her father says the same thing, even when she’s not.” Y/N and Steve laughed at the faux-offended look Tony cast to Pepper.

“No, she really was. We wore her out, so she should sleep in for ya.” Y/N covered her mouth as she yawned, and Steve put his hand on her lower back. “Well, we should take off.” Pepper grinned and hugged them both, thanking them again for watching Morgan. Tony motioned with his arm.

“I’ll walk you out to your car.” Y/N picked up her backpack and shoved her cellphone into the side pocket. They walked out to the car, Y/N too tired to focus on anything else. She climbed into the passenger seat, depositing her bag down by her feet and leaned back, closing her eyes. Steve glanced at the car and back at Tony, who raised a brow. “Cap.”

“You got a good thing here, Tony.” Tony’s face softened, the years having caught up with him as of late.

“I know.” Tony glanced at her sleepy form in the car. “You do, too, Rogers.” Steve gave a lopsided smirk, glancing back at her.

“Yeah… I do.” Tony slapped Steve’s shoulder in that way only men seem to do, and he stepped onto the porch and watched Steve get into the car and pull out onto the main road. Y/N finished clicking her seatbelt, and angled her body towards him.

“What did you and Tony talk about?” Steve laid out his hand, palm up, and she interlaced her fingers with his. He brought her knuckles to his lips.

“Just how nice it is up here.” She hummed in agreement, her eyes too heavy to keep open. Just like Morgan, Steve was sure he’d have to help get Y/N into bed, and he was perfectly fine with it. He’d carry her to bed every night if she asked him to.

Seventy-nine Saturdays they had spent together, and this was one of the best.

[starsgivemehp]

Okay! In that case, I think I’m gonna go with Guts for this story. What are some of the things he likes the most? (Food, activities, etc.). Also, do you have any particular picture of where he usually lives? Also, how does he get along with his brother? (Sorry for the spam, I just want to make this good)

rssgiyfgeiuf you’re really gonna write me something? Q,Q bless u fam

Another cut because my god, I don’t shut up lmao

So Guts is, canonically, the horror end of my classic boy Vega! That means that everything that applies to Vega also applies to him. For example:

Vega (and therefore Guts) has voice to color synaesthesia! Different tones of voice that convey certain emotions have different colors. This makes it difficult (but not impossible) to lie to him. For example, joy is often a clear blue, tranquility is cyan, confidence is orange, tiredness is purple, triumph is yellow (and if you see a pattern, you’re right, soul trait colors match up with emotions). Positive emotions tend to be clear and nice, overly-exaggerated emotions (like when a Papyrus is pretending to be confident even though he’s not) are too saturated and bright, and negative emotions are muddy and diluted. This applies to his own voice and anybody else’s voice. He likes blues the best, and he tends to use this ability to comfort people he can tell are faking it or are trying to hide upset. Do note that this overlaps the more voices there are, so while he can handle a little while of being around lots of people, it will overstimulate him soon enough and he’ll really want to cover his non-ears and take a nap to stop the colors everywhere drowning everything else out. Thus, he’s not keen on stuff like amusement parks or big parties or sports fields.

(note that this is a little old and not all-encompassing, so just kinda use what feels right, I think)

Also important to note that Solstice, or Eclipse as he renames himself in Horrortale, is the Papyrus, but he is not Vega/Guts’ brother. He is, in fact, their son. Sol is completely unaware of this fact and thinks they are brothers. See, Vega’s mom is the river person, and her name is Carme (a sans serif font). His father was Roman (or Times New Roman) and he died while Vega was still pretty young, he doesn’t remember the guy at all. Carme has some form of dementia (I’ll be honest, I haven’t done enough research yet to pick) and, while always cheerful and doing her boating duty well, doesn’t often recognize Vega. However, he doesn’t mind much, and he’ll usually sing when he takes the boat, and she’ll sing along. When she does remember, she’ll coddle him gently.

Vega was in love with Gaster, who was a completely unrelated skeleton and the royal scientist. I dunno if they were officially married, but they were living together and had a son, Solstice (Gaster carried). Sol was still a baby when Gaster fell into the core, and everyone but Vega forgot about him. Vega found it difficult to raise a child on his own, and his mother wasn’t that bad mentally yet, so he decided to pretend it was his baby brother and have his mom help him raise the kid. By this point, now that Sol is a functioning adult, Vega could tell him, but he has no idea how to bring it up and explain, so he just keeps the lie since it’s easier. It doesn’t trouble him much. He is, however, worried that he may develop whatever Carme has and his own memory will start to go, and he’ll slip up and call Sol his son.

(shitty sketch is shitty)

In terms of how they get along, before the verse was horror-fied, Vega was endlessly patient with Sol, who has anxiety issues. But Vega also kinda has depression, so they’re a little co-dependent. He eases Sol’s anxiety a lot and Sol picks up the slack and gently bullies him to take care of himself. Sol is not a great cook, but Vega will honestly eat anything, so if Sol asks how it is, he can truthfully say he likes it (even if nobody else would) and everyone is happy. Vega works all the usual Sans jobs underground, and he’s just an all around dad guy. Super soft, super patient (it’s his soul trait), gentle and always smiling even when a little sad. His philosophy about life is basically to savor the little things, because you never know what you have until it’s gone, and the big things aren’t so overwhelming if there are lots of little things.

He’s a big fan of mac n’ cheese, and he likes little cut up hot dog (cat) pieces in it, with little octopus legs. Mac n’ seas. Also he’ll throw in broccoli sometimes to be healthy. He’s also really big on pretty much any other kid-friendly, easy to make food, like peanut butter and jelly, chicken nuggets, stuff like that. He does, ofc, drink ketchup and put it on all his food.

Vega is pretty old, about 500, I’d say, and Sol is almost 400 himself, so they’re among my older muses, but there are ones waaay older. He’s also a shortie, he’s only 4′6″. He tastes like vanilla. He also has a daddy kink (soft, very paternal in bed), and he’s into pillow humping, tentacles, sensory deprivation, and massages, but he’s asexual and his sex drive is relatively low. He rarely wants anything more than once or twice a month, and he hardly has two heats a year.

SO THAT’S ALL VEGA, and when his verse horror-fies and he becomes Guts, a lot of that stays intact, but there are some changes. If you follow canon horrortale, it’s fairly similar in terms of what happened to him, but reactions are a little different because he’s so soff. He did basically get backstabbed by Alphys and Undyne, who thought his magic was special enough to revive the core, and thus Undyne broke his head open. The difference is, none of it worked in the first place, and he didn’t get revenge on anyone, he just quietly went back home and stewed and tried his best to help his neighbors by hunting humans. He refused to eat human, though, so he was starving for years on end, to the point where he started to drool tar. He did 100% feed it to Sol without Sol being aware of it, to keep him alive and semi-healthy. When he hunts humans, he’s extremely regretful about it. He tricks them with creepy grins and quick movements, and he doesn’t hesitate when he brings the axe down, but usually, as he’s bringing it down, his smile will fade and he’ll give his best ‘I’m sorry’ look to them, because he really does feel fucking awful about it.

Eclipse is a pretty typical horror Pap, cheerful and cool with eating humans but still trying to be a good person. I don’t do the whole “Pap can’t hear shit and mistakes words” song and dance because it kinda irritates me, personally, and besides, as I mentioned in the last post, Guts barely talks anyway. He has gotten a little better at cooking, and while he’s frustrated with Guts refusing to eat human, he will obey Guts’ wishes and not feed him any.

Guts is EXTREMELY frustrated about his communication issues often, because he stalls out on signing, and when he tries to write, he has trouble scratching out the full shapes of letters and his handwriting is atrocious and he’s completely disgusted with it. While he can use words at times, he’s unhappy with his coloring (because it’s usually muddy purplish/tired or red/irritable these days). The best workaround he discovers, with help, is to communicate solely in emoji and punctuation. He’ll use emojis like the :pray: emoji for please, the :slight smile: for thank you, and the :face with bandage: to refer to himself in third person. The emojis work for his brain because he doesn’t process them as “language” with a grammatical structure, but merely pictures that can help him express his emotions.

