#I think mostly the stickers are from right words

[probablygayattorneys]

So, despite all the Blue Badger stuff I had around the car, it was still feeling more like my cousin (who we bought it from)’s car than mine, mainly because he had a bunch of stickers. Now, I couldn’t remove the stickers without making a huge mess… but I could cover them with my own.

I want to thank all the zines I’ve supported over the past two years or so for giving me enough stickers and tape that I can make the Badgermobile finally feel like it’s actually mine.

So, a fun little fact about me is that I name things. My phone, for instance, is named Sadie. My laptop? Lucy. My switch? Robinette. This includes cars. My last car was named Amethyst, and the one before that was called Missy May (short for Missile Launcher Mayonnaise).

Now a less than fun fact is that I’ve been having a lot of car problems lately and for the past few weeks or so have been without a car. However, today that has finally been resolved and I have a functional car! Its name… the Badgermobile. Why, you ask?

Well first, let me show you the key.

Now let me show you what you see if you open the little drawer on the center console.

And finally… what you see if you’re behind me in traffic.

Long live the Badgermobile!

[bontentrio]

ATEEZ STUCK IN THE FRIENDZONE

ot8 x gn reader

summary: they are down bad for their best friend

tw: mostly fluff, maybe angst. also alcoholic drinks and being drunk in yeosang’s and wooyoung’s. parts. (+ possible spelling mistakes since english is not my first language!)

a/n: friends to lovers > any other tropes lol also requests are open rn!!

part 2: hongjoong + seonghwa | yunho + yeosang | san + mingi (more soon!)

HONGJOONG

hongjoong felt helpless. he didn’t know if you were messing with him on purpose or if you were genuinely clueless to his feelings, but he is sure he’s about to lose his mind. how much more will he be able to take of your soft touches on his skin? or how close to his face you would get when you wanted to show him something on your phone?

everything would change if he just closed the distance between you two. or if he said those three dangerous words that had been appearing in his mind every time he saw you. three words. one kiss. or both?

“joong, are you with me?” you asked suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. he blinked rapidly and nodded “something about buying a new laptop right?”

you hummed in response, shoving your phone in his face while scooting closer. “i think i like this pink one, it’s so very cute, but do you think it will be able to take all the digital material for class and all my sims expansions? or should i just go with the boring one that has more storage?” you asked, looking at him. it took everything in him to not kiss you right then and there, so instead, he bit his lip, pretending to think about it.

“i mean, you can always personalize it with stickers so it’s less boring” he suggested. your eyes immediately widened, not having thought about that option. “hongjoong you are a genius! i can’t believe it didn’t cross my mind”

“i know you like the back of my hand y/n” he said in a whisper, but you heard him nonetheless.

“that’s why you’re my best friend, you always complement me” you said, smiling and returning to your seat beside him, as you started purchasing the ‘boring’ laptop.

hongjoong never wanted to bang his head against a wall more.

SEONGHWA

“so he told her that she was the crazy one! can you believe that, hwa?” you asked, crossing your arms as you walked beside him. you have been rambling non stop about what happened to one of your friends and her now ex boyfriend. “bold of him to accuse her of being crazy when he was the one that cheated with her cousin” he answered, turning his head towards you and smiling.

“right, thank you! that’s exactly what i told her!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air dramatically. “i swear guys are so dumb these days”

“the dumbest” he said, chuckling.

“not you of course, you are always the exception whenever i talk about men and their stupidness” you said, patting his shoulder lightly in a friendly manner. seonghwa’s heart skip a beat. he wanted to be an exception, he wanted you to realize his feelings so bad and for you to reciprocate them.

“trust me, i would not be friends with a dumb man” you continued, now grabbing his arm and leaning your head against it. “i genuinely think you are the only exception”.

he was about to start jumping from joy, were you about to realize how meant to be you both are? how you both were each other’s ‘exceptions’?

“i think you’re an exception too” he said, testing the waters as he stopped in his tracks, causing you to lift your head up to look at him. you smiled, and he swore his heart stopped beating for a second.

“of course i am! that’s why we’re best friends, hwa!” you exclaimed happily. in contrast, he internally screamed, hope slipping through his fingers slowly.

YUNHO

it was a sort of tradition to have game night every week in order to de-stress, followed by a slumber party of two. you would bring snacks and drinks, and yunho would provide the tv, playstation and games. it was the perfect arrangement.

tonight was no different: you were lying on the coach with your legs resting on top of yunho’s lap, as you quickly pressed on the buttons of your customized controller that he had gifted you for your last birthday. meanwhile, he played with his spider man joystick, silently cursing whenever he got hit by enemies.

“noo yunho i’m down! come and revive me!” you groaned when your character died. he chuckled in response “you are really bad at this game, y/n”.

you playfully hit his arm and rolled your eyes “i would be better if someone covered for me instead of running off!” you said. “i was getting supplies!” he complained, making his character bring you back to life. before he was done though, another player killed him. “what were you saying about my gaming skills, baby?” you asked, playfully.

yunho.exe stopped working, as every time you called him that nickname. he knew that you were just being friendly, but he couldn’t help how fast his heart would start beating each time. for you, it was just a word. but for him? the nickname meant everything: hope. hope that someday you will use the nickname in a way that would trascend friendship. hope that someday, you will realize his feelings and reciprocate them.

maybe if you used the word often enough, you would soon realize it.

YEOSANG

the first time you kissed was a drunken mistake. you both took one too many shots at san’s birthday party, and one thing lead to another and you ended up straddling his lap as you hungrily kissed him. despite his *very* drunk state, yeosang was over the moon, hoping this would change the direction of your friendship.

he realized how wrong he was when he woke up the morning after with a text from you that said “i hope that last night doesn’t change anything between us, i’m sorry”. he knew you were probably spiraling into the worst case scenarios, so he thought it would be healthier to just leave it there, for now at least. “we’re still friends, don’t worry” he texted back, hating himself for being a coward.

the second time was a dare at some party you attended of a mutual friend. he was the designated driver, and you knew he would have a hard time dragging his drunk friends back back to the car, so you offered to stay sober with him. he told you that it wasn’t necessary, earning a warm smile from you as you replied “that’s what best friends are for”.

the music was loud and the place was filled with drunk people, some making out in corners of the room, others engaging in incomprehensible conversations. yeosang and you were gathered in a circle with your friends as you played some sort of truth or dare game. it was mingi’s turn to spin the empty bottle of beer, having just finished his dare. to your misfortune, it landed on you.

“truth” you answered, earning groans from your friends, complaining about how ‘boring’ that option is. “y/n you picked truth last time! it’s dare time” mingi said in between giggles. “ugh fine, dare then i guess” you said, rolling your eyes as a smile creeped on your face.

“i dare you to kiss someone from this circle” he said, quickly glancing at yeosang, who immediately paled. you blushed, meditating your options for a moment before turning to your best friend. “we kissed once and remained friends. please don’t let this change”, you said, crashing your lips against his.

and he was, once again, over the moon, choosing to ignore the last part of that sentence.

SAN

“sannie!” you exclaimed, running up to him and throwing your arms around his neck. his arms immediately wrapped around you, holding you in place as he hid his face on your neck, inhaling your scent in discretion. it’s been too long since he last saw you, felt you near him. “i missed you so much, san! tell me everything about the tour”

you spent the afternoon talking about his adventures while on tour, showing you pictures of different places and telling you funny anecdotes of his members. each time he finished a story, you would smile so big and radiantly he found himself trying to control his heartbeat from racing. you also told him about how you were doing, of course! he wanted to know every new detail in your life, even though he knew many of the updates since you both regularly texted.

“i missed this” he confessed, before adding “i missed you”. your eyes softened at his words, taking his hand on yours. “i missed you too, sannie. it’s hell not being able to see your best friend every day as usual” you said. unbeknownst to you, you had just broken his heart a little with that last part. he just nodded, giving you a small smile.

on tour he felt your absence in words he couldn’t describe, always reaching for you when you weren’t there or aching to just grab his phone and call you. so, he decided he had enough of that. he was determined to tell you his feelings.

“actually, i bought something for-“ he started saying, but got interrupted by your phone vibrating beside you. “sorry, hold on” you said, before picking up. a smiled immediately appeared on your face, lighting up your whole aura as you talked back to whoever was on the phone with you. san couldn’t be more in love with you.

“sorry sannie, i have to leave. i thought my date cancelled tonight but apparently will be able to make it on time. so i have to leave right now to get ready for it” you explained.

his heart broke once again, letting go of the silver necklace he had bought for you. maybe another time, or maybe he was already too late.

MINGI

you were starting to get annoyed, and mingi knew it. you stood in front of him, crossing your arms as you looked at him questioningly. “i just don’t understand why you won’t let me read your songs”, you complained.

mingi sighed in response, leaving his notebook on the table beside him. “because it’s personal, y/n”. you rolled your eyes in annoyance, not believing a single word that came out of his mouth. “oh so now it’s personal? wasn’t it also personal when you, without my knowledge may i add, read my diary?” you argued back.

“that was different and you know it! i literally didn’t even know it was your diary” he said. “plus you forgave me for that!”

on normal circumstances, he would let you read his song notebook as many times as you wanted, hell, he would even sing/rap the verses for you. but ever since he realized that the meaning behind those songs revolved around you, about how you, his best friend, were his main source of inspiration, he decided to never let those songs see the light of day. unless until he was ready. what if you were repulsed? what if you decided he was creepy and distanced yourself from him? he didn’t even want to think about those scenarios.

“yes i did, but that doesn’t change the fact that you still read about my deepest thoughts and-“ you started saying, before your eyes widened and your voice started stuttering “wait. do you- do you actually not trust me? do you think i would leak the songs to the media?”

mingi honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. or worse, what you said next: “is this also why you’ve been avoiding me?”. mingi felt like punching himself, had he been avoiding you unconsciously? he knew he started keeping his distance a bit more, not replying as quick and not visiting as often as before. but he thought the changes were not noticeable by you.

you stared at him, tears forming slowly but surely on your eyes, as you tried so hard to keep them from falling. mingi was looking down, too lost on his thoughts. you waited a few moments, before muttering a low “i would never do that to you, mingi”.

he realized you were gone when he heard the door closing behind you.

WOOYOUNG

“if looks could kill, that guy would be long dead” yunho said, wrapping an arm around wooyoung as he smiled teasingly. he huffed, not taking his eyes from you and the random guy that had been keeping you entertained for longer than appreciated.

you were just getting drinks from the bar, but a random guy approached you suddenly and stole your attention before wooyoung could do something about it. you didn’t look uncomfortable, so it’s not like he could just walk up to you and steal you away. you weren’t even “his” to steal to begin with, his official title being “my bestest friend in the whole world” as you would say. a title that he, in fact, despised.

“you can always intervene you know? i mean they were supposed to get you a drink” yunho pointed out before sipping from his beer can. wooyoung looked at him. then looked back at you. his decision was made the moment he saw the man reach for your waist.

“love, what’s taking my drink so long?” he asked as soon as he approached you at the bar, stealing you away from the man and wrapping his arm around your waist instead. you turned to him, unknowing of his true intentions “oh my god woo i forgot! here it is, i’m sorry”

but wooyoung’s eyes didn’t leave the man, who immediately averted his gaze. “i didn’t know you had a boyfriend” the man said, glancing back at you. “he’s actually my best-“ you started saying but wooyoung interrupted you.

“boyfriend, yes. i think you should leave” .

JONGHO

jongho felt your arms wrap around him from behind the coach, pulling him back and stilling him in his place. he looked up at you and smiled softly, as you looked down with the same kind of smile. then, both of your attention was drifted back to wooyoung, who was dramatically telling a story about how hongjoong almost lost his laptop again.

“correction: someone stole it the first time, i didn’t lose it” hongjoong pointed out, earning a laugh from you. as cheesy as it seems, jongho truly believed that it is his favorite sound.

actually, you were his favorite everything: favorite person, favorite singer (despite only hearing you sing in the car or shower), favorite cook. the sound of your voice and laugh was his favorite, along with the way your face expressed clearly how you were feeling at the moment. to him, you were an open book, his favorite book.

the only problem was that he wasn’t sure if he was yours. yes, you were closer to him than with the rest, often confiding in him with your deepest secrets. you built an irreplaceable bond with him, one that he was truly afraid to break if he told you about his feelings. so for now, he settled with enjoying the skinship you offered.

getting too entertained by the dramatic scenery displayed in front of you, neither of you noticed mingi looking at your small, almost unconscious, interactions.

“hey how come we never get to hug you without getting kicked, jongho?” mingi asked, making everyone take notice of the way you were hugging and resting your head on jongho’s, as he traced his fingers along your arms.

“best friend privileges” you answered, noticing the way jongho flinched while he tried to think of a quick way to answer. what you didn’t know, was that your explanation made him want to scream. “oh really? isn’t it because-“ mingi started teasing, only to be interrupted by jongho abruptly standing up to kick him jokingly as he screamed, trying to block what he was trying to say.

he was willing to die with the secret that he had fallen deeply and stupidly in love with his favorite everything.

[yandere-wishes]

hey whenever you can, can you make some yandere d-16

❥༄ؘ I'll do you one better Anon!! How about Yandere D-16 vs Megatron

𝄞 Somebody That I Used To Know (Slowed)

✿˗ˏˋ ✴︎D-16✴︎ ˎˊ˗✿

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 can't remember when exactly he first noticed the erratic pulsing of his spark straining against his metallic frame when you walked into the room. Just that, after all these cycles, it had remained constant, enrapt. Pulling him to you.

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 has a tendency to pick at things he likes, things he finds bizarrely blissfulas. He wishes he could leave them alone, leave the questions locked under his tongue and the paint free of servo marks. But he can't, indifference only gets you so far, and while he tries to follow protocol. He can't always let things go. He can't let you go.

.☘︎ ݁˖He watches as you chip away at sedimentary rock, coated in soot as you trek for the liquid lifeline. He can't help but think you look like a princess from those old spark-tales. Circuitella. Dainty and disheveled. He wonders if he should offer to carry your jackhammer on the way back to the barracks. He wonders if his voice box can even form words in your presence. He settles for trailing behind you. Optics darting between the stone walls and the back of your helm. Orian laughs and laughs and laughs. D-16 can't help but see the humor in it all. Irony too early to land.

.☘︎ ݁˖He didn't mean to drag you to the surface. It just so happens that on that exact day, there was a forgotten crate. And in that exact moment, you'd decided to personally deliver it to the surface train. It just so happens he grabs your servo, pulling into the shadow of the crates. Tucked away beneath him. Heading for doom or glory or a grotesque third.

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 is obsessive, longing for his darling from afar. Desperate for a sliver of your attention, desperate for the shadow of your presence. He can't help but watch you, optics trailing over your gorgeous features. He can't help but dream of the taste of your lips and sturdy touch as he chips away at a vein.

.☘︎ ݁˖He secretly collects little pieces of your essence. Keeping them locked in his chest chamber right above his spark. Chipped paint, a piece of metal from your plating, tiny parts of an old drill you once used. He needs you in ways he can't understand, ways that claw at his processor and spark like the wild beasts Megatrouns used to fight. Needs to hear your voice as you complain about a stiff joint or your breathy giggle as you laugh at him and Orian arguing again.

.☘︎ ݁˖He wishes he could collect stickers of you. Stick them across his frame and watch the iridescent glow under Cybertron's sun. Wishes he could decorate his measly possessions with your radiant smile and sparkling optics.

.☘︎ ݁˖Is it weird that I LOVE the thought of D-16 collecting stickers? Mostly of Megatrous but also of the other primes, famous racers, sentinel prime, etc.

.☘︎ ݁˖The thought of Sentinel Prime having touched you, having stolen a part of you (let alone a part of him) leaves him teetering on lava rage, leaving his spark breaking in ways he didn't know it could.

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 is still a child, young and new by Cybertronian standards. But age isn't gauged by online cycles now is it? It's measured in accomplishments and opalescent dreams. So maybe the little Sparkling voice screaming in the back of his helm isn't too far off. Crying that by stealing his T-cog, your T-cog. Sentinel screwed up something in your circuitry. Maybe you were always sparkbound. Maybe you were the incarnation of Solus Prime and he, Megatronus. Maybe you where always destined to be together.

.☘︎ ݁˖These thoughts burn his processor during the treacherous trek back home, back to Iacon. Can you even call he even call that cage a home? D-16 hovers closer to you. Growing bolder, even daring to leave his servo on your shoulder pad. Daring to hold your servo and drag you out of danger.

.☘︎ ݁˖"Thanks, D" you chirp cheerfully and he thinks his spark might just erupt. "Yeah it's nothing" he mutters jogging after Orian leaving you behind with a giggling and concerned Elita-one.

.☘︎ ݁˖After "retrieving" Megatronus's T-cog from Sentinel he swears on Primus himself that he shall fuse you with Solus Prime's T-cog solidifying your love. Bounding you to him through every incarnation.

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 is tragic in every way. His fall makes Cybertron shake, his new scarlet optics send a shiver through the universe. Obsession and subjugation. Anger and Hate. D-16 burns away, you feel it when you kiss him over Sentinel's corpse. The monster in his place bites your lips trying to devour every inch of your. Conquer, Conquer, Conquer

.☘︎ ݁˖Even if Orion Pax/Optimus Prime tries to protect you. Keep you in Iacon safe from the bot he once called brother. There is no way he can stop the newly evolved warlord from hunting you down. D-16 had always been loyal to his obsessions, tearing through everything to feel them under his servos. Although back then -when they'd been happy under a blanket of lies- D-16's obsessions had simply been holographic stickers of tragic heroes. Now it's bloodstained domination. Conformation to a macraber freedom. He's no longer a little minor bot tolling away, he's Megatron now. Hungry monstrous thing raging wars until he has both his darling and Cybertron in his grasp once more. D-16 had always told Orion that he thought you nothing less than a princess. And maybe it has always been true, after all, princesses are a tragedy too.

.☘︎ ݁˖Optimus can't help but shed a tear at the thought as he watches D-16 Megatron roll away...

⋆༺𓆩𓆩Megatron𓆪𓆪༻⋆

✮ Upon your recapture, Megatron isn't too gentle. He's rough and angry. He's betrayed -again- it pricks at his spark like daggers. The first thing Megatron does is force Solus Prime's T-cog into your chassis. He promised you he'd bound you to him, didn't he? Promised you'd be together in every incarnation. And unlike every golden leader before him, Megatron intends to keep every one of his promises.

✮ He loves the sight of you writhing in pain beneath him. Runs his clawed servos over the the raw wires fusing and the circuits crunching into each other. The look of utter pain in your optics has his spark racing like the first time he saw you in the mines. He can't help but kiss you deeply, greedily swallowing your essence.

✮ You can taste his anger on your tongue. You roll the pulp of rage around your mouth swallowing the sadness, the desperation. Letting the taste burn the roof of your mouth. He calls you traitor and darling between each breath. And you can't tell if he wants to kiss your spark or decollate your helm and mount it on the wall of his new ship.

✮ Megatron suffers in shades and flavors that haven't been invented yet, you feel them swatch against your lips in every single one of his raging kisses. He isn't above leaving marks and dents across your armor. He likes you better this way broken and beautiful. Tragedy in every way

✮ He used to hate seeing you scared and defenseless. Now such a precious sight leaves him intoxicated, spark buzzing with overt excitment. He likes this power, feeling you tremble each time he raises his servo. Your life is laced between his digits, he loves tugging it harshly showing you how he controls you in every way imaginable. He likes being the monster that princesses fear. "Circuitella" he whispers under his breath, he knows you don't get the joke.

✮ Megatron likes to kill through you. Intwined digits holding a blaser, his claws on your digits pushing until the trigger releases and the bullets impale the target. He trails open-mouthed kisses across your back afterward. Sharp teeth sinking into the metal of your neck. He pulls you closer locked between his arms. When did he get so big? You remember when he'd been so utterly small. Little minor bot, where is he? Megatron never notices your melancholy optics or the whirl of your processor as it tries to distance itself from the physical world. All he cares about is your body wrapped within his. About the sweet taste of your metal and paint on his tongue.

✮ Megatron's love is lave upon open wounds, painful in every way. Where D-16's love had once been saccharine energon goodies and shy iridescent kisses. But D-16 is dead, he died with Orion all those centuries ago. Only Megatron remains. Lord Megatron, the one who keeps you caged, overpowers you with rough kisses and says "I love you" while pointing a blaser to your spark.

✮ I guess it's worth mentioning that D-16 would never harm his darling in any way but would absolutely avenge her if someone so much as left a scratch on her. Megtran punishes his darling for amusement and also because he loves her submission and fear. But I guess a little D-16 still lives inside him cause he will rip apart anyone who so much as touches his darling.

✮ Sometimes, when the lights are low and darkness begins to play it's ploys. You swear you see D-16 looking at you. Easy smile and bright sunny eyes. Body still tiny, with no pain engraved upon it. But illusions are always so quick to shatter, their precious shards melting under reality's brutal wight. D-16 withers away and in his place Lord Megatron stands. Piercing Claws and teeth gleaming under the dim light. He's gentle when he touches you laying something on your armour. Thin smile as he admires you, ethereal little you before leaving. You always check to see what he's left. It's always an iridescent sticker from his old collection...

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (23/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: There's nothing sweeter than unexpected visitors.

Warnings: 18+ (just be prepared for some words), fluff (like a lot), Pascale is the sweetest thing on this planet, teeny tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hello everyone! I hope you all are doing okay after the Ferrari-Carlos-Lewis thing, because I'm still in denial. this is mostly fluff, because I couldn't manage you dealing with more bad stuff this week. love you! feedback is appreciated!

