#Senior Music Programs

[leahthedreamer]

With the JGP starting tomorrow I hope at least one dance team does a The Grass Roots rhythm dance

[numbuh-7-knd]

I'm doing my very own hyper specific poll!

And yes, all of these are true for me.

[aikastales]

i’m drunk, i love you (jk)

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: with only a day before graduation, you make a promise that you will not only graduate from university, but also from your feelings for your best friend of seven years, jeon jungkook.

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: film student!jungkook x med tech student!fem!oc (named sola)

𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌: heavy angst, unrequited love, jungkook as an isko agenda, set in the ph 🇵🇭

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: this story is fiction. it does not represent the members of bangtan or any of the idols here in real life. all resemblance to real life characters, institutions, associations, places, events, among others are either purely coincidence or depicted in a fictitious manner only. there’s really no warnings for this story other than it’s a self-indulgent fic to get me back to writing. the smut isn’t that severe. just kissing, nipple sucking, and grinding. this is based on the film, i’m drunk i love you, which i highly recommend you watch. i didn’t alter much of the plot & scenes bc i think they’re already great as it is, but i did tweak a bit here and there. i hope you enjoy! let me know what you think by reblogging/commenting. ♡

𝗍𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 5,784

You were never quite the believer in love at first sight, but what you felt that night was the closest thing to that feeling. 

He was one of the freshmen performers during your orientation, singing Adam Levine’s Lost Stars. Like the entire audience, you were captivated by his heavenly vocals and charisma as he performed on stage with an acoustic guitar one of the seniors lent him. Not only that, Jeon Jungkook wasn’t bad looking either—quite the opposite, really. 

However, after the orientation, you didn’t get to see much of the dark-haired handsome boy. You were studying at UP, the biggest state university in the country, and so your paths were bound not to cross. Until, your older cousin, who was a senior at that time, invited you to eat dinner with him and a couple of his buddies after seeing you strolling around campus alone. When you arrived at the eatery, you not only saw your cousin Yoongi’s friends—Yijeong and Woosung—you also spotted the boy who hadn’t left your mind since you saw him over four months ago at that time. 

You sat across from him and you tried your best not to freak out as Yoongi introduced the both of you. Apparently, he had already known Jungkook because he was the younger stepbrother of his other friend, Namjoon. During the course of your dinner, you and Jungkook didn’t really talk much. But you would muster up the courage to ask him some basic questions such as his program, why he went to UP, if he joined any orgs yet, etcetera. Jungkook was polite enough to answer your inquiries. 

He was a Film major. He went to UP because everyone in his family went to UP so it was the most obvious choice for him and he was a member of the Film society. In return, Jungkook asked the same set of questions. You were a pre-med student, Medical Technology, to be exact, and you went to UP because it was your dream school. You were also a member of the College of Arts and Sciences’ student council. 

After your meal was finished, Yoongi entrusted your care to Jungkook as they were going to meet up with some of their friends and you were both living at campus dormitories anyway. So, you hopped into his old army green Toyota Rav4 and needless to say, the ride back to UP was awkward. So, to get rid of the awkward silence, you asked if you could play some music. He said sure and handed you the aux cord already connected to his stereo. Once you had the other end connected to your phone, you played one of your favorite songs—Waltz of Four Left Feet by Shirebound and Busking. 

To your surprise, Jungkook also knew the song and just like that, the awkward silence was gone and you became inseparable ever since. 

Music became the bridge that connected you and Jungkook. Whenever you would hangout, it was always your topic—your favorite artists, songs, original scores in films, best albums, underrated artists, overrated artists, the current state of music, everything. He also became your gig buddy—seeking out mainstream and indie artists you both liked and going to their live performances downtown bars, jam packed arenas and stadiums. 

But your favorite would always be watching him perform. After his performance at the orientation, he naturally became one of the popular students at UP. He wasn’t popular like a celebrity or an influencer, but heads would turn whenever he walked around campus. Also, he still had the luxury of privacy on his side, but if you looked at the right places, you would find small accounts on social media dedicated to him. He didn’t care for the attention, though, and just went about his day as normally as possible. 

His performance did land him some gigs here and there. You found it cute whenever he’d turn to you to ask if he should accept the invitation or not, and you would always tell him to do whatever he wanted. Most of the time, he accepted, especially if it was at Route 96, a historic venue for aspiring musicians. 

It was here that he performed the first song he wrote by himself called Still With You. It was also during this performance that you began to see him in a different light—quite literally. He was performing with the bar lights off, only the lights on stage and the spotlight illuminated the entire establishment. When the spotlight on him turned purple, you felt a whole new admiration for your best friend. It wasn’t the “Oh god I’m so proud of my best friend” kind, rather it was the “Oh fuck I’m in love with my best friend” realization. 

But like every other story where someone falls in love with their best friend, you kept your feelings hidden, hoping someday it would go away. However, you soon realized, once you fell in love with Jeon Jungkook, there was no going back. It was a rabbit hole. 

The more you spent time with him, the more you fell in love with him and all of him—from the way he smiles to the sound of his laugh, how he would always annoy the shit out of you when you were supposed to be studying to how he would remember small things about you like your favorite snack at the vending machine, how you’d be the first to know his test results to how you’d be his first audience for the short film they needed to produce for that semester, how he would lend you his jacket when you ate bingsu because he knew you’d get cold easily to how he’d send you random memes he found funny out of the blue. 

It was so easy to fall in love with Jeon Jungkook. Thus, everyone else did too. For seven years, you watched on the sidelines as he dated several girls and loved them how you wished he’d love you. 

“In one day, you can finally lay your hands on Jungkook,” your best friend, Mingyu, teased as he took a sip from his beer. 

You let out a sarcastic laugh, head resting on your palm, elbow propped on the wooden table in front of you, a bottle of beer in the other hand. You were bordering on getting tipsy now as you had been drinking since you arrived at La Union with Mingyu and Jungkook in the afternoon. You didn’t even know why you agreed to your best friend’s idea of going to the province for a music festival when you had your graduation—the very graduation that was seven years in the making—on Sunday.   

“Fuck you, Kim Mingyu,” you told the honey-skinned man across from you with a chuckle. 

“What? Let this be your final test before finally graduating. Are you ready?” a lopsided grin appeared on his handsome face. 

Under the orange light, Kim Mingyu was easily one of the most handsome men you ever laid your eyes on. He was also tall, well-mannered, smart, capable, had a stable job while being a med student, and the textbook definition of a walking green flag. In another life, you could imagine yourself falling for him instead of Jungkook. But in the current universe you were in, he was one of your trusted friends who had known about your crush on Jungkook since first year. 

The waiter arrived to bring you your order of another bucket of Red Horse beer. Mingyu took a bottle from the silver bucket and opened it. “Happy horse for the happy whore,” he told you as he handed you the fresh bottle of beer. You gave him a middle finger. He laughed. “What? Am I not right?” 

“You’re the whore,” you replied. “I saw you with that cute chinito by the beach earlier. What happened to Mino?” 

He rolled his eyes at the mention of his ex—or you believed was his ex. You never really know with Mingyu and relationships. He was the complete opposite of you. While you were a hopeless romantic at heart, he didn’t believe in love—or so he says. 

“Seven years,” Mingyu mused, glancing towards the beach. “You didn’t stop falling in love with your best friend. Now, it looks like you don’t even plan to stop.” 

You sucked your teeth, tracing the water around the bottle due to the ice with your fingers. “Do I just throw it away?” You weren’t sure if you were asking Mingyu or yourself. “We make a good pair.” You laughed to yourself. 

“Except?” Mingyu pointed out the harsh reality. 

“Except,” you took in a shaky breath. “He doesn’t love me back. Maybe.” 

Mingyu sighed deeply, looking at his watch. “Time check: you still have your hopes up.” 

“It’s still early,” you argued. “I still have two days. Just give me time.” 

“Give me time?” Mingyu repeated, taking a sip from his beer. “What the fuck are you talking about, Sola? The universe has given you all the time. But you did nothing.” 

You groaned, throwing your head back as a realization hit you. “Fuck, Gyu, I just—I just realized. Is it right that we’re here? Was it the right decision to come here? My mom’s gonna be so mad once she finds out I’m in La Union.”  

“It’s all you. You’re a raging masochist,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway. Let’s just play a game. Let’s enumerate all the things you did with Jungkook. Those are seven years worth of memories, Sola. Game?” 

“Game.” 

“What year did you first meet Jungkook?” 

A smile immediately creeped up on your face. “2017.” 

Mingyu waved his hand at you. “Wow! You can do math! But I just thought of something—instead of just general memories. Let’s make them specific. Let’s list down all the stupid things you did for Jungkook for seven years.” 

“The fuck are you talking about?” you let out a scoff, drinking your beer. 

“What? Now you can’t remember?” he challenged. 

You clicked your tongue. “Fine, you stupid bitch. Ask away.” 

Mingyu grinned. “2018.” 

You hummed before saying, “Jungkook was heartbroken that year. I was back at home and he was at UP. But I rushed into the city to be there for him. I remember because I was supposed to attend this baptism with my parents but I snuck out and got an earful from my mother the next day. I was completely hungover too because Jungkook and I went bar hopping the entire night.” 

“Jesus Christ, Sola.” 

“Don’t judge me. It was my decision, okay?” 

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Okay. 2019.” 

You stared at Mingyu, laughing as you recalled the memory. “2019. Me and Jungkook walked from UP to Aurora Boulevard just to tell me how Song Areum became his girlfriend.” 

He shook his head. “2020.” 

“2020—he was sick. I had an exam that day, but I quickly answered it so I could buy him his favorite, Tapsilog from Tapsi ni Vivian, before it ran out ‘cos it runs out quickly, right?” Mingyu nodded. You licked your lower lip then let out a small laugh. “But when I got to his dorm room, his roommate already told me Areum brought him to the university hospital. And I failed my exam ‘cos I didn’t answer the back part.” 

“2021, go!” 

“I loved him for four years now and counting. Is that good enough?” 

“Okay. I’ll accept it. 2022?” 

“2022—I’ve been in love with him for five fucking years already, fucking shit!” you exclaimed, feeling the alcohol in you boosting your confidence. 

“Okay. We’re in the last year, girl. What about in 2023? What was the stupid thing you did for Jungkook last year?” 

You gulped. “I’m two years delayed.” 

Mingyu exhaled deeply. A moment of silence settled between the two of you. Then, she asked, “Sola, it all boils down to this: when will you end this?” 

You sat up straight, taking a deep breath. “You mean when will I stop with my foolishness?” Mingyu nodded. You purse your lips. “Maybe when I’m done with UP. When I’m done with UP, I’ll graduate from everything—including him. Especially him.” 

When you got back to your shared room with Jungkook and Mingyu, you were already tipsy. You almost fell face flat on the floor when you opened the door, feeling lightheaded, but luckily, your best friend was there to catch you. 