Guts is far more tired than Vega, and while he does still somewhat have an urge to dad people, he’s been through so much trauma and difficulty that he’s a lot more needy and crumbles easily when someone else parents him instead of the other way around. He loves being picked up and snuggled and pet and loved on, and he naps when he’s safe and purrs when he’s doted on. He knows he’s cute and he owns it, tbh.

He struggles with eating, sometimes. I mentioned that whatever he’s eating has to include meat, but sometimes, he’ll get all up in his head about it if it’s human, and he’ll leak the tar more trying to hold himself back. Times like that, he needs reassurance of what the food is and that it’s okay to eat, pretty much constantly, while he stuffs his face before he can think about it too hard.

He is homeless when they reach the surface, because he finds it extremely difficult to find a job without talking. He usually begs on street corners with a sign or stays at a homeless shelter, not keeping much stuff. A few books, a picture of his bro, some clothes, that’s about it. He hides his situation from Eclipse a lot, because Eclipse went right off to culinary school and fuck if Guts will make him come back and sacrifice his dreams to take care of his invalid brother/father (and honestly part of that is just me not liking playing classic Papyrus much lmao).

In terms of activities/hobbies, he does kinda still like cooking simple foods, but he doesn’t often get the chance. He’s always fond of napping, and he likes listening to calmer kinds of music. Some alt rock, some instrumental, some ballads. He likes to feed birds at the park sometimes, because he hangs out there. He doesn’t really do much else.

Sexually, despite still being asexual, he’s more open to having sex more often, probably in part because he went a very, very long time without any and he kinda missed it. He’s still lazy in bed, having mostly the same kinks but subbing more. Also, he doesn’t automatically get turned on by eating (like Arum), but if his partner rubs him off while feeding him by hand, he’s pretty into it. Overall he is an overtired dad who is really, really thankful when someone finally says “hey, you’ve been the dad enough, let me baby you.”

This got way longer than expected, but I’m always happy to ramble, and if you need more info, just lemme know!

I leave you with this meme:

[heroloverangel]

Family Resemblance

Hero Dadcademia #2: Hawks!

You can’t help it, you feel lonely. It’s not easy being married to the number two hero in the country, and you’ve found yourself spending your nights alone far too often lately. You’ve only been married six months, surely the world can hold itself together long enough for you to enjoy your new husband for more than a few hours at a time, right?

Of course, you think to yourself with a smile as you fuss over the chicken on the stove, it didn’t take him hours to get you into the situation you’ve found yourself.

As if on cue, the front door opens and Hawks trudges in. His eyes light up when he sees you, even as he’s tossing his jacket and other bits of his costume in a messy pile on the floor.

“Hey babe, you’re home early! Dinner’ll be ready in--oh come on, we have a coat rack!” Hawks only shrugs his shoulders, flashing you a teasing grin that puts a swift end to your scolding. He strides over to you and wraps his arms around you, enveloping your frame in a pair of beautiful red wings.

“Hey yourself,” he breaths against your neck, hands moving down to brush against your stomach. At five months along you’re still not showing very much, but he finds it harder every day to keep his hands off the swell of your belly. “Sorry I missed the doctor again. How’s the little nugget today?”

You snort; that nickname never stops being terrible yet hilarious to you. “Looking great. Still don’t know what we’re having though; the umbilical cord was in the way again.” He makes a small noise of disappointment, burying his nose into your hair to breathe in your scent. “Oh, hold on. I forgot!” You spread your arms out, forcing open the protective cocoon of his wings around you. You take a second to shut off the stove, saving your meal from an unfortunate burning and grab for your purse on the table.

You hand over the folder with fresh excitement and Hawks quirks an eyebrow up at you before opening it. His face immediately splits into a warm smile as he eagerly stares at the pictures from your latest ultrasound. “Damn, kid’s practically a model already,” he laughs.

“No, there’s more!” You move his hand down an inch, jabbing at the center of the page. “Like I said, we can’t tell what the sex is yet, but look!” He brings it closer to his face, squinting at the picture before he sees what you’re pointing at. There’s something coming out of your baby’s back, a vaguely familiar shape that could be mistaken for some kind of weird extra limb beginning to form behind them. He gawks between you and the photo in amazement, a look of excitement spreading across his handsome face.

“It’s a wing.”

“It’s a wing!” You nearly squeal with joy. “I mean, I know it’s not a huge surprise. It was a 50/50 chance for either of our quirks, right? But still, I didn’t think we’d find that out so soon! It’s super cool, isn’t it?”

You take a deep breathe, practically glowing with emotion. There’s always a warm feeling in his chest whenever he sees you, but now as he takes in the sight of you like this, so giddy over this little life you created together, he’s almost overwhelmed by it.

Ignoring the food waiting on the stove, Hawks swoops you up in his arms. Before you can protest, you find yourself on the couch, seated comfortably in his lap. Those massive wings (our baby’s wings, you think with happiness) curl around you once more, insulating your little family from everything in the world. You meet his eyes in the dim light, staring at you with an expression of pure devotion that’s reserved entirely for you, only ever for you.

“Love you,” he whispers quietly, giving you a kiss that’s so soft and gentle it makes you heart skip a beat. There’s a small, slight movement within you, a tiny kick against your abdomen near the spot where his hand is resting. “You too, nugget.” You lean your head against his chest, sighing with contentment. It’s not easy being married to the number two hero in the country, but it’s the life you’ve chosen, and you wouldn’t change a second of it for anything.

[nicolewrites]

i don’t have enough money for chicken nuggets

for emi, who told me this vine had big Ingrid energy and because I needed a break from writing space fic~

Rating: G+ Genre: Friendship Characters: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea  Words: 2,089

They’ve both had not-so-amazing days so Sylvain makes a better than excellent suggestion. / roommates au

AO3

Ingrid is lying on the floor of the apartment when Sylvain gets home. He’s absolutely exhausted and he’s pretty sure he’s got a crick in his neck that will literally never go away thanks to being hunched over a desk in the library for almost eight hours. He almost doesn’t see Ingrid on the ground until he sees Mercedes sitting on the couch, flipping through one of Ingrid’s veterinary science books. 

Sylvain pauses and stares at Mercedes and then he catches sight of the sushi socks that are peeking around the side of the couch. He knows those socks because he bought those socks for Ingrid for her birthday last year. Sylvain waves to Mercedes and she smiles at him brightly in return. He walks up and leans over the couch, taking in the sight of his roommate lying face down on their floor. 

“Everything okay?” he asks. The question is open and directed to either Mercedes or Ingrid, whoever feels more up to answering it. 

“Ingrid has had a rough day,” Mercedes supplies helpfully. 

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What kind of bad day?”

“My supervisor rejected my most recent project plan,” Ingrid grumbles, not even lifting her head up. “I stayed up literally all night finishing it and the only thing he said to me was that the conclusion needed work before he could approve it and that he wanted a new draft by Thursday.”

Mercedes smiles sympathetically. “I ran into Ingrid on campus after I dropped Annie off and gave her a ride back here.” She checks her watch. “I do need to run to the hospital to drop off something before tomorrow.”

Mercedes stands up and walks over to him, patting his arm. Sylvain smiles at her, looking between his miserable, blob-shaped roommate and their mutual friend. 

“Thanks for staying, Mercie,” he says quietly.

“My pleasure,” she replies. 

Mercedes drifts past him and head for the door of their apartment and then Sylvain is left staring down at his grumpy roommate who is still lying face-down on the rug. 

“Ingrid,” he says, “surely there are more comfortable places to mope?”

“Too far away,” she grumbles. 