Before you can say anything or even react, the blonde woman lets go of your hands and snatches one of the magazines lying on the coffee table in front of you. She rolls it up with her slender fingers before smacking Charles across the back of the head. 

"Maman!" he exclaims angrily, rubbing his head. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

The woman holds the magazine under his chin so that the Monegasque has no choice but to look her in the eye and return her stare. "That's no way to talk to your mother." She puts the magazine back in its rightful place before turning to you again. "Try again, chéri."

Your friend has to hold back a grin before he spreads his arms out and hugs his mother. "Good morning, Maman. It's really good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, mon chéri," she replies lovingly, stroking his broad back once with her hand before releasing herself from the tight embrace. She puts her hands to his cheeks to study his face. "I didn't know you were back home."

Charles tilts his head, his mouth forming a thin line. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know," he replies meekly, taking her hands from his cheeks so that he can press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"I can see that." She pulls her hands from his and then turns to face you. When she looks at you, you stiffen. All of a sudden, you feel as if you're naked in Charles' clothes, she's looking at you so piercingly. "I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself properly yet. I'm not usually as rude as my son." Charles rolls his eyes as her smile is affectionate and gentle. Then she wraps you in a hug that is careful, but firm nonetheless. It's a good hug. "I am Pascale. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." After you've also introduced yourself, you return her smile. 

"Now that you two have met," Charles interrupts your conversation. "How do we come to be honored with your company, Maman?"

As if it was her own home, her own four walls, Pascale leaves the hallway and goes into the kitchen, where she grabs a cup and makes herself an espresso at the coffee machine. Like two lost puppies, the two of you follow the beautiful woman. "I was called in tears last night." When the loud buzzing of the machine stops, she takes a sip of her coffee before placing it on the countertop. "Can someone explain that to me?" With her eyes glued to her son like an annoying price sticker on a new plate, you're off the hook. 

"I didn't think she'd call you."

She?

"And I didn't think you'd just kick her out of the apartment without giving her some warning," Pascale replies sharply, raising an eyebrow to show her disapproval of Charles' behavior. "She called me in the middle of the night, upset with you and crying bitterly because you kicked her out of the apartment with a simple text message."

Something flashes in your mind. When you followed Charles back to the bedroom last night, he was typing away on his cell phone. And when you told him that he'd be crazy if you went with him to the apartment where his ex still lives, he assured you that she wouldn't be there. 

You didn't expect him to just throw Annika out of the apartment so that you would have a safe place where Raphael couldn't harm you.

"Maman." Charles raises his hands placatingly. "It wasn't like that."

"So you didn't send her a text message telling her to pack her things and leave within thirty minutes?" When Charles doesn't reply, but simply stares at his mother open-mouthed, she runs her fingers through her hair in bewilderment. "I didn't bring you up like that. Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Maman -"

"No 'Maman'." Judging by the look on her face, she would like to hit him over the head with the magazine again. "Do you know what the consequences could be?"

"Maman -"

"She could go public with it!"

"Maman -"

"And - and damage your reputation! She could -"

"Maman!" Charles almost shouts at his mother to break out of her mental spiral. She looks angrily at her son, who takes a small step towards her. He lowers his hands. "Annika cheated on me."

As if all the air had escaped her body, Pascale plops down on the chair where you were eating pancakes just a few minutes ago. She puts her face in her hands and takes a deep breath before looking at her son again. She tries to blink away the tears in her eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you, mon chéri?"

Without answering, Charles closes the distance to his mother and holds her tightly in his arms. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and closes his eyes. "It's all right, Maman. Please don't worry, okay?" He squeezes his mother a little tighter as her arms wrap around his middle. "It's all right. I'm all right. I'm in good hands here."

Pascale's gaze flickers to you and a small smile crosses her beautiful face. You recognize Charles in it. "You'll take good care of him, won't you?"

You feel the blood rush to your face. Suddenly it feels wrong to be witnessing this loving conversation between mother and son. "Of course." With everything I have.

"Very well, chéri," Pascale finally says, gently pushing her son away. "Your brother is coming to visit tomorrow. As you haven't seen each other for a while, I'd like you to come to dinner. He would definitely be happy to see you." She looks at you again. "You too, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, Charles looks at you and shakes his head, barely noticing, so you don't turn down her invitation. "All right, maman. We'll be there." He nudges her lightly with his elbow. "As long as there's pasta e pollo."

Pascale rolls her eyes. "You're incorrigible, Charles." She smiles at him anyway. "Your new girlfriend gets to decide. After all, she's the new addition to our family and I want to make a good impression."

"Maman, she's -" Charles tries to explain himself, but his mother merely raises her hand to silence him. When Charles and your eyes meet, you feel warm. And when he pushes his lower lip forward, he looks so cute that you can't help but agree with him. 

"Pasta e pollo sounds great."

Pascale gets up from her chair. "Very good. Then I'll get everything ready for tomorrow." She strides past you towards the front door and you follow her again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. I'll let you know the exact time, mon chéri." She kisses Charles' right and then left cheek before repeating it with you. "Tomorrow we'll have enough time to talk about all this. And to get to know each other better."

"I can hardly wait," you answer her honestly.

"That's very nice. Then I'll see you tomorrow evening. Bonne journée," she wishes you before disappearing from the apartment just as quickly as she came in. As the door closes behind her, you both exhale deeply.

"I'm so sorry." Charles turns to face you.

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Sorry for what exactly? Your mother suddenly showing up here?"

He runs his hand through his hair and leans back against the closed door. "That you're now forced to spend the evening with my family. And that I didn't make it clear that we're just friends."

You run your tongue along the inside of your teeth. "It's okay, there's plenty of time for that." Then you smile. "Your mom seems nice. I have no problem spending time with her."

He laughs briefly and then leans his head against the white wood. "It's not my mom that worries me. It's my brothers. They can be really - you know - brothers sometimes."

You walk towards him and lower your arms. "Why? Are they that bad?"

He grabs one of your hands and plays with your fingers. His eyes search yours. "I think it's better if you make up your own mind about them."

"So they're that bad?" you joke, allowing him to pull you closer so that you're standing between his legs. "If they're anything like you, I think I'll get on well with them."

His free hand rests on your hip. Despite the layers of fabric, you can feel the warmth of his skin. "Then you'll hate Arthur." His fingers press gently into your flesh before something behind you catches his attention and he releases you - too quickly for your liking. As you turn around, the piano catches your eye and the roses standing on it. 

"What's the plan for today?" you ask him, trying to draw his attention back to you. You release his hand from your hip, but only to pull him into the kitchen so he doesn't have to look at those stupid roses anymore. "Do you have to do anything? Gym? Or do you have any appointments?"

Charles sits down in his chair and fishes his cell phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. "I don't think so," he answers and takes a look at his online calendar before placing his cell phone on the counter in front of him. "I don't have any appointments or commitments to meet until after Christmas. Until then, I'm all yours." His smile is sweet as sugar and your heart skips a beat.

You want to grab him by the collar of his shirt, pull him across the worktop and kiss him until you can't breathe. Touch him until the countertop is used for something other than cooking, but this morning you convinced yourself that this friendship is the right and, above all, the only way this can work. And that you wouldn't do anything to sabotage this friendship.

"How about we use this time wisely then, huh?" You reach for Pascale's coffee cup and rinse it. 

"Do you have an idea?" He raises an eyebrow and has to stifle a smile when he sees your grin. "Of course you have one. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked like that. Fire away."

"So," you start and put the cup back in its place in the cupboard. "We've finally spoken and we've agreed to stay in this apartment together."

"As friends," the Monegasque confirms the thought you just had, even if you don't understand why he has to say it out loud. 

Your eyes dart towards the hallway, knowing that the white piano with the red roses is just a few meters away. "What do you say we go out today and buy some new things for the apartment?" you suggest. "Then I could get things for my room and maybe something else to make it feel a bit more like home."

"You mean to make it feel like it's your apartment too?" Charles leans back in his chair a little and runs his hand through his hair. 

"Only if that's okay with you. After all, it's your apartment and I could understand if you wanted to leave everything as it is at the moment and -" you babble nervously without thinking about what you're saying. You look at him worriedly and try to read his face to see if you might have crossed a line. 

"That's actually a good idea," Charles finally replies, smiling at you. "But are you ready for it?"

"For what?" you ask, confused, leaning against the countertop, which - unfortunately - is only used for cooking.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "For being seen outside. With me." He looks at you like a kicked puppy that's been abandoned on the street in the middle of the night.

"I told you I have no problem with that," you assure him and walk around the kitchen counter to sit next to him. You reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers. "We're friends, Charles. We know we're friends. And I don't care what anyone else thinks they know about us." You tilt your head a little to one side. "Our friendship is real - and that's why we're going right out there to buy some new stuff for the apartment."

His smile almost makes your heart stop. "For our apartment," he corrects you, his green eyes twinkling.

"Our apartment," you repeat softly. 

"Okay." He lowers his gaze to your hands, and the way his fingers wrap around yours makes it feel like they're perfect for each other. The two of you spending time together shouldn't make you this happy. "But we'll only go on one condition."

"What's that?" 

"We're not going alone. We're taking Pierre and Kika with us so that it doesn't look like we're shopping for furniture for our apartment as a couple in love." The fact that he doesn't want to go out alone with you feels like a punch in the gut. When he notices the hurt look on your face, he squeezes your fingers gently twice. "It's just to protect you, Y/N."

The fact that he doesn't trust you to do this hits you harder than it should. How many times do you have to tell him you're ready? That the opinions of others don't matter to you as long as you have Charles by your side? Does he really think you're that weak?

"I don't need to be protected," you reply sharply and take your hand away from him. 

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he tries to reassure you, but the fact that he's talking down your feelings doesn't make things any better. 

"Maybe not," you say annoyed and get up from your chair. "But there will come a point when we're on our own. And then everyone's going to be talking shit about us, I get it. And I get that it's going to be bad." You don't care that you're acting like a defiant child. The fact that Charles doesn't want to be seen alone with you hurts more than you would ever admit. "So why not today?"

The young man in front of you looks away from you with a crestfallen expression before also rising from his chair. When he reaches for your hand again, you allow it. "I want you to be able to turn away from me if it gets too much for you. I want you to have the chance to live a normal life if you do decide against me." His other hand rests against your cheek and you snuggle up to him as if it were a reflex. "I don't want you to regret meeting me."

The fact that he thinks you could ever regret befriending him stabs straight through your heart. He wants to protect you from something you both have no control over, and although you'd like to stroll through Monaco holding hands with him, you can understand him.

He is trying to protect both you and himself. And you can understand that all too well. 

"All right," you give in and smile gently at him. "Then ask them if they're free and up for it today. It could be fun."

Charles lets go of you and the warmth that had been flowing through your body immediately disappears. While he talks to Pierre on the phone, you go back to your room to get changed and think about what would look good in your room. 

Different curtains wouldn't go amiss, and some candles and a small mirror would look good on the white chest of drawers opposite the bed. You might also find some new bedding that -

"Y/N?" Charles' voice echoes through the apartment. You find him in the doorway of the master bedroom, where he glances over his shoulder in your direction. "Pierre and Kika are about to head out, then we'll leave together." 

"Okay," you reply, glancing past him into the room. There are a few things lying around that are definitely not his, and the decor doesn't suit him very well either. "So this is your room?" 

"Uh-huh." He wrinkles his mouth a little. 

"What's wrong with it? Apart from the obvious, of course."

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Everything. I don't see anything in it that I wouldn't change."

You'd be only too happy to set the whole room on fire if it would certainly help him. Just like the roses that have burned themselves into your memory. You nudge him with your elbow. "Then we've got a lot planned for today." You look at each other and when he reaches for your hand, you have to smile. "You don't have to go through this alone, Charles. We can do this as long as we're together."

His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips. "Together," he says softly in return, leaning down a little towards you so that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. His warm breath caresses your face as his free hand finds its place on his hip again to pull you against him. You feel his hard body against yours, his heartbeat under your fingertips as you place your hand on his chest. You feel his warmth as his nose bumps against yours, his hip against your stomach as he presses you against him. You feel his -

"Are you ready?" Pierre's voice comes out of nowhere as he and Kika walk through the front door. Thank God the bedroom is further back so they can't see you. 

Instead of letting you go, Charles presses you tighter against him so that you can feel him everywhere. "I think we need a new door lock," he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. "Then no more uninvited guests can come in when we're together." 

When he finally breaks away from you, you have to take a deep breath. Although you've decided that you don't feel anything for him apart from friendship, he triggers something in you that no one before him has ever managed to do. 

You desire him. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet, you crave him, his touch, his skin on yours. And his words echo in your thoughts, making you dizzy. 

Together. Together. Together. 

You rub your face once and look after Charles, who briefly disappears in the direction of the living room, the opposite direction from your friends.

What you can't see, however, is him shoving his hand into his pants to control his raging boner, which is pressing almost painfully against the seams of his boxers. How is he supposed to put up with that when you live together?

Together. Together. Together.

[kookygranger]

Top five, most memorable kisses of all time

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Corroded Coffin move to Chicago and find their people. Eddie finds you behind the counter at Championship Records. He thinks you're cool. You think he's gorgeous. Life outside of Hawkins might just be worth fighting for.

Warnings: swearing, kissing (obvs), fluff, fem!reader, mostly Eddie's POV, our boy has no rizz, alcohol consumption, I don't think anything else, too many high fidelity references?

Word count: 4k

Author's note: This is a one-shot, that has been sitting in my drafts since last Halloween and thanks to a wip game has finally seen the light of day! Find the playlist that inspired the fic below.

Masterlist

One pill makes you larger,

And one pill makes you small

The bell above the door jingles as Eddie steps through the threshold, his shoulders relaxing as the warmth seeps back into him and he scans the racks of records before him. Perking up as he notices the music playing over the speakers, he was still getting used to how much cooler things were in Chicago than back home – and shit, how much cooler people were.

Eddie clocks you sitting on top of the counter with one leg crossed under you, the other swinging down the side as you sticker a stack of vinyl. You mouth along with the music, not even noticing him slip through the aisles as he stops in a random section with a perfect view of you across the small store.

He’d only come in here to kill some time between soundcheck and the gig tonight at a venue down the street. The rest of the band had gone to find some food, but Eddie wanted to check out the record store they passed on the drive in. And boy, was he glad he did.

He mindlessly flicks through the records in front of him, trying to come up with a good conversation starter. It wasn’t that often that he missed Steve Harrington, but he could sure use one of the boy’s famous pep talks right about now. Fuck, what was it about pretty girls that got him so tongue-tied? Probably the pretty part.

But you weren’t just pretty, you were obviously very cool, and he certainly wasn’t used to girls sharing the same interests as him – but he’d met a lot of them since he’d moved to Chicago a couple of months ago.

Just as he’s thinking about what albums he could pick out to impress you, the bell above the door jingles again. A guy around his age walks in, his short hair spiked, nose and ears pierced and tattoos peeking out from a crisp white t-shirt. He walks with confidence to where you sit and makes you jump slightly as he greets you boisterously.

“Shit, you scared me.”

He snickers and starts rummaging through a crate of cassettes by the counter.

“Yeah, you look like you were in the zone. Did you even notice you had a customer?”

You turn your head in Eddie’s direction just as he ducks his down, continuing to flick through the disco section. Wait, shit where’s the metal?

“Shit.” You whisper under your breath and turn your attention back to the other guy, not quite lowering your voice enough so Eddie couldn’t eavesdrop. “No, but in my defence this song is a banger.”

Severin, Severin, speak so slightly

Severin, down on your bended knee

“What the fuck are you listening to anyway?”

“I made a pre-Halloween mix. Music that led to goth before goth was a thing.” You frown as you try to unstick a bright red sticker from the price gun you’d been tapping on the pile of vinyl.

Eddie smiles to himself as he continues to pretend he’s browsing and not tuning into your conversation.

“Are you coming to The Allied tonight? There’s some new band from Indiana or something playing. Apparently, they do a sick cover of Master of Puppets.”

Eddie pauses in his faux perusing for a second as he awaits your reply.

“I wasn’t really planning on it, no.”

The guy huffs, “No? What was your plan, going home to sulk to The Velvet Underground?”

“I don’t sulk–“

“You do when you listen to The Velvet Underground.”

“What do you want me to do? Pogo to Heroin? Anyway, I was gonna work on an article actually.”

“Why don’t you write about this band tonight? Tim says they’re pretty good. He saw them a couple of weeks ago at the Metro.”

“Tim said that about that god-awful noise band that played at De Salle’s. It was the worst four hours of my life. I thought my ears were actually going to bleed.”

“Whatever, you say that like you’re not currently playing the most depressing German synth music that nobody in their right mind would listen to.” He points his hand in the air, drawing your attention to the new song playing from the speakers behind you.

“First of all, this is David Bowie’s Low. And if you knew as much about music as you claim to, you’d know that this was his seminal work in his Berlin era and an ambient soundscape masterpiece. Secondly–“

“I like it.”

Both of your heads shoot up at Eddie’s interruption. He blushes and clears his throat as you catch his eye and the corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry, I just–it’s a good mixtape. I like the theme.” He frowns and shakes his head at himself, he doesn’t know what came over him. Who is this guy that’s bothering you, anyway? You have amazing taste and he’s now sure you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. You gesture in his direction and look back at the guy that’s teasing you.

“The customer is always right, Simon.”

Eddie moves quickly to the B section and finds the album you were talking about before heading over to you.

“Did you find everything you need?” You smile at him sweetly as you hop off the counter and take the record from him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before. Customer service isn’t exactly my strongest skill.”

The guy, Simon, snorts. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the way your face lights up quietly when you realise what album he picked.

“What are your strongest skills?” That was such a weird question Munson, what the hell?

You look up at him a little taken aback, before a small smile creeps up on you.

“Talking about music…or” you shake your head in contemplation, “writing about it actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Maybe it’s not so much a skill, more like an obsession.”

“She’s actually kind of good.” Simon butts in with a shrug and you roll your eyes.

“Such a high compliment cuz.”

You were cousins. He still had a shot.

“You write for magazines?”

“Zines mostly,” you point to a stack of xeroxed pamphlets on the counter, “but I’ve published a few reviews with Spin and The Face.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, “That’s pretty cool.”

You breathe out a laugh and take the cash he hands you, collecting his change. “Thanks.”

“Wait, you're Eddie, right?” He turns to Simon, almost forgetting he was there. “Your band’s playing at The Allied tonight? I met your drummer Gareth at a show last week.”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. We’re called Corroded Coffin.”

“Cool name.” You smirk and hand him his record wrapped in paper. Eddie tucks it under his arm, his dimples showing as he smiles back at you.

“Thanks.”

“You’re from Indiana then?” You call back to Simon’s earlier statement, as Eddie doesn’t make a move to immediately leave.

He rubs the back of his neck as he nods, “Yeah. Just moved here a couple of months ago with my band.”

“Welcome to Chicago, Eddie.” You smile and introduce yourself, “Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you…vinyl wise I mean.”

“Thanks,” he scratches the stubble on his jaw before stepping away from the counter. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the show?” He tries to keep his voice casual, but there’s a hint of hope in there.

You bite your lip and shrug, “Yeah, maybe you will.”

Eddie nods and takes his queue to leave, the bell jingling again as he steps back out into the cold.

“Yeah, maybe you will.” Simon mocks you in a breathy imitation and you roll your eyes. “So now that you know the singer is cute are you coming?”

“Obviously! You better get me on the door list, or I swear to god I’m telling Aunt Carol about the stash in your underwear drawer.”

***

“Hey, Carlos.” You greet your friend at the door of The Allied, who waves you in without payment. “That Darondo record came in, I put it aside for you.” You call back on your way in, hearing a muffled thanks as the music from inside hits your eardrums.

There’s a decent crowd tonight, and you have to push past a few people to reach the sticky top bar.

“Oh, she showed up! Surprise, surprise.” Simon makes his way over to you, ignoring the calls of indignance as he passes other customers. He slings a rag over his shoulder, which makes you bite your lip, attempting to hold in a laugh, remembering how he’d practised that move in the mirror when he turned twenty-one and landed the second most coveted job of your teenage selves.

You shrug nonchalantly, despite your cousin knowing the exact reason you’re here. “I ended up doing inventory ‘till late. Thought I may as well drop by before catching the L.”

Simon flicks your nose, your retaliating slap missing him as he moves to pour your drink. You thank him with a forced smile when he slides it across the bar, picking it up and turning to find a spot in the crowd.

“No tip?”

You call over your shoulder, “Yeah, take it easy on the cologne.” You smirk, not even having to turn around to know he’s probably sniffing his shirt.

You take your usual spot leaning against the wall, up the back and away from most of the crowd. Your rule was front row or back. None of that squished in the middle, view blocked by the tallest guy you’d ever seen crap. Either it was front and centre, immersed in the moment, or your own space with a view of it all.  

You’d never be up front for a band you didn’t know, and tonight was no exception, no matter how large the butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of seeing him again.

You don’t know what it was about Eddie, apart from the obvious fact that he was gorgeous. Maybe it was something in his presence. But when he walked up to the counter earlier with a record you’d just been talking about and a shy smile on his face – you were a goner.

The murmurs of the crowd quieten when the house lights are switched off, a yellow glow on the stage and above the bar now the only sources of light.