“You’re drunk, Sola,” Jungkook chuckled deeply. You could smell his expensive cologne—the one you bought for him for his birthday last year and it brought a huge grin on your face, knowing he wore it. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

“I’m fine, Guk. I’m not that drunk. But I do need to sit down,” you said followed by a set of giggles as you let Jungkook walk you to the bed you shared with Mingyu, and then you threw yourself on it, back against the mattress, arms spread like an eagle. 

Jungkook sat down beside you. “Are you still mad at me?” 

The question seemed to sober you up instantly. The truth was—you could never stay mad at him. For anything. Sometimes, you’d think he could do the most painful and hurtful thing to you, deliberately, and you would still forgive him even if he wouldn’t apologize. 

“I wasn’t mad. I was just… I just wished you would’ve told me the real reason why you wanted to come here,” you replied softly, biting your lower lip. 

“Would you have come? If I told you I wanted to go here because my ex wanted to reconnect—would you have come?” Jungkook matched your tone, looking over his shoulder to look at you. 

Instinctively, your eyes also darted towards his. The lights in the room were dim, only the lamp, the light coming beneath the bathroom door, and the moonlight outside illuminated the room. Jungkook looked especially beautiful in the dim light—long black wavy hair all messy from his habit of running his fingers through it, hooded eyes staring at you like he was memorizing every inch of you, the gentleness of his features made him look like an angel in this light. 

But then you’d see his dozens of piercings in his ears, eyebrow, and lower lip; his tattooed arm and hand, and the way he looked sexy as hell with his thin white long sleeved, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and his white beach shorts that hugged his strong muscular thighs, and you’d realize he was more of a Greek god than an angel. 

“I’ll go wherever you go,” you told him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You know that.” 

Jungkook lied down beside you and you felt your heartbeat racing. His tattooed arm was brushing against yours. His head was tilted, close to yours. 

“Will you go with me to the moon?” he asked. 

A small smile ghosted on your lips. “I will, Guk.” 

“How about Saturn?” 

“I’ll be with you there, too.” 

“Law school?” 

You turned your head to him. He was already looking at you. “Law school? Why?” 

He brushed the hair on your face aside with his fingers, making you tense. But you kept your composure. “I passed UP LAE.” 

“But,” you began. “What about film? I thought you didn’t wanna become a lawyer like your parents.” 

Jungkook looked at the ceiling. “It’s not that bad. Being a lawyer. Besides, I like studying.” 

“You’ve always wanted to become a director, though.” 

“I’m not good enough for it,” Jungkook scoffed. “All my batchmates are already directing their films and showing them at festivals here and abroad—yet here I am. Still here.” 

You turned on your side, propping your elbow to support your head as you looked at your best friend. It was rare for Jungkook to open up. Even to you. He was always someone who kept all his innermost thoughts and feelings to himself. In the seven years you’d known him, it still felt like there was a wall around him that you never managed to climb on or punch through. For seven years, it felt like you simultaneously knew everything and nothing about your best friend. 

“It’s not the end of the road, Jungkook. So what if they’re showing their films at festivals? You can do it too. At your own pace, in your own time,” you said. You wanted to reach for his face, to make him look at you, but you were scared. “You’re a great filmmaker, Guk. The best direk ever.” 

He looked at you once again. “You’re drunk, Yu Sola. Go to sleep.” 

He sat up, carrying your legs over the bed. You let out a groan. “I’m not drunk, Jeon Jungkook. Why do you always do that?” 

“Do what?” he asked, chuckling. 

“You always cut the conversation when you’re beginning to open up. You always clamp up, Guk. I wish you didn’t do that. I’m your—,” you bit the inside of your lower lip. What right did I have to demand him to open up to me? “I’m your best friend.” 

“I don’t clamp up. I just have nothing else to say,” your best friend replied with a shrug, fixing his hair as he looked in the mirror across from your bed. “Go to sleep. You’ll get a massive headache tomorrow. I’m just going to meet with Areum and her friends.”  

Then, you blurted it out. It just happened. You didn’t even know how. You always had this grand idea in your mind to do it after the graduation ceremony, that way, you could immediately leave. That way, you didn’t have to see him all the time. You would have enough time to move on and move forward in your life. 

But nothing in life truly went according to plan. 

“I love you, Jungkook,” you confessed. Your heart felt heavy and you sat up, head hanging low as you picked on your nails. Tears were beginning to form in your eyes. “I’ve loved you for seven years now.” 

And you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. Then, moments later, you felt your hands being taken away from your face. You lifted your head and saw Jungkook kneeling in front of you, holding your hands. He let one go to wipe away the tears on your face, to tuck your hair behind your ear. 

And then, ever so slowly, Jungkook leaned in and kissed you softly. A tear rolled down your cheek. His lips were soft while yours were chapped and wet from your tears, but he didn’t seem to mind. You were still in shock. This was not the response you expected. Not even in your wildest dreams but it was happening. 

Jungkook held your face, tilting his head as he continued to kiss you more—only this time with more need and passion. Your body reacted. You began to reciprocate his kisses, hands wrapping around his wrists. He tasted of toothpaste and mouthwash. 

He pushed you onto the bed, one hand remaining on your face while the other held your waist. Your fingers curled the ends of his hair. You could feel his growing member on your stomach and feeling it was enough to make your cunt wet. His lips then traveled on your jaw, down to your neck. You were breathing heavily as he nibbled on your sensitive skin, making a soft moan escape your lips. 

His hand made its way under your shirt and your breath hitched, causing Jungkook to lift his head from your neck, and look you in the eyes. 

“You okay?” he asked softly. 

You nodded. “I’m okay.” 

“Okay,” he smiled, making your heart skip a beat. “Is it okay if I take this off now?” 

“I—,” you were at a loss for words. Was this really happening? It seemed too good to be true. But it was happening and you wanted it more than anything else. “Okay. Yes, you can.” 

Jungkook peeled your shirt off, exposing your naked chest. You didn’t wear bras; found it too much of a hassle and you always hated the feeling. Instead, you wore nipple tapes. 

“What are these, Sola?” Jungkook asked with a chuckle, making your cheeks heat up. 

“They’re nipple tapes, you dumb ass,” you replied, smacking his arm lightly. 

“Okay. Do I just take them off, like, tape?” 

He was adorably cute. “Yes, you just take them off like tape.” 

And so he did just that. The coolness of the room and your arousal instantly perked your nipples. Jungkook took your breasts in his hands, massaging and squeezing them, making you arch your back ever so slightly. Then, he dipped his head, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth while remaining to massage the other. 

The sensation was simply divine. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol in your system, your feelings for your best friend, or just Jungkook in general that made you feel so good at that moment. Your hands traced the outline of his toned biceps through his thin polo. 

You were so wet and when Jungkook began to grind his hard cock against your clothed cunt, you felt another wave of wetness. You wanted him—all of him—and so you began to rock your hips against him, making him release a moan. 

He lifted his head, staring at you with those doe eyes you have loved for seven years. “Are you sure?” 

Those three words held so much. Once you crossed the line, there was no going back, and both of you knew that. 

“I’m sure. I want this, Guk. I want you.” 

That was all he needed to hear to make love to you the whole night. Once both of you came, Jungkook laid beside you, chest heaving. For a while, the both of you lay in silence. 

“Will you be here in the morning?” you asked, turning your head on the pillow to face him. 

He did the same. “I will,” he promised. “Go to sleep now, Sola.” 

But he wasn’t. 

When you woke up the next day, the other side of the bed was empty. You sat up, burying your face in your hands. What the hell have I done? What the hell have we done? 

You left the bed, entering the bathroom, and proceeding to take a shower. In there, you cried, because nothing was going to be the same after last night. You couldn’t blame it all on Jungkook either. You also made it happen. You desperately wished it was just a dream—another wet dream you had of your best friend—but the traces of his cum were still on your inner thigh. 

It happened. There was no going back. Everything was going to be different now and most of all, you didn’t know if you still had your best friend. 

When you finished showering and getting dressed, you made your way down to the beach. You had texted Mingyu while getting dressed and he told you he was there with the chinito you saw him with, Wonwoo. Arriving at the beach, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, about to text the honey-skinned med student when you saw Jungkook with Areum in the water, his strong arms that held you throughout the night, now wrapped around her waist. Fits of giggles escaped her lips as Jungkook wrestled with her in the water, a huge grin on his handsome face. 

Your heart shattered. 

You quickly looked away, a fresh set of tears forming in your eyes. As you were about to turn away, you heard Mingyu’s familiar voice which caused you to stop on your tracks. 

“Sola, hey, there you—what’s wrong?” The concern in his voice was palpable. You felt his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you closer to him. 

“I—I finally told him, Gyu,” you said, taking in a sharp shaky breath. “I finally told him.” 

Mingyu didn’t ask for more details. He knew. He led you back to your room, promising Wonwoo to text him later. Once you were back, you just cried on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything and neither did you. He just let you be until the tears finally stopped. 

“I’m sorry I pulled you away from Wonwoo. He seems like a nice guy,” you said after a while, voice raspy from all the crying. 

“It’s fine. We’ll be seeing each other often anyway,” Mingyu shared. 

You looked at him, surprised. “Really?” 

Your friend nodded, laughing to himself. “You know, all those times I teased you about your being a hopeless romantic and believing in love—I think it’s backfiring on me now with Wonwoo.” 

“You love him?” you asked. 

“I don’t know, Sola. But I know what I feel for him is different,” he answered. “It’s terrifying. How quickly someone can change your perspective on something.” 

You couldn’t argue with that. 

“What’s your plan now?” Mingyu asked. 

You sighed deeply. “I think I’m going to head back. My graduation is tomorrow anyway. Do you mind booking the bus ride home?” 

“I’m staying here, Sola. I—I want to be with Wonwoo more,” Mingyu confessed, smiling at you apologetically. 

“Gyu…” 

“Please be a friend to me now, Sola.” 

You pressed your lips tightly. Then, you nodded. You wanted your friend to be happy. 

“I’m gonna pack now,” you announced. 

“Okay. Just text me if you need anything,” Mingyu gave you a hug and kiss on top of your head. “I want you to know I’m proud of you, Sola.” 

Once Mingyu left, you began to pack. You didn’t bring a lot of clothes, but you were still biding your time. A part of you didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay here and never graduate. But that illusion was quickly broken when you saw your mom’s contact flashing on your phone screen. 

You sucked your teeth before answering, “Hi mom.” 

“Sola? Where the hell are you? Why haven’t you been answering my texts? Your graduation is tomorrow. Everyone is looking forward to it!” she exclaimed frantically. 

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m in La Union with Jungkook and—,” 

“What the hell are you doing in La Union?! You better get back instantly, Sola. I’m not kidding. If you don’t graduate now, I really don’t know what I’m gonna do. It’s been seven years! Please let me graduate too.” 