He rolls his eyes and finally walks around the couch. He bends down and grabs her under the arms and literally hauls her up. Ingrid shrieks and immediately flails in his grip. Her leg swings out, kicking at his shin and Sylvain grunts. Unfortunately, due to his own tiredness, he isn’t quite ready for a flailing Ingrid and she manages to take them both out, sending them crashing to the couch. 

Sylvain twists so he doesn’t land on top of Ingrid and they land side by side on the couch. Also unfortunately, the couch is not built for two people and since Sylvain lands closer to the edge, he immediately rolls off of it, landing straight on his ass. Ingrid sits up on the couch, blinking her wide green eyes at him. 

Sylvain’s tailbone hurts from the sudden impact, but he bursts out laughing. Ingrid laughs too, swinging her legs down so she’s sitting properly on the couch. She leans forward, her lips curling into a half-smirk. 

“Nicely done,” she teases. 

He rolls his eyes at her and pushes himself to his feet using the edge of the couch and the coffee table. “Hey, I was just trying to help you. You’re the one who flipped out.”

Ingrid shoves him as he sits on the couch next to her. “Whatever. I was comfortable.”

“No, you weren’t,” he counters. “The floor is wood. The rug is thin. There is no way that was comfortable.

Ingrid huffs and tugs on the sleeves of the hoodie she’s wearing, pulling them down over her hands. “I was lazy, then,” she corrects herself. 

She twists, reclining on the couch and throwing her feet up across his lap. Sylvain gets a good look at the hoodie she’s wearing and he blinks in surprise as he recognizes it. It’s an old dark teal hoodie with their high school crest in white. There’s a black ink stain on the right sleeve from where Felix broke a pen when Sylvain had been in his senior year. 

“That’s my hoodie,” he says dumbly, still staring at it. 

Ingrid blinks and looks at the sweater. She seems just as surprised as he is to see that it is. “Oh, it is, isn’t it.”

Sylvain stares. “It’s been missing since I was in my freshman year of undergrad! How do you have it?”

Ingrid taps her chin as she thinks about it. “You know, I think you left it at my house when you went off to university and I meant to give it back, but I just forgot to.”

Sylvain rubs his forehead. “Wait so we’ve been living together for four years and I haven’t seen you wear it?”

She looks down, her ears turning pink. “I, uh, normally sleep in it, not wear it out and around.”

Sylvain feels his own neck get hot and he clears his throat. “Yeah, uh, right.”

He drops his gaze down to his lap where Ingrid’s sock-clad feet are resting. The socks are navy blue and covered in cartoon pieces of sushi. He had thought they were hilarious when he saw them in December so he had bought them and sat on them for a month until her birthday. Ingrid had cracked up as soon as she had opened the present because they were socks, but she wore them fairly often. 

“I like your socks,” he says dumbly. 

She just laughs. “They’re comfortable. I’m still sad you didn’t buy those matching hot dog ones the other day.”

Sylvain practically snorts a laugh. “God, but those were ugly. There’s a difference between cute graphic socks and bright yellow graphic socks with wieners on them.”

She wrinkles her nose. “How do you make that sound dirty?”

Sylvain blinks and lifts his hand from where it had rested on her ankle without thinking. “I guess it kind of did, didn’t it.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and swings her feet off his lap, standing up. She walks back around the couch into the kitchen and opens the fridge. Sylvain turns, throwing an arm over the back of the couch to watch her as she rifles around in the fridge. After a second, she shuts the fridge and twists her face into what Sylvain can only call a pout. 

“Fuck,” she grumbles. 

Sylvain chuckles. “You all out?”

Ingrid brushes some of her short hair behind her ear. “I definitely told Felix yesterday that I would make dinner tonight since he has fencing, but I also definitely forgot to buy anything that’s actually worth eating for dinner tonight.”

Sylvain stood up, stretching his arms above his head. His shoulders popped satisfyingly and he strode into the kitchen. He stepped around his roommate to the fridge and opened it, scanning his own side of the fridge. 

Similar to Ingrid, he also seemed to be lacking in actual edible food. There was some milk and a tub of yogurt as well as a couple of bell peppers, but no protein and nothing that he actually wanted to eat after having spent a full day in the library studying corporate law. And since it seemed Ingrid had had just as poor a day as he had, he knew there was something they could do that would cheer both of them up. 

“Text Felix and ask what he wants from McDonald’s,” Sylvain suggests to Ingrid, closing the fridge. 

He leaves the kitchen and heads down the hallway towards his room. Ingrid stares at him for a moment before she chases him, following him all the way to the door of his room. She stops in the doorway and stares at him as he strips off his shirt, pulling on a dark grey long-sleeved t-shirt. He turns around and sees Ingrid is still staring at him. 

“McDonald’s?” she repeats, sounding confused. 

Sylvain tugs his shirt down to straighten it and grins. “Sure! You’re telling me you don’t want to relieve the stupidest things we did in high school tonight?”

Ingrid’s mouth opens and closes and then she frowns. “I didn’t budget this in this week.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes and walks over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulder and spinning her around, guiding her back down the hall towards the front door of the apartment. “Don’t worry about it. It’s literally just fast food. I can cover you.”

Ingrid sighs, but her interest in getting cheap fast food is apparently stronger than her dislike of Sylvain paying for things since she doesn’t resist as he leads them to the front of their apartment. He grabs his keys and wallet from his bag at the door and pulls on his shoes. Ingrid slows down as she walks to the door, typing a message out on her phone to Felix. 

Sylvain straightens up and waits for her by the door, spinning his keys on his lanyard idly. Ingrid slides her sock-clad feet into athletics scuffs and shoves her hands into the pockets of her poached sweater. Sylvain grins and opens the door, leading the way out of the apartment. Ingrid pauses as they leave to lock the door but then she follows him to the elevator. 

Sylvain unlocks his car and slides into the driver’s side. Ingrid gets into the passenger side and he starts the engine. His car’s Bluetooth beeps, confirming its connection to his phone and he steals a glance at Ingrid, smirking. Immediately, her brow knits in suspicion. 

“Play the High School Musical soundtrack,” Sylvain says gleefully. 

Ingrid groans and drops her arms and head forward onto the dashboard. “Oh my god, Sylvain.”

“Hey, we’re emulating being stupid high school days, aren’t we?”

The music from the first song in the movie starts playing over his car’s speakers as he pulls out of the parking lot. Ingrid leans back from the dashboard and glares at the speaker. Sylvain just smiles to himself and turns the volume up louder. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Ingrid grumbles. “A twenty-five-year-old man and you put on High School Musical in your car.”

“Only with you,” he teases back. “Besides, it’s not like we all didn’t absolutely love this movie when we were younger.”

Ingrid huffs. “When I was eleven, maybe.”

Sylvain laughs. “Aw, come on, I was just trying to distract you. Get your mind of everything.”

He steals a glance from her as he stops at a red light. She looks less annoyed when he says that, her green eyes softening. 

“Yeah, I know,” she mumbles. “I appreciate it.”

He takes one hand off the wheel and pats her shoulder. “You’ll knock him dead next time, Ingrid,” he assures. “If I can get my studiously lazy ass into Law School, you can knock your supervisor dead with this project plan. Besides, even if it takes a few more days, it’s not going to derail your entire Masters.”

She huffs out a breath. “I know, it’s just frustrating.” She turns towards him and it takes every ounce of driving knowledge he has to keep his eyes on the road and not to meet her gaze. “Weren’t you supposed to be busy tonight?”

“Nah,” he says. “I was going to go on a date, but I called it off earlier when I was three hours deep in corporate law with no end in sight.”

Ingrid shudders. “Oh god. How long were you even at the library today?”

He shrugs and turns on his turn signal to turn right into the McDonald’s parking lot. “Too long,” he grumbles.

Ingrid laughs at him. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m the only one who needed this break.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Hey, I’m just hungry.”

She fiddles with the sleeve of the hoodie as he parks and he turns towards her, grinning. 

“If I buy you a 50-pack of nuggets can I have my hoodie back?”

She scoffs. “No way. This is mine now.”