There are a few enthusiastic cheers when the band appear from a door behind the stage and a smattering of applause as they take their place. You take a sip of your drink, ignoring the feeling in your chest when Eddie steps up to the mic and adjusts his red Warlock guitar. He smiles and you duck your head, trying not to look too much like the girl who’s just fallen for a lead singer when he addresses the crowd.

“Evening. Hope you brought your earplugs, this one’s new.” The quiet, reservedness of his introduction and the boy you’d met earlier is undone with the first crashing of cymbals and thrash of power chords.

Stage Eddie isn’t what you were expecting, but still somehow makes total sense. He’s more comfortable, more himself up there as he thrashes back and forth, hair whipping wildly. And they’re good. Really good.

Maybe you’d write about them after all.

The band are almost through their set when he spots you. Your back straightens as his eyes lock onto yours. Normally you hate making eye contact with someone on stage, but you can’t seem to look away when his chocolate-brown gaze twinkles over the heads of the rest of the crowd. In between songs, he gives you a wave, and you nod, returning his small smile.

When they finish, you move back to the bar. Waiting for the lingering fans to clear over a rum and coke. You’re only on your second sip when you feel a burning hot presence behind you.

“You made it.”

You turn around, and Eddie leans an arm on the bar beside you, moving in closer as the growing line pushes him forward.

“I did.” You nod, taking another sip of your drink.

He clears his throat, pushing his sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

“So, uh, what did you think?”

You smile, “I think you’re going to fit in very well here.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it is. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the dark side, Eddie.”

His eyebrows raise, the ghost of a smirk kicking up when you’re interrupted by your cousin.

“Man, that was sick! What can I get ya?”

Eddie thanks Simon, then looks back at you, “What are you having?” He holds up two fingers when you answer, signalling for another round, then starts playing with a beermat while you wait. Your eyes are trained to the glint of silver on his fingers.

“How are you liking Chicago so far?”

Eddie looks back at you and puffs his cheeks up as he exhales. “Honestly?... I didn’t know life could be this good.”

You feel a sharp tingling in your nose as your eyes well up a little for the boy standing in front of you, his cheeks dusted with pink as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Trust me, things are only gonna get better from here.”

“Yeah?” He beams at you then and you inhale deeply as you fight the urge to reach out and wrap your arms around him.

“Yeah.”

***

Eddie had seen you a few times since the gig at The Allied. Dropping into the record store when he could. In small crowds at gigs in the city. You’d greet him with a hug or a squeeze to the arm that never failed to get his heart rate going.

Today, he’d gotten off early from his temporary new gig at the auto shop and he found himself parked outside the record store.

It was overcast, but there was no bite to the air. A balmy wind tousling his hair as he ran across the street to the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, avoiding the fat drops of rain that had begun to fall sporadically.

He spots you through the window when he makes his back to the store, bobbing your head along to whatever’s playing as you fill the racks. The now familiar bell jingles and he smiles when he recognises Joy Division over the speakers. He’d seen you in their shirt on more than one occasion.

He meets you as you're walking back to the counter.

“Oh, hey Eddie.” You smile and do a double take, taking in his greasy coveralls, and suddenly he’s wishing he’d gone home and showered. Even if it was an hour out of his way.

“Hey.” He places a coffee on the counter along with a white paper bag. “Thought you might like a mid-afternoon pick me up. I’ve uh, I’ve seen you with one of those cinnamon things before.”

Your eyes light up as you inspect the inside of the bag. “Oh my god, you’re my hero! Thank you, that’s so sweet.”

He shrugs, taking a step back from the counter, his own black coffee still clutched in his hands.

“So, this is the day job then huh?” You gesture to his outfit.

He scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah for now. Until the music starts paying off. If the music starts paying off.”

You nod, taking a bite of your cinnamon scroll and he can’t help but smirk at the way your eyes quickly roll to the back of your head. “It will.”

His free hand goes to his pocket, face hidden slightly by his hair as he tucks into himself at your confident statement.

“Thanks.” He turns around to start perusing the aisles.

“Oh, we will be getting the new Metallica album on the day of release by the way. I’ll put a tape aside for you.”

“Thank you.” He offers you a smile over his shoulder, and you tip your coffee to him.

He takes his time flicking through the rows, a few customers coming and going as he does, although he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Once the store is quiet again, he walks back over to you, selection in hand.

“Lee Hazelwood?” You take the record from him with a look of surprise.

He nods, “Yeah, I liked that song on that pre-goth mixtape you gave me. It’s like the kind of thing my uncle would listen to but…”

“Sinister.”

“Yeah.”

You smile, “It’s cool isn’t it? You know he actually wrote These Boots Are Made For Walkin’. Helped save Nancy Sinatra’s career after the teeny-bopper thing didn’t work out. They made a couple of albums together actually, and you know the first time he retired from the music industry was because the success of The Beatles’ made him depressed.”

He leans his arms on the counter as you talk. “Wow, you really are a wealth of knowledge for this stuff huh?”

You shrug, “What else is there?”

“Apart from books.”

You nod, “Good movies.”

He smiles, “Pizza.”

“Dumplings.”

“DnD”

You frown, “That nerdy board game?”

“No, uh d–dumplings like you said, and uh– dough–doughnuts?”

You scrunch up your face, “Okay,” and giggle at Eddie’s strained smile.

“So uh, what–would you–“ Not screwing this up at all Munson. “Would you maybe wanna do that together sometime? The pizza and dumplings, or probably one or the other I guess, and a movie, good music–“ he blows out a puff of air, scrunching up his face.

“Are you asking if I wanna go see a movie?”

“Yes,” he nods enthusiastically, “that and dinner. If you want.”

“I do like both those things.” You smile. “How about Thursday? I finish closing up at six.”

“Yeah. Cool. Thursday sounds good.” The guys and their weekly standing appointment for band practice would not agree.

***

Thursday rolls around faster than Eddie’s prepared for. Predictably, his bandmates all made fun of him for cancelling practice for you. But he just ignored the high-pitched ooohs and went to make sure his lucky Sabbath shirt was washed before he needed it.

He’s wearing it now as he paces outside the movie theatre, twisting his rings, oblivious to you sneaking up behind him until it’s too late.

“Boo!”

“Jesus Christ.” He jumps and twists around, your hands that had reached out to scare him still on his hips, his arms float in the air for a second before landing on your shoulders.

“You’re on edge,” you tease before your face sets a little more seriously. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, just uh, you wanna head in? It starts in like five minutes.”

You nod, your hands leaving his waist as his fall back to his sides. “What are we seeing anyway?” You look up at the black lettering above you, smiling just as Eddie reveals your viewing choice for the night.

“Thought we could see Young Frankenstein. Saw they were doing an old-school horror weekend here in the paper.”

“That sounds great.”

He lets out a breath of relief when you bump his shoulder affectionately, and you begin walking into the theatre side by side.

“Now the real important question Eddie Munson. What are your go-to movie snacks?”

His hand twitches when it accidentally brushes the back of yours.

“Well, popcorn obviously.”

“Obviously.” You nod.

“Sour Patch Kids and you gotta add a packet of Reese’s Pieces in there too.”

“Wait, in there as in–?”

“In the popcorn bucket. All of it. Like a good version of a trail mix.”

You grin, “Very interesting.”

“Just wait till you try it, sweetheart, you’ll never do it any other way.”

You laugh, “Okay, lead the way.”

He bows, gesturing his hand towards the confection stand. “After you m’lady.”

Your giggle, Eddie quickly finds out is his new favourite sound. When it appears again in the movie theatre, he can’t seem to keep his eyes on Gene Wilder, only watching you light up with laughter.

He can’t quite believe how well it’s all going. That is until you’re sharing a large pepperoni, on the bench outside the place you insisted served the best “pies” in all of Chicago, and your confusion stops his heart for a second.

He groans when he takes the first bite of cheesy dough.

“Good right?”

He nods, chewing and swallowing quickly. “My uncle told me pizza wasn’t a first date kind of meal, but we don’t have anything like this back in Hawkins.”

You’re sitting so close that he notices you still right away.

“Wait, this is a date?”

“Oh,” he swears his heart drops to his stomach as he sees the surprise on your face. “Oh well, yeah I thought it was but I guess I–it doesn’t have to be, sorry.”

You reach out to grab his arm when he instinctively moves away, “No! I just didn’t realise you were asking me out, out. You kinda just kept listing food.” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “I want it to be a date.”

He bites his lip, looking back at you with eyebrows raised, “Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh, squeezing the arm still in your hold. “Of course. I would love to…be on a date with you right now.”

He beams, “Well, it’s your lucky night sweetheart.”

***

The date (once it’s established as one), goes so well Eddie finds himself back at your apartment, admiring your wall lined with records while you find the both of you a drink.

His eyebrows marry together when he notices Dusty Springfield next to the Sex Pistols.

“What’s the system here?” You hand him a beer when you reappear by his side. “Not by genre?”

“No. Autobiographical.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How–?”

“Well,” you step forward, reaching out to pick a plastic sleeve as if from memory, “if I want to find the song Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, I have to remember that I bought it for someone in the fall of 1983 but didn’t give it to them…for personal reasons.” You show him the white cover of the album.

“That sounds…”

“Comforting.”

He nods slowly, “Yes.”

“It is.”

God, you’re weird. And cute. And cool. And, shit he was going for it, you said you wanted to be on a date with him. You invited him back to your place. No one’s ever done that before. He should go for it. He’s going for it–

Your lips feel even softer than he imagined, and he can’t help but give himself a mental high-five when you immediately move closer to him, face melting into the hand that cradles your cheek. You taste almost vanilla-y with the combo of rum and coke still sitting on your tongue when his meets yours. He places his beer down on the coffee table, and your lips follow him when he has to dip down slightly before his free hand comes to sit on your waist.

You part for a breath, “Didn’t realise vinyl categorisation would get you so hot.” You tease him, lips plump and eyes slightly glazed over, and he’s never wanted anything more in his life than to keep you looking at him like this.

“Yeah uh, really love that Dewey Decimal system.” He leans close to capture your lips again, but you pull back, leaving him to chase you.

“The Dewey Decimal system is for books.” You shake your head.

Eddie huffs, “I really don’t care.” He finally finds your lips again and he swears they taste even sweeter the second time, despite being tainted by his own.

You guide him back to slowly sit on the couch, bodies falling a little clumsily together before you situate yourself in his lap, legs straddling his. You both stay like that for what could be hours for all Eddie cares, lips clicking in the silence.

“Fuck, I could kiss you all night.” He leans his forehead against yours, heavy breathing synced with your own, as you finally come up for air.

You shake your head, eyes soft and reassuring.

“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie.”

God dammit, is he glad he left Hawkins.

Tagging: @storiesbyrhi (I hope you like the coffee shop across from the record store 😉), @bettyfrommars (I finished it!)

[pearlzier]

⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ 🐾 ★

pairing : carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary : carm is fucking flabbergasted to hear you've never had a proper valentine's day, let alone a special meal. so he has to rectify it as soon as possible.

word count : 2.28k

tags: the bear, jeremy allen white, fluff, valentine's day, carmen berzatto, carmy berzatto, established relationship, awkward carm <3, BEST MAN EVER.

a/n: got this idea from @aliaugustaa, i thought it was so cute so i just had to do it :3 who needs an irl valentines when u have ur little chef man, making sure u know u deserve the best amiright.

it all started when carmen had overheard you, syd and tina talking. he'd been in his office, trying to get some work done with the door slightly ajar, considering the air conditioning in the room was shit, when the three of you had struck up a conversation. he hadn't paid much attention to it. he occasionally tuned into the sound of your voice, of course, but the details of the words you were saying remained mostly lost on him.

until he heard the mention of ‘valentine's day’ come from tina. fuck. if he had to be honest, it'd been years since he'd last.. celebrated? valentine's day? before you, he didn't actually have any reason to do anything for it. carmen avoided the day like the plague, actually, with the bare minimum being done in terms of heart themed menu times. but even he knew that you would've been expecting a valentine's gift from him, right? you two had been dating for what, nearly a year now, so he had to think of something.

that started his panic in terms of what he was going to get you. he had no fucking clue. but what took him out even more was your words, as you leant against the counter with your notepad: “valentine's day is so overrated,” okay.. “i haven't had a valentine since i was like, fifteen, and i'm perfectly fine.”

perfectly fine.

his blue eyes darted quickly to the calendar on his desk, fixing onto ‘february 14th’ almost instantly. he can't bite back a smile at the heart you'd drawn around the date, with ‘v-day’ scrawled messily on it. but all the cuteness aside, he had.. one week. he didn't need to do anything amazing for you, no, considering you did think the holiday was overrated, however he felt there was an unsworn duty for him to prove to you that you were special, and deserved the best.

he sorted the week that he had left into phases. there were four phases, all of them intricately, messily, planned to ensure you'd have a great day. and he'd managed to do all of it right under your nose.

of the four phases, first came the easiest one. slowly easing you into the idea of valentine's day. you weren't stupid, no, you were quiet observant and god knows you would've picked up on any new behaviours from your boyfriend, so he had to try to integrate the day of love into work first.

convincing everyone to mention valentine's day, not obsessively, but repetitively to try get it into your routine wasn't difficult. it was a restaurant, for god's sake, of course they'd have some sort of valentine's menu, right?

so he got marcus to start making some particularly love themed desserts — “uh, sure. don't mind it.” you hadn't seemed to pay much attention to the ginormous order of cupid stickers out back, which worked heavily in his favour.

“yo, cousin, don't worry. she'll be walkin’ ‘round with the whole ass arrow by the time i'm done,” — richie was just as eager to get you in a lovey-dovey mood, with his passing comments about how eva was a total bachelorette and that all the kids in her class were gonna be throwing presents onto her desk.

there was no way to tell whether that was true or not. no one really asked.

“hey, cool, i'm feeling it,” — tina was also happy to help, being overly lovey with you around the restaurant. it was quite unlike her, but still, you didn't mind the affection. little hugs, forehead kisses from dear aunt tina weren't that bad.

“she's gonna realise that we're going overboard,” — syd was the most reluctant. she'd have much rather told you about what they were doing, as opposed to keeping it a secret. however carm was good at convincing her, and it was for a good cause too. so, she let it slide, pushing the valentine's agenda with little doodles of cupids or hearts on her menu designs. you liked them.

so that was phase one done. pretty simple, if carmy says so himself. and you didn't mention anything about it. perfect. he felt a little weird keeping something from you, but, of course, it was a good cause, right?

with phase one completed, he had to move onto phase two. this one was probably his second favourite of all of them. bringing valentine's into the house. valentine's day was all about love. he loves you, of course. it was the reason why he was doing all of this in the first place. so he thought the best way to do this phase was to get you in the mood.

you were very clearly confused by the romcom that was playing on the tv screen when he ushered you into the living room, but you didn't ask many questions considering how tired you were. “carm,” you began, brow furrowing, before you shrugged, moving over to settle on the couch. tilting your head over to the direction of the kitchen, your eyes found carmy bringing over the chinese takeout. it'd been a while since you two had indulged in it, but he knew full well it was your favourite. “you're the best,” his smug little smile told you a lot, but not about his little scheme and its phases.

“i know, babe,” he hums, bringing over the tray and settling it onto the coffee table. carmen shuffled over, settling onto the couch beside you, gently lifting your box onto your lap before he took his own. it wasn't unlike him to take care of you like this, but there was something more tender in how he was helping you. sweet, yes, but it was making you a tad bit suspicious. “you okay?” he asked softly, voice gentle and low, as a small little smile played on his lips.

“mhm,” you nodded, just snuggling beside him with the takeout box in your grasp. you two usually didn't watch romcoms, usually finding a good drama or sitcom however you didn't mind it. this one in particular was quite good.

and besides, carmen having his arm slung around your waist as you two ate was a perfect feeling. so despite your suspicions, you let him have this moment without asking him.

that was phase two done. not too shabby, really. richie and, actually, literally everyone in the bear was a tad bit sick of carmen's rambling about how amazing you were. they literally all knew it, since you were their colleague, but god, could this man talk.

the third phase was one that carmy realised perhaps should've come earlier. it was just getting you things that you liked, without you realising. which was harder than it sounded, considering carmen was shit at keeping things from you, and you were usually the one who looked at orders to the apartment. so he needed the help of his sister, natalie. she was so eager to help that it was a little overwhelming. “so what do they like anyway?” natalie asked as she pushed the cart beside carmen, eyes flickering over to his in curiosity. “bear?”

he was uh, stressing. he loved you so much, and—well, “god, sugar, i love her—” he ran a hand through his curls, eyes widening as soon as he saw the giant valentine's day display in the store. a quiet groan slipped past his lips and he bit his knuckles for a moment, glancing desperately over at his sister. “peach deserves the fuckin’ world, y'know? just wan’ make it special for her,” the pity, and adoration, in natalie's gaze softened her eyes immediately and she gave him a quick pat on the back.

“right,” it was her personal mission now to ensure that you and her brother had a perfect day on valentine's. she was sure of it. a small little grin played on her lips as she ushered him over to the display, and she leant against the cart. “okay, what would she like? something lovey? sentimental?”

“don't fuckin’ know,” carmen muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple as he looked over the many valentine's themed things available. holy shit, this was harder than he thought. he knew you so well and yet, what you'd like evaded him.

“okay, well,” natalie picks up a random white teddy bear, brows raising in question as she offers it to her brother. he grabs at it, squeezes it perhaps a little too hard out of frustration but slowly relaxes his tight grip on it. “okay, that one's going in.”

the shopping trip continued like this, with natalie suggesting things that she thought you might like, with carmy giving his wordless responses. it was kind of therapeutic for nat, to be fair. and carmen was getting the stuff he needed for you. he'd have to thank natalie after, considering soon after he was done with phase three, he was into the final phase. the actual valentine's gift.

this was probably his favourite part. of course, carmen was a chef by nature. so he knew a valentine's dinner was in order. he was sort of sick of hearing anything related to the saint, however he could relax with this part. he'd made sure that syd would keep you out of the apartment for at least three hours. having even gone to the lengths of giving money for you guys to spend, he was clearly working hard. he knew your palette, so well in fact, that he didn't even think twice about what he was preparing.

from what you loved to eat, to what you despised, carmen knew it all. and he wanted to spoil you in terms of what he made, so he also gave sydney strict instructions that the two of you weren't allowed to get any food. hey, he wanted you to have enough room to eat.

he'd planned everything immaculately, of course, but when he heard you and syd at the door, he almost panicked. the table was laid out perfectly, all of your favourite foods available. a flush filled his cheeks at the thoughts of richie's previous words: “shit, cousin’, you a fuckin’ simp,” rang through his head and he scratched the back of his neck nervously, sitting at the table.

“thanks, syd,” your voice called from down the hall at the door, your smile evident in your voice. it made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and he shifted where he sat. “m'back, carm!” you were making your way down the hall now, nearing the living room where you assumed he'd be. he was not. “carm—?”

your brow furrowed, since he'd have mentioned he'd be out if he was going to be. “carm,” you hummed as you wandered into the dining room area, not looking into the room until you did, and your lips parted into an expression of shock. “holy shit.”

you're surprised you didn't burst into literal tears seeing carmen sat at the table, wide blue eyes lifting to yours from the table cloth. his cheeks were rosey, a sheepish expression adorning his lips. “fuck, this is dumb,” he got up, scratching the back of his neck once more, “i know you don't—oh, shit, peach—”

his eyes widened as you barelled into him, wrapping your arms around his frame as his hands slid over your lower back. biting his bottom lip, he lifted a hand to your face, just to see your expression. “oh my god, carm,” tears threatened to spill from your eyes, bottom lip trembling. carmen's expression only softener, and grew a tad bit guilty.

“oh, no, baby, don't cry,” his thumb stroked over your jaw, brow furrowing. carmen soon pressed a peck to your forehead, his hand cupping your lower back and bringing you into his body. “can't eat ‘n’ cry at the same time,” he soothed with a soft chuckle whilst he cradled the back of your head.

“so this is what you were doin’?” your mumbly words come all soft, watery, glossy eyes lifting up to his as you frown. you may be about to cry, sure, but it's for a good reason. “all this time? oh my god, is it because of what i said to syd and tina?”

a sheepish nod followed, his hands brushing away your tears gently. he smiled, nuzzling your nose with his own as he brushed his lips with yours, squeezing you tight against his chest. “uh-huh,” he muttered, “didn't notice earlier?”

“nuh-uh,” god, you felt kinda dumb for not realising. but also glad you didn't, since you wouldn't be as overjoyed as you are right now. you squeeze tight around his waist once more before you drag him back into sitting down. hey, you were hungry considering his little scheme. “god, carm,” you bite your bottom lip, looking over all the food. not to mention the valentine's themes decorations.

“so everyone was in on it?” you lean against the table, watching as carmen dished out your plate for you, his blue eyes lingering on the food before they lifted to yours when he heard your question. he gives a little nod, pushing your plate towards you. then, he pours you a glass of wine, all smiles. “god, that's why—oh my god!”

giddy, absolutely giddy, would describe you right now. over the fucking moon.

“and when you and nat went out? you guys never go out, holy shit,” you grabbed your fork, leaning against the table with a little smile. that smile soon became the biggest grin he'd ever seen. “babe, this is too much,” you frowned, gaze all fond.

“wait till you see the gifts,” he mumbled around a spoonful of pasta, avoiding your gaze and focusing on his plate.

“carmen!”