“I’m already packing and I’ll catch the bus home soon. I just—Mom, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it in time for the ceremony ‘cos—,” 

Your phone was suddenly snatched from your grip. You looked up and saw Jungkook standing beside you. 

“Hey tita, it’s Jungkook. Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll take her home. She’ll make it in time. Yes. We’ll be home before the ceremony, tita. Okay. Bye.” 

He ended the call and sat down on the bed across from you, handing you your phone back. You grabbed it from him. “You don’t have to take me home.” 

“I already promised tita I will,” he answered. 

“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, folding your shirt. 

Silence. Jungkook was just staring at you the entire time as you folded your clothes and packed them inside your bag. Then, he said those two words. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You bit the inside of your lower lip. What was he exactly for? For having sex with you? For spending the night with you? For not feeling the same way as you? All of the above? 

As if reading your thoughts, he added, “For everything.” 

You nodded. “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” you told him. “It’s not your fault you don’t love me the same way.” But why did you kiss me? Why did you make love to me? 

Jungkook lowered his head. You zipped your bag. “Let’s go. I still have a graduation to chase.” 

“What’s this?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed when you saw Areum standing beside Jungkook’s car with her luggage and bag. 

“I’ll drop Areum on the way,” Jungkook announced, grabbing her luggage and putting it at the back of his car. 

You pressed your lips in a line. “Fine.” You stepped into the back passenger seat, quickly grabbing your phone and earphones from your bag, and plugging it in. 

Lowering yourself on the seat, you rested your head against the window as Areum stepped into the passenger seat while Jungkook sat on the driver’s seat. You caught him glancing at you from the corner of your eyes, but you didn’t look back. Instead, you turned the volume up. Moments later, he began to drive. 

You decided to sleep the entire ride. However, when you woke up, you immediately realized Jungkook wasn’t driving in your hometown. “Where are we?” you asked, taking one of your earphones off. 

“I’m dropping Areum first,” Jungkook replied. 

You frowned. “I’m the one chasing a graduation, remember?” 

“Shh, just go back to sleep. Here,” he threw something at you—your favorite candy, Butterball, landing on your lap. 

You grabbed it, tempted to eat it, but you threw it back at him and went back to sleep. By the time you woke up again, you were at Areum’s house. She turned to look at you, smiling. 

She was really beautiful and kind. You began to feel guilty for hating her so much the entire time. “Congrats on your graduation, Sola. I’ll see you around, okay?” 

“Thanks Areum.” 

After Jungkook walked her to her door, he came back to the car. “What are you doing there? Come here,” he said, patting the passenger seat. 

“I’m fine here,” you replied. 

“Sola, come on. Please? I drive better with you beside me.” 

For the rest of the ride to your home, you sat beside Jungkook. Unlike before, where your car rides were filled with music and random conversations, tonight it was silent. You didn’t plug your phone into his stereo and you kept your eyes closed the whole time, listening to your music. Once in a while, Jungkook would try to make small talk, but you would only give him short replies, then went back to sleeping. 

When you arrived at your family house, you stayed with Jungkook outside for a bit, both leaning against his car. 

“It’s your graduation in four hours.” 

“Are you not going to come to yours?” 

“I don’t see the point,” Jungkook replied. 

You nodded and pushed yourself off his car. “I’ll head inside. Thanks for the ride, Jungkook.” 

He grabbed your arm before you entered the gate. You stared into his eyes. You couldn’t quite place what held them right now. Maybe you never really knew Jeon Jungkook after all this time. 

“I’m sorry, Sola.” 

“Why do you keep saying sorry? I told you—it’s not your fault and I’m fine. I’m over it now. See you around, Jungkook.” 

You head back inside. Graduation was in four hours. 

You wore a traditional Filipiniana dress, a pair of white heels that were already scraping the skin at the back of your feet, your mother’s pearls, and your sablay when your name was called. You came up on the stage with your excited mother, shook hands with your Dean, and finally grabbed your diploma. You always imagined graduation to be something so spectacular, but the moment you received the piece of paper that confirmed you had, indeed, graduated—you just felt the same. 

After the ceremony, you went back to your house where almost all your relatives from your mother’s side were waiting for you. A tarpaulin with your graduation picture and the words, “Congratulations Yu Sola!” printed on it and hung outside your gate. You greeted everyone on your way, telling them thanks, before retreating in your room to change out of your dress and into more comfortable clothes. 

While you were slipping on your shirt, your phone buzzed on your nightstand. When you grabbed it, you saw Jungkook’s message on the lockscreen. 

Let’s go, it said. 

You knew it meant one thing: a beer and butterball at Route 96. There was still a part of you that wanted to go because you always went when you received a message like that from Jungkook. It was always a yes when it came to him. But now that you confessed, something shifted, whether he admitted to it himself or not. 

So, you put your phone in your pocket, and went down. But as you do so, you felt your phone vibrate again. You pulled it out of your pocket and Jungkook texted you another message. 

Please? One for the road. I’m outside. 

You bit your lower lip. Then, you made your way out. There, you saw Jungkook wearing his barong and sablay, leaning against his car like hours ago. He smiled as soon as he saw you come out. 

“You still have it,” he pointed to your shirt. 

You looked down on it and realized you had picked his shirt of all things. It wasn’t anything special; just something he bought at a boutique. But it meant a lot to you because he gave it to you after you spilled beer on your shirt years ago. 

“You attended your ceremony?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. He nodded. “I thought you didn’t see the point.” 

“I changed my mind.” 

You wished you were just as quick in having a change of heart. 

“One for the road?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. 

You took a deep breath and nodded. “One for the road.” 

“Shit, I forgot it’s Sunday. It’s closed,” Jungkook sighed, seeing the steel gate at Route 96. 

“It’s fine. Let’s just go,” you told him, grabbing the beer he bought beforehand and making your way up to the bar. Jungkook followed behind. 

You both leaned in the railing before you, beer in hands. Another silence. 

You couldn’t believe this was the culmination of the seven years you spent loving Jeon Jungkook. You thought, after confessing, you would never speak again. He’d distance himself from you but here you were—having a beer with him at your favorite place in the world. You wished you knew what was going on in his mind right now. You wished you could dissect his mind and learn every thought he had ever since you confessed. 

Because you never really knew Jeon Jungkook. You were just so in love with him and idealized who he was over the last seven years. Suddenly, all the stupid memories you shared with Mingyu flashed in your mind and made you laugh. 

“What’s funny?” Jungkook asked, chuckling. 

You shook your head, drinking your beer. “Nothing.” 

He nudged your side. “Come on, share it.” 

You took a deep breath and for the first time, you looked at Jeon Jungkook and saw him for who he was; not the man you have loved for the past seven years. 

“I graduated, finally.” 

↪˚ author’s note: if you want to donate to me via kofi or gcash <33 i would appreciate it a lot. thank you & see you in more fics later on.

↪˚ permanent taglist: @whoa-jo @kookieandjoonberries

all rights reserved. 2024. belovedguk.

[madtomedgar]

5 states including kentucky (!!) voted to protect abortion access. 3 states did away with slavery (prison labor) as punishment for a crime. 3 states made massive commitments to affordable housing. illinois made collective bargaining a protected right. 2 more states legalized weed. connecticut is moving towards early voting. alabama removed racist language from the state constitution and is investing in statewide public broadband internet. california massively expanded funding for arts and music programs in public schools. colorado raised on the wealthiest in order to provide universal free school lunch to students. georgia may no longer pay cops who are suspended on a felony indictment. massachusetts massively expanded funding for public education and infrastructure, massively expanded dental insurance, and will allow residents to get a drivers license or state id regardless of immigration status. montana will now require a search warrant for access to electronic data. nebraska will increase its minimum wage to $15. new mexico will massively improve and expand senior facilities, public libraries, higher ed, special public schools, and tribal schools, residential utilities (water, internet, electricity). new york is putting 4.2 billion towards climate change mitigation. rhode island is increasing funding for public education and environmental protection. south dakota expanded medicaid.

[writeonwhiskey]

the skz house: ch 19 (18+)

a/n: thank you @bahablastplz for editing! i appreciate you 🩵 and thank you, readers, or your patience.

[ read chapter 18 here ]

Chapter 19: Of Christmas & Chokers

Over the next few days, the comfortability between you and Chan deepens. Whether you’re in the room or out being tourists, you remain almost glued together—holding hands, sitting on his lap, hugging each other, kissing. Your conversations flow naturally and without tension. In an alternate universe, perhaps this would have been an ideal trip for a couple in love. As delusional as you may have become in believing this could be a new normal, you keep one foot grounded in reality. Well, maybe not the whole foot…but at least a pinky toe.

Your days are packed with several activities such as a nighttime ATV ride, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. You both have the time of your life letting loose. Speeding, swerving, screaming at the rush of it all. You’ve never seen Chan smile so much. He is different when he’s free of the responsibility of being Chapter President…he’s carefree. You tell yourself regardless of how this ends, you’ll be glad you at least got to see him like this.

You go to a local amusement park where Chan is determined to make you face your fear of rollercoasters. However, after the second ride leaves you nearly in tears, Chan puts that mission to rest.

You venture back out on the water on a jet ski. Chan lets you do most of the driving that day, but you soon realize it’s a set up. When you’re far out enough from the beach, his hands on your hips find their way between your legs. He kisses your neck and tells you to turn off the jet ski. He fucks you with his fingers until you come, whispering in your ear how hard his cock is and what he plans to do to you later.

One of the days while you and Chan are out, the hotel staff add holiday decorations around the room, including a small, 4ft tree in the corner near the balcony windows. It makes you squeal with glee upon seeing it. You assume it’s all the hotel’s doing. Lee Know wouldn’t have done something so nice. Would Chan? He doesn’t claim it, if he had put them up to it. It doesn’t matter, though, it makes you happy to see and feel more of the holiday spirit.

When Christmas Eve comes around, there’s a break in the itinerary since a lot of places are closed for the holiday. You wind up sleeping in quite late for your standards and when you finally open your eyes, Chan is wide awake in the bed next to you. He’s sitting up, back against the pillows, laptop in front of him and headphones covering his ears. He’s consumed by whatever he’s doing, but as soon as you turn to face him, his eyes shift from the screen to you.

“She has risen,” he jokes, moving one headphone away from his ear.

“I needed that,” you reply, stretching beneath the blankets. “How long have you been up?”

“A while,” he says with a shrug. “Just working on our chapter project.”

You smile inwardly. Typically, his response would have finished with ‘a while’, you would have had to dig and pry for any further information. He, for now at least, is freely providing you with further details.

“Chapter project?” you ask. You recall hearing him discuss it months ago, but never knew what it was.

“Just something we have to put together to memorialize the year,” he tells you. He turns the laptop so you can see the screen. You recognize the sight of a music program with tracks and layers but have no further understanding of it.

“Putting your minor to use?”

“Kind of. It doubles as my senior project for the minor, so that’s a plus.” He starts moving things around on the screen, opening a folder aptly titled ‘Chapter Project’. He clicks on a few files, opening them to show you as he speaks. “I want to incorporate songs I’ve worked on with different things from the other members—Hyunjin’s artwork for example.”