He snaps his fingers, but he can’t disguise the amused look on his face. “Darn,” he drawls sarcastically, killing the engine. “Guess I’ll just have to play the High School Musical 2 soundtrack on the way back to the apartment.”

He yanks his keys free and jumps out of the car before Ingrid can lash out and whack him. He jogs away from the car towards the McDonald’s laughing. She staggers out of his car, scowling. 

“Sylvain!”

He picks up the pace, letting his laugh carry back to her. It feels good. 

[boymeetsweevil]

For Science 2/7

Grouping: Reader x Nerd!Jungkook

Word Count: ~8.6k lmao where is this going idek

Warnings/Themes: not much honestly just some good old fashioned heavy petting and dry humping :) because why not?

Summary: Jungkook asks you to let him watch you get off. For science.

part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

The next time you see Jungkook is a few days later when classes have started back up for the week. You spent a good 20 minutes that morning staring up at your ceiling wondering if today would be the day that the consequences of your drunken voyeurism party would come back to haunt you. Jungkook isn’t necessarily someone that can’t keep secrets, but given that he’s a bit of a novice when it comes to sex, you’re not sure whether he’ll keep his mouth shut. And as appealing as cutting class would have been, you can’t risk your grades in your junior year and with applications for jobs looming over your head with one year left.

When you emerge from the food court holding your lunch tray, you head to the patch of grass on the quad that you and the guys like to frequent. From the short distance away, you can see that Tae has just sat down to join Hoseok. Jungkook is nowhere to be found and you’re secretly glad you don’t have to deal with him watching you walk over. You give them a nod as you sit down, careful not to spill your food or the precious brownie wrapped up in the corner well of the tray.

“How was Friday night,” Tae asks over a mouthful of tuna sandwich.

“It was fine, why do you ask.” Your voice remains level as you unwrap your sandwich, but you don’t make eye contact.

“What do you mean ‘why’? Jungkook can’t handle his liquor and always throws up if he has more than one beer. Did he even make it to your apartment? No one heard anything from either of you for the whole weekend.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that after the uber left,” Hoseok nods sympathetically.

“Shut up,” you laugh, throwing a crumpled wad of plastic wrap at him. “You weren’t thinking about anything. You were knocked out like your BAC was .9.”

“At least I wasn’t…”

“At least you weren’t what? Because whatever you’re going to critique me for, I didn’t do.”

“Didn’t do what,” Jungkook asks as he approaches the area where you’re all seated on the grass.

“Didn’t do you,” Hoseok snorts.

Jungkook pauses with his chicken nugget in midair. “What exactly are we talking about?”

“You don’t remember asking her to deflower you so you’d be a better lay for Yoori? Man, you really are a lightweight. I don’t get it. You’re tall and muscly, it makes no sense.”

“You really don’t remember?” Tae leans over to look at Jungkook with concern.

“I remember what I remember,” is all he says before digging into his lunch without another word. Your relief is short lived because the topic switches only slightly when Taehyung asks about Yoori.

“When did you say she was coming back, again?”

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle with subdued excitement. “She said she was coming back in a month.”

“Well, you’d better start working on that v-card issue then.”

“I’m sure that I’ll come up with some sort of solution,” he shrugs and pushes up his glasses with his middle finger. “Can you go back in line and get me more chicken nuggets, Hoseok?”

“Why me?”

“You’re the only one who’s done eating.” When Hoseok refuses to budge, Jungkook brandishes his ID card like it’s a thick wad of cash. “You can buy whatever you want while you’re up there. On me.”

“Deal,” he snatches the card away before turning to Tae. “Come stand in line with me.”

You turn to watch the two of them go, snorting at how much they resemble tweedle dee and tweedle dum.

“You couldn’t stand in line yourself, hotshot?”

“I just wanted to talk with you privately,” he mumbles while playing with the grass.

“Oh. Is it about this weekend?”

“Yeah. I’ve been giving it some thought and honestly...”

Here comes the rejection, you think. But technically you weren’t even dating, much less together, so how could you be getting rejected? And it was his idea in the first place, so he definitely can’t reject you. The thoughts come at you all at once, inundating you until you’re staring above his head at nothing, trying not to shriek in frustration.

“Hello? Where are you right now, Mars?” Jungkook lays a hand on your shoulder, breaking your reverie.

“What?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Uh. No, sorry. What did you say?” You raise your shoulder so his hand slides off on its own, bracing yourself for his next words.

“I said I think we should make it a weekend thing instead of just one day a week.”

“Really? Why?”

“Think about the math for starters. We’d meet maybe four more times if Yoori’s actually coming back in a month. But that’s not nearly enough time to test for variables or come up with a formula. Much less master technique. And think of all the instruments I still don’t have a good familiarity with.”

“Jungkook--”

“I figure with weekends, we could triple the amount of raw time we have. And if we’re really being sticklers for detail, we could more than triple the amount of practice situations if we operate under the assumption that it will be mainly just you acting as the test subject.” His hands flutter as he talks until they land like birds in his hair and turn it into a deranged looking nest.

“Jungkook.”

“I read on Sunday that vaginal orgasms can occur in series and since most of the sessions will be focused on you, we don’t have to factor in the more singular penile orgasms or refractory periods and--”

“Are you really talking about your dick like it’s a limiting reagent right now?”

“Yes,” he stops his rambling to look at you through his lenses, the glass making his eyes appear even rounder and shinier. “Should I not do that?”

“You know what? It’s fine. Weekends are fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Your voice is starting to sound a little...hysterical.”

“No, it’s really fine. I’ll just stay over at your place this week after Fortnite.”

“Crap, I forgot about Fortnite. We were so close to being able to compete in the town tournament.”

“It’s fine, just move it to another day of the week.”

“But how will I explain that to Tae and Hoseok without raising suspicion?”

You gnaw on the corner of your lip until an idea comes to you. “Just tell them that my test scores went down a lot and you have to tutor me. Happens to Hoseok all the time.”

“But there’s no way your results would go down enough for you to need tutoring all weekend long for a month’s worth of weekends. You’re way too smart for that.”

“Y-you think so?” His words make your cheeks warm up and you smile up at him shyly.

His brow furrows. “Of course you’re smart. You know that.”

“Obviously I know, but I…didn’t know you thought that way too.”

“I’d be crazy not to,” he smiles softly at you.

“Here are your damn nuggets, you lazy baby.”

A tray piled high with nuggets and baked goods comes crashing down from Hoseok’s hands with a scary accuracy into Jungkook’s lap. Hoseok never ceases to amaze you with the speed at which he can ruin a nice mood. There’s no sense in mourning a one-sided moment, though, so you just scoop up a stray nugget and nibble. Hoseok sits down roughly onto the green with chocolate stains around his mouth, the cherry tart in his hand seems to be his next victim. Jungkook chokes on a lettuce leaf.

“Just how much did you troglodytes buy!?”

“Not that much,” Tae looks guilty as he peels the wrapper off a drumstick ice cream cone.

“Don’t act like you can’t just reload the missing funds,” Hoseok points a syrupy finger in Jungkook’s direction, “You have that programming money, asshole.”

You shake your head and gesture for Tae to grab what he can and leave them to it.

The most daunting thing about the whole arrangement is that during the rest of the week Jungkook manages to act like he’s hasn’t come over to your apartment to watch and help you get off for the sake of being better lover to Yoori. He’s completely nonchalant in the way that he sits next to you when you all get together to strategize for robotics competitions, his elbow brushing yours the entire time. When Hoseok uses Jungkook’s newfound virginity again to knock him down a peg during a study session where he keeps mock-grading Hoseok’s answers down, he doesn’t bat an eyelash. It’s not like Jungkook has suddenly become cool, though. He still eats like a 5-year-old weight lifter. And he still falls asleep on the floor of Tae’s room only to wake up with the shape of his glasses imprinted onto his face. He still looks across the room with lightning speed and holds out his hand like he did when you were kids because he wants you on his team when you guys stumble upon a spontaneous Super Smash Bros being hosted in Tae’s dorm lobby. Jungkook is still just as much himself as he was before you spread your legs for him and you can’t tell if that makes you happy or sad.