[xxchumanixx]

fake dating tim bradford 🙏🏼🙏🏼 do as you will

Fake it 'til you make it

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings/Tags: jealousy, fluff, a little angst if you squint, unspoken feelings

Word count: 2.325

Authors note: Hello, love, thanks for the request! I really hope this lives up to your expectations! The idea with the class reunion came rather spontaneously, but I hope it's good enough!

Enjoy!

Tim Bradford Masterlist

It's wasn't that you couldn't find a date - you just couldn't find one with the right person.

At least that's what you told yourself whilst looking at the e-mail displayed on your phone, sighing inwardly.

Your class from high-school planned to make a reunion, a shitty excuse to talk about the things you had accomplished over the last years and how great your lives were.

Rolling your eyes you locked your phone, still thinking about the last part of the mail, where you were told to bring your partner, husband or 'soulmate' - if you had one.

But you didn't.

Looking up, after shoving the phone inside your pocket, your eyes met Tim's. He rose a brow questioningly, sipping his beer.

Sighing you took a sip of your own, your gaze wandering over the crowd gathered at the food truck, before you looked back to him.

Or you just couldn't date the man you secretly loved - but that was another story.

"My class from high-school wants to make a reunion." you explained, shaking your head slightly, as you peeled off the corner of the sticker on your bottle.

"Sounds nice, have fun." Tim gave back nonchalantly, causing you to look at him in confusion. "Not that I'd voluntarily go to a class reunion." he added, and you groaned.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if I'll go, either." you told him, wiping over your face with your free hand. Again he rose a brow, tilting his head slightly as he waited for you to explain.

"Class reunions are just a shitty excuse to brag about your career, your wonderful life and not to forget: 'your partner, husband or soulmate'."

His brows knitted together as he chuckled silently at your quoted words.

"And what exactly is your problem?" he asked, taking another sip, before continuing, not waiting for an answer. "Your making career at the LAPD, have a good life, so I assume it's the 'soulmate' thing."

Rolling your eyes you couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, maybe it's the 'lacking boyfriend' problem." you confirmed, your smile slowly fading. "I don't want them to think that I'm still single, that I still wasn't able to find someone willing to date me."

Shaking his head he leaned forward on the table, elbows resting on the scratched wood.

"Why is this so important to you? I'm a divorced single, and I don't give a fuck about what other people think about it."

Sighing you looked away for a second.

"Other people aren't Stacy Howard, Tim." you told him, when you looked back. His brows knitted together. "Who?"

"Stacy Howard was the most popular girl at my school." you explained, struggling to hold his gaze as it sent pleasant shivers down your spine. "And she just so happened to be in my class. She used every opportunity to bully me, mostly making fun of me for not finding a boyfriend."

He leaned back a little, now understanding why you didn't want to go alone.

It was silent for a while as you watched your Rookies talking in a small group.

"What if you go with a fake boyfriend?" Tim suddenly broke the silence, causing your gaze to snap back to his.

"What do you mean?" you wanted to know, irritation clear on your face. "I mean, that you could ask someone to be your fake boyfriend for the class reunion, so they can't judge you for being single." he explained, toying with his now empty bottle.

Huffing a laugh you shook your head.

"And who am I supposed to ask?" you returned. "Smitty?"

His face contorted like he bit on something sour, before he shook his head. "God, no." he spoke, looking at you like you were out of your mind. "Not even you can be that desperate."

Giving him a pointed look you crossed your arms over your chest, after setting your bottle down on the table.

He chuckled half-heartedly, his gaze wandering away for a second, before he looked back at you, sighing quietly. "What about me?"

Unfolding your arms you leaned a little closer, shock written on your face. "Are you serious?" you wanted to know, your heart hammering in your chest.

Never did you expect for him to volunteer.

Shrugging, he rubbed his chin. "Yeah, I mean, only if you want me to do it." he said, still looking at you.

A smile tugged at your lips, as warmth flooded you. He was willing to be your boyfriend for a day - even if it was fake.

"What about the part where you told me you'd never voluntarily go to a class reunion?" you asked, cocking a brow at him, as a grin stretched your lips.

"Hey, I can take that offer back as fast as I made it!" he warned. "So?"

"Yes!" you almost shouted, before composing yourself. "I mean, sure, if you really want to... that would be great."

He grinned slightly at your reaction, making you blush, before he stood. "Text me when and where and I'll come pick you up."

Nodding you smiled up at him, not believing the luck you had. "Thank you."

Nodding as well, he left.

Friday afternoon came quicker than you had expected.

As the time ticked closer to when Tim would be picking you up, you got nervous.

What if he changed his mind? You wouldn't blame him.

The dress you chose was tight, hugging your curves and went down to your knees. You weren't that insecure about your looks, but in this situation you couldn't help but wonder nervously, if he would like it.

When the doorbell rang you flinched. Your heart raced as you made your way to the front door, opening it to see Tim in a suit.

He wasn't happy about the dress code, but he had already offered his help, so he refused to back down now.

When he saw you his eyes widened almost unnoticeable, mouth slightly agape. Blushing you cleared your throat, greeting him.

"Hey." he greeted you back. "You look beautiful, Y/N." Swallowing, your blush intensified. "Thank you, you clean up pretty good as well, Mr. Bradford."

He smirked, offering you his arm.

Chuckling you took it, after grabbing your purse, before you followed him to his truck.

Taking a seat on the passenger side you exhaled shakily, nervous about the evening that lay before you. When Tim entered he started the engine, silently driving towards your destination.

The schools gym was beautifully decorated, matching the dress code. Entering the big hall you looked around, already spotting familiar faces.

"Whoever made this dress code was clearly planning the wrong event." Tim mumbled, making you laugh. "Yeah, it feels like a gala of some sorts."

Nodding he agreed with you, carefully guiding you through the already crowded hall. You weren't expecting that much people, when you received the invitation.

They must have invited everyone who was in the same grade as you, when you finished school.

A blonde woman walked towards you, a smile on her pink lips.

"Y/N!" she called, coming to a halt infront of you. "Is that really you?" Smiling back you nodded. "Hey Sara - yes it's really me."

As she eyed Tim for a moment, you felt how you became jealous. "This is my boyfriend: Tim." you introduced him, doing your best to keep that smile on your face.

They shook hands, as Tim greeted her. "Nice to meet you, Sara." She nodded, her smile getting wider. "Nice to meet you too, Tim."

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you faced Sara. "How have you been?" you wanted to know, trying to divert her attention.

"Oh, great actually, thank you!" she returned. "I married Brad - if you remember him - and currently work as a model." Smiling, you nodded.

Of course you remembered Brad. He was the quarterback of your high-school's team back then, the cliché douchebag every girl had a crush on - except for you.

He wasn't the smartest, something you found rather unattractive.

"What about you? What have you done the last couple years?" Sara inquired. "I work for the LAPD, I'm a cop." you explained, looking at Tim. "He's a cop as well." "Guilty." he added, smiling a little.

Sara's eyes widened. "Wow!" she made. "That is so cool!"

Before she could have said more she was interrupted by a tall brunette - Brad. His arm snaked around her waist, his toothpaste grin directed at you.

"Y/L/N!" he greeted you. "Long time no see!" Nodding you agreed, silently wishing for this conversation to be over as quick as possible.

It took an hour or two, in which you drank some champagne and ate some appetizers, whilst chatting with former class mates.

You were currently talking to Janette, a small brunette who was publishing her own books, as she was interrupted by a blonde woman, who stopped beside her.

She looked at you in disbelieve, her eyes briefly wandering to Tim, before she fixated you.

"Y/N Y/L/N." she said, tilting her head. "Stacy Howard." you returned, stiffening slightly. Tim must have noticed, as his hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You would thank him later for that.

"May you introduce us?" Stacy asked, pointing at Tim. Clearing your throat, you did as she asked. "Stacy, this is Tim Bradford - my boyfriend."

She huffed quietly, shaking Tim's hand as he offered it.

"Never thought you would actually land someone." she spoke, still looking at Tim. He bit his cheek, as you bit your lip, swallowing.

That had to come, right?

"She always was single, our little Y/N." Stacy started to explain, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Never found the right one, no one wanted to date her. I'm surprised she found someone this handsome."

Before you could have said anything, you felt Tim's hand stiffen in yours. Clearing his throat, he looked at Stacy, who was almost at eye level, given her heels.

"Actually, Y/N is one of the most wonderful women I know." he began to explain and you felt your cheeks growing hot. "She's smart, funny, a good cop and not to mention beautiful. I don't see why she shouldn't date someone 'handsome'. If anything, she deserves the best there is. There is no need for you to treat her like that."

Stacy was speechless, as she only nodded after gawking at him like a fish, before grabbing Janette and walking away.

"Wow." you said, stunned at his reaction. "You're taking the part as my fake boyfriend very seriously."

His brows knitted as he looked down at you, confused. "I mean that your acting is very good." you explained, smiling nervously. "Like you did that before."

Shaking his head he huffed. "You really think I was acting? I meant what I said." he told you, looking you in the eyes as his words stole your breath.

You didn't know what to say, only gawking at him like Stacy did only seconds before.

"You're smart, funny, you're a good cop. And you're beautiful. What she said wasn't right - and I won't let her treat you like that."

Tears stung your eyes, as you struggled to keep up the eye contact.

"Do you really mean that?" you wanted to know, as you were suddenly struck by insecurities. He could have only said it to make you feel better, after all.

Nodding, he sighed. "I did." he admitted.

A smile stretched your lips, as you looked away from him, suddenly becoming shy.

He found you beautiful.

"Hey, look-" he began, causing your gaze to snap back to his. "I know that I'm only here as your boyfriend for the night. But-" he cut himself off, searching for the right words.

"I really do mean what I said and I- I don't want to fake this- being your boyfriend and all." He sighed, rubbing his chin. "I love you, Y/N." he then suddenly admitted, causing your mouth to open in shock, eyes widening.

"I know that we're colleagues and I know that I could be misreading things- but I had to tell you. How could I fake being your boyfriend now and then go back to normal? I got a taste of it and now I don't want to give it back anymore."

Tears stung your eyes, as your heart nearly exploded.

He loved you?

He loved you!

"I love you too." you told him through the tears, before he could have said any more.

He huffed, as a smile split his lips.

"And it only took us a couple hours of fake dating to realize." he said, shaking his head.

Shaking your head you looked up at him. "I was actually hoping you'd offer your help." you admitted, biting your lip. "Yeah?" he asked, as he took a step closer, his hands finding your hips.

"Yeah." you murmured, blushing even more. "I kind of like you for quite some time now." He rose a brow at your words, smirking. "How long?" he wanted to know.

Huffing you sighed. "A few months, give or take."

Chuckling he got even closer, his breath fanning over your face as his lips ghosted over yours. "How many?"

You contemplated for a moment, before you responded. "About eight months?" He leaned back a little, tilting his head. "Wow, I should have done this earlier." he noticed, before he leaned back in.

"Well, then we have at least eight months of kissing to catch up." With that, he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours.

Something inside you exploded, as your arms wrapped around his neck, hands brushing through his hair.

Pure luck and happiness mixed with love, as his lips moved against yours.

They matched like they were made for each other.

When you separated out of breath he leaned his forehead against yours.

"Let's make it official then." he suggested, smirking. Chuckling you pecked his lips, before responding. "Yeah, let's make it official."

[shadeysprings]

YOU

—Art Collector!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Summary — Your unexpected meeting with the famous art collector takes a dark turn when you learn the secret of his private collection.

Warnings — oral (female receiving), dismembered bodies, disrespect to the dead, entrapment, plots of killing, serial killer vibes, Steve being a calm psycho. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.

Word Count — 5.4K

A/N — Story #1 for my FREAKtober Fest. The fic was heavily inspired by the movie itself and House of Wax. I'm happy to finally explore Steve's character in writing and I must say, I enjoyed every bit of it. The title was taken from the song You.

Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp

Shout out to @vellicore and @sgt-seabass for bouncing ideas with me and being my beta.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

They didn’t come.

It was all you could think about as almost 2 hours had passed since your grad show started. Despite your parents’ — mostly your mom’s — disapproval of pursuing an arts program, you still invited them to the show. You hoped that if they saw what you were truly doing, they would understand your passion for paints and charcoal.

But it was a long shot, and you knew that. Though at least you tried…right?

You envy your classmates who carry bouquets while they present their artwork to their families and strangers alike. You were lucky enough to have a few come by your cubicle, delighted to explain the medium and process of your work. Some seemed genuinely intrigued while others, you can tell, only came by and endured your talk for the free stickers you offered at the end of your spiels.

Another hour passes by and you look up front when you hear an announcement being made by your instructor; a class photo. You’re reluctant to join, seeing no value in such a thing to be done as it’s obvious that once the day ends, they will be strangers once again. But another adamant call from your instructor has you heading to the front, a frown forming on your face when you’re pushed at the back, towered by your classmates—unseen once more. 

As parents and several others grab the opportunity to take a photo, your eyes suddenly divert back to your cubicle when you see someone looking over at your main art piece. You can’t put a pin on his face but you know you’ve seen him before. 

Once the group photo has ended, you immediately head back to your spot, catching the familiar stranger taking one of your stickers as well as a business card that sits beside it. It’s when you finally recognize him—and you’re in utter shock that he would be looking at your work. He finally notices you, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. 

“Hi.” He begins, “I’m—”

“You’re Steve Kemp.” You finish for him, the confidence you suddenly displayed startling the both of you. But you push on when you see a smile of amusement on his face, taking his hand to shake. “You’re the famous art collector.” You wouldn’t have known it was him with how dressed down he looked with the corduroy jacket and navy jeans, but you’ve seen his face several times in art articles that you wouldn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous.” He humbles himself but he lacks the conviction to make it believable. “I think I’m just skilled in finding pretty things—like this one.” He gestures towards your charcoal painting, the look of interest evident on his face. “What compelled you to incorporate a whale and an astronaut? What’s the story behind it?”

His question makes you smile. Maybe he is interested, you think to yourself and look towards your artwork before diving deep into your answer. 

“The artwork was inspired by the 52 Hertz Whale.” You begin. “Just to give you a little background; out of all the whale species, it’s the only one that makes a call with such a distinct pitch. Researchers had guessed that it could be a hybrid of two whale species but any attempts to search for the creature for further study have failed. Though some have been saying that it’s not a whale but an entirely different animal.

“Loneliness was the main theme of the piece—just like the whale, if it truly exists, it is alone in the vast sea; with no family to call its own and with it being different from the others, no one would listen or understand their cries. Akin to the lonely astronaut floating in the endless void of space. Though the flowers and the seagull represent hope and freedom—that one day, everything they thought to be true would change, that someone is there to listen and welcome them in their arms.”

You feel yourself shiver and your heart race as you end your interpretation. How the art piece truly mirrors your life and your cry for recognition from the people who truly matter. You try your best not to shed the tears that well in your eyes, presenting the collector with a smile and hoping he sees it as passion and confidence. 

But the look on his face startles you; there’s no judgment but you see a hint of amusement in his sapphire eyes. You think he’s about to say something, to comment on what you said, instead, he looks back at the artwork, seemingly appraising it. 

“How much?” The question stuns you. Did you hear correctly?

“I’m sorry?” 

“I want to buy your art piece.” He expounds. “How much are you selling it for?”

That’s the last thing you expected to be asked in a college grad show. Was he seriously wanting to purchase it? You try to answer, to tell him that you’re not really looking for buyers nor expecting to sell any of your work but no words come out of your mouth, still taken aback by his surprising inquiry.

“I don’t—” You stutter. “I’m not really—”

The chuckle he makes has you pulling on the cuffs of your oversized flannel, feeling slightly anxious at the thought that he’s making fun of your state of shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says with a smile, one that you mimic if only to ease the tension building within you. “But I am serious. I do want to buy it.”

Still, you don’t know what to say. Do you just give him an amount and call it a day?

“Why don’t you sit on it? Let’s say two days and I can give you a call for your price.” He holds up your business card between two fingers, the smile on his face turning into a playful smirk. “What do you say?”

Under-dressed.

Not that it was a concern you realistically should have but the patrons of the bar made you feel as such with the men clad in suit jackets and the women, either in dresses or whatever you call the style of attire that was classier than your hoodie-jeans-sneakers combo. At least you brought a coat—that’s fancy enough, right?

You nurse your Bellini cocktail and thumb through your phone while waiting for Steve, popping your conversation thread with him every second or two just to assure yourself that he confirmed, or rather, planned the night of drinks to discuss your “Lonely Whale” piece as he coined it. It seemed odd at first but his determination was what compelled you to agree to meet him. 

The hiss of the straw fills your ears as you suck the last dregs of your drink. You shouldn’t have come early, you tell yourself, then you wouldn’t need to order another glass to accompany you on your wait. 

“Need a top-up?” A familiar voice from behind startles you and you look up to see Steve, decorated in a maroon wool sweater and that tantalizing smile he seems to always have. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad coming here to this part of town.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the booth. 

You scoot over to give him room, surprised that he didn’t take the one across from you. “Please, don’t be sorry. I wasn’t waiting long.” You assure him with a soft smile, tapping a finger on the rim of your glass. “The drink kept me company.”

“Are they any good?” He asks but he’s already called the attention of a server before you can even reply. He orders a Bloody Mary—quite peculiar, you think, but you’re not one to judge someone's preference. “And the lady will have another, please.” 

Silence envelops the both of you as you wait for the drinks to arrive, feeling shy and anxious when he rests his arm against the back of the booth and turns in his seat to face you. You’re not used to being seen yet here’s this man, well-known in the field you didn’t think to excel in giving you such unwarranted attention. 

“Uhmm, so I asked my instructor about the painting,” you begin as you try to break the ice, “and he said that—” but stop when he shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. 

You think he’s playing at your lack of knowledge of these types of transactions that it makes you second-guess your words. Maybe you should have come off more confident and prevented showing him an inkling of your cluelessness. But the smile he sends your way speaks of something different. There is no presence of ill-intent yet you still keep your guard up. 

“We can talk business later. I’d like to get to know the artist more first.” He says and for some reason, it could be how comfortable he seems to be around you, that you nod at his request, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Giggling. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done it but you guess after 4 glasses of the Bellini and a sip of his Bloody Mary, anyone would be in a lighter and more carefree mood. Just like how you are. 

The anxiety that filled you when you first walked into the bar seems non-existent with how well Steve carries a conversation. He listened to you complain and laughed at your sarcastic comments, throwing back another to keep the exchange alive. There was no dull moment to be recorded, only understanding when you shared the struggle of an art student living in a fast-paced environment. He’s probably the first person in your life who knows almost everything there is to know about you and even if he is a total stranger, he feels more familiar than any other. 

The night rolls by quicker than you’d hoped and the next thing you know you’re in his car, the alcohol messing with you as you begin belting out garbled lyrics to an Adele song. You’ve never felt so free and relaxed, and who would have thought you’d find it in someone who simply wants to buy your art project? 

You arrive shortly at your apartment building, a curious thought passing through your head as you don’t recall typing in your address in the GPS. But it goes just as quickly as it came when the passenger door is opened and Steve holds out a hand to help you out. 

He says your name, the syllables rolling like honey on his tongue and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way the moon shines against his face, but you truly notice how his sapphire eyes glow brighter with how close he stands to you, his cologne permeating your senses and his warmth mixing with yours, keeping away the cold autumn breeze of the night that surrounds the both of you. 

“I had a lovely evening.” He breathes, allowing him to take your hand in his. “And I don’t want it to end just yet.”

And it doesn’t. 

You invite Steve into your apartment for coffee, something to help completely sober him up and drive home safe. But as soon as you close the door and toe off your shoes, his hands are on your face and his lips capture yours, a soft grunt escaping you when he presses you against the door. You’re too stunned to process that he’s kissing you, only finally realizing it when he breaks the kiss and looks at you with his eyes so blue. 

You think he’s about to speak, to apologize for his forwardness, but instead he smiles while his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. You don’t understand what he sees in you to warrant such soft affection, or to even consider you as someone to kiss. 

He leans closer once more, this time you sense the apprehension in his movements and with the way his eyes linger on your face. You shut your brain off completely, not wanting reason and rationality to stop whatever force that was pulling you together. So you meet him halfway, hands resting against his chest when you press your lips against his, a moan escaping you as when you feel him pull you further into the kiss. 

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement with the way his wet muscle caressed your own and how his lips wrestle you into a passionate exchange. He chuckles when he bumps against a side table while walking backwards, blindly into the living room, hands pawing at each other, groping, touching, and you lift up his sweater as the desire to feel his skin blooms in your head. 

But he doesn’t give you that chance as you drop back onto your loveseat couch, Steve’s hands pushing up your hoodie to expose the tank top hidden within. His fingers tickle your skin, teasing, taunting, and in one swift move he pulls down the cups of your bra having your tits spill out from them. 

Mewls and moans are the only sounds that leave your lips, coherent words nonexistent with how his lips wrap around a mound, sucking, licking, and dampening the fabric to expose your stiff nipples which he gives his undivided attention to. You try to reach for him, to at least make sure that this is all real and not a dream, but his hands take yours, preventing you from even running your finger through his dark hair, the act only heightening your senses further. 

But his venture to your breasts eventually stops and you look down at him when he trails butterfly kisses against your stomach, hands releasing yours only to undo the button and fly of your jeans. The garment flies but your panties stay, and you swear you could almost combust just from the way he looks at you—his eyes swirling with hunger, eagerness, and desperation for a taste. 

Slowly, he trails kisses against your inner thighs, lips, and teeth meeting skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to feel. The nervousness swirls around you like twine, making your heart beat loudly against your chest as everything feels too new, too alien, despite this no longer being your first. But you’ve never encountered anyone as captivating as Steve and you feel as if he would run away once he sees you completely. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers into the air, his warm breath grazing against your heated core. 