You know Chan is a good student. All of the members are, really, but you know some of them drag their feet and procrastinate until the last minute. You’ve caught Hyunjin, Changbin and Jeongin rushing to meet midnight deadlines more than once.

“Can I hear something?”

You sit up on the bed, back against the pillows like Chan. The blanket falls from your chest, exposing your breasts.

“Only if you put those things away,” he says, looking pointedly at your breasts, then up to your eyes, then back down again.

“What things?” you ask innocently, leaning back against the headboard and pushing your chest out even more.

Seizing the opportunity, Chan leans over and captures your nipple in his mouth. You let out a surprised scream as he bites down around it. You push him away, swatting his arm. You promptly pull the blanket up to cover them before holding out your hand for his headphones.

He hands them over with a smile, and you put them on. He shuffles a few things around on the screen before a video starts. You assume the graphics are of Felix’s design as it feels like something you’d see in a video game. A song accompanies the images and you’re surprised to hear Chan’s voice over a jovial sounding beat, followed by Seungmin, then Changbin. You didn’t know any of them could sing.

The video is only about a minute long but you feel dumbfounded when it’s over. You remove the headphones and pass them back to Chan.

“I like it,” you say with a smile. “It’s…surprisingly good.”

“You underestimating me?” he asks teasingly.   

“My mistake,” you say sarcastically, placing a hand over your heart. “Is that a cover?”

“No, it’s an original song,” he tells you, turning the laptop back so it’s facing him. “Just waiting on Felix to finish rendering the rest of the graphics, then that one will be done.”

“You’re doing more?”

“A few more. It’ll be a mini-album.”

“Do I get a copy?”

“Hmmm…maybe. If you ask nicely.”

“Oh, never mind then,” you say nonchalantly.

Chan turns to look at you, biting his tongue between his teeth to keep from smiling as he nods.

“I’ll remember that.”

You slide down against the pillows, then turn on your side so you’re still facing him.

“I had no idea you guys could sing,” you tell him.

“Participating in choir was mandatory at our boarding school,” he shrugs. “We can hold a note.”

Chan is full of so many surprises. Most of them pleasant, these days. You want to uncover all there is to know about him, but you know you’ll never be given the time.

You cuddle up to him as he puts his headphones back on. You just lay there and watch him work, expertly navigating around the screen as he continues composing the song. You want to ask why he’s not majoring in music. You already know the answer to that, though. The choices for his future aren’t exactly his to make. His parents decided he would major in business, and sadly that’s all there is to it.

Your heart aches for him—you can see the work he put in to make something creative, the passion he has for it. And he can’t even pursue it.

It’s now 11:00pm and you and Chan have just returned to the hotel room. After dinner you both wanted to get out of the room for a bit and ended up at one of the only places open—the Magic City casino. The hours spent there are a bit of a blur. It was news to you that anyone playing at the tables or slot machines could get free drinks, so you both decided to indulge. Being so far from the hotel, though, Chan didn’t let either of you get too drunk.

As soon as you’re back to the room, Chan excuses himself to make a phone call and disappears out onto the balcony. You change into your pajamas—a pair of thin, loose fitting shorts and matching top—and return to the living room. You turn on the TV, stopping on the first channel you see playing a Christmas themed movie to entertain you while you wait for him to return. From all the food and drinks, you start to doze off until the sound of the heavy balcony door opening stirs you.

“Everything okay?” you ask when he comes back in.

“Mm,” is his reply, with a small nod of his head. “It’s Christmas day back home. I’m gonna get changed.”

You can only nod as well. His tone sounds a bit sad so you’re not sure what to say. Maybe he’s missing spending the holiday with his little brother and sister. And that makes you sad. It’s your fault he’s not with them.

Chan comes back into the living room clad in a plain black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He sits down next to you and throws his arm around the back of the couch behind you.

All of your life you had never considered yourself to have a one-track mind but now? With Chan? Seeing him in those grey sweatpants puts one thing at the forefront of your mind, drowsiness and sadness pushed aside. You’ve got to get a hold of yourself.

“Should I open the bottle of wine the hotel left?” you suggest.

“Sure,” is his simple reply.

You stand and retrieve the bottle from the kitchen, along with two wine glasses. You pop the cork and fill both glasses before returning to Chan, handing him one.

“You sure everything’s alright? You seem a bit down…”

You don’t want the tension in the air to linger through the night and this trip has built your courage to address him this way.

“I’ll be fine,” he tells you with a soft smile. He clinks his glass against yours before downing his in one go. “You trying to stay up ‘til midnight for your present?”

You take a sip from your wine glass; happy he’s taking the initiative to change the subject to something lighter.

“I don’t see any presents under that tree,” you say, looking in the corner where the small tree is lit up.

“I haven’t put them there yet.”

“Them?”

As in multiple.

He nods.

“Oh no,” you say, a look of panic taking over your features.

You weren’t sure the two of you would even be exchanging gifts. Not only that, but you don’t feel like you truly know enough about him to get a well thought out present. And you love giving gifts. Hyunjin has a never-ending need for art supplies, so you immediately knew what to get him. You were completely puzzled when it came to Chan.

It was only after the staff added the tree that you thought it’d be nice for him to wake up with something under the tree. Being on vacation, though, you were in a bit of a predicament. All you really had convenient access to was the gift shop.

He must sense your apprehension.

“It’s okay if you didn’t get me anything,” he tries to appease you.

When the panicked look on your face turns into a frown, he takes the wine glass from your hand and places it next to his on the side table. He then pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him and cups your face with both hands, stroking your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“It’s fine,” he says in a sharper tone that makes you nod in acceptance.

“I would have never imagined I’d be spending Christmas Eve with you, let alone exchanging gifts,” you tell him, leaning your forehead against his. “From English classmates to this? Never in my wildest dreams.”

“That wasn’t our first class together,” he says matter-of-factly. He leans back against the couch and takes both of your hands in his, lacing his fingers through.

You furrow your brow at his statement. You wrack your brain for any other class you may have had with him but can’t come up with any.

“What? When?”

“Freshman year…Anthropology 101. In the lecture hall.”

You think back to freshman year and the classes you took. You did, in fact, take an Anthropology course. In a large lecture hall with something close to 100 other students, including your ex.

“I always sat in the back—you were always somewhere up front. Being a nerd, I guess,” he teases. You try to pull your intertwined hands from his to hit him, but he holds onto them tighter, bringing them to his chest. “You look cute when you’re focused, you know that?”

Your brain feels like mush. None of this is ringing a bell.

“Do you remember the presentation you did for extra credit? A family heirloom?”

Now that, you do remember.

“You were so nervous, but I swear it made you look even cuter. The way you talked about the heirloom…” he continues. “…your grandmother’s bracelet, I think it was…”

“Yes,” you say softly.

The bracelet your grandmother gave your mother, who then passed it on to you, and one day you’ll give it to your own child. It feels odd to hear Chan speak about it. Something so deeply personal to you. Granted, you did tell an entire class of strangers about it. But the fact that he remembers it, remembers you?

The fact that he’s known of you this long? Why hadn’t he mentioned it before?

“Why don’t I remember you being in that class?” you ask, struggling to process this new shared history and the words he’s just spilled about you simultaneously.

“It was freshman year…plenty of stuff going on and…your ex,” he shrugs.

He hits the nail on the head with that comment. That class is where you met him.

“You know, the first few weeks of the SKZ house before we bring anyone in?” Chan asks rhetorically, “I thought maybe I’d work up the nerve to talk to you while I could…but then he was there. Always sitting next to you. Even with the class we had this semester. I thought again, maybe it was a sign, you know? But he was waiting for you outside the door after the first class ended.”

You feel a pang of sadness, hearing that. Maybe in a different timeline if he had come talk to you, things would be different. You imagine getting to know a bright-eyed freshman Chan, eager and optimistic to take on the world. Maybe he would have opted out of having an assignee if it were possible, maybe he really could have been yours.

“I remember one of the last lectures you came in with your eyes all puffy,” he continues, disrupting that dangerous train of thought, “like you’d been crying. You didn’t sit anywhere near him that day. I always wondered what happened.”

You open your mouth to speak but close it immediately. What can you say to that? To any of this? Had he really paid such close attention to you? All this time?

“He used to treat you like shit, you know.”

At that remark, you set your lips in a firm line. You untangle your hands from his and cross your arms in front of your chest. It’s true, but hearing Chan say it hits too close to home.

“And you treated me any better?”

Chan takes in your closed off body language and a silence falls over you. Neither of you want this bubble you’re in to burst yet. Perhaps he’s regretting saying any of this at all.

“The day you showed up at our house…” he speaks up again after a while, “I felt sick to my stomach, y/n. Like the universe was playing some sick fucking joke on me.”

He places his hands on your thighs, squeezing and rubbing them.

“When it came time to choose assignees, I couldn’t let you end up with anyone else. I’ve never pulled rank like that before as the chapter president, but with you I had to…and I knew Hyunjin would be good for you, too.”

You shake your head in disbelief.

The day in the hot tub creeps back into your mind. When you told Chan that your time with Hyunjin had been great and he replied with ‘I know. I’m glad’. You didn’t fully understand it then. Now, it’s as if Chan knew the emotional rollercoaster he was going to send you on and wanted to make sure you had a harness. Hyunjin.

You let out a low breath and place your hands on top of your head, locking your fingers together. This is a lot to take in.

“So, your plan was to selfishly claim me and treat me like shit?” You ask after a moment.

“I wouldn’t call it a plan,” he says in a sad tone. “I knew that I was attracted to you and after our first few nights together I had to do something to keep boundaries in place.”

The conversation you shared on the beach clarified his drive for the spankings and edging. You understand his reasonings. You know that his sexual desires and fantasies with you are kept separate from his emotional connection to you. However, it’s confusing and frustrating to know he clearly felt something for you prior to you joining the SKZ House and still kept that brick wall firmly in place between you.  

“So, you wanted to fuck me and still treat me like shit then?” You can’t help the bitter edge to your tone.

“I didn’t wanna get to close—clearly I’ve failed,” he admits. “It’s just always been in the back of my mind how long I’ve wanted you and now that I get to have you, there’s an expiration date.”

“What happens when we get back? You start treating me like that again?”

He averts his gaze from you.

“I don’t know how to—” he stops abruptly and shakes his head.

“Chan,” you say softly, reaching out to turn his head back to face you. “Please.”

“I don’t know how to be with you and be genuinely happy in this fucked up situation, y/n. I’m not gonna want it to end…but it has to.”

You sigh, resting your hands on his chest. As much as it hurts to admit, he’s right. You don’t like the thought of having to leave either of them. With Hyunjin, though, you know he will move on with ease which makes losing him slightly easier. Chan, on the other hand, after all the ground you’ve broken, the progress you’ve made…having to throw it all away will be hard. On both of you, you’re coming to realize.