Friday rolls around and you spend 2 hours more than usual getting ready for Fortnite at Jungkook’s. The funny part is that you never ‘got ready’ before. But now you’re taking a 40 minute shower to shave basically every hair that grows below your eyelashes and using the previously unopened lotion your mother bought you from the Clinique store a birthday ago. You even put on a mud mask you bought on a whim once and sing a little song called ‘this isn’t a date’ the whole time it dries on your face. By the time you leave your apartment to head over, your whole body is moisturized, glowing, hairless, and fragrant. You empty out your backpack and fill it with the things you’ll need for the weekend so as not to raise suspicion with an overnight bag. Though it’s significantly lighter because its not filled with textbooks and toolkits, you still feel like you’re carrying a huge weight on your shoulders as you knock on Jungkook’s door.

Taehyung is the first to greet you because he’s the one who gets sent to open the door.

“Weird,” he blurts out. He quickly regrets saying anything when your mouth drops open.

“I look weird?”

“I don’t know,” he studies you as you both make your way to small set up of consoles in the middle of the dorm’s living area. “Guys, doesn’t she look weird?”

“Excuse me. I don’t want to do this right now. Nothing’s weird.”

“You do look weird,” Hoseok chimes in and puts down his controller to stalk forward. “But your hair is doing that same…shape it always does. And you’re not, like, wearing something nice for a change.”

All you can do is gape at their rude comments as they circle around you.

“Kook, come check this out. She look different to you?”

Jungkook approaches slowly and looks you over with the rest of them. When it was just Taehyung and Hoseok, you could at least make angry eye contact and flick them in the forehead when they got too close. But with Jungkook also looking at you, it feels like you’re glued by your feet to the floor, unable to move.

“You don’t really look all that different. You smell a little different, though.”

The other two sniff the air before letting out matching yells of agreement and crowding you further to guess the smell. You have to give Hoseok a purple nurple when his nose starts to tickle your neck but you’re too exhausted to shake Taehyung off and endure him linking arms with you as you walk to your seats to continue sniffing your hairline.

“What’d you do? Run out of that dollar store lotion you use,” Hoseok jokes as he tosses you a controller.

“Yes,” you deadpan just to get him off your back. Jungkook scoots his chair next to yours, getting into the normal team pairings. When he gets close enough, you lean over, sheepish, and ask, “Do I smell weird? Be honest.”

“No,” he pats your thigh reassuringly before redirecting his gaze at the TV. “You smell good.”

Although you’re relieved that no one really questioned your slight change in presentation, you can’t settle fully into the game night because you’re practically vibrating with excited nerves. You’ve stayed the night with hookups in the sense that you were too tired to leave directly after a one night stand so you crashed with them in their beds and snuck out at dawn. But this would be different. While it wasn’t a full-on sleepover with a main squeeze, it was still better than doing the walk of shame from a stranger’s apartment at 6 am. And it would be a weekend with Jungkook. After a few hours of trying to hide the childlike smile on your face and having your character nearly die every round, the gang calls it quits.

“Hey, what’s up with you,” Hoseok calls from across the room. “Why do you suck at playing tonight?”

“Just thought it might be interesting to play like you do for a change,” you snark. Taehyung and Jungkook both grimace for Hoseok, who opts for flipping you the bird instead.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is just misplaced passion between us.”

“Good thing you know better.”

Thinking of Hoseok as anything other than an annoying friend has your skin crawling, but you do give him a pat on the back as a silent ‘good game’.

“Should we go out for ice cream? The night is still young. And you’re out of ice cream,” Taehyung calls from where is head is practically buried inside the freezer.

“Sorry, guys. I’m video calling with RealiCorp tomorrow at 8am about some software updates and I have to get to bed so I can be sharp.”

“You don’t have to come. We can get ice cream just the three of us,” Taehyung says as he slips on his shoes.

“I think I’m gonna have to take a rain check as well,” you perch yourself on the armrest of the couch facing the consoles. “I’m on a diet, so I think I’ll just go home.”

“And the reason you’re not getting up go now is?” Hoseok eyes how comfortable you look in your spot and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s dark outside and it’s not safe for me to walk back. I’m calling an uber.”

“Lame, but safety first, I guess.” He wraps an arm around Taehyung and pulls the door open. “You gonna treat your senior to a snow cone?”

You wait for their figures to disappear down the road before turning to look at Jungkook.

“You don’t really have a RealiCorp meeting.”

He grins. “How’d you know?”

“Easy. RealiCorp offices are in New York and 7pm their time is way too late for a minor business call.”

“You caught me. Are you really on a diet?”

“What do you think?” He snorts and raises his palms in surrender.

“I’m gonna go shower, but I’ll see you in a bit.”

You watch him retreat to the bathroom and suddenly you’re glad he’s gone because there is very little time before he watches you get off again.

Quickly you bring your bag to his bedroom and settle on his mattress and wait. To kill time, you look around the room. The superhero movie posters that cover a generous amount of the wall space and the wall length bookshelf that is covered with stacks of comic books depicting the same stories the movies do all scream ‘nerd’. So does the giant monitor with a large terminal blinking on it and pair of laptops on his desk. The laundry basket has three different shirts with Big Bang Theory quotes on them. You shake your head and recall the day you’d bought them for him off Etsy. You weren’t a fan of the show yourself but he loved to watch it for the jokes and to poke holes in the scientific jargon the characters would spew.

“You notice anything new,” he asks as he walks in, shutting the door behind him while he scrubs at his wet hair with a towel.

“No. Did you add something?”

“Yeah,” he says, pointing to the wall that holds the room’s sole window. There’s a large felt flag with the RealiCorp logo embroidered onto it.

“Oh. Nice flag.”

“Not that, that’s old.” He walks over and gestures a hand underneath the flag. Beneath the flag are a handful of photos off you, Taehyung, and Hoseok from over the years. You remember each of the specific moments in which they were taken.

“You’re not in any of them,” you murmur.

“I know. But I don’t need a picture of myself. I know what I looked like and what I was feeling. Having a photo of you guys is the main thing.”

The softness of his tone makes your heart ache. Jungkook is a sentimental genius, a rare breed. With every fiber of your being you wish that he could be yours. You’ve spent around a decade of your life loving him from afar despite the fact that you’re best friends. But you’re prepared to spend another decade doing it if that’s the way you can stay in each other’s lives. The sooner you commit to that fate, the less cloudy this weird thing you have going on will make your brain and the less it will hurt when it’s over and you watch Yoori get to have him.

“Oh, I have something for you.”

He retrieves a brown paper bag from under his desk and dumps the contents on the bed while you strip off your loose joggers. From the bag fall a giant tube of lubricant and a few sex toys. Your peer down at the trinkets with an amused expression while he putters around his room. When he sits down again, you finally take note of his outfit.

Junkgkook is in his mottled and self-distressed hoodie and threadbare sweats that his dad bought him from the school co-op when he got his acceptance letter 4 years ago. It’s an outfit you’re very familiar with because he often wears it whenever you all are dealing with messy things. Like oil changes, painting the exterior of fighter bots, or baking with Hoseok. Now that his hair isn’t soaking wet, he has his bangs pushed away from his face with a thin headband and sleek goggles replace his chunky black frames. You weren’t going to say anything but then you saw the small notebook and pen clutched in his grasp.

“Okay. What the hell is that outfit?”

“You act like you’ve never seen me in my researching clothes before.”

“I have, but you’re not dissecting a drone you found in a dumpster, you’re looking at my vagina.”

“Proper lab attire is an integral part of any successful experiment,” he waves an admonishing finger at you.

“You’re calling sweatpants with cheese stains on them ‘proper lab attire’?”