It’s only then you comprehend what he’s done, your panties pushed to the side to expose you completely before him and all at once you feel your body burn when he laves his tongue against your pussy lips, gentle at first, testing the waters which shift to intent as he pushes them apart with his fingers, your sacred bud caressed by his expert tongue. 

You whisper his name as he begins delving into your pussy, strong hands keeping your thighs apart and pushing them down against the couch with his groans of pleasure filling your ears and fueling your desire for him. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair which you end up grabbing as a gasp is pulled from your lungs when he begins to suck your clit. 

The room feels like it's spinning with the ecstasy that climbs higher within your body, your senses no longer feeling like your own as Steve pushes on with his pursuit, his mouth dancing beautifully against your clit, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. But he stops, and a small wave of panic arises in your chest. Though it washes away like footprints on the sand when he ventures lower, his thumb taking purchase of your clit, rolling and adding pressure while his mouth ventures lower, teasing your slit at first before slowly pushing inside. 

Oh, how your body sings. Your back arches from the coach and you call out his name, louder this time, turning into a moaning mess as his regard to your cunt never wavers. You then feel the dam filling up at the pit of your stomach and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, encouraging—no—pushing him to pull you over the edge. 

“Steve—” It’s all you manage to say, your breath catching in your throat. 

His actions then become erratic, as if he can feel you teetering towards your peak, pulling you more to his mouth and devouring you whole. Sloppy, wet sounds of his mouth echo from below your waist, Steve letting out a low and guttural growl which only sets you ablaze. His thumb pushes more onto your clit, the pressure digging into your pelvis and finally having the dam at the pit of your abdomen burst.

Your body shakes and you grab onto Steve as your pussy walls flutter from your release, choking a sob as your sweet essence flows out of you. His awaiting mouth then laps each and every drop you offer, the sensation making you shiver yet at the same time cocoons you in euphoric bliss. 

The alcohol in your system then appears, mixing with the pleasure that continues to loom around you, and your eyes begin to droop, a smile forming on your lips. Your limbs ache deliciously, cunt buzzing from the orgasm that has taken over. You feel tired all of a sudden but happy at the same time and you forget all, even Steve, as you’re ready to end the night with such a good note. 

But a tap on your thigh pulls you from the serene moment, startling slightly to see Steve looking down at you with a grin painted on his face. “Stay awake, Baby.” He says, his hand running up your side and grabbing the hem of your hoodie. “I’m not yet done with you.”

Nervous.

It’s all you feel as you stand outside of Steve’s home—if you could even call it that. With the modern exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows of the one-story home, you’d think you’re about to enter a museum. But it’s only reasonable for him to have such a lavish abode; he is an art collector after all. 

“You okay?” You turn your head to the side to face him when he stands beside you, his warmth brushing against your skin as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“A bit—but more excited really.” You tell him, the giddiness of seeing his private collection dominating the restlessness you felt earlier. 

“Only the people who matter have seen it.” The smile he gives you is so contagious that you give one back and follow him inside his home.

After the night spent at your apartment, your life slowly revolved around Steve. Mornings begin and nights end with him and his attentiveness—one that you found more endearing than suffocating, as what some people you assume would say if they knew of your relationship. 

You don’t even know if you both have a relationship as neither of you discussed anything about labels, simply enjoying each other’s company. But you know that Steve has rooted himself deep in you, and you know that no matter how hard you try if anything comes that would sever you both, you’d have a hard time letting him go. Steve is the only one who has truly seen you and accepted you as you are.

A chill brushes your skin when you pass through the threshold of his home which has you pulling your knitted jacket more around your frame for warmth, and the first thing you see are the gallery lights mounted on the wall, with each one shining down on art pieces of different forms. The ones that stand by the door are wax figures of a woman’s pair of legs, one on each side. You look at it closely, the craftsmanship so intricate that you’d think it was real. The ones that come after it are different sets of arms and hands of women, again, each one posed differently and elegantly, as if welcoming you further down the hall.

It gives you pause with how unusual of a collection it is—women’s body parts—but you suppose that the world of art is filled with oddities. There was even one you heard who collects glass eyeballs, not caring if it was worn or not.

What greets you next are several paintings—if you can even call it as such—that litter the wall just the same, though you’ve never seen anything like it; one is of a canvas that houses different strands of hair that form into waves. You’re in awe with how they mimic the raging seas and how detailed and time consuming it must have been to complete. There’s even an image of a boat topped over it, as you inspect closely, you assume is made of leather. 

There’s another like it, though this seemed more like a showcase of all types of tresses, spaced out perfectly in rows of five. Each one portrayed a distinct person, with colors ranging from blonde to black and textures from curly to the straightest you’ve seen. The urge to touch it grows strong, wanting to check if they’re real or not.

“They’re real,” Steve answers your unspoken question, and you turn back to face him, feeling shy all of a sudden when you see him staring at you. “I call it live art.”

“You made this?”

“Oh, no.” He smiles as he nears the artwork, Steve’s hands tucked inside his pockets while he looks up at it. “I had it made. Though I did provide the materials—volunteers donated the hair.” His explanation has you thinking; you never knew people would donate something so personal for art. “I’m hoping to add more to the collection—a prized one that can be my center of attention.” He says and you catch him looking at you from your periphery. 

“What kind of prized piece?” You ask, curiosity nipping at the back of your head. 

“Something I could never get tired of looking at.” The smile he gives you sends a chill up your spine but your mind flows out into a daze when he steps forward and takes your face between his hands, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. “Like you.” He whispers and you can’t help but feel your face heat up with how beautiful he makes you feel. 

“Come on. There’s more in the living room and I wanted to show you where I would place your painting.” He says, giving you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading further inside. But you don’t miss the piece that sits just at the end of the hall; a torso of a woman, the composition almost similar to Alexndros’ Venus de Milo, except this one was missing its head. 

The living room is a sunken living room and it’s just as exquisite as the front of the house with paintings and figurines scattered in an organized fashion. Two couches sit on either side of a low table with a small cart that holds an array of spirits. You look around, mesmerized at the beauty he keeps within but stop when you notice a small greek style column sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the unusual fixture. 

“That’s just a chair a friend of mine made.” He responds while pouring the both of you some drinks. “It’s pretty cozy even if it’s made out of stone. Why don’t you try it out? Pretend you’re an art piece.” He urges and the giddiness you feel allows you to humor him. 

Soft jazz music then begins to play as you run your hand against the top, having a feel of the material before you take a seat, grabbing onto the sides to properly set yourself on top of it. The smile you catch on Steve’s face is wide as he approaches you and hands you your drink, his hand reaching up to caress your face. 

“You look perfect on it.” He sips on his drink and so do you. 

You can’t help but look at his eyes, how soft they look yet full of amidst the muted lighting that surrounds the both of you. You feel his hands continue to linger on your skin, resting gently on your shoulder with his thumb caressing the expanse of your neck. 

“Dance with me.” 

It’s all he says and you don’t have time to respond when he takes the glass from your grasp, setting both of them on the shelf that stands nearby and he reaches for you, his hands taking yours and placing them over his shoulders while his own finds purchase around your waist.

It feels like you’re walking on clouds with how he sways the both of you, his movements in sync with the music that fills the air. He holds you close, feeling his fingers drumming lightly on your back and how your feet follow him aimlessly, blindly with each step he makes. You’re suddenly aware of the intimacy that slowly winds the both of you, much different from the times he’s slept on your bed, and you feel shy, eyes casting down to stare at the edge of his navy turtleneck.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” He breathes softly, tilting your head back when he pinches your chin and feeling the warmth of his breath ghost against your lips. “I want to see you.”

Giddy.

It’s the only feeling you describe as soon as you wake up, your body sore but in a good way and the sheets atop the mattress warm, not just because of you but from the man that sleeps soundly at your side. You turn to face Steve and examine his face, his beautiful pointed nose and his dark hair askew from the pillow underneath his head. 

You couldn’t believe your luck that someone like him would find interest in someone like you. You must have done something good in your previous life to feel such happiness that the neglect and disapproval you once received from the people you expected to love you is being provided by someone you’ve barely known for a week. 

Good things come to an end, you hear the pessimist in you say but you push it down, deep down where you cannot hear its cry. You’re going to enjoy this, whatever this is, and if time comes that it should indeed come to a stop—well, you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 

You move to cuddle closer to Steve, wanting to feel more of his warmth but it’s interrupted by your need for relief that you settle on placing a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the bed and find the restroom.

Washing your hands when you finish, you find a robe hanging at the back of the door and boldly take it, putting it around you to shield you from the cold that continues to circulate within the house and venture back to his room—back to Steve’s arms. Except the lone light that shines in the darkness catches your eyes and you glance towards the bedroom. You don’t want to be caught snooping but the call of the void is too strong for you to ignore. 

Silently, you pad down the hall and find yourself face to face with a staircase that leads to a closed door. Must be the basement, you think to yourself, taking one step at a time, you descend to your destination. You hesitate to hold the knob, not wanting to spoil your welcome but you soldier on, pushing through the barrier. 

A row of yellow muted light illuminates the entryway, and you see nothing but several black barrels neatly pushed against the wall and a few scrubs hanging from mounted hooks. You thought you would see more artwork but are left disappointed, deciding to turn back but the white light at the end of the room stops you, curiosity once more taking over your senses.

Fear then grips you tight when you step into the light, hands flying to your mouth and a gasp unwillingly escaping you when you see a woman laid down on a metal table with her lower half missing and her head free of her scalp. What hangs on the wall makes your stomach turn even further, body parts—arms, legs and a severed head coated in something you can only assume to be wax.

You run. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you make it back again to the door and close it as quietly as you can, not wanting to awaken your host—a monster you never thought him to be. Carefully, though quickly, you climb the steps and the only thing you could think of is to leave and run as far as you can where he cannot find you. 

Relief slowly washes over you when you get to the last step. Now all you have to do is go—call the authorities and—your thoughts take a dive when you feel someone grab you by the waist, trapping your arms along with it and a hand covering over your mouth as well as your nose.

“Where were you, Baby?” Steve’s calm voice forms from behind and your panic only rises further. You struggle against his hold, flailing as much as you can for him to let you go but he’s too strong and you feel the tears spill from your eyes as you think that this is the end. He’s caught you. You’re going to die. 

“You never should have seen that.” He simply says and you grunt when a stabbing pain forms on your neck, a cool sensation flowing through your veins. 

It’s then that he lets you go, your hand flying to where you felt the sting before turning to look at him. What did he do to you? You notice the syringe in his hand. Is it poison? Your vision almost instantly goes blurry, your limbs heavy and you drop to the floor, eyes cast to the ceiling as you try to make out your current state. The last thing you see is Steve, a sinister smile on his face and incoherent words coming from his lips before everything goes dark. 

You’re dead.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you come to. Everything slowly comes into clarity; the room you’re in is somewhere you’ve not been and the cool metal you feel around your ankle only solidifies the fact that he’s successfully trapped you in the hell he dwells in.

A door opens and closes and you curl up small on the bed you lay in to hide yourself from him. You’re crying once again a multitude of emotions surge from within—is it fear? Hopelessness? Anger? Towards him for lying to you or to yourself for believing him. 

“I never wanted you to find out this way.” He sighs. “I never wanted you to find out at all.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You can’t help but ask, even though you know what the answer is.

“Not yet.” His calm in his voice brings a chill to your spine. “Despite what you believe, I meant what I said; you matter to—”

“Stop lying to me!” You shout and sit up from the bed, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it at him. “Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this?! Why me?!” You shout, the anger that was settling in your bones turns into a raging fire. You go to lunge for him, wanting to rip his skin with your bare hands but the cuff on your foot stops you, making you fall to the ground in front of him. 

He tuts and you see his leather shoes in front of you. A groan then leaves your tongue when he grabs you by your face, your hand taking hold of his wrist as you try to pull away from him. But he only pinches tighter, making you shout in pain that fades all too quickly when he shakes you and makes you face him dead in the eyes.

“The more you fight, the harder it’ll be.” He snips. “I enjoy you a lot—don’t make me kill you so soon.”

“Just fucking do it!” You spit. “Do it! Kill me now!”

The laugh he gives you is menacing. He shakes his head, his other hand moving to run his finger on the side of your face. You see the darkness swirling around the sapphires of his eyes and you question yourself why, for the many times he’s stared at you, you’ve never seen it before. 

“Soon.” He promises. “For now, I’ll keep you. I don’t mind that column being empty just a little longer.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for tricking my grandma into misgendering her cat?

Background: my (19F) grandma (67F) is a southern baptist and pretty conservative. My cousin (Matt, 24M) is trans, he came out to his parents and mine about two years ago because he knew we would be supportive, but he waited until he was on T a couple months and was mostly transitioned socially before he officially came out to our less supportive relatives, like my grandma.

Since Matt came out to everyone else (which he did by showing up at family Christmas with a “hello my name is” sticker on, which I thought was hilarious) my grandma has refused to use his correct pronouns, name, or anything, saying “it’s hard to switch” as an excuse. Matt has cut off contact and everyone else in the family just kind of avoids talking about him around her.

I am in a weird situation because my family lives the next street over from where she does, and we have always been pretty close. Since she started being so shitty about Matt, though, I’ve put more distance and just stay polite when she’s over.

Okay so now to the AITA part. About two months ago my grandma wanted to adopt a cat, and my best friend volunteers at an animal shelter so we were helping her. We showed her pictures of some of the cats and she saw an older male who was all black with longer fur and said she wanted to adopt “her.” I started to correct her saying it was a male cat, and then realized the opportunity I had so I kept my mouth shut. I made a point to handle all the adoption stuff for my grandma so she never saw anything indicating the cat’s male-ness, and then brought home her new “female” cat, pink collar and all.

Last week “Miss Kitty” (such a creative name) got a paw injury and at the vet they told my grandma the cat was male. My grandma told me and my parents about it when she was over for the Fourth of July (we had family and friends over for barbecue, including Matt’s parents). I made a point from there on to continue using “she” for the cat and still calling “Miss Kitty” instead of “Mister Kitty.” It took her a minute to notice but finally she called me out and said “he’s a boy, stop saying she.”

I immediately snapped back with “oh so it’s easy for you to switch the name and pronouns of your cat but not your own grandson?” Everyone got quiet and she got all flustered, trying to say it’s different, but I just said “oh okay, so you put more effort into using the right words for a cat who doesn’t even know English, got it.”

My mom told me to stop and leave it alone. I said “I’m just saying, it’s pretty clear who she cares about more.” And then my mom told me to leave the table if I was going to act like that. I just got up and took my plate in the kitchen and finished eating.

After everyone left my mom lit into me and told me that what I said was cruel. I said I was just teaching her a lesson and that maybe now she would think about it different. My mom said that I just made things worse and humiliated her on purpose in front of everyone. My dad had been quiet but then just started laughing. He realized that I had been playing the long game, and it wasn’t a mix up at the shelter- I led my grandma to believe the cat was female. He basically said “that was wrong but also hilarious” and now my mom is mad at both me and my dad. When Matt’s parents told him he thought it was super funny and said he isn’t mad at all.

My mom wants me to apologize, but I am not sorry about what I said. I don’t know if I should feel bad about tricking my grandma, because I didn’t technically outright lie, I just didn’t correct her when she assumed the cat was female. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[crying-wolves]

🪻 ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴀᴛʀᴇ ᴇᴍᴘʟᴏʏᴇᴇ!ᴀʙʙʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ 🪻

cw: 18+ MDNI!!! little bit of richgirl!abby, anxious!abby, little bit of loser!abby but i’ll let you be the judge of that, alt!reader, reader w/ tattoos + piercings, reader doesn’t care about their job, abby and reader are, like, 18 - 20, mostly fluff, petty theft, minor drug use (abby and reader get a teensy bit high), nsfw under the cut!

a/n: this is ENTIRELY self-indulgent cause i work at the movies and i think i would've liked my job better if Abby was there with me :) thank u so much for reading i love u so much i hope u enjoy &lt;3

wc: 1.3k (a lot longer than i was expecting pls forgive me)

not proofread! im so eepy

dividers by @cafekitsune !

🪻movie theater employee!abby whose family is, as she likes to put it, ‘relatively well off’, so she’s never had to get a summer job before… 

…but when her father emails her an application from their local theater, going on and on and on about how she could manage to learn a thing or two about responsibility and time management and a hundred other things she’s apparently lacking in, she doesn’t see any other option but to piece together a meager resume and send it in.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who gets a response back almost immediately, because they’re just that desperate for new hires.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who shows up to her interview the next week in pressed black dress slacks and a perfectly ironed blue button-up, only to be met with the hiring manager’s tattered black jeans and stained work shirt.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who’s nervous as fuck during the interview and thinks that she’s taking too long to answer simple questions and tripping over her words, but the manager hires her on the spot, in like, 10 minutes.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who calls her dad on the ride back home to tell him the good news, is met with balloons that say ‘congrats!’ in big sparkly letters on the front and her favorite take-out when she steps through the front door.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who arrives on her first day on the job 20 minutes early. Spotless, bustling with excitement, and so, so unprepared to deal with all that’ll happen in the day.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who is introduced to you, after you arrive 10 minutes late, fruity energy drink in hand and sunglasses still hanging on the tip of your nose as your new trainee.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who initially thinks she’ll evaporate in the stuffy heat behind the concessions counter, suddenly feels an icy-cool wave move through her body when you shoot her a lopsided smile.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who can hardly hear a word you say as you explain what all the buttons on the register screen do… 

…‘cause she’s too focused on the way your work pants cling to your thighs and flare out at the bottom. on the pretty tattoos sneaking up and down your right arm. on the shiny lip ring that a part of her strangely wants to lick at–

🪻movie theater employee!abby who squeaks out a “yep, yeah! uh, got it!” when you ask her if she has any questions.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who definitely does not got it. Not one fuckin’ bit.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who fucks up a whole lot, at first, and manages to oversalt a batch of popcorn, stock too much of the same candy, overcharge 3 separate customers, spill a strawberry soda all over the counter, get scolded by 2 old men, and burn herself on the hotdog grill.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who smells like butter and exhaustion by the end of her 4 hour shift, but brightens up when you tap a star-shaped sticker onto her shirt and mumble out an amused “see you tomorrow, trainee.”

🪻movie theater employee!abby who realizes she has to do this all tomorrow again and lets out a shaky sigh on the way back to her car

🪻movie theater employee!abby who’s slowly getting the hang of it after a few weeks at the theater…

…getting compliments from customers, multitasking between different orders, knowing the back room as well as she does the flavors of the drinks you silently sip during your shifts.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who’s a little enthralled by you, even if you don’t really notice it.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who’s too afraid to ask for your number, so scours instagram for your contact instead.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who throws her phone across her bedroom when you finally follow her back one night.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who super smoothly asks you when you’re working so she can try to arrive at her shifts when you go on break.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who freezes up when you invite her over to the park bench in front of the theater and offer her some cajun fries and a hit from your cart.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who takes you up on both offers, because she’s starving and she wants you to think she’s cool.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who takes a bigger hit than you were expecting and is a little confused when you giggle at her sudden coughing.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who spends the next 7 hours of her shift trying to act normal, but sees you trying not to bust out laughing in the corner of her eye every few minutes.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who gets a lot closer to you after that…

…who watches you undercharge a frazzled mother on her kid’s birthday, and doesn’t say anything to the supervisor. who sees you swipe a few chocolate bars from the candy cart to give to a group of kids in the arcade. who is certain of your favorite slushie flavor because your lips are always some different color everytime you come back from your too-long bathroom breaks.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who argues about which book-to-movie adaptation is the absolute best when the day’s going by slowly.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who sneaks into different showrooms where the movie has already been playing for a while with you so you guys can guess what’s happened in the plot before.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who hides with you in the stockroom to take a break from the yelling customers and screaming kids every once in a while.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who traces the outlines of your tattoos, all heart-eyed while she’s listening to you talk about the new superhero movie that just came out a week ago.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who places a hand at the small of your back when she has to squeeze by you to grab a bucket of popcorn for a customer.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who gets a little green with jealousy when a customer compliments your piercings or makes a joke that really isn’t that funny to begin with, but you laugh anyways cause you’re required to be cordial with them.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who’s so stupidly thrilled when you kiss her after a rough closing shift and can hardly breath when she climbs into her car to drive herself home.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who is so very happy that her dad convinced her to get this stupid job in the first place.

SMUT UNDER THE CUT ! 18+ MDNI!

🪻movie theater employee!abby who lets you eat her out in the tiny bathroom stall in the women’s room on nights when the theater is dead… 

…your left hand squeezing at her tits, your right stretching her left leg over your shoulder. She looks down at you, panting, shuddering, trying and failing to conceal the little huffs and content sighs that fall from her lips every time your tongue swipes against a particularly sensitive spot.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who makes out with you in the backseat of her car when your breaks coincide, and whines in pleasure as you grind your clothed cunt against her covered thigh.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who can feel her hand start to shake and her throat go dry as she scurries to the back when you call her from your bedroom, voice all pitched-up and needy, while on your day off. Words strained and quickening wet sounds coming from your background.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who almost gasps when you two are the only ones working the concessions counter and she feels your hand slide from her lower back to squeeze her ass.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who’s obsessed with the way you watch her expressions as you slowly finger her in the empty break room.