But how else could you have gotten to know him? If you hadn’t shown up at the SKZ house, Chan would have once again had another assignee and not been able to interact with you anyways. Perhaps you both should at least be thankful for the time you’ve been given and enjoy it while you can.

“You can’t go back to being an asshole, Chan,” you tell him softly.

“I know.”

He grabs onto your hips and pulls you closer to him until you’re forced to lay against him. You rest your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly. You stay like that for a while, the movie playing in the background but neither of you watching it. You want to remember this moment, how it feels to physically and mentally be this close to him.

An alarm suddenly goes off on his phone and Chan quickly silences it. He cups one hand around the back of your neck to guide your head up. His brown eyes bore into yours, still lingering in this shared moment. You hold his face in your hands, staring right back, not backing down. It’s not an intense stare…more like one of silent pleading and unspoken questions. You bring your face to his and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Wait here,” he says, kissing you once more before sliding you off his lap.

He disappears into the bedroom and when he comes back, heads straight for the Christmas tree. He places two wrapped boxes under it and you mentally kick yourself again. You hadn’t even wrapped his. Even so, you can’t hide the smile that takes over your face at the sight and the thought he must have put into this.

“Should I get yours?”

“So you did get me something?” he asks with a smirk.

“I did…but seeing that,” you say, pointing to the neatly wrapped presents under the tree, “I don’t even want to give it to you anymore.”

“It’s fine,” he says again. “I’ll wait until tomorrow. Come pick one.”

You stand from the couch and walk over to him and the tree. Both boxes are square in shape, one larger than the other. You deliberate for a moment before reaching for the larger one. You sit on the floor and pull it towards you, surprised by its weight. You look up at Chan and when he doesn’t move to join you, you pull on his hand until he sits.

“Did you wrap this yourself?”

“I asked the housekeeper to help me out with it,” he tells you.

“Resourceful.”

He taps his temple with his pointer finger.

You start ripping away the wrapping paper to reveal a white box beneath. You can’t hold back your smile as you pull the top part of the box off. You set it aside and pull out the tissue paper. When your eyes land on what’s inside, your mouth drops.

A folded, white lab coat with your last name embroidered across the breast area sits on top. You reach out and run a finger across the stitching. It feels surreal to see.

“I figured you’d need it when you go off to vet school.”

You look up at him, still smiling. You will definitely need it. Along with several other items you were already wondering how you would afford, without having to ask your parents for even more money. That’s part of the reason you ultimately decided to join the SKZ house and save the money they were sending you. At least the majority of it would go towards the next steps in your education.

“Thank you, Chan.”

It’s a thoughtful gift. And you feel the guilt of your shitty gift building.

“There’s more…” he nods towards the box.

And the guilt continues.

You lift the lab coat out of the box and gently set it outside the box. The next item is a set of black scrubs, your name embroidered on the shirt as well. You left them out of the box and sit them on top of the lab coat. When your eyes land on the item at the bottom of the box, your jaw drops again.

You reach inside the box and retrieve the stethoscope. This was one of the pricier items you hadn’t been looking forward to purchasing. You bring it closer to inspect, smiling widely. You immediately recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. It, too, is engraved with your name around it.

You feel your eyes begin to prickle and you blink furiously, not wanting to cry, but you can’t help it. It’s a thoughtful gift. One that you’ll get to take with you when the year is over. A reminder of Chan you get to keep with you forever.

You slowly raise your eyes to look at him, shaking your head softly.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, “Is it not the right kind? I wasn’t really sure…”

“It is—it is,” you say, your voice cracking. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and clear your throat. “It’s perfect. It’s all perfect, Chan. Thank you.”

“Wanna test it out?”

Your smile returns at that and you nod, placing the ear tubes in your ears and sliding closer to him. He pulls you onto his lap once again, putting your legs on either side of him, your butt resting on his folded legs.

You grab the bell end of the stethoscope with one hand and pull at the hem of his t-shirt with the other, lifting it up. You then place the diaphragm end to his chest and he instantly moves back, grabbing your wrist.

“That’s cold doc,” he says, voice muffled and rumbling through the ear piece.

“Sorry, I’m a rookie,” you reply sheepishly.

You bring the diaphragm end to your mouth and breathe on it to warm it up before placing it back over his heart. The digital reader immediately lights up, reading his heart rate. But you’re not focused on it. You’re looking directly into his eyes, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“Sounding healthy?” he asks.

You nod.

“Well, we should make sure the reading is accurate, too.”

He cups the back of your neck and pulls your face closer, bringing your lips to his. With his other hand, he holds your wrist and the stethoscope in place. You can hear his heartbeat quicken as you kiss. You grind your hips against his, causing the steady thumping in your ear to beat faster. You want to get lost in the sound of his body’s reaction to you.

He uses his hand on your back to assist your grinding, making sure you can also feel his body’s reaction to you.  

Not wanting to jeopardize the safety of your present, you break the kiss and pull the ear tubes out. His hand drops from your wrist allowing you to turn and set the stethoscope neatly on top of the pile of the other presents behind you.

Before you can even turn back around, Chan is changing your position. He holds onto your back tightly as he lowers you down to the floor.

“I won’t write a negative review just yet—but you’ve got some learning to do, doc.”

You like to hear him call you that.

“I’m a fast learner,” you reply.

“Oh, I know,” he says with a wink.

He remains sitting in front of you, his legs still crossed, while you’re lying down. Your legs are draped over his thighs, feet on the ground on either side of him. He pushes your shirt up to expose your stomach and lightly runs his fingers in a zig-zag pattern all the way down until his hand is between your legs. The thin, pajama shorts you’re wearing are a loose fit and don’t do much to keep him out. Not that you’d want that.

He easily moves the fabric aside and his eyes snap to yours when he realizes you aren’t wearing any underwear.

“I only packed so many for the trip,” you laugh and shrug. “I can’t keep messing them up with you.”

He smirks and nods his agreement.

He slides his fingers up and down your slit, teasing your pussy until his fingers become saturated with your slick. He slowly inserts his ring and middle finger inside of you as he places his other palm on your lower stomach. You rock your hips against him in response. He curls his fingers, pressing against your inner walls each time he withdraws his hand, all the while applying steady pressure with his palm.

You can really feel his fingers rubbing against you, and you know he can too. His eyes are on his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, then move up to your writhing body, then your face. A soft smile plays out on his lips as he watches your reaction. He adds his thumb on your clit into the mix and you let out a moan.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes.

You bite your lip between your teeth, arching your back. You’re too caught up in the sensations to formulate a response.

“You wanna come on my fingers?” he asks, slowing them down. “Or on my cock?”

You moan again.

“Both.”

“Greedy,” he says with a soft chuckle, still moving his fingers in and out at an achingly slow pace.

“Mmmm, yes. For you.”

Any part of him you can have.

He moves his fingers quicker, thumb still circling your clit. You sit up a little, placing your hands behind you to hold you up as you move your hips against his fingers.

He arches an eyebrow at this, a devilish smirk on his lips. He withdraws his fingers, and you protest with a whine and pout. He brings his fingers, coated in your slick, to your face and spreads it around your pouted lips. He watches closely as you lick your lips, then brings his hand to his mouth, sucking off the rest for himself.

The sight of him enjoying your taste always sends you off the rails. You grab a handful of his shirt and pull him to you until his lips are on yours. He seems a little startled, but he allows it. You kiss him, taste him, taste you.

Before you can have too much, he breaks the kiss but keeps his face against yours.

“I want you to open your other present now,” he says, lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

“Not in the morning?” you ask, catching your breath.

“No,” he says with a shake of his head. “I wanna see it on you now.”

He stretches to the side to retrieve the present and you wrap your arms around his waist to keep from falling back. He grabs it and returns to his upright position before handing it to you.

You take the present and rip the wrapping paper, much less delicately than you did the first. What could this be? He wants to see it on you? You’re excited to find out. You toss all bits of the paper behind you without a care until just the box is left. You lift the lid from the box and inside is what appears to be…a collar?

You look up to Chan with an arched brow and he just smiles widely, baring all his pearly white teeth. The part of the collar that rests on the back of the neck is black, with a belt buckle-like fastener. On the front is a thick, silver linked chain (much like the one he wears on his wrist) with a silver heart hanging from it. The heart itself has several tiny jewels spread evenly around it. The way they glitter in the light, you hope its cubic zirconia…but knowing how deep Chan’s pockets go, they might just be diamonds. You bring the heart closer for inspection and see the words 'Good Girl' engraved on it.

You’re not sure what to make of it. Both the cost, the phrase and the gift itself. He wants you to wear this? Like a dog?

He takes it out of the box and drapes it around your neck, moving your hair out of the way so he can fasten it in the back. You look up at him as he hooks a finger through the heart and tugs on it. Pulling, pulling, restricting until it’s taught against your throat.

Oh. Oh.  

“This okay?” he asks.

You appreciate that he’s asking. You’re convinced you’d let him walk you through the street with it, so long as he asks first.

You close the distance between you, placing your lips on his to convey your consent. He tugs a little tighter on the collar as you kiss before releasing it fully.

In the next moment, your hands are on his shoulders, pushing on them until his back is now against the floor. He doesn’t resist at all.

You reposition yourself comfortably on top of him. You put your hands on his biceps, squeezing them tightly before sliding up his arms to his hands. You move them up above his head then lace your fingers between his, holding them in place as you kiss him. You grind your hips into his and he lets out a moan. You feel his hardening cock pressed between your legs. You grind against it more, sliding your clit along his length. Your kisses become quicker, sloppier, as you keep grinding on him.

He tries to move his hands, but you squeeze them tighter. He lets out a grunt and uses more force to break free—reminding you that he was allowing you to keep them there. He sits up and wraps one arm around you, pulling you close as he starts to stand up. You wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist. He walks you both back over to the couch.

He unhooks your legs and lowers you so you’re standing in front of him. He leans down and claims your lips again, but you want him undressed. You reach for the hem of his shirt and start pulling it up. You break the kiss to get it completely off his head and before he can kiss you again, you push him onto the couch.

You lift your shirt above your head and as you’re reaching back to unhook your bra, you give a pointed look to his sweatpants. He lifts his hips from the couch and pushes them down.

“Does it look good?” you ask, running your fingers along the collar as you kneel in front of him.

He licks his lips in anticipation, “Better than I imagined.”

You reach for his hand and bring it to the collar. He tugs on the heart again, tightening it around your neck. He wraps his other hand around the base of his cock and pulls you towards it. You drop your jaw and take him in your mouth.

He sucks in a breath, watching you lower your mouth on him. He releases the collar and leans back into the couch. You replace your hand with his at the base, stroking his dick as you bob your head up and down.

You alternate between stroking, sucking, taking it out and smacking it against your lips. He moans and groans, body jerking in response to your actions. You love seeing him like this.