“This isn’t an efficient use of our time,” he huffs.

“Oh my god, okay fine.” The energy in the room is a little more chaotic than it was before but it provides you with the push needed to get your panties down and trapped around an ankle and you clambering into a half prone position. “Let the experimentation begin.”

Jungkook waits for you to part your knees before shuffling into his spot between your legs. He ducks his head to peer at your exposed folds before scribbling down some notes.

“What are you writing?”

“Nothing much. Just making note of the initial appearance so I can compare towards the end. Can I touch you? My hands are clean, I promise.”

“Uh, yeah, go ahead.”

Clearly he remembered more than he let on from that first night because he goes straight for your clit like you mentioned before. Slowly, he reaches a pointer finger out to poke. The sudden pressure, though light, has you jumping.

“Sorry,” he looks up at you from behind his frames, “I forgot how sensitive it is.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you focus your gaze on the ceiling. You’re trying hard to maintain a semblance of professionalism.

When his finger stops skimming, he’s a little too far south and you tell him so. He adjusts and manages to find it the second time around. He looks at your face carefully to gauge the reaction and is a little disappointed to see that you look bored. He tries circling his fingertip around the little nub, but the pressure is too light and almost ticklish. You snicker quietly and he gives up.

“This isn’t working. You don’t look like you’re having any fun,” he pouts.

“Kook, this isn’t about me. And this is supposed to be educational, not fun.”

“But its only educational for me if you’re having fun. What else can I do?

“What do you mean, you’re doing fine.”

“I did the finger thing and it didn’t do anything. All you did was laugh.”

“No one is laughing at you, though.”

“What about this,” he asks and you have to look back down to see what he’s talking about.

You realize he’s talking about the small bullet vibrator that lay amongst the things he brought in the brown paper bag. He holds it up to your face so you can get a better view of what it is. You look away, already very familiar with it because you have a blue version in the shoebox under your bed.

“Some people do use those to get off, that’s true.”

“Then let’s put this in. It has a USB in it. Will it collect data?”

“Slow your roll. That thing is more for direct clit stimulation than insertion. It’s the same thing I used on myself last time, remember?”

You watch him inspect it. He finds the power button and turns it onto its lowest setting. The low buzz fills the room and reminds you just what type of activities you’re engaging in. Without a warning he lays the vibrating toy where he thinks remembers your clit is. He’s right and the sudden vibrations have one of your legs kicking out involuntarily. You let out a yelp and try to scramble backwards, but the headboard keeps you in your spot.

“Fuck!”

Jungkook throws back his head and laughs. It’s the type of laugh he does where its strong and high and rolling. In most situations its infectious, but here you’re mad that he’s taking advantage of your natural reactions.

“Your leg did that last time too,” he giggles before quickly writing down your reaction. “This is fun.” 

He approaches you with the toy again, this time remembering to circle your clit like you had demonstrated before. You just barely keep a moan from escaping. This time your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling assaulting your clit.

“Wow,” he breathes.

Again, he hurries to jot everything down in quick script with his free hand. In the porn he’d watched, it seemed like all rubbing a woman’s clit would get you was a coy smile and a musical lilting moan. Your reaction was far more visceral than he had expected. The way your back arched upwards looked almost painful, but there was something graceful about the way your body just took over.

“Okay,” you say harshly. You can feel the pricks of sweat creeping along your hairline and spine. Your body thinks its getting sex soon, but its mistaken. “I think that’s enough learning for today.”

“Oh, come on. We only did one round,” he whines.

“Pfft. That wasn’t even one round. I didn’t cum.”

His nose scrunches in confusion as he jots that down. “You didn’t? Then what was all that flailing you did and the stuff with your face.”

“I’m just…responsive. That’s all.”

“Well, you can’t quit. We agreed to do this all weekend, remember?”

“I know,” you sigh, and cover your eyes with your hands, “Let’s…just move on, okay? What do you think the next step is?”

He frowns a little, the corners of his mouth turning down anxiously. He reaches for one of the toys he brought, a slightly larger than average size dildo, and clutches it in two hands before inching it towards your pelvis.

“No,” your hands come out quickly before he impales you. “Jungkook, think. What’s missing from this situation? Why might it be too early for that?”

“Hold on,” he asks picking up his pen and paper and pinning you with a quizzical look. “Say that again?”

“You can’t just jump to inserting foreign objects.”

He furrows his brows. You watch as his thinking face comes out: the cute scrunched nose, cute pursed lips, cute round eyes filled with confusion. After a few beats, he comes up with something, his fingers snapping with the small victory.

“If I were jerking off right now,” you fight to keep the image from surfacing in your head, “I would need to make sure the friction wouldn’t cause lacerations or inflammation. And I bought this.” He hands you the gaudy pink bottle of lube and you frown once you read the label. Upon further inspection, you can see that its actually just hand cream. Cherry scented.

“Partial credit,” you say, handing it back to him.

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s not real lube and I don’t want a yeast infection.”

“But this is the only one I got,” he pouts.

His dejected face makes you want to wrap him up in the duvet. There is a solution he’s not thinking of, and you suppose there’s no better time than the present for someone to learn about foreplay. The possible complications that could arise are present in the back of your mind, but you figure since you’re doing this all for Yoori, you should go big or go home.

“Jungkook, are you forgetting the vaginas are self-lubricating? That’s a rookie move, even for you.”

His bright smile returns. “How could I forget. But how do we jumpstart the lubrication process? What’s the catalyst?”

“Well, you have to be,” you search for an elegant word but can’t find one, “You have to be turned on.”

“Well, what do I have to do to turn you on?”

The question is innocent in and of itself. But the way that Jungkook tilts his head like an eager puppy, lip trapped between his even, white teeth, smelling like soap and safety makes your stomach do flip flops. He looks up at you, and ponders what it would take to get your folds to become sticky with arousal like they were last time. His hands fidget with the pen and notebook, clearly at a loss for ideas about what the next step is.

“I-it’s different for every person. But foreplay is generally the best way to work someone up.”

His pen moves at an impressive speed as he writes down your words. “Fourplay? Like the number four?”

“Not really, no. I mean if you adhere to, like, the four bases, then sure.”

“What bases?”

“You know what I mean. The bases. The four F’s.” When he merely blinks up at you, no recognition suddenly lighting up his eyes, you realize he’s way more inexperienced than you thought. “French, feel, finger, fuck? Never heard of them?”

“Nope,” he says.

“Okay. Um, it’s a baseball metaphor for sex. Or, more accurately, the events that can lead up to it and then sex. The first one, French, refers to french kissing.”

“What’s Feel stand for?”

“Feel as in feeling someone up or groping them. Finger is pretty straight forward, it stands for fingering but really could be anything you do with the hands. And I guess oral falls into that category too.”

“Fuck is the whole sex, right?”

“Yes, it’s…the whole sex. But maybe just call it sex from now on?”

“Right,” he says. “Which ones would you need in order to lubricate?”

Your cheeks heat. “They’re all pretty much fine for me. I mean the order is pretty appropriate.”

His expression slowly morphs into one of intense thought before it contorts again into nervousness. “I’ve only ever kissed someone once. In middle school. I don’t remember it, but I don’t think I was very good at it.”

“Well, we don’t have to if you’re—”

“No, no, I wanna do it. It’ll be good if we do this now, so I can spend the rest of the time improving. You can help me. I’m sure Yoori likes to kiss people as well,” he says resolutely.

You shake your head to dislodge the idea of Yoori sitting on a throne and watching the evening’s events play out.

“Okay. Maybe we should just focus on one at a time, then.”

“Yeah.”

He tries to shuffle up next to you with his notebook and pen, but you make him leave them by the foot of the bed, explaining that he likely won’t be able to take notes anyway. Once he’s sitting next to you by the pillows, he awkwardly turns to you, neck craned at an uncomfortable angle. You sigh. He’s really not doing anything to help build an ambiance and you have to do it all yourself. You start by reaching out to take off his lab goggles, trying not to laugh at the pink lines they left on his face.