🪻movie theater employee!abby who hates that she won’t see you until next summer, but has a million different secret pictures and texts from you that she has saved in a locked file on her phone to get her through the year <3

[amartianonmars]

They're all very supportive <3

Description under the cut

[Image ID: a four panel comic drawn mostly in greyscale. The first panel is of John Twinkletits with his robotic arms holding a notepad and pen. He says "So, we've made significant progress over the last 10 hours today. Now, I don't want to pressure you, but do you think you can at least accept yourself for who you are?"

The second panel is of William Murderface glancing at Twinkletits, leaning on the arm rest of a couch with his left arm and actively stabbing the cushion with his right hand. He is covered in several banana stickers from the waist up, including one in his hair and on his face. He tells Twinkletits, "Dunno, schtill think there'sch no reason for me to.."

The third panel zooms out of the last scene to reveal that Pickles the Drummer was sitting besides Murderface on the couch, which now displays several stab marks. Pickles is glaring at Murderface, arms crossed over his chest and head cocked forward with a scowl directed at Murderface. " For (guitar sfx) sake Murderface!" he says, " If you come out you can say the 'f' word, okay?" Murderface visibly contemplates what Pickles had just said, stabbing his knife fully into the couch as Pickle mutters 'Jesus Christ' under his breath.

The fourth panel is of Murderface waving around 2 pistols excitedly, his eyes closed and mouth open in a state of glee, with another banana sticker now appearing in his hair. He's wearing a shirt with a pride flag on it with the words 'Dick over chicks' spelled across the chest, the 'I' in the word 'dick' being replaced with a penis. He screams out excitedly "Hey FAGGOTSch, guess whosch GAY?!" Pickles stands behind him in support, waving a small rainbow flag with a 'woo'. They're standing in front of a background of rainbow stars.

The last panel is of Nathan Explosion, Toki Wartooth, and Skwisgaard Skwidelf all gathered in the hot top. Nathan is holding a beer, looking off to the side in disinterest and mutters, "Don't. Care." Toki, who's standing of the left of him with his back turned towards him, looking at Pickles and Murderface, exclaims "Oh! Gratulerer! Congrakulations!" Skwisgaard, plays his guitar with disinterest, mostly submerged under the water as he states plainly, 'Wes alreadys knews". In the background, Murderface is scene shooting the guns, while Pickles starts drinking a bottle of beer rapidly. End ID]

[angsthology]

“i don’t have a problem!” — or an alt title: roo definitely “doesn’t” have a problem

just a little predicament

a/n ended up not liking this much

THE KANGAROO(KIE) VS. THE WORLD

in truth, like every memory she has, it was all a blur.

(should she get her brain checked? maybe. but that’s a conversation for later—if she remembers.)

one moment she was walking innocently with her little snoopy water bottle (that once had am alfa romeo logo on it but fred eventually gave up on trying to remove the stickers she had put over it) on her right hand and her phone on her left; deathly focus on the game on her screen.

next, she was shoved—gently but firmly, surprisingly—onto a chair in a dark room. now only one light turned on above her eyes making her squint. wait —are her hands tied?

then a scold came from the dark, but she doesn’t think it was exactly directed at her.

“what—no! what’s wrong with you? you’ll hurt her eyes! turn on all the lights properly.”

…george?

the lights then turned on properly.

woah. so crowded.

she scrunched her brows together in confusion.

“what’s going on?” she asked a bit quietly.

“we need to talk—” the brit started.

“you have a problem!” a french accent interrupted.

“—mate!” he scolded the alphatauri driver.

said man shrugged, “i am not wasting any more time on this, she needs to know.”

“know what?” she asked.

“here’s the thing kid—”

“we need to talk about your… m problem.” the french whispered the last part.

m problem? she was so confused, she said the first thing that came to her mind, “menstruation?”

suddenly all the men in the room frantically answered together in a strings of ‘no’s and defenses saying it has nothing to do with that m.

“okay so… what?” she paused, “and where is nando?”

the monégasque in the back with his arms crossed scrunches his brows, “what’s he got to do with this?” he whispers mostly to himself.

“nando is getting taken care of.” george answered shortly.

“YOU’RE KILLING HIM?”

he shook back, “what– no! he’s fine! —well…”

“GEORGE.”

“he’s with lando!” he raised his hands in defense quickly.

“THAT’S WORSE!” she cried.

in response, the monégasque in the back couldn’t help but snort.

“russell! we are getting off-topic.” complained the french driver.

said man cleared his throat, “right. thank you, pierre.”

“you can thank me by speeding this up.”

george ignores him, eyes back on the girl on the chair looking up at him with clueless eyes.

“you have a mahjong problem.”

she scrunches her brows, “what—problem? i don’t have a problem.”

“yes you do.”

“name one time—”

suddenly a new voice emerged from the side, “okay! grid picture, three weeks ago.”

“alex?”

“that’s me alright! —yeah, remember when you tried to remove me.”

she scoffed, she was about to say something but he beat her to it.

everyone was getting called one by one to be placed in their spots in the frame when the two williams driver stood on opposite ends of the line as they were to wait for more instructions from the photographer when suddenly the—not yet called for—alfa romeo driver walks over to nicholas and without uttering a word, pushed him out of the lineup—he could’ve been offended, but truth be told he was far too busy being confused—then proceeded to move to the other side of the line towards his teammate.

the photographer, previously focused on his work, took a step back when he saw the woman running around just to see what was happening.

the girl—like she had done with latifi—pushed the thai driver out of the line up and steps back to see the full picture.

“mahjong match…” she mumbled under her breath.

“oh, please, you’re just bringin’ stuff up. latifi’s over it!” she raised her hand to point towards the canadian driver.

the attention moved to said driver, he lift both his hands in surrender, “jury’s still out.”

they all then turn back to her accusingly.

then, carlos—completely spawned in out of nowhere—opens his mouth, “i mean; i don’t think you have a problem, cariño—”

“butt out, kiss ass.” alex glared at the spaniard, resulting in the latter to throw his hands up in surrender.

roo rolled her eyes, “whatever! it was just that one time, doesn’t make it a problem!” she defended.

only, her defense was cut by a too-familiar voice. “oh, it’s already a problem.”

her eyes almost popped out of their sockets at the person who showed.

“NIKA?! you’re part of this?” she exclaimed.

said girl uncrossed her arms and walked over to her friend tied to the chair.

she rolls her eyes, “when it involves my stuff, yes i’m a part of it.”

at that, the driver on the chair blinks. she inhaled as if she was about to say something but stopped herself short, closing her mouth shut again. she blinks again, eyes then looking around as if to find something.

“…right.” she looks up at her friend.

she nodded with pursed lips, “yeah.”

nika was calmly scrolling through twitter on her laptop with the glee soundtrack playing in the background when she was—harshly, rudely interrupted with a person slamming the door open into her room.

she screamed, closing her laptop shut and throwing away.

—okay, but it wasn’t like she was looking at anything bad… she was just embarrassed (for some reason) and panicked.

“can i borrow your keyboard thanks.”

the girl didn’t spare a second or wait for an answer from her friend before sitting down on her organized desk right besides her friend’s bed where her the white and pink bluetooth keyboard was placed.

when she finally recovered from the shock, nika whipped to the side and glared at her racer friend (that was in her own world).

“pineapples!” she scolded—eyes widening when she sees her removing both of her shift keys from each side, “what the hell are you doing?!”

at that, the girl did a double take at her friend before stopping. “oh, hi nika.”

she then looked back towards the keyboard in front of her then to the two keys in her hand to the missing ones on the keyboard.

It was still quiet besides the music in the background, nika still looked at her friend a bit angrily but also mostly confused and waiting for an answer or anything from her while roo herself was practically spacing out.

she didn’t re-address it, instead look towards her friend, “what do you think of having filipino food for dinner?”

nika clicked her tongue at the slide of topics, eyes blinking back in somewhat surrender, “uh, sure.” she shrugged.

With that, the driver replied an audible ‘okay’ before getting up and leaving.

“wait! but my key— oh whatever.” nika tried before giving up and dropping back to her bed.

“ohh…” the alfa romeo driver nodded in realization.

at that, nika jutted her chin forward with an ‘you are unbelievable’ expression. “yeah! ‘oh’, bitch.” she barked.

george then swoops in grabbing the younger girl by her shoulders from the back and gently pulling her away muttering; “alright you’re too close to this.” before handing her over to a slightly cautious charles.

then pierre got her attention, “you have a problem.” he stressed, again.

“oh hoot, what’s your problem why so personal?” roo barked back at the french. “are you still pissed at me from that lake trip?”

“no!” he answered a little too quickly and too aggressively for it to actually be a no.

george quickly swooped in—again—and shooed pierre away before a cat fight could start between the two. “can we wrap this up? i have people who are looking for me.”

“cops?” alex remarked.

“the fbi?” roo chimed in.

they both giggled together at their own jabs.

the target, on the other hand, wasn’t impressed. “i hope you both dnf next race. —whatever! i don’t know why i’m fighting two degenerates like you about this. back to you,” he turned to the girl, “as your punishment for you horrendous behavior–”

“i’m sure i wasn’t that bad…”

“—mahjong or not, you’re a menace.” george cut her back off. “you’ve lost your phone and any other gadget privileges for the next two weeks.” he finished.

her jaw dropped, “WHAT?!” she yelled.

“technology cleanse, it’ll be good for you.” he smiled, hand extending to pat her shoulder only to be caught off-guard by her face snapping to it trying to bite him, treating back his hand with a high-pitched scream escaping his lips.

he gave her one last glare before leaving the room with the rest following behind, charles being the last one to actually bid her goodbye.

then she was alone in the room tied to a chair.

—wait.

she was still tied to a chair.

“guys!” she immediately called out when she realized, “i’m still tied to this chair…” she tried. “…guys?”

later

the alfa romeo driver sighs once more, her face propped up on by her chin on both her hands. she was bored out of her mind.

“what’s wrong, kid?” her trainer popped out of nowhere.

she lifted her head to look at the man, “hey, mikey. nothing, just really bored. mother russell took away my phone.” she complained with an eye roll at the mention of the british driver.

“oh,” he the paused, opening his pockets to fish for something. a second later throwing something fairly small from it.

she didn’t exactly get a heads up but thanks to her racing driver reflexes, she caught it.

a lighter?

she looks up at the man again, one eyebrow raised in question.

“play with that.” he says casually with a smile before making his way elsewhere.

she was still confused but… sure.

lightning up the match, she stopped.

“woah.”

bonus

both men sighed again for the several time the last few minutes.

the older man was about to leave as lando re-checked his phone again to find no signs from the others that he should be done.

damn it.

“alright, kid, i think i’m goin—”

lando immediately scrambled to his feet to pull him back, “wait wait wait!” he grabbed the alpine driver by his shoulders and sat him back down in front of him.

he swore he heard a slight cry coming from fernando.

they just stared at each other for a few seconds—nando looking everywhere but at the mclaren driver in front of him while the latter blanks away to think of something.

when the spaniard looked his way, lando didn’t really know what happened but he was sure the deeper part of his brain came to the front defense for him.

he stared the older man dead in the eye and

“she’ll be coming ‘round the mountain…”

bonus²

not proofread | taglist; @treehouse-mouse @disneyprincemuke @yansbolobao @leilanixx @judespoision @vellicora @bborra @woozarts @yl90 crossed out means i cant tag u

[actuallysaiyan]

hello! any fics/headcanons on dropping by high school nanami’s dorm room would be wonderful 🫶

warnings: mentions of being promoted, Reader and Kento are both 18!!! In their last year of being at JJT, smut, kissing, vaginal fingering, dirty talk word count: 1.6k pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Sorcerer!Reader summary: Kento just found a box set of 1980s Astro Boy and he wants you to come over to watch it with him! a/n: I wasn't sure what you wanted for this, so I took some creative liberties and rolled with it. I wanted it partly smutty and partly fluffy. I hope you all enjoy!

It was a quiet Saturday night in your dorm room. You sit on your bed, watching reruns of your favorite sitcom. Considering this was your last year at Jujutsu Tech, you knew that things would mostly be a breeze. You’ve been on more missions this year than any other year, but it still felt so much easier than training and learning theory. 

Your phone buzzes and your eyes gaze at it for a moment. Then your heart skips a beat when you see who’s sent you a text. Immediately, you open your phone and read the text.

Kento(8:45 pm): Hey are you still around? Or did you leave campus for tonight?

You(8:46 pm): I’m still here. What’s up?

Your heart is racing as you try to come to terms with the fact that your ultimate crush is texting you. You two are close, but he has no idea just how much you’re head over heels for him. He messages you again, mentioning that he’s managed to acquire the DVD box set of Astro Boy from the 1980s. You message him back, asking if you can come over and watch it with him.

Kento(8:50pm): Why don’t you come over right now? I’m just waiting in my dorm.

It doesn’t take much for you to reply that you’ll be over in a few minutes. You throw on a comfy hoodie and you turn off your devices. Then you grab some snacks from your drawer and you head out. With your door locked behind you, you walk down the hallway towards the boys’ side of the dorms. 

You knock on his door, admiring the way he’s placed band stickers and mini posters on it to give it some personality. Your smile spreads further when you see him open the door. He looks really cozy right now; dressed in a band hoodie and some sweatpants.

“Are you ready to watch this with me?” He shows you the box set.

“Fuck yeah! I didn’t even think you’d manage to find it!”

Kento smirks, “I’ve got my sources, darling.”

He invites you inside and you feel immediately at home. It’s so cozy in his dorm room. You’ve been here more times than you can count, considering you two are so close, but this is just so special for you. You place your bag of snacks on the coffee table and you sit on the sofa. Kento joins you, but not before he puts the first disc of Astro Boy into the DVD player. You two are sitting so close together, your knees brush up together.

“Thanks for inviting me over.” you bubble, leaning in close to him.

“It’s really no problem.”

The DVD menu starts up and Kento selects the play all function. Then you both sit back, watching the anime you both had been wanting to see for so long. It has become a bit of a tradition for you and Kento to watch anime together. This time, it felt a bit more intimate somehow. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was like you and him had these feelings just bubbling underneath the surface.

Eventually, he turns to you and offers you a soda. You accept with a smile on your face. Things are quiet and comfortable while in his dorm, until he stretches his arms and wraps one around your shoulders. You lean your head to nuzzle against his as you both continue to watch the show that’s unfolding before you on the screen.

“You know…” he whispers softly. “I’m glad we can still have nights like these.”

You turn to face him, “Me too, Ken. Especially since we both got promoted to Grade one recently.”

This makes both of your stomachs flutter. It was a serious move to be promoted to such a rank, but you two were the exemplary sorcerers for this position. Both you and Kento showed lots of strength, courage and ability. It took little to no time to go from Semi-Grade one to Grade one. And now you both were going on missions together, taking down curses together.

“I need to tell you something,” he finally starts up again. “It’s important.”

You turn to face him fully, your heart racing. He looks so good in just the glow of the television and the soft fairy lights he has strung up over the couch. He smiles sweetly before he cups your chin and his thumb strokes your cheek.

“Even if we end up on different paths,” he leans in closer. “I’ll always love you.”

Without another word, he presses his lips to yours. You feel like butterflies are erupting deep in your tummy. Time almost seems to slow down as you finally gain the courage to kiss him back. Your hands come up to begin playing with his hair. When he pulls away, he rubs his nose against yours.

“You’ve always been my pretty girl, yeah?”

You can’t help but nod. It takes so little effort for him to push you down onto the couch, pinning you there. Despite his slim build, Kento is very strong and muscular. He just hides it well. Then once he has you in the position he wants, he begins to undress you. Your eyes shine in the glow of the TV, and it turns him on even more. Something about this moment is just so special.

“I’m always going to be yours,” you promise as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

He nips softly at the tender flesh, making you moan his name. Your legs wrap around him, wanting nothing more than to be as close to him as possible. He smirks against your skin, knowing just how needy you are for him now. He’s feeling just the same; needy and wanton for the woman he’s fallen for so deeply.

“Can I show you just how much you mean to me?” He asks, his eyes dark with lust.

You smirk, “Oh yeah? How will you do that?”

He’s feeling like you’re challenging him now, and that turns him on even more. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head. You moan at the feeling of him taking complete control of the situation. Then his other hand unclasps your bra and pulls it off completely. Your breasts spring free, bouncing slightly from being freed from their confines. You whine softly; your body heating up at the sensation of being half-naked in front of him.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” He grunts before dipping down to capture one of your nipples into his mouth.

You buck up immediately, wanting nothing more than to bury your fingers in his beautiful blond hair. But he still has you pinned down to the couch, and his tongue is flicking against your nipples. He doesn’t even have to do much to turn you on, but he’s working hard on making you so aroused. He pulls away slightly, blowing air on your erect nubs.

“Pretty girl,” he coos softly. “Such a pretty princess for me.”

You whine again, begging him not to stop. He leans back in, sucking on your tits. He makes it messy and sloppy, nipping and biting at the tender flesh. His intent is now to turn you on and to mark you up. He wants you to see yourself in the mirror tomorrow and to see these love marks. They are the marks you’ll wear on your body to show the world who you belong to.

“Ken, please…”

He chuckles darkly, “What is it, princess?”

You mewl, “Please Ken I…”

“Use your words, pretty girl.”

Your mind is almost blank with just how much this is all turning you on. He’s usually quiet and sometimes stoic. But right now, Kento Nanami was a different man. You had heard rumors that he was a closeted pervert, but this was proving to be somewhat true. The way he was touching you and caressing you, it seems like he knows a thing or two about pleasuring a woman.

“I need you to touch me,” you breathe.

He chuckles again, then he presses his lips to yours. Your two stay connected like this for a few moments; tongues rubbing together sensually. When he pulls away to let you breathe, a string of saliva keeps you connected. 

“Alright, you need me that bad, huh?”

You nod your head, “Need you so bad, Ken…”

His free hand slides down your body, caressing you in your sensitive spots. Then he slips his hand into your sweatpants, gasping softly when he feels that you aren’t wearing panties. He grunts as his long fingers spread your wet folds, prodding your tight entrance. Kento smirks, his eyes growing even darker with lust.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” He asks, rubbing your clit slowly.

You shudder, “M-maybe…”

You let out a moan of his name as one of his fingers slips into your tight cunt. Immediately your gummy walls begin to squeeze the digit and this makes him grunt. He releases your wrists to reach down to adjust his cock in his gray sweatpants. Then his eyes snap up to watch you as he fingers you.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, probably would make me blow my load in seconds.”

His words rile you up even more. Your hips begin gyrating against his hand, and he’s quick to slip a second finger into your pussy. Your juices begin gushing out of your slick hole, and you feel yourself growing closer to your orgasm faster than you ever thought would happen.

“Awhhh close already? Damn, princess, that’s flattering.” He goads. Your hand comes to cling to his arm, steadying him and yourself for the impending orgasm that’s on its way.

He moves his thumb to begin swiping against your clit and the added stimulation is what sends you over the edge. You cry out and whimper as the waves of pleasure crash over you. The entire time, Kento is right there, talking you through the intense pleasure. When you’ve ridden out your high, he leans in to kiss you so softly.

“My beautiful girl…I love you so.”

[jnnul]

five questions

a/n: and here is the first of the wips! i know this was supposed to come out on friday and now it's almost wednesday but it's out and that's worth something, right? i hope you love this little fluff piece + mark as much as i do!

word count: 5.1k

tags: finance bro mark and y/n, slice of life, mostly fluff, kinda your typical suburban modern day couple, idk they’re just good ppl who experience a slow and sweet romance, oh! and mark sucks at beer pong

sorry, is this seat taken?

you pride yourself on not being a very superficial person. you always look deeper into a person of interest and in the past, your friends have made fun of you because you never seemed to find the people they thought were attractive very hot at all.

he seems like he swears at his mom. they give off the impression that they are rude to waitstaff. i don’t care how hot she is, she’s literally fighting with a customer service worker for no reason.

did it mean that your ability to look past superficial identity led to you giving some pretty sketchy people second chances? maybe. but usually, it did more good than harm.

but for all of your in depth thinking, you realize that you’re just as superficial as every last one of your friends when the man of your dreams asks you to marry him.

what he really says is, “is this seat taken?” but it all sounds the same when you’re half in love.

with dark eyes that are bright and shine with innocent curiosity, slender lips with a slight pout, and tousled black hair that falls into his eyes, you realize this man looks like nothing short of an angel.

you stutter out a squeaky, "no, go ahead!" before moving your laptop a little closer to you so that the hot stranger could have space to put his things down. he offers you a sweet smile before sliding into the seat next to you.

"my name is mark, by the way," he says once he's settled into his seat. he's about to ask your name but he nods to the keychain that's attached to your lanyard. "i'm guessing your name is y/n? that's a cute keychain."

"yeah," you say, flipping the keychain so that mark could see it properly. "one of the kids i teach made me it a couple years ago and i've carried it around ever since."

mark's eyebrows furrow at that as he checks his calendar to make sure that he's in the right class. "you're an education major? what's an education major doing in a business statistics class? this class is an upper level business class i thought?"

you nod and close your laptop so that mark could see the sticker on the backside of your laptop. you point out the biggest one that has 'ucla - anderson school of management' written in bright yellow letters. mark's eyebrows knit as he reads it and you can't help but laugh softly at how utterly confused he looks.

"i'm a finance major. i just really like kids so i spent last summer juggling between an internship at apple and volunteering at a learning summer camp for kids who are underprivileged in education," you explain, watching as mark's confusion turns to awe, his dark eyes glinting as you explain.