You take him out of you mouth fully and continue stroking him, moving your mouth instead to take each of his balls in your mouth, in turn. You glance up to his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he lets out a deep breath.

“So,” you say, returning your attention to his cock, licking slowly around the tip. “You wanna come in my mouth or in my pussy?”

He looks down at you, only able to smile and shake his head at your use of his same words against him. He leans forward and grabs the heart of the collar once more, using it to pull you to him.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he asks, kissing along your lips.

You giggle and nod playfully in response.

He leans back, pulling on the collar to bring you with him until you’re forced to stand again. His other hand slips between your legs and he rubs your pussy with his fingers.

“I wanna fill you up here.”

You moan against his lips, and he releases the collar. He lightly pushes against your chest, so you stand fully then motions to your shorts. You turn around, bend over and pull them down. You move to straighten yourself, but he lurches forward to stop you.

He puts a hand on your back to keep you bent over. In the next instant you feel his other hand collide with your ass and you let out a surprised yelp. He rubs the wounded area on the right and brings his mouth to the left cheek, placing a wet kiss to it. You feel his teeth dig into your skin, causing you to gasp. He smacks the right cheek again.

He shifts his mouth to the surely reddening cheek, placing another wet kiss there. It soothes the stinging a bit. He slaps the left check, his palm gripping your ass when it lands. He then immediately slides his fingers between your legs, slipping along your wet slit until they find your opening. He pushes his fingers inside, you don’t even know how many, but it makes you feel full.

“Mmmm,” you moan, pushing back against him.

“You’re dripping for me,” he says, lacing kisses along each cheek.

“Always,” you reply. And it’s the truth.

He takes his fingers out of you and places both hands on your waist, guiding you down to him. He positions himself at your opening and you roll your head back as he slowly lowers you on his cock. You remain still when he’s fully inserted, just basking in the feel of him inside you.

You make small movements with your hips first, moving forwards and backwards.

“Fuck,” he exhales, gripping your hips tighter.

You like the way he sounds when you’re pleasing him.

You plant your feet firmly on the ground, your hands on his knees. You start to move up and down, bouncing on him and drawing more delicious groans from him.

He uses his hands on your waist to lift you higher and bring you down even harder. You cup your breasts, pinching your nipples to add to the pleasure you’re feeling. You don’t know if you’ll ever get tired of his cock filling you up. Though, you won’t exactly have the opportunity to find out.

You try to push the thought aside, but you can feel it distracting you.

Chan notices as your rhythm becomes out of sync with his. He pulls you all the way down against him, then slides his hand up your stomach, between your breasts, all the way to your neck. He covers the collar with his hand and pulls you back against his chest. You keep circling your hips on him, not wanting to lose the momentum.

“You okay?” he asks softly in your ear.

“Yeah,” you reply, but it’s a lie. “I want to see you.”

He repositions both of you so you’re lying fully on the couch and he’s on top of you. He guides one of your knees up and hooks your leg over his shoulder as he enters you again.

“Like this?”

You offer a silent nod, sliding your hands up his bare, chiseled chest, locking your fingers together behind his neck.

He starts moving again and you feel him sliding in and out, and you find yourself unable to tear your gaze from his face. His eyes are locked on you too. This feels heavy, but neither of you comment on it. He turns his head to the side to place a kiss to the leg that’s slung over his shoulder, eyes never leaving yours.

Your hands leave his neck to roam through his hair, over his face, touching every part of him you can to commit to memory. You shift your mental focus to the way he feels, beneath your fingertips, his cock inside of you.

You want the Chan you’ve had for the past week for the rest of the time you have him. Open. Earnest. You try to convey this with your eyes as he continues thrusting in and out. He grabs your breast, squeezing it tightly and you part your lips and arch your back in response.

You don’t know if you’ll survive if he goes back to treating you like you don’t matter. You can’t let him do that to you. Can you?

“I know, I know,” he says in response to your unspoken qualms. He kisses your leg once more before releasing it to lay his body flat against yours. He wraps his arms around your head in a hug of sorts, as he continues his deep and steady strokes.

Chan isn’t fucking you tonight. He’s making love to you.

You slide one hand down to where the two of you are joined, finding your clit. He lifts slightly, allowing you more room to rub circles around it.

“Come on my cock, baby,” he commands.

You whimper at his words. Baby.

You rub your clit faster as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, still driving into you as deep as he can. He angles himself so that with each thrust his dick digs against your walls. It’s enough to drive you crazy. You’re whining, moaning, panting.

“Come for me,” he says again. “Come for me baby girl.”

Your hand on his chest goes for his throat. You squeeze your fingers around it and see his eyes darken, but he doesn’t stop you. He moves his hips faster, harder.

“Chan,” you pant, “please. Right there. Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

He keeps the same pace, same angle, same motions until you’re arching your back and squeezing his neck, digging your nails into his delicate skin as you come around his cock. He grits his teeth, grunting and pounding into you furiously as he comes right after.

His movements slow as he finishes. You release his neck and wrap your arms around it instead. He lowers himself on top of you, all but smothering you with his weight but you don’t care. This is a happy way to die, if it comes to that.

You kiss along his collar bone as you both catch your breath. His cock keeps twitching inside of you and you clench the walls of your pussy around him each time it does. His body jerks each time you do it.

“Stop, stop,” he pleads, chuckling softly.

You chuckle in response.

That was different. In ways you hadn’t imagined possible with Chan. The two of you stay on the couch, wrapped up in each other for a while longer.  

The following morning, you’re both woken up by a knock at the door. Chan, just as confused as you, climbs out of bed to answer it. You hear him talking to someone and he returns a few moments later.

“Another Minho surprise,” he tells you. “A couples massage.”

“That actually sounds amazing,” you murmur, pushing off the blankets.

You both go to the bathroom and brush your teeth. You put your hair up in a messy bun then go to the living room while Chan lets in the masseuses. There’s one male and one female. After setting up their massage tables in the open space between the couch and the TV, they leave for the hallway allowing you both some privacy to remove your clothing.

Chan watches you undress with a sly smile on his face, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You stick your tongue out at him and throw your pajama shirt at his face, but he dodges it and catches it in his hand. He folds it neatly and sets it on the couch before removing his own shirt.

When you’re both settled on the tables, they re-enter.

“You’re with me, sir,” you hear Chan say and lift your head.

He’s motioning for the male masseuse to come to him.

“I need firmer hands,” he adds.

But you know that’s not it. No other man outside of the SKZ House is allowed to touch you in the way the masseuse will need to. You know it’s because of that. But it still makes you feel warm inside to think Chan personally doesn’t want anyone else touching you.

After the massage, you and Chan shower together then order a late brunch. He opens his present that you are now extremely embarrassed to give him. When he pulls out the pair of neon blue swim trunks with “Miami Vice” written on it, you hide your face, and he immediately laughs.

“These are loud,” he says. “I’ll wear them to the beach tomorrow.”

Next, he pulls out a refrigerator magnet with “Miami” written across it with palm trees surrounding it.

“To be fair,” you say, wanting to explain, “I had no clue what to get you. You’re not exactly an open book.”

“That is fair,” he agrees. He looks at you with a soft smile, as if he wishes things had been different. He kisses your forehead. “Thank you anyways.”

You spend your final two days mostly relaxing and staying close to the hotel. You spend time at the beach again, Chan in his neon blue swim trunks and looking fucking delectable in them.

Getting on the plane to go home, you’re hit with an overwhelming sense of sadness. Chan’s behavior hasn’t changed yet, and you’re praying that it doesn’t. That even though you both know how this has to end; he can find it within himself to not push you out again. You lean on him and hold his hand for most of the flight back.

Changbin picks you up from the airport and Chan rides up front while you sit in the back. He asks how the trip was and you both reply that it was good. He then addresses Chan in Korean and you’re left clueless in the back seat. But whatever is said, you can feel the weight of it from Chan’s reaction. He leans back in his seat, slouches, and runs his hand through his hair.

You try not to think much of it, but it must be important. They don’t typically speak Korean in front of any of the assignees unless it’s about something that, to be frank, is none of their business.

The car ride is over far too soon, and they still haven’t filled you in on what’s happening.

Once in the driveway, you notice a black car parked in front of the house with a Rolls Royce emblem on the front. You immediately furrow your brow, curiosity and anxiety spiking through the roof at this point.

Changbin exits the car first. You remain planted in the backseat, waiting for Chan to say or explain anything.

He lets out a low breath and leans back against the headrest, eyes closed.

“My dad’s here,” he announces.

Your eyes open wide, and even more confusion sets in. Is it an unexpected visit? Is he not happy to see his father?

“You don’t want him to be?” you ask slowly, carefully.

“Well, it’s never exactly a cause for celebration when any of our parents show up,” he says dryly. “Just…stay out of his way.”

Chan opens his door and you follow in suit.

Changbin has pulled the luggage from the trunk, he’s holding the handle to yours and Chan grabs his own. You move to walk past them both, but Chan grabs your arm to stop you.

You turn to face him, trying to read his expression but a mask is in place.

“Chan,” you say, placing a hand to his chest.

A glint, a flicker of something crosses over his eyes and you see your Chan for a split second.

He kisses your forehead.

“After us. And then straight upstairs, okay?” he says softly.

You nod your head and wait for them to walk to the door first.

As soon as you enter the house, you can feel the commanding presence of his father. Your eyes are drawn straight to him on the living room couch, looking all business in a tailored black suit, black hair slicked back.

“Appa.” Chan says.

“Hello,” you say politely with a small bow at the waist.

You know he told you to go straight upstairs, but it would feel rude to pass by without speaking to him.

His father spares half a glance at you before staring daggers at his son.

Changbin heads for the stairs with your suitcase and you follow him. You look back at Chan and offer as encouraging a smile as you can muster. Chan doesn’t turn to look at you. He walks towards his father like a man heading to the gallows and the sight of him like that punctures your already fragile heart.

[ read chapter 20 here ]

a/n: oof. thoughts? feelings? a lot to unpack here. thank you all again for your patience! and sorry the tags still aren't working :(

[kunaigirl]

Long post ahead, but I really want to talk about this...I think? Oh lord here we go, lol. Anyways, confession time!

I struggled with illiteracy and learning to read for a chunk of my life. I've mentioned it (in passing) in this post that I made about my experiences with having epilepsy, but I decided to make an whole post just for this for a change.

Somewhere around when I was in the second grade, I lost my ability to read and write due to a bad seizure I had. (That combined with the medications I was given too.) A lot of my memories are blank from that era, except for a very few instances I remember clearly. What I do remember though, has nothing to do with the seizure or even what lead up to it, all of that's still gone to this day.

I had lost my ability to read, and also was diagnosed with dyslexia during the quest to re-learn from scratch. (On top of already being diagnosed with ADHD when I was about 6.) I remember very vividly how HORRIBLE everything felt. I couldn't remember the names of things, and I had to re-learn, from preschool up, both reading and writing from scratch.