“I can’t see,” he pipes up as soon as you become a blurry shape in front of him.

“You weren’t wearing your contacts under those?”

“I don’t wear contacts. They’re too much of a hassle. And the goggles have prescription in them. It’s easier that way.”

“It’s fine. Most people close their eyes for this anyway.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s easier than trying to focus on someone’s face an inch in front of you. Plus, it feels nice so you just kind of…close them.”

He merely nods and you turn to face him fully. His eyes are squeezed shut and his shoulders are nearly brushing his ears with how tensely he’s holding them.

“Kook,” you whisper, “Why are you all hunched up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just got scared for a second. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. There’s no need to worry.”

“How do these things normally begin?”

“Honestly? You just feel it coming when the mood is right. For now though, either one of us could just start.”

“Maybe I can start,” you’re surprised to hear him volunteering, “And you can take over if I get stuck.”

“Okay,” you whisper as he inches towards you.

You relax your jaw and let your eyes fall closed. Clearly he’s close or else you wouldn’t be able to smell his clean shower gel scent, but a few moments pass and he hasn’t done anything. You’re about to open your mouth to ask him if he’s alright when he finally swoops in and plants a swift peck on your lips before backing away. It was too fast to really be anything close to a kiss. More just a dry bump of lips. You open your eyes again to find him peering at your nervously.

“I got stuck,” he mumbles. Even though he’s a few months older than you, the small way he sits after having had his second kiss makes you feel powerful. Not superior, just capable of taking care of him and showing him ‘the ropes’, whatever they may be.

“That’s okay.” You reach a hand out to glide across his cheek and settle in the hair at the nape of his neck and guide him forward. “You’ll get the flow in no time.”

The kiss starts out dry once again, Jungkooks lips are still closed a bit tightly due to his clenched jaw. But some gentle strokes of the shell of his ear with your thumb help coax him into following the way your lips caress his as best he can. It is, admittedly, a bit awkward at first because his rhythm is off, and you can tell he’s frustrated when you open an eye to peek at him and spy his hands scraping at his knees. He tilts his head, nose brushing yours softly, and then suddenly things slot into place. He manages to sync up with you when he pivots a bit and traps your bottom lip. A little surprised breath leaves you as the kiss stops feeling so one-sided and he pushes forward, emboldened by your response. You let the kiss carry on for a while now that the locomotion seems stable enough to be self-sustained. It’s not until his hands bump against your knee for the third time that you pull back minutely.

“You know, in a situation like this,” you bring one of his hands to rest at the curve of your neck, “It’s okay to consider touching her too.”

He can only nod at you, eyes hooded and a little cross eyed as he tries to focus on your silhouette without his glasses, before licking his lips and edging back in. This time he takes the lead. It starts softly, but you definitely don’t mind. His hair feels like silk in between your fingers and the hand you lay on his ribcage doesn’t scare him off. In fact, he seems to want to even the playing field now that you have both your hands on him and moves his free hand to your waist. The weight of his hand feels heavy and hot, and the area of his grasp as his fingers splay out over you reminds you just how big they are. 

Jungkook, being as affectionate as he is, doesn’t need to be told he can wander and soon his hand starts to pet a path down your side and across the small of your back in a mindless, slightly oblong cycle. You can feel the butterflies you felt earlier in your belly getting replaced with a familiar pressure, a faithful precursor to the exact slickness between your thighs that started this heavy petting session. But you figure, there’s all weekend and you’re in no rush. If you had a little devil on your shoulder it would be telling you to draw things out, reminding you that learning is something that takes time, and Jungkook loves to learn more than anyone else you know.

Your pull away again slightly, opting for pressing small iterative kisses on his lips and he chases your mouth, not ready to stop. Pushing forward, you leave kisses like stepping stones until he gets the hint and allows you to guide him into lying propped up on his back.

“It’s easier like this. Easier than sitting up, I mean,” you mutter when you finally have him gazing up at you from the pillows. You lay a hand a few inches below his heart, feeling how it races as he lay under you. “It’s also easier for me too if I sit like this.”

“Right.”

He watches you intently as you swing a leg over so you can straddle him and sit yourself in his lap. As soon as do, his hands return to your waist and yours settle on his biceps. Neither of your keep your hands in your initial starting positions and soon your hands end up back in his hair again. A long while passes before you realize that you still haven’t quite reached the first F.

“Jungkook,” you breathe between kisses.

“Yes?”

“You know what French kissing is, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do you know how to do it? It might seem like a strange concept so if you want to skip—”

“No, I want to. I mean I want you to show me.”

“Okay.”

Keeping the mood is important, so you don’t jump into it right away. You’re very much aware that no one responds well to a tongue being shoved into their mouth. With that in mind, you kiss him like you did before, but sneak in a small swipe of the tip of your tongue against his bottom lip. He gasps and in the small moment of surprise, you probe a bit further. He gasps again when the muscle moves across his, but the movement is similar enough to how your lips molded against his earlier that it doesn’t take him too long to get the hang of it. When his tongue slides to edges of your teeth you can’t help but let out a tiny moan. Almost as if a switch was flipped, Jungkook’s arms come to wrap around you tightly, crashing you to his chest and he moves like he’s trying to devour you. At first, there’s a bit too much saliva, but with a well-placed hand on his jaw, you maneuver him into a pattern that’s a little less like a washing machine, but he gets too close-lipped. Another well-placed turn of his jaw puts him right on balance. It’s damn near perfect and, in truth, you’re certain that you could get off like this; with the slick sounds of your mouths working together and the sounds of his periodic gasps fill the room like a symphony underneath you. You dig your blunt nails into the muscle of his thigh and use all of your willpower not to beg him to let you pull down his pants and sink down on his length.

You plant a trail of kisses down his neck before pulling back, suffocating in your pullover. He blinks up slowly at you, about to ask if he overstepped his bounds, but then you grasp both his hands and bring them to where the hem of your baby tee ends. You’re about to take advantage of the whole ‘For Yoori’ situation, but you’re so desperate you don’t care that you’re being an ass.

“What is it?”

“Yoori might be the type of girl to want her boobs played with a little.” You reach behind yourself and under the shirt to unfasten the bra underneath. He squints and then his eyes grow wide as he watches you slide the bra off without ever lifting your shirt. “I mean, that always does the trick for me.”

With that, you lift his hands the last few inches until he’s cupping your breasts. He squeezes a little, tests the weight of them in each large hand. He’s fascinated at the way your nipples seem to appear from out of nowhere to push behind the fabric. He brushes his thumbs over the two peaks and smiles when you’re head drops forward and you scrabble to clutch at his shoulders.

“They’re soft,” his tone is dumbstruck and he squeezes again.

“Yeah, they are. Hey, if you pinch them, she might get really wet. Try--mmm--rolling them between your fingers.”

He heeds your suggestion and plays with your chest until you realize you’ve been grinding against his sweatpants covered leg, completely soaking the fabric with a growing dark spot.

“Looks like you’re ready,” he says softly, the wetness finally accumulating enough to be tangible. “Do we stop now?”

“Do you want to stop?”

He chews a bit on his lip and debates lying so he doesn’t seem needy before remembering it’s you he’s dealing with.

“No,” he finally says.

“We can keep going,” you pull him by his collar to help him sit up. “Are you comfortable like this?”

He nods before sitting up a little, dragging you with him as he moves. You settle back and then you’re pinning him with a look. Curiosity keeps you from immediately going back in to kiss him despite the fact that he just admitted to you that he wanted to continue. The air fills with challenge, the light experimental feeling replaced, and he senses it just like you do. He doesn’t try to steer things back to the way they were though, and instead he takes a moment to enter your space. His breath puffs against your cheek while he gathers his bearings.

“You said you can tell when the mood is the right one for a kiss.”

You hold your breath and think of what to say. Everything feels so fragile and you can practically see the way things are headed but you don’t want to break the tumultuous balance.