"damn. that's so cool of you, y/n. i'm sorry i assumed you were an education major. turns out you're just an angel instead," mark says, almost offhandedly. you freeze at the last sentence and immediately, mark's ears turn bright red as he realizes what he had said.

you to turn to face forward as mark rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and if you weren't so damn flustered, you would take a picture of how incredibly cute he looks.

mark had pretty privilege, as far as you were concerned. if any other person said that, you would probably just laugh it off and thank them but a single comment from mark had you blushing and internally combusting. the worst part? you didn't even mind it.

the two of you are silent for another couple minutes before you turn to him once more, a corner of your lips tilted upwards, a teasing look in your eyes.

"you know i definitely don't mind being called angel by a pretty boy," you say casually. you try not to let your voice give away how nervous mark actually makes you but there's still a little shake when you say the word 'pretty'. because really, mark was so pretty. just...too pretty to be good for your heart.

it doesn't really matter though because mark looks at you like you've personally put the stars in the sky.

"you think i'm pretty?" mark says, his voice soft and tentative. you look at him strangely. surely he had heard that many times over the course of his life? why did he sound so surprised?

"i think you're very pretty, mark," you say matter-of-factly. mark wants to say something else but everyone has filed in and it seems as though the professor is starting the lecture soon as the lights begin to dim in the hall.

mark has heard that he was attractive many times before. in fact, he'd probably become synonymous with the word handsome, as his superlative in high school was 'most likely to become a famous singer' and 'most likely to win prom king'.

so why did his heart flutter so much when you called him pretty?

can you help me with this one?

turns out, mark is shit at statistics. he's great at the business part, as you have learned over the past three weeks of sitting next to each other and working on the practice problems together. but the actual statistics? you might as well be working with a victorian child.

"i still don't understand why you can't just assume that this condition applies in all scenarios," mark says as he reads through the question once more. the two of you had grown pretty close over the past month or so, and often, you would go to the library after class to work on the assigned homework or projects together.

mark was a good study buddy (he always brought good snacks) and he had a great work ethic that made you feel guilty about not studying when he was. not to mention that he was gorgeous eye candy to look at whenever you needed to take a break from your work.

which was pretty much all the time if it meant looking at mark lee a little while longer.

your friends had teased you when you described your encounters with mark thus far. although they never really crossed the line between platonic and romantic relationships, just the fact that you were practically dying of anticipation was enough to rile your friends up.

you had had a few partners in the past but most of them ended at the situationship stage - very few of them become actual relationships. so, you had put a pause on dating for good (much to the dismay of your gossip mongering best friends) and had been happily single for the past year or so. unfortunately, that was when you met mark lee and your heart decided to rebel against all sense of logic.

besides his pretty face (your friends were very surprised to hear that you had developed a crush on a good looking man for once; you had a seriously incriminating track record), mark lee had a pretty heart. he was so incredibly humble and kind to everyone he knew - which was a lot of people, as you came to learn. he was super friendly and great at remembering little details about people that made them feel as though he truly cared about them.

which he really did. it seemed like mark truly cared a lot about every single one of his seemingly thousands of friends and went out of his way to make them feel loved. for you, however, it seemed like he went above and beyond.

it seemed as though after mark (and you, really) had gotten over the initial shyness and awkwardness, the two of you were rarely seen apart. you weren't sure if the two of you were toeing the line of romantic relationship yet, but it just felt like you guys were having fun. even without a label or anything, you and mark tended to gravitate towards each other in social situations and even made consistent efforts to see each other outside of your respective friend groups.

for example, you really didn't belong in the frat scene. you had expended all of the energy and patience you had for frat house parties during your freshman year and quite frankly, as a junior in college, it felt kind of embarrassing to go to them without having any real connections to brothers themselves.

but mark was a brother in nu chi theta so within the first month of your friendship, you found yourself at the NCT house with a red solo cup and an uncomfortable top on.

"hey y/n! i'm losing over here! can you help me with this one?" mark calls out from behind you. you turn around to see him extending a ping-pong ball (that smelled like it was coated in beer, vodka, and...laundry detergent?) in your direction. you look to see if your friends, who you had dragged along to the party, were going to save you from death by beer pong but you're on your own when you see two of your friends making out with the same boy.

you would stop them but the image was far too gruesome and downright hilarious. and in their drunken state, you doubted you could really separate the lovebirds (?) anyway.

"alright, but it's gonna cost you, lee," you sigh dramatically, setting your cup down on the counter before accepting the ping-pong ball, your fingers brushing over mark's.

"name your price," mark says confidently as you line up your shot, ignoring the heat that radiates off of mark's body as you realize that mark was a lot closer than you had previously anticipated. his words sink into your skin and you involuntarily shiver when you feel his breath on your neck.

"hmm...i'll have to think about it..." you trail off, finally throwing the little ping-pong ball into the cup. you turn so that your chest was pressed against mark's front and all your thoughts have been replaced by the look of his eyes in the dim lighting. the words tumble out of your mouth before you even realize what you're saying.

"go on a date with me?"

your heart drops as you see mark's face turn from confusion to shock and then back to confusion. he rubs his neck awkwardly (a habit, you had noticed, that tended to present himself when he felt particularly confused) as he licks his lips nervously.

"was...was us hanging out everyday not...dating? i kinda thought we were already going on dates," mark mumbles, his cheeks flushed. you stare at him and a strange gurgling laughter rips out of your mouth before you clamp your hand over your mouth, your eyes wide in horror at the sound that came out of your mouth.

"does this mean you like me?" you ask, and once again, you're graced with the sight of mark lee looking just all too angelic under the strobe lighting as he nods before tentatively making eye contact with you.

"uh...if you asked me on a date, am i safe to assume that you like me too?" mark proposes and the way that he says it, almost like he was presenting a business pitch to a potential investor, makes you laugh once more as you lean a little closer to mark, your lips barely brushing against his.

"more than you realize, mark."

can i come inside?

the first time mark came with you to help out with the kids at the school, it was completely unexpected. another one of the student teachers had suddenly fallen ill (you found out a few months later that at his girlfriend's baby shower that he was not, in fact, sick) and no one else was available to help out.

your supervisor was a sweet old lady who was dedicated to helping as much as she could before 'her joints gave up on her' - which meant that oftentimes, she tried to take on more responsibility than she really could. and then that meant that she often didn't hire enough staff to keep the place running, hoping that she could do all of the administrative things herself so that all of the people who did come in could focus on working with the kids. needless to say, as one of the only volunteers who had been with the organization for more than four years, you knew more than well that the sweet old lady needed more people to help her out.

so, you forced your boyfriend of three years to help you out. well, not really forced. mark had the day off from work because it was the day before july 4th and really didn't have any plans for the day. so when mrs. varghese calls you frantically at nine o'clock the previous night, mark offered to come with you.

"we've been together for the past three years and we've been living together for the past one and a half. i lose my girlfriend every monday and thursday evening to kids. i gotta meet the little suckers who've been monopolizing my girlfriend." which was mark's stupid way of saying i love you. let me help you out a little bit. let me be part of your world. maybe in the disney princess way.

and you're a sucker for kids and your boyfriend, even after dating for three years, so you agree and the next day, you're piling into the passenger seat at seven in the morning to teach young children addition and subtraction.

not really how the two of you (mostly mark) were planning on spending on of your rare days off but you could never deny mrs. varghese of anything. especially if it meant more time with the kids.

mark always joked about how you should've become a teacher but as much as you loved the children and the interactions with them, you were not a fan of the underpaying salaries. so you made it a point to become successful in your career and dedicate a percentage of your paycheck to donate to the school you volunteered at instead.

which had caused some struggles when you first moved in with mark, given that it was only the two of you rather than you living with three of your friends and your share of the rent went higher. but you figured it out and mark definitely wasn't the type of person to hold it over your head that you weren't able to pay your full share of rent for the first two months.

because that's just who he was. he would cover for you, covering up all of the little parts of yourself that you didn't like. and you would help him see that those blemishes he thought he had were just things that made him more lovable to you.

so when mark steps into the little school and immediately, kids are swarming to the two of you, trying to find out who the attractive boyfriend was, you're not even surprised. mark had a natural, comforting air about him (not to mention the fact that the kids were overly invested in your personal life) that made people want to draw to him like moths to a flame.

in fact, he's so overwhelmed by the love that the kids are showing him, he's still hovering around the door awkwardly, semi-bowing to mrs. varghese, who's watching him with amusement.

"can i come inside?" mark asks, trying to take a step forward while not hurting any little kids. you snort at his awkward shuffle before clapping your hands together, taking it upon yourself to relieve your poor boyfriend from the possibility of death by enthusiastic children.

"can you or may you?" mrs. varghese says with a humorous smile and mark's eyebrows furrow as he contemplates the question. the kids are slowly making their way over to you, where you're starting to distribute fruit pouches as a morning snack and mark finally feels as though he's only carrying his own body weight - as opposed to ten other children's.

"it was 'can i' at first but now i think it's more of a 'may i'. mrs. varghese, i presume?" mark says, extending his hand for the old lady to shake. she just looks at it strangely before gathering mark in a tight, bone-crushing hug.

for such a frail old lady, she had a lot of strength.

"get out of here with those manners. y/n's told me a lot about. and anyone in y/n's corner is family here, alright?" mrs. varghese says, and mark has to blink furiously to push back the tears, although he can't really tell why her words are hitting him so hard.

"thanks."

you mean that?

mark was really easy to love. that's just the type of person he was. in everyone else's eyes, he was a good guy who just always tried to be better at the things he was already incredibly good at. he was always polite with strangers, babies cooed at him, and was the type to be the person to start a 'pay-it-forward' queue whenever he could afford to do so.

and for all of his perfectness, mark was a very flawed man. he was a little bit of a miser - he hated to spend money on himself, even if he would splurge a little more on you. he was a little bit on the insecure side, and no matter how many times you told him that you loved him all the more for his quirks, he still got down about it. mark was also really bad at communication when things made him upset. he was just so easy-going that he would let the smaller things accumulate and build until he's practically bursting.

and mark was kinda mean when he got angry.

he would never hurt you, of course. mark didn't think he could ever live with himself if he knew that he had laid a hand on anyone - but you in particular. and he really, really was trying to work on his communication skills so that he wouldn't let it build and then get so angry.

but when mark got angry, he seemed to just turn into a different person. it had only happened once in your relationship before, almost right after you had moved in together

it was about something incredibly stupid but the tension had been building for a while prior to that. technically, before you moved in, the apartment had been mark and one of his friend's, johnny seo from school, before johnny had moved out to move in with his own girlfriend. and mark and johnny weren't exactly...the cleanest people. you didn't really mind the mess but soon it turned into an unhealthy balance of mark leaving things around the house and you having to clean up after him.

not to mention that a lot changes when a couple moves in together. naturally, tensions were running a little high. for all your cleanliness, you had a really bad habit of leaving unfinished meals in the fridge until they went bad and started to smell, which made mark upset because that was a waste of a valuable meal. and so on and so forth.

one day, the tensions just burst and the two of you ended up in a screaming match going back and forth and back and forth about cleanliness and not eating properly and soon, it escalated from a conversation about living together to being together in the first place.

mark regretted it almost immediately, cursing himself out when he saw you just completely shut down in front of his eyes. he knew his anger got the best of him sometimes, and when he was in the moment, all he could think about was winning the argument, no matter what he needed to say to win.

that had been the worst fight you've ever had. after that fight, you got a lot better about portioning your food to eliminate leftovers and mark made a more conscious effort to clean up. you also started talking more to each other about what things did or didn't make you happy.

but even as mark was getting better at communicating with you, he still didn't know how to raise up issues with you. usually, you would tell mark what you were up to and then you would naturally ask him yourself if he was comfortable with what you were doing. he would then reply with a simple yes or no with an explanation and that would be the end of that. he always hesitated to raise up an issue with you though. he didn't want you to think that he was trying to control your life or be one of those possessive boyfriends.

one day, though, you were out clubbing with your friends (your friend had recently broken up with her fiancé and she really needed her girlfriends) and you had come home pretty late. mark had stayed up, watching a movie (barely), worried about you making it home safely because he knew that your friends were prone to trying to get you as wasted as possible.

mark never told you explicitly but you had a feeling that's how he felt. it frustrated you though that he never said anything to you and wait for you to bring it up to him instead. so that night, you decided to drink a little more than usual (but not as much as they tried to make you drink) so that you could finally, finally get mark to talk to you about his issues.

really, for your behavior, you were expecting to have a round two of what had happened when you first moved in with him. you were imagining a screaming match like no other but instead, mark just looks at you, sighs, and pulls you into a hug when you come stumbling through the door. confused, you begin to pull away, but mark just continues to hold you tight.

"i was so worried that you might not get home safe. and i promise we'll have a proper conversation about this when you're sober in the morning but i love you so much and...let's just talk about this in the morning, okay?" mark mumbles into your hair. you let mark just rock you gently side to side as he clings onto you, completely opposite from the reaction you were expecting.

"mark, i'm not drunk. i just...i'm tired of always being the one to bring up issues. i know that you don't like it when i get drunk outside because you're worried for me but i'd rather you tell me that than me having to guess that by myself. i can make my own decisions and i'm a big independent girl but you're the singular most important person in my life. i would never consciously do something to make you uncomfortable but i make mistakes sometimes. i need you to be open and honest with me when something makes you uncomfortable - because i know it takes a lot to get that far in the first place."

mark steps back to look you in the eyes, his eyes glittering in the shitty lighting of the apartment. "you really mean that?"

"i mean it with my whole heart."

do you promise to love me for the rest of our lives?

mark tries not to trip. he tries really hard to hold in his sneezes, tears, and any other bodily fluids that are inappropriate for the situation. but the nearly fifteen feet from the entrance to the where the officiant is standing is enough to make mark want to puke all over the very expensive carpet you bought for the wedding.

when you first proposed having a backyard wedding, mark was extremely opposed.

a wedding was a once in a lifetime day where you could celebrate your union together with your partner and start the journey to the rest of your lives together. in fact, it was mark, not you, who had the pinterest board (although, to be fair, it wasn't actually a pinterest board and was rather just a folder on his phone of screenshots from pretty tiktoks). he had a vision for the wedding - one that included all members of your friend circle, your families, and your family friends as well.

and well, that wasn't really in the budget. rather than spend 100k on a one day event, you proposed having a backyard wedding that would be significantly more economical and using that 100k to buy a starter home.

"you still get your expensive venue and we have a place to move into. a real home that we can start a family in, mark," you had argued as mark paced back and forth in the small, almost cramped apartment the two of you shared. mark stops when he realizes that it only takes fourteen steps to make it from one side of the room to the other side and back.

and that was the biggest room.

so mark agrees on one condition: there are no lacking traditional elements of the wedding. the both of you worked together on the pain-staking process of planning a wedding that included portions of your culture and his culture to put on the wedding of a lifetime. hopefully the only wedding of your lifetimes.

well, the only wedding for you and mark, at least. but that was about the future and in the present, mark can barely keep from keeling over right there at the beautifully decorated altar that you and your mother had spent hours on.

after so long of being together, mark can't help but feel just so incredibly lucky and overwhelmed to be finally marrying you. you. the person of his dreams. the person who taught him that love isn't always fireworks and euphoric thrills; that love can be huddling together when gas bills were too high to pay and wanting nothing more than to see your significant other when it's been a long day.

love was you and mark really, really can't wait to finally show the world how much he truly loved you.

unsurprisingly, mark almost cries when you finally enter, the picture of the stunning bride as you clutch your father's arm for the last time as y/n l/n instead of y/n lee. mark isn't sure the last time he saw you this nervous but when you meet his eyes, he can feel the rest of the world melt away.

just normal people with enough love to fill the world, is what you say in your vows. just a guy and a girl in the same business class who never travel business class because the two of you are such money minders - something that my soon to be husband has rubbed off on me.

"i will never forget the moment that i knew i was so irrevocably love with mark. it was two days after we fought for the first time. i remember that i was so incredibly angry and scared that that fight would be the end of y/n and mark. that i would have to move out and redownload tinder and just be miserable again for losing one of the best things in my life over a little sock in the wrong place and leftover pizza."

"but two days after we fought, mark came up to me, hugged me and just said, 'we're gonna get through this. i love you too much to not get through this.' and even though everything just seemed so uncertain, the moment mark said that, i knew instantly that we really were going to get through it. because mark had faith in us. and i have faith in us. i love you, mark lee. from the moment you sat down in that ucla business class. i have loved you for so long and i will continue to love you forever."

there isn't a single dry eye in the house (quite literally) after your vow. mark has to clear his throat four or five times before he can start his vows, too afraid that his voice would give out on him in the middle due to how much emotion he was feeling.

"y/n, you asked me one day when we were binging american horror story and pigging out with a family sized bag of chips when i started falling in love with you. and i couldn't answer then so i just said that for as long as i can remember. and that's true - i still don't know when i fell in love with you. i just remember that one day i woke up alone in bed (don't worry mr. l/n, i have never slept in a ten mile radius of your daughter...please don't make her divorce me) and thinking that i would rather wake up next to you instead for the rest of my life."

"but i do know when i realized you were my soulmate. five moments when i knew i found the one. when i asked you if i could sit down next to you in business class. when i asked you to help me with statistics because for being a business major, i'm horrible at math - go figure. when i volunteered with you for the first time with mrs. varghese. mrs. varghese! - where are you - mrs. varghese! may i marry y/n? then i'll be real family."

mrs. varghese blows into a handkerchief unceremoniously, waving mark off through her tears, making the crowd and you laugh a little. mark's smile grows when he sees you laugh and continues on nervously.

"and the fourth moment was the time when you gave me a reality check. when you reminded me that love doesn't work without communication. you've changed me so much for the better, y/n, and i truly could not thank you enough for it. so, i have one last question for you. one last moment for me to know that we're soulmates."

mark takes a deep breath, holding one of your hands in both of his as he looks at you with soft eyes, so filled with love that your breath catches in your throat. "i promise to love you and stand by you for as long as i breathe. can you - can you promise...do you promise to love me for the rest of our lives?"

it seems as though everyone in the venue is holding their breath before you press a sweet kiss to mark's cheek and say the words that everyone has been waiting for.

"i do."

and with those five questions, mark lee had found his soulmate.

[jagibee]

Stray Pack

(Stray Kids x Reader)

Chapter 7

2,167 Words

A/N: This story is going at a snail’s pace and it might be going that way for a while. Sorry, not sorry!

TW: blood mention, no actual blood

…

“Gross, hyung. The magic? Are you a college bro dude bringing a girl to your bedroom for the first time?”

Chan’s jaw dropped in offense, the corners of his lips turned slightly up. “Yah! I happen to think the studio is very magical!”

Felix wrinkled his nose. “Whatever. Let’s just at least let the others meet her before we chase her away.”

The two of them led you down the hallway, Felix bouncing along at your side, eyes sparkling with excitement. Chan rested his hand on your lower back once more as you made your way to a large, sticker-covered door.

You recognized some of the stickers, little SKZOOs and miniature album covers, but some of them were quite random. A duck on a skateboard, an ice cream cone holding a cactus, a Bulbasaur with a flower crown. While they didn’t exactly match the other stickers, you couldn’t deny that they were all quite adorable.

“Alright,” Chan said, turning you from the door to face Felix. “I think it’s best if I go ahead and make sure they aren’t having a twerk battle or anything before Y/N goes in there. Stay here for a sec?”

You smiled at him and bumped his shoulder with yours. “What, I don’t get to watch the twerk battle? I think I would be a great judge.”

He pursed his lips, somewhere between suppressing a smile and on the verge of losing his sanity. “Hopefully, there won’t actually be a twerk battle happening. They might be sitting in there calmly and patiently. However, as someone who has had to deal with them for years, I know to lower my expectations.”

Felix shook his head with a smirk. “Are you kidding? As someone who has had to deal with you for years, I know you would get super crazy bored if we were calm and patient all the time. You love our chaos. But if you don’t want to traumatize Y/N right away, you can check on them.”

Felix wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against him as Chan slipped into the room. He shut the door gently behind him but you could hear the uproar at his arrival. Felix sighed and rested his chin on your shoulder.

Turning to him, you felt a bit of anxiety bubble up in your chest. “Is everyone in there?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye without moving his head. “They should be. Normally, our recording sessions just have a few of us at a time, but…” He paused to grin at you. “It’s a bit of a special occasion.”

Before you could stutter out a response, Chan reappeared, leaving the sticker-covered door cracked open just the tiniest bit behind him.

“Okay, Y/N.” He clapped. “Let’s do this!”

He grabbed your hand and led you through the door, Felix shuffling behind with his arms still around you and trying his best to stay connected.

The room was mostly taken up by a recording room and a table full of hundreds of different buttons and switches. Two walls, however, had one large L-shaped couch against them, completely taken over by the band members.

Closest to where you were standing, lying with his head resting against the arm of the couch, was Minho. As he heard the door open, he stretched over the armrest, causing his head to go upside down over the edge of the couch. He smiled at you, eyes squinting, and you couldn’t help smiling back.

Sitting nearby with Minho’s legs tossed over his lap, you recognized Jisung. His wide eyes glanced up at you and he went to maneuver himself out from the tangle of legs, but they visibly tightened over him, locking Jisung down against the couch.

Next to him, curled up together in the corner of the couch, snoring softly, were Jeongin and Seungmin. Innie opened his eyes at the sound of the door opening and blinked slowly at you a couple times before the sleep cleared from his eyes. They widened as he sat up, jostling Seungmin and waking him up in the process.