Somewhat luckily, I didn't lose anything else besides those chunks of memories and my ability to read, and I still remembered who I was, what cartoons I liked, my favorite music, etc. But suddenly, I couldn't read the CD titles anymore. I couldn't read the VHS covers. It was gone, ripped away from me very suddenly, and I knew it was missing. I knew that I already learned how to read and write, but it was forced out of me by a malfunctioning brain. I was home schooled because of it from grades 3rd-5th. (2003-2005)

In the third grade, I had made just enough progress to get books for 5 year olds. Everyone around me acted so proud, but all I could do was cry. I was humiliated. I felt so incredibly stupid, as being illiterate leaves you with no choice but to feel stupid. I threw those baby books around my room and sat on the floor crying. It wasn't fair, I didn't do anything wrong, it was my damn seizures. I had no control.

When I went back to public school for 6th grade, I got called stupid, the r-slur, illiterate, slow, basically every name in the book. Both kids and adults, all throughout those years while I continued to re-learn in real time. In middle school, my reading level was still low for my age, and I had to be in a special program with extra assistance and teacher accommodations. As soon as word got out, the kids were RELENTLESS. It was 06-07, nobody cared about bullying/etc, especially for a public middle school. The bullying never stopped.

I kept working and studying, slowly making progress. Years of struggling, learning to cope, inventing my own short-cuts to help read a little easier, using rulers and paper edges to help guide my eyes, everything. I was still in "special" classes with accommodations all through high school too. My senior year of high school, I graduated on the honor role list. Did that make me happy? It felt nice for sure, but better? Not by much. I knew how hard I still struggled, and still felt very embarrassed by it all. I'll never forget.

As a kid, the pain I felt was so intense. Physically from the seizure, and in every other way with having to re-learn how to spell t-r-e-e. Starting over with pre-K toddler books at 7. Kindergarten level at age 8, and a first grade level as a 9 year old. The feeling of having my memories ripped away just enough to leave me unable to recognize the symbols that decorated everything from posters to TV to book covers. Being told by a room full of doctors and neurologists what had happened, and being quizzed and tested to see what I still had left.

I have never forgotten those long nights. Even though I was a child, the shame and guilt and fear I felt were VERY real and very tense. And the jokes/remarks from both kids AND adults, the notebooks filled with raw squiggly anger, the uphill climb to regain what was taken from me. I will NEVER forget it. Even in college, I struggled with those heavy textbooks and their tiny fonts. I did well enough, but no one else struggled the way I did with them. I did my work and wrote my essays, but it would take full entire days. It still does.

At times, as an adult, I still get stuck on words. I can obviously read and write again, as you can see with this exact post, but it's not over. I struggle with certain fonts, and some books are just to difficult. I still work at it and still try as hard as I can even to this very goddamn day. It never truly ended, all these years later, 20 years later, I still sometimes fight to understand. I feel like an angry and humiliated kid again in those moments, but I'm not that kid or teen anymore. I lived thought it somehow.

I had a dream back when I was 17, where I'm standing in from of my 9 year old self and that pile of baby books. She's crying and looking at me, desperately. I walk over and hug her, proudly telling her "We read The Great Gatsby in high school, and we understand it."

To anyone who has struggled with illiteracy at non-toddler-points in their lives, I see you. To anyone who's struggled with reading comprehension, I see you. To anyone who struggled with writing, I see you. We don't talk about it enough, and I want to change that. I don't want to hide that side of my life experience anymore. Fuck shame, we climbed out of it.

And to this day, a copy of "The Great Gatsby" is still on my shelf. Because I read it in high school, and 9 year old me would've thought that was the coolest achievement ever.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Hey if you’re over 18 and have time this summer and can make it to Fresno, CA and you wanna take a niche class in acting, animation, writing, music, visual art, design, or dance you should see if CSU Summer Arts has something you want. The deadline to apply is May 15.

I’m not getting paid to do this or anything. It’s just that one of these classes like literally changed the trajectory of my life a few years ago and they’re so fun and idk if even one person out there decides to check the program out because of this post I’ll be happy.

You can get college credit too if that sweetens the deal for you lol. I did Summer Arts to substitute for my senior intensive seminar for my English degree when I took a writing class there.

And they accept international students fyi

[headphones-lifeform]

Tumblr in the Star Trek universe part 3

[Parts 1 and 2]

[Now featuring OC cameo.]

🐾beanboi459 Follow

somene brought their pet(?) on board the starship i'm on and. thats the yippee creature. legit just the yippee creature.

🐾beanboi459

turns out it's actually called a moopsy or smth? still the yippee creature in my heart :') yall would love it

🐾beanboi459

hopital

1043 notes

🏴‍☠️crimedirective Follow

so. um. remember that starfleet-captain-confessions post from last week with the betazoid anon who got migrains because of the romantic tension between two of the senior officers?

turns out that was my captain. theyre a tumblrina.

brb gonna purge this account real quick

#at least im not one of the senior officers involved? #somehow i dont think my commanding officer is gonna approve of my username #cd shut up

56 notes

💖klingon-affirmations Follow

there is more than one way to be Klingon! not everyone is a warrior, and that's okay!

⚔️lesbian-kahless Follow

as a Klingon librarian I needed to hear this today <3 Qapla'!

#kahless reblogs

174 notes

💟hugsfromstarbase12 Follow

would you still love me if I was a tribble?

🍓strawberry-sehlat Follow

is this anything?

#this is a reference to a 20th century human song #probably a bit too niche #tribbles #tribble tw #total eclipse of the heart #bonnie tyler #human music #human culture #strawberry-sehlat silly post

248 notes

🦆duckwithatypewriter Follow

my Data Soong x Reader fic is now available as a holodeck program! You can find the code on my blog <3

#thanks programmer friends #cringe culture is dead #data soong #data soong rpf #reader insert #holodeck program

32 notes

🦎cardassian-in-ur-closet Follow

I know that one tumblr user rambling can't fix anything and that this is not nearly enough compensation, but I need to apologise to any Bajorans who see this on behalf of the cardassian empire (we are the worst)

💙andor-endorphins Follow

So I checked OP's bio and they are a teenager.

OP, you were clearly not involved in the occupation of Bajor. You shouldn't feel like you have to take the blame for it.

It'll be very hard to find a power that doesn't have a history of atrocities. I mean, look at Earth.

#my bajoran friend helped me phrase this #everybody say thank you to them #politics

3 notes

[katyswrites]

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 1 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol references, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 2.5k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 1

April 1994

“So, all votes are in?” Katie asked. Everyone in the room nodded, and you sat forward in your seat.

The current General Manager of the radio station, Katie, ran a tight ship. Still, nobody could deny that they were sad to see her leaving - graduation was claiming too many people this year. She glanced down at her clipboard, adjusting her glasses.

General Manager would be read first, you knew that - it was the closest position the station had to President, the person who ran the whole thing. And after the last three years, all signs pointed to Katie's successor being you. Most people didn’t want the job - it was pretty thankless, all on a volunteer basis, and the election is often more of a formality to the most obvious person. But, you were passionate about the radio station - you always had been. Running it wouldn’t be easy, but you knew you were the right person to do it.

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your favorite place, your niche. There’s nothing you loved more than spinning some records on-the-air, hanging out in the station lounge, and being a part of something. It’s where you’ve made your friends, easily able to bond over your love of music, making it your safe space when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

You could feel Steve Harrington’s eyes on you from where he sat across the room. You pointedly ignored him, your clasped fingers growing clammy with anticipation.

“Drumroll, everyone!” she said, resulting in a cacophony of pats against legs, tables, or any available surface. When Katie read your name, the room broke into a smattering of applause.

“Congratulations!” Nancy cried from where she sat next to you, throwing her arms around your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you laughed, giving your friend a tight squeeze. 

Despite the fact that you had expected this, a wave of relief washed over you. There was no glamor in keeping this place running, you knew that. Still, you cared too much about it, and now it was in your hands… just as you had hoped.

Your joy could only last so long, though - you were almost too caught up in your personal celebration to notice. Almost.

“Okay, and for Program Director… Steve!”

This time, a few whoops and hollers were let out - probably from Steve’s buddies, large in number and often loudly enthusiastic. But, you were just frozen, feeling your fists clench.

The Program Director coordinates a lot of things - new DJ training, events, stocking the music library… and works most closely with the General Manager. Meaning...

“Looks like we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together, sweetheart,” he said later with a smirk. 

The meeting was long over - positions had been announced, congratulations given, goodbyes for the semester bid on the way out. You had sat there for the last hour with a rage steadily bubbling under the surface. You had tried your best to listen, relieved to find out Nancy was working as the Media Director, and your friend Eddie working as the Training Director. That, at least, offered some comfort - if you’d be running your favorite place with your friends, how bad could it be?

The answer, apparently, is still pretty shitty.

You can’t put a finger on exactly why Steve Harrington bothered you so much. But, from the moment you had met, he had been a thorn in your side. He knew it, too - it seemed to be his life’s mission to get on your nerves, just to get a rise out of you.

But he was blocking the exit, arm leaning casually against the doorframe. So, you took the approach you usually tried to - not letting him see that he was getting to you.

“Looks like it,” you said, words measured and careful. “But until then… have a good summer, Harirngton.”

You tried to shoulder past him, but he wasn’t budging. You sighed, meeting his gaze again and straightening up a bit.

“Do you mind?”

“I just thought you were gonna try to stick around - let me guess, you already have a 20-step plan for what we should do next year? I mean, I’m surprised you didn’t just jump all the new E-Board members to tell them how you’re going to run things. You know, in your insane and anal-retentive way.”

You clenched your jaw, grimacing as the notebook that you knew was buried in your backpack, containing your ideas for next year’s agenda.

"That's a pretty big word for you, I'm impressed," you mocked. Before he could come up with a clever reply, you continued:

“You know, I was surprised you ran for a position,” you said sweetly. “I mean, last I checked, you haven’t shown up to a single volunteer event. Were you even at the Spring fundraiser?”

“I was busy.”

“Funny way of saying hungover,” you retorted.

You took a deep breath, taking a moment to regain your composure.

“Look, we’re going to have to work together, so - can we just start over? Bury the hatchet, or whatever?”

He just grinned.

“Yeah, sure thing, sweetheart,” he said, voice lower. “You’re the boss.”

You had given up on asking him to drop the sweetheart thing long ago. So instead, you gave him a sharp nod, muttering have a good summer, Harrington.

He stepped aside enough to let you through, but still crowded the doorway enough that you had to brush past him as you did. 

You ignored the way his breath caught as you did.

Maybe you could both be mature adults about this… maybe.

*******

September

“Harrington?!” You cry, stomping into the booth. Steve sits in the chair, switchboard alight as Head Over Heels plays through the speakers. He barely hears you enter, thanks to the headphones he’s wearing. When you slam your hands down on the desk, he jumps in his seat.