“Does right now seem like the right moment to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it.”

Jungkook is definitely a prodigy or something. Never in your life have you seen someone so good at picking up new skills as quickly as he does. This is something you’re familiar with and yet you still bury your hands in his shirt out of surprise when his own hand suddenly appears at the back of your neck to pull you in. He tilts his head and kisses you like he’s dehydrated and you’re a softly babbling stream. Each time his lips work over you, you feel as though he’s drinking, like he’s pulling something from you. Something you’ve been dying to have him accept from you for a long while. There’s something soft about the way his tongue slides over yours and it’s so tender and everything you want but its also not enough.

He’s solid underneath you and his skin feels almost feverish with how warm it is. There’s strength in the sinewy bundles that cord under your roaming touch and you want to see him put it to use on you so badly that it frustrates you and bleeds into your kiss. You forget where you are and nip at his lip harshly, though not enough to damage. You forget that you haven’t introduced Jungkook to the rougher parts of amorous activities until he tenses underneath you while letting out a low and guttural groan, hands clutching at your hips tightly and then releasing with a nervous flutter.

“Sorry,” he says shyly as his hands come to rest in the part of his lap that you’re not occupying.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one that bit you.”

“I just meant sorry for…poking you” he can’t finish his sentence because his tongue is tied with embarrassment. You figure he’s talking about how he grabbed you when you bit him and brush it off. Then you feel him thick and hard, nudging your inner thigh.

“Oh. There’s no need to be sorry.”

“But this isn’t about me, this is about--”

“Jungkook,” you stop him with a light hand on his collarbone. “I know your main goal is to be able to please Yoori, but sex is a two-way street. You’re allowed to feel good too.”

“I—okay.” His shoulders are still rounded into himself in a way that makes it clear to you he’s still dwelling on his erection. On instinct you’re moving back in to plant soft kisses on his cheek. You know you’re blurring lines a little by doing so, but you want him to stop feeling so bad.

“Hey, it’s really not an issue. In fact,” you kiss your way to the plush corner of his pouting mouth, “We can really work with this. Let’s try something.”

“What are we going to—Oh!”

His breath leaves him in almost pained huff as you move to slot your dripping center over the bulge in his sweats. A moan sublimates between your mouths and you’re honestly not sure who it came from as you relish in the feel of the drag of the material against your clit. You press kisses to the line of his throat before sucking a bruise at the place where shoulder meets neck. The feeling of your tongue laving small cycles into his skin has his eyes fluttering shut.

After a certain age, Jungkook knew that despite having skipped a few grades, and never having an unweighted GPA of less than 4.46, there were things that  some of his peers were becoming aware of but would remain mysterious to him. A few petty classmates had also reminded him on a regular basis that he may only ever know the feeling of relief when it was supplied by his own lubed up right hand. It didn’t worry him much because he assumed that was the fate all those who devoted their lives to science until he watched his peers begin to date as well. Suddenly he was monitoring the freshman night lab by himself on Friday nights because his shift partner was going on dates.nQuickly after that, he was convinced that he’d never get to feel the warmth of another body under his palms. 

So as his hands move to stroke your up your sides to your ribs, over your breasts, and back down again while bucking up into your heat, he feels a swell of something towards you. It must be gratitude because you’re giving him a gift. The ability to feel and hold someone while they’re in the throes of an orgasm he produced. And because of this, he’ll be able to do it with Yoori, the girl of his dreams.

He opens his eyes to stare up at your face which is scrunched up in pleasure. It’s amazing, he notes, how easy it is to do all these new things with you. Even the initial fear of failure that he often gets with new subjects fades away in an instant when you put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

You’re warm above him and soft under his hands where he kneads at your chest. He flexes a thigh to give himself so leverage to hump up against you and you whine at the way he now presses firmly against your core. You bury your face in his neck and snap your hips forward. The abrupt onslaught of friction takes him by surprise and he’s coming in his pants after not ten minutes of dry humping with you in between his Thor sheets. The pleasure is so intense that his vision whites out as he cums and he throws all caution to wind as it rips through him. His arms wind around you and pull you closer, a whine leaving him as he slumps back into the pillows.

You fall back with him and let out a small ‘oof’. A quick glance at his sweat drenched and flushed face tells you he must have had a good time. Strong arms are still locked around your waist and the surprise of falling distracted you from chasing your own high, so you merely wriggle out of his grasp and sit back on your heels.

“Good?”

He gives you a wry smile that you usually only see when he’s been drinking. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say as you hop of the bed and pull on your forgotten joggers before picking up your backpack.

“Wait! Where are you going?” His tone is open and clearly distressed. He fumbles for the prescription goggles that rest on the night table by the bed and shoves them onto his face roughly.

“To shower? My stuff is in my backpack.”

“Oh. Well…did you bring a sleeping bag?”

“No, but I brought a blanket and a pillow for the couch.”

“Don’t sleep on the couch,” you raise an incredulous brow and he backpedals. “We all spent 4 hours farting into that couch because no one wanted to pause the game.”

“Not me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” your face heats up. Whether or not you’re lying is none of his business and you’ll fart where you please without feeling shamed for it. “I’ll just sleep in here. I guess.”

Your time in the bathroom is stressful. Leaving his bedroom, you had a mean case of blue balls and you weren’t sure you could deal with them in his bathroom. It’s never something you imagined you’d have to do while you were at his place, though its not the first time you’ve spent the night or showered there. Game night can get long and you’ve spent many a night fighting Hoseok for hot water in Jungkook’s dorm. After some long and hard thinking about the long and hard thing in Jungkook’s pants, you decide he isn’t the only person who gets to do things for the first time and guide the detachable the shower head between your legs with a fist in your mouth to muffle your moans.

Jungkook is exactly where you left him when you return from the shower, but you can’t face him as you turn back the covers on your half of the bed.

“How was your shower?”

“It was a shower, it was fine.”

“Okay,” he says after a beat.

“I’ll try to be quiet when I leave for yoga. You can keep the light on if you’re not going to sleep right now.”

Up until you said that, Jungkook was tired, but he stays up until your breathing slows and deepens with sleep. It’s drastically different from the way your breath hitched loudly in the shower. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, he just wanted some water before bed. But there was something almost musical about the sounds of your choked off moans as you tried to be quiet in the bathroom. He’s proud to say that he didn’t linger once he realized what was going on. He went straight back to his room when his dick twitched in his pants.

Now that you’re asleep, he ventures out the clean himself up before returning. You’ve stolen his pillow to clutch over your face by the time he’s come back. Your pillow from home is still wedged safely under your head and he doesn’t want to wake you. He’s left with no other option than to rest his head on your stomach. If he doesn’t, he won’t sleep at all without a pillow and that’s no good. This is clearly the only solution. Clearly.

When you wake up the next morning 5 minutes before your alarm because you can’t breathe because there’s a giant weight on your chest. The weight is actually Jungkook and you’re not sure what to do. 

Apparently, you spend 5 minutes not sure what to do because your alarm starts, waking Jungkook with more confidence than you ever could. You watch with fascination as his eyes open slowly, and wriggling out from under you to wipe at the corners. He turns, resting his chin near your belly button and blinks sleepily at you, gears turning slowly before registering where he is and what he’s doing. You chance a small smile at him.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” he says. His stare is intense and you wonder if maybe you look haggard or messy.

“What is it?”

He doesn’t respond and instead inches forward with a look of determination. When he’s an inch in front of your face you realize what he’s doing, but its too late to complain about morning breath or being late to Saturday morning yoga. 

It’s not long before he’s licking into your mouth slowly, giving you a chance to pull back, change the pace, tweak something. But there’s nothing to change. It doesn’t taste great but it feels amazing and your hands reach up to pull him down onto you without a thought. He groans and tentatively rubs his thumb over the swell of your breast that peeks through the side of your sleeveless sleep tank.

You miss yoga.