On the opposite side of the couch, you could see Changbin spread out with Hyunjin settled on top of him, his head nestled against Changbin’s stomach with a content smile on his face. Changbin’s eyes widened at you while Hyunjin mumbled a soft “hi, noona” and turned his head to face the wall.

You giggled. “Hi, Hyunjin!” You whispered, holding up the hand still entangled with Chan’s to wave at the omega, despite the fact that he was turned away and couldn’t see.

Your eyes shifted back to Han as he wrestled his way free of Minho’s trap and stumbled over to you. Seungmin also stepped his way over Jeongin to stand next to Jisung. Changbin appeared to struggle under Hyunjin, but after nothing happened, he stopped. You were sure that he could overpower Hyunjin if he wanted to, but you couldn’t exactly blame him for not trying his hardest. If Hyunjin was laid on top of you like that, you wouldn’t even try to move.

Jisung and Seungmin stood before you, Chan, and Felix like you were deciding their fate.

Chan squeezed your hand. “Guys, this is Y/N, our new caretaker. I know you guys would like some time to get to know each other, but we really have to get this recording down, so maybe just get to know each other during? Got it?”

Jisung nodded while Seungmin muttered “got it”. On the other side of the room, evidently Changbin had gotten a bit impatient. He wrapped his arms around Hyunjin, stood up, and dragged him over to you. Hyunjin playfully struggled, but once he got close enough to you, he gasped dramatically. “Rescue me, noona!” He exclaimed, going limp and flopping over into you and Felix, who was still clinging to your back. Luckily, Hyunjin wasn’t very heavy and you managed to catch him before all three of you hit the ground.

Chan’s hand had gotten dragged along with yours where you wrapped it around Hyunjin. He sighed as Changbin froze, eyes wide and arms held out in front of him.

Jisung cackled at the other boy’s stance, relieving the tension in the room. “Yah, hyung!” He shouted with a wide, open-mouthed smile. “You can’t just throw Hyunjin at random people!”

Changbin’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t throw him! He threw himself! I’m completely innocent!”

Minho sighed, still draped half upside-down over the couch’s armrest. “It’s too early for this. Jagi, Dwaekki, calm down before I stuff Seungmin’s socks in your mouths.”

“Why my socks?”

“I’m too pretty to have socks in my mouth!”

“Why is he jagi but I’m Dwaekki?”

“Because he has cuter cheeks.” Minho smirked.

Changbin puffed his own cheeks out. “Yah, hyung, you don’t think my cheeks are cute? These cheeks?” His voice went high-pitched as he poked his own cheeks and bounced around you to Felix. You could feel the younger boy smile against your shoulder and Hyunjin shook with silent laugher, jostling you both in the process. “Yongbok, tell hyungie my cheeks are cuter than-”

A growl erupted from the corner of the couch where Jeongin had settled back down.

Everyone in the room froze until Chan released your hand to walk over to the maknae.

“Hey,” He said, holding out his hand tentatively, like someone waiting for an unfamiliar dog to sniff. “Hey, aegi-alpha. Is everything okay?”

Jeongin blinked, eyes widening before he frowned in confusion. “Not sure. Probably… too loud?”

“Okay,” Chan nodded, still holding his hand out. “Are you still okay to record today or do you want to take a break?”

Innie shook his head and then bumped it into Chan’s hand like a cat. “I’m good. Just…” He paused to wave his hand around. “Alpha-y.”

You were mentally debating whether to ask what that meant or not. On one hand, it felt like it was none of your business. On the other hand, “alpha-y” stuff was kind of exactly your business. Before either argument won, Felix bumped his nose into your shoulder to get your attention. “Since Innie’s still settling in his presentation, he’s not always sure what his alpha is trying to tell him, so when he doesn’t know why his alpha does something instinctively, he just tells us it was him being alpha-y.” His eyes shifted over to watch Chan run his fingers through Jeongin’s hair. “It’s quite cute.”

Hyunjin adjusted himself so he could see the two alphas in the corner while still leaning against you. “Isn’t everything he does cute? He could growl at me and bite me with those sharp little teeth until I bleed and I would still call his aggressiveness adorable.”

While the three of you were gazing at Chan and Innie, Minho had grabbed Jisung and Changbin and prompted them to set up for recording. The younger two had been frozen, staring at the others just like your little omega cluster, but with much less adoration and much more guilt and fear. Thankfully, Minho dragged them over and sat them down in front of the recording box, bringing Seungmin with him as well and sitting down with the beta on his lap on the far end of the couch, giving the others adequate space.

Chan murmured to Jeongin for a couple minutes before gesturing you over. You turned around and placed Hyunjin into Felix’s arms. The younger boy was all too happy to latch onto Hyunjin as you moved over to the corner.

“What’s up?” You asked softly, conscientious of how Innie said it might have been too loud for his alpha.

“Do you…” Chan hesitated. “I know it’s sort of hard to know, especially since Iyen doesn’t even know, but do you have any ideas why he would growl like that?”

Jeongin had grasped one of Chan’s hands between both of his own and was currently nuzzling against the scent gland on Chan’s wrist. Chan’s other hand was gently running through the younger boy’s hair and he peeked out from under it, sharp eyes regarding you questioningly.

You mentally pictured the scene right before the growl to try and figure it out. “Well, I’m not so sure it was the noise. Newly presented people do have more sensitive hearing, along with their sense of smell. But I think it has to do more with where Changbin was rather than his volume.”

Chan’s hand stilled in I.N’s hair. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath. “Felix, Hyunjin, and I were all huddled together and Changbin came over to us, which irritated Innie’s alpha.”

Chan glanced between you and Jeongin. “Why would that irritate his alpha?”

“Felix’s heat,” you answered. “I.N’s alpha is telling him not to let other alphas near Felix, though it’s hard to tell whether it’s so that they don’t take advantage of him or because he’s simply jealous.”

Jeongin dropped Chan’s hand from his face down to his lap, interweaving their fingers together, holding his hand more naturally. “But Channie-hyung was standing next to you and Yongbok. Why did I only react when Changbin-hyung got close to him?”

“He’s your head alpha,” you told him, glancing pointedly at Chan’s hand grasped between his. “You subconsciously trust him with Felix, so you don’t worry about him or get jealous.”

Chan squeezed Innie’s hand before turning back to you. “Is he going to be like this all the way up until Felix’s heat? Growling every time Changbin or Minho gets close to Felix? And maybe even during his heat, too?”

You pursed your lips. “He shouldn’t. He might be a little extra… sensitive. But his hormones are fluctuating and so are Felix’s. There will likely be a few more instances where Innie is more aggressive than usual, but it’s a bit difficult to know when and where it will happen. Also, I don’t want to jinx anything, but if all he does is growl, then it should be fairly easy to deal with.”

Chan nodded and rested his forehead against I.N’s. “We’re gonna be okay, yeah? It’s just a couple days until Felix’s heat and we’re gonna be fine, aren’t we?”

Jeongin’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hyung, I don’t want to growl at Changbin-hyung or Lino-hyung for no good reason.”

Chan’s hand slipped down from I.N’s hair to rest on his neck, thumb pressing gently on the maknae’s scent gland. “Well, I can’t promise that that won’t happen, but I can promise that we won’t get upset with you. Do you remember what your alpha-hyungs were like when Felix first presented? If we can survive that, we can survive a couple little growls from our adorable aegi-alpha.”

Jeongin giggled and nodded against Chan’s forehead. “Okay, hyung. We should start recording now, shouldn’t we?”

From the angle you were standing, you couldn’t exactly see Chan’s expression, but you could see his cheeks stretch like he was smiling. “Yeah, Innie. Let’s start recording.”

…

Taglist:

(Bold means I can’t tag you, sorry for the inconvenience!)

@eastleighsblog

@detectivedoodle

@niaalove

@scarletrosesposts

@royal-shinigami

@peachbokkie

@yuhjoeyuh

@im-sinking-in-mud

@lex-black

@amara-mars

@usercaiskz

@plutoneu

@queenmea604

@emithecharmer

@wrrmnrr

@anxious-fruity-basket

@thatgirlangelb

@haikyuuisposts

@midnightvictorysworld

@sirenthalia

@kaheizz

@jinniespuppy

@im-a-slut-for-this-man2

@freakinthesheets-excelexcel

@julciaqwerty

@linoboop

@hamburgers101

@stay-berry

@hannieshoney

@foleia

@trouble-in-space

@seungminsdreamwife

@jannesti

@katrodriguez99

@only4sunoo

@channiesstars

@vegas-pete69

@jeonginniie

@hydrawaterdragon

@naladdaeng

@popimagines

@impoeticbeauty

@satsuri3su

@yukichan67

@comicnerd557

@obeythemasters

@dreamingsmile

@boi-bi-ahaha

@j-onepostzz

@hehe-24-hehe

@bl00dysunsh1ne

@merryxoc

@seokjin-epiphanyy

@hxnnielk

@hyuneyeon

@queen-in-the-shadows

@hufflepuffanddurinsdaughter

@lostgirlinthewoodss

@zacsani-blog

@3rachasninja

@luminouskalopsia

[obsidiancreates]

These Kids Are Geniuses (Against All Other Evidence) [Part 1]

1987

Shawn’s little sneakers practically fly across the grass as he dashes through the gate, letting it SLAM! shut behind him. "Dad! Dad! We have to go save Gus!"

 "Whoa whoa, slow down Shawn.” Henry catches his son mid-run, picks him up, and sets him on the yard table bench. “Save Gus from what?"

 "He's going to a new school, the school for nerds!" Shawn’s face is red, eyes puffy, and he’s sniffling as he talks. “He’s going away!”

 "School for nerds? You mean the one he has stickers of on his backpack?"

“... Yeah.” Shawn’s voice is small, wavering.

“So it sounds to me like he wants to go there. In fact, I bet he chose he to go there himself, didn’t he? So we don’t have to ‘save’ him from anything.”

 "But if he goes, we'll never see each other again!"

 "Well that's not true, you'll have weekends still."

 "Nuh-uh! They give you enough homework for ten kids there!" Shawn throws his little arms as wide as he can.

 Henry sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Shawn, look. Gus has wanted to go to this school for a long time. You need to be supportive, even if it means spending a little less time together. Unless you suddenly turn things around grades-wise to get in yourself, you'll just have to accept it and be happy for him."

Shawn nods.

Then… Shawn perks up.

Then Shawn grins.  "... You're right! Great idea, Dad!" He dashes off into the house!

 "Wh- Shawn! Shawn, what idea!” Henry gets to his feet. “SHAWN!"

—------—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn?” Gus blinks at him in surprise. “I thought you said you weren’t eating lunch with me until I decide not to go.”

“That was yesterday, Gus.” They trade desserts, Gus’s dried pineapple slices for Shawn’s store bought cookies. “I have a new plan.”

“Please don’t sabotage my grades, Shawn.”

“What? Oh, no, that isn’t it.”

“Phew! My mom thought you would for sure.”

“I did think about it. But I have a way better plan.”

“... Can I know it?”

“Not yet. I want it to be a surprise.”

“I don’t always like your surprises, Shawn.”

“You’ll like this one! … Hopefully.”

—------—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright, Shawn, let’s see what the damage is,” Henry grunts as he sits down with Shawn’s report card. “Remember what I told you with the last one?”

Shawn rolls his eyes and repeats, verbatim, “If one more teacher write that you tried to convince the class a zombie apocalypse started at lunch, you’re grounded until one actually starts.”

“Alright, good. Let’s see…”

Henry’s brows furrow. He brings the report closer to his eyes, then farther away. And Shawn grins.

Henry looks at Shawn. “All A’s.”

Shawn’s grin falters a little. “Just A’s?”

“Just A’s? Shawn, your last report card was mostly C’s!”

“Why’s it not A pluses?” Shawn reaches for the paper. “Dad, show it to me!”

“Hang on, hang on! … Okay, uh, in the notes here it says you missed a couple homework deadlines.”

“But that’s not fair! One of those was because you and I did a stakeout!”

Henry looks around. “Keep your voice down, your mom’s home!”

Shawn crosses his arms. “I need to get A pluses, Dad, before the school year is over!”

“Why do you– oh.” Henry puts down the paper. “Shawn, is this about Gus?”

“... Maybe.”

“You know– I’m glad you’re working harder at school. I really am, this is a real improvement. But I don’t think I like you trading training, for schoolwork.”

“But Dad!”

“No buts, Shawn. These are both important for your future, so if you want A pluses you’ll just have to find a way to manage your time better. Like, combining play with work. Maybe do your homework while you hang out with Gus.”

“No!” Shawn stomps his foot. “Gus doesn’t know about this yet!”

“Doesn’t kn- Shawn, why the hell are you not telling him?”

“Uh… why are you using bad words around me?”

Henry shakes his head. “Fine, just… you’ll have a lot less time for fun anyway when you’re on the force, so just think of this like practice, alright? If you want to get into Meitner, you need to give up a few little things here and there, like TV time.”

“That’s just not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, kid. You’ll get used to it.”

—------—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn, are you coming to my birthday party?”

“Uh, I don’t think so Denny. Sorry.”

“Why?”

“I uh… got grounded.”

“Oh. … Well, bye.”

“See ya.”

—------—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean you’re not going to Denny’s party? Your mom bought you that nice new shirt for it.”

“Um…”

“Shawn, be honest.”

“... I’m… studying.”

“Studying.”

“I am, okay! I need to get the A pluses.”

“Shawn, when I said ‘adjust your time management’ this isn’t what I meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“Social events are important, Shawn! Not just for fun, but for networking. For example, I went to a retirement party I didn’t feel like going to last year, and I met the Commissioner. Now, we had some friendly conversation, and he said he’d keep me in mind for a detective position the next time it needed to be filled.”

“I thought the Chief picked that.”

“Right, but he can be influenced by other people around him. That’s networking.”

“And… if I go to the party, I can get to know other kids who can do things for me?”

“Yeah! See, you never want to take a networking event out of your plans just for paperwork.”

“But then where do I fit in homework time?”

“Well that’s for you to figure out, Shawn. But come on, I’ll call Denny’s mom and let her know you’re coming after all.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn sits in the principal’s office, his feet dangling off the end of the chair. Gus sits next to him, hands in his lap.

“I told you not to say anything to him,” Gus whimpers.

Shawn leans his head back, looking up at the ceiling with his good not-swollen eye. “What was I supposed to do, Gus?”

“Let him cheat off you! You were probably only getting a C anyway!”

“I was not!”

“We’re in trouble now!”

“Hey, no-one asked you to jump on him.”

“He hit you!”

Their little fight ends abruptly as Winnie Guster and Henry Spencer both enter at the same time. Winnie speeds over to Gus, checking his face right away. Henry walks at a normal pace, and stands in front of Shawn with his arms crossed.

“The principal says you got in a fight during a test,” Henry says.

Shawn puffs up indignantly. “Tommy was cheating off me!”

“Off you?” Winnie lets slip.

Shawn ignores her. “I told the teacher and he jumped me when I sat back down.”

Henry looks at Gus. Gus looks down and nods.

“Alright,” Henry sighs. “I know you’ve been staying out of trouble on purpose lately, so I believe you. Let me go talk to the principal and see if I can… get this cleared off your record.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but! I want this to be your last fight, Shawn.”

Shawn slumps in his chair. “I didn’t even hit back.”

“Biting counts as retaliation, Shawn.”

“... But I didn’t hit back.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright, Shawn, moment of truth. Last report card before your interview.”

Shawn nods, practically vibrating with anticipation. Henry opens the envelope slowly, almost teasingly.

“What is it, Dad? How is it?!”

Henry looks up at Shawn from over the paper, and then flips it around.

Shawn is frozen for a moment.

And then jumps!

“WHOO! WHOOOOO-HOO! I DID IT!”

The full row of A pluses are carefully folded and tucked into Henry’s pocket as Shawn dances around the living room, and then up the stairs shouting the news to his mom. 

Henry will find a plastic slip to save it in later. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn swallows and looks up at his dad, his little leg Shaking Unstoppably as they wait for his name to be called. He tugs at the tie around his neck, the collar of the new dress shirt still itchy despite three runs in the wash. “What if they’re not impressed?”

“You kidding?” Henry leans over. “Shawn, look around the room. What do you see?”

Shawn looks up. “Lots of smart kids.”

“Look closer.”

Shawn squints at the three other children in the room. 

One is a young girl around his age, balancing a chemistry textbook on one leg and a model of some chemical compound on the other. She’s mouthing the words as she reads along– she’s nervous too, and isn’t sure she’ll be able to remember her facts.

Another kid is a few years older, running his thumbnail against his braces and shaking more than Shawn is. His prepared demonstration is being crumpled in his sweaty hand, smudging the ink. He can only hope to remember it, or get enough clues from the smudges and rips to figure out the words.

The last kid is a little younger than Shawn, and he just doesn’t look like he wants to be here. He’s half-asleep, and his eyes keep wandering over to the door.

“Lots of smart kids still.”

“Smart kids who aren’t you. I know you noticed the kid with the crumpled paper– you know what you have that he doesn’t?”

“My memory?”

“Your memory. And look, she’d running over her lines over and over there. She won’t have the paper, which is impressive, but she’ll sound robotic. Now sounding natural and confident is always better than sounding overly-practiced. Remember that for when you talk to the press about your cases someday.”

“And that kid doesn’t even want to come here.”

“Exactly. You’ve got every advantage right now, Shawn. That’s a rare situation to be in. Keep on your toes, but don’t let it psych you out.”

Shawn nods.

“Shawn Spencer.”

He jumps to his feet and quickly walks over to the secretary. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well, Shawn, you’re certainly an… interesting, candidate.”

“Um… thank you.” Shawn knows that’s not a compliment.

The interviewer tsks. “Poor grades up until this past year, several notices of erratic to poor behavior…”

“Well, um, that was actually because of… understimulation.” He pulls the word up from a memory of his mom explaining why he wanted to cry when he was bored. “It was too easy and I got bored.”

“Mmm, we’ll see. What have you prepared to show me why you belong here, Shawn?”

Shawn takes a deep breath, and a moment to look over the interviewer.

“Your watch is off by three hours, and your hair is really shiny but not staying in place. So it’s not gel, your hair is just greasy. That and the watch mean you were probably on a place earlier today, and your briefcase has crumbs all over the top so it was a business trip. You probably went to interview some out-of-state kids and had to rush back here.”

The interviewer sits back. “Very impressive reasoning for your age. And good attention to detail. But that’s not–”

Shawn closes his eyes and says “To get to this room the secretary took me down a hallway that had walls the same color as my dad’s cop uniform and a carpet that probably hasn’t been shampooed since last year. The secretary was wearing shoes too small for her, and she almost tripped multiple times because of it. She looked nervous leading me here, and kept checking for landmarks, so I think she’s new and didn’t have the shoes she needed to work here. She probably borrowed them from the lost and found.”

“How–”

“The hallway had pictures of old principals all along it. The first one is from 1972, then 1974, and it keeps going with two years between principals until 1985 when you had two principals in one year. The first principal’s picture is poorly taken care of, and someone drew a mole on it that never got cleaned off, so he probably did something bad.”

“That’s amazing-”

“While I’ve had my eyes closed you brushed the crumbs off your briefcase and reset your watch.”

“I– yes–”

“And the girl out in the waiting room made a model of sodium chloride but she misplaced one of the molecules on the end.” At least, if he interpreted the picture he saw her staring at right she did. He’s never been wrong with his upside-down reading before, so he’s doing as his dad said. Confidence.

He opens his eyes. The interviewer is gaping at him. Shawn shuffles his feet, feeling something like shame, something like embarrassment, something like resentment.

But he pushes it down. Because he’s doing this for Gus.

“Well.” The interviewer pulls himself together and clears his throat. “You’re certainly one of the most interesting candidates I’ve had today.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus puts his backpack in his locker and hurries to his thankfully-close first class. He sets his books up tidily on the top, arranges his pencils by order of sharpest to dullest, and carefully lines up his two erasers to be perfectly symmetrical on either side of the desk.

And he sighs.

Even as the chalkboard at the front promises him an exciting class of complex multiplication, his mind wanders, and he feels the Lack of Presence more potently than he’s ever felt anything in his life. He can almost hear his best friend giving his usual first day of school speech. “Gus, this is our year. We’re becoming the coolest kids in school, I know it. By the end of the year–”

“We’ll be at the top!”

Gus blinks. “No way.”

Shawn slides into class. The Meitner uniform red polo fits him loosely, and he doesn’t have it tucked in like everyone else does, and he’s wearing obviously fake glasses.

And Gus has never been more confused in his life.

Shawn spots him and lights up. He practically jumps over the desks to get to Gus, plunking into the desk to Gus’s right and haphazardly dumping his school bag onto it.

“Shawn, how did you–!”

“Uh, same way you did.” Shawn leans over and lightly punches Gus’s arm. “No way I was letting you go to nerd school all alone.”

“But– but you’re not–”

“A lame nerd? That’s why I’m undercover.” Shawn touches the fake glasses. “See? I’m your best friend and your bodyguard, Gus. I’m going to help you be the best nerd of the nerds.”

“... How?”

“I can remember everything the teachers say and write on the board.”

“So you can fill in my notes where I might be missing them!”

“You’re taking notes?”

“Of course I am.”

“Do we have to?”

“I think so.”

“... I should’ve brought some paper.”

“Here.” Gus tears a page out and hands it to Shawn. “But you better not get me kicked out.”

“I won’t. Promise. That’s the whole mission Gus. You and I are gonna become kings of the nerds here.”

“... I do like the sound of that.”