“Jesus - the fuck are you doing here?” he cries, yanking the headphones off to let them fall around his neck.

“You booked studio space without going through me,” you say angrily.

His face shifted then, from confusion to smugness.

“Oh - well, you were unreachable, and I only needed two board members’ approval. And, I count as a board member.”

“Who the fuck was the second person who approved it?”

“Eddie.”

You groaned. Of course - Eddie probably didn’t even know -

“So your band just happened to book studio space to go on-air during my show’s time slot?”

“Oh… it’s during your show?” he asks, voice saccharine with feigned innocence. 

You rolled your eyes.

“Cut the act, Harrington. There are a ton of empty time slots that your little band could play during, you know.”

He sighed, crossing his arms and spinning the chair around to fully face you.

“If you’re so hurt about it, why don’t you come by? We need an emcee, and if you’re already usually here…”

“As if I’d waste my time coming to listen to you guys. I don’t even listen to your show.”

“So you’ve said. I thought your boyfriend was in the band too, last time I checked.”

You scoffed. “Eddie is not my boyfriend. And, not that he’d ever tell you, but he’s filling in as a favor. He’s only playing with you guys because Corroded Coffin broke up.”

Something unreadable flickers across Steve’s face, then he shakes his head. 

“Yeah, okay - keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But, we’ve got the time next Thursday - so, come by, don’t come by… I don’t give a shit. Just let me know by the weekend if you are - it’s only protocol, after all, and I know you’re a stickler for that.”

He pulls the headphones back over his ears, turning the volume of the music up a bit.

“Now, if you don’t mind - I’m about to go on-air, and I’d hate for everyone to hear your hissy-fit through the radio waves, you know?”

He returns his attention to the microphone, ready to turn down the music and start speaking - but you’re not giving him the satisfaction of sticking around to watch. 

You just huff, crossing your arms and stomping out with even more fury than you came.

Your drive home is full of frustration that grows to rage. You grumble under your breath over the hum of the radio, cursing Steve Harrington’s name at every red light, every sharp turn. It’s only when you pull up to your apartment and park that you realize what’s even playing through the car’s speakers.

It’s WAMC - what else would you have on? You always have your radio tuned to 98.9, doing your best to listen to your friends and support the station you hold so dearly. But, of course, the person on the air right now is him.

You had taken a personal vow a while ago to not tune into Steve’s show. You know it’s stupid - one listener doesn’t make a difference, and you know Steve Harrington certainly doesn't have trouble sleeping at night knowing that you don’t listen to whatever crappy music he plays over the air. But, he’s driving you crazy - he’s so arrogant, so smug, and everyone else eats it up. Nobody dislikes Steve Harrington… it seems like everyone on campus who knows Steve either is in love with him, or wants to be him. You’ll never understand the hold he has over people. 

But, maybe you should try to - it’s only fair to get a sense of what all the fuss is about, you reason. So, you turn up the volume dial, letting the music flow through the stereo and over the din of your still-running engine.

It’s about what you expect - mostly Top 40 hits, some classic rock sprinkled in. It’s not bad, necessarily - just, like nearly any other station you could tune your radio to. It’s not a hard and fast rule to play lesser-known music - it’s just encouraged. But, everyone tunes into Steve’s show, ask him for advice on how to plan a slot… it makes your blood boil.

You tell yourself that you’re only going to listen for a few minutes. When Steve’s voice comes on the air, you roll your eyes - he’s cracking jokes, giving anecdotes about the songs, and unfortunately, he’s nearly charming. You don’t realize a full hour has passed until he signs off. You quickly kill your engine and dart into your apartment, doing your best to try not to dwell on the slight disappointment in the show being over.

Double-booking your radio slot was only the most recent of a string of things Steve had been doing to piss you off - showing up late to meetings (if he even shows up at all), calling out of his radio show, making snide remarks under his breath at the meetings he does show up to… you’re basically doing two jobs at once. Any false promise of civility between you two is a thing of the past. He’s making your life a living Hell - but, you’re not one to back down. Two can play dirty, after all.

******

October

You and Steve spend the next few weeks doing a delicate dance, going back and forth not-so-subtly sabotaging one another. His band tried to book a gig at the local venue, which you conveniently “forgot” to sign off on. He tells incoming freshmen that they don’t need to go through you when applying to be a DJ, causing an enrollment nightmare. You pay Jonathan Byers $20 for the equipment to “break,” only for the two hours that Steve is scheduled to do his radio show. But, throughout it all, you barely actually see one another. It’s nearly a month later that you actually encounter him again.

The moment you set foot in the vinyl library, you groan. He looks up from where he’s perusing the records on the shelves, grinning as soon as he locks eyes with you.

“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart.”

Fuck off, you think.

“Hey, Harrington,” you say, exhibiting what you consider to be an exorbitant amount of restraint. After your blowup last time, the last thing you need is to continue to give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand.

You march straight ahead, going right to the shelf next to him. You pointedly stare forward, running your fingers along the spines of the albums, pulling out the ones you’re looking for as you find them.

You hear Steve scoff next to you, and you roll your eyes - practically an involuntary response with him at this point. 

“Do you have a problem?” you asked, your tone biting.

He just shrugs. “No. You’re just… predictable.”

“How so?”

“If you asked me to come in here, and pick out the records for your radio show for you… it’d just be too easy. Let me guess… The Smiths… Talking Heads… R.E.M…Sonic Youth…and some European band whose name I can’t pronounce, probably. Am I close?”

You clutched the records close to your chest, arms crossing to obscure them.

Steve just grins smugly.

You hold your place, not breaking eye contact. He simply shrugs, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

Pleased with himself. Too cocky. A challenge. 

“That’s what I thought.”

You straightened up, keeping eye contact.

“You act as if you’re any better, with your Worst 40 bullshit -”

“You only pretend to not like it to be different -”

“I don’t pretend to not like your music! I’m just trying to make us sound different from any other station people tune into -”

“So you do listen to my show?” he asks. He’s still wearing that shit-eating grin, but for just a moment, you swear he sounds surprised.

You open and close your mouth a few times, debating what to say. You’ve been caught. And he’s just staring at you, so blatantly self-satisfied, that you want to punch him.

“Shut up,” you say quietly.

“You gonna make me?” he asks.

You feel your face heat. The vinyl library is too cramped, its narrow walls making Steve stand just a bit too close to you. You swallow, straightening up a bit. He’s blocking the only exit, a habit he seems to reserve especially for you.

“Can you let me leave, Harrington? Or do I have to answer a riddle or something first?”

“I’m having a party on Friday,” he blurts out. “You should stop by. Everyone else from the station is coming.”

You shake your head. 

“Um - I don’t think -”

“C’mon, sweetheart - show me that you know how to have a little fun!”

You shrug.

“Maybe. Whatever, I’ll see.”

He grins. “Okay - 36 Hamilton Street, by the way. Friday night, 10pm.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the darkness of the record library. You try to ignore how fast your heart is beating in his wake.

Fucking Steve Harrington.

author's note: Hi everyone! Here's the first part of a brand new fic - ta da! In general, I think the plan for this fic is to have shorter chapters, but more total chapters, so the word count will be... whatever it ends up being. Keep in mind that there will be smut down the line, so only engage is 18+, please. Likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated! Also, this was barely edited, so if you see a mistake... no you didn't.

[irisintheafterglow]

alright @mididoodles since you're so determined to absolutely annihilate my psyche every time you press post, here's wonderwall hockey player!satoru x skater!reader

it couldn't be that bad to go a little later to the rink, right? right?

wrong, so very wrong.

on top of sleeping through your alarm, you couldn't find your skate guards after you carelessly tossed them on your desk the night prior. you ended up having to wrench them from your dog, nearly dropping your car keys in the trash in the process. by the time you were through the double doors and shivering against the frigid air, someone's already occupied your usual timeslot. sure, it was a free skate before doors officially opened, but years of going to the same rink established that you were the one on the ice at the asscrack of dawn. the ticket sellers knew it, the zamboni drivers knew it, even other skaters knew that you had first claim. everyone was aware of your seniority, it seemed, except for the lanky hockey player swinging pucks into a net on the far side of the ice. you lace up your skates and pray for him to leave, grimacing when he doesn't and hopping onto the rink anyway. if he hit you with a puck, the lawsuit would certainly pay for your next program's costume.

you tune him out the best you can and try to ignore the way his muscles stretch against his compression long sleeve, something much too light to be wearing for a typical hockey player. you don't skate close enough to see his face, but the corded muscle on his back was enough to have your face heating. his hair was nearly the same color as the ice, and he flipped it back every so often to get it out of his face. in another world where you weren't sharing the rink with him, you'd have found yourself with a little crush on him. the music in your earbuds isn't enough, however, to drown out the sound of the stick hitting the puck over and over and over again, not to mention the times when he misses the net and the puck ricochets off the walls of the rink. your jumps become messier than usual, as are your spins, and you can only accredit it to the other occupant of the rink. after barely a few minutes of trying to share and run through your drills without using half your space, you give up and make to leave. you'd just have to come back tomorrow and hope he wasn't there.

"hey, wait! i was just leaving," a vaguely familiar voice calls to your back. it's melodic and incredibly confident, borderline arrogant. "sorry i stole your spot; i have a game tonight and i wanted to get some extra practice goals in before class." the crunch of skates sprinting across the ice and power-sliding to a halt floats into your ears and you look at the perpetrator from the corner of your eye, turning fully to look at him when your brain clicks into place who he is. "oh, shit!"

"satoru?" he mirrors the surprise in your tone, throwing his head to the side with a lopsided smile as he states your name tenderly. "oh my god, what are you doing here?" your mouth breaks into a grin, grateful to be free from the scowl you were wearing a few minutes prior. your eyes flick down to his lips as his tongue runs absentmindedly over a sparkling canine.

"i had to come in a little earlier than i usually do; i didn't know that it's during the time you're here. it's really good to see you," he says warmly and you feel your face warm. "you went pro, yeah?" you nod, casually leaning a shoulder against the plexiglass walls of the rink. he crosses his toned arms across his chest and you fight the urge to stare. it's rude to ogle the arms of your childhood crush turned hot hockey player bad boy, you scold yourself. "how's that going?"

"mmm, i just got back from russia a few weeks ago. holiday intensives and such."

"wow, that's incredible. not like i'm surprised, though. you were always the best skater in our group."

"not true. i had to use you as a walker a few times when we were first starting out," you remind him and he laughs at the memory. "you made me hold your hand while i shimmied around the perimeter."

"and you asked if i was born with skates on my feet, i remember."

"how's suguru?"

"he's great. he's usually here with me but i couldn't drag him out of his house this early in the morning."

"in true suguru fashion, really," you joke. you feel like you're seven again, staring up at satoru's bright blue eyes absolutely lovestruck. he still makes you feel butterflies, even over a decade later. "you said you had a game later?"

"yeah, here at 6:00. you should come if you're free. watch me kick ass on the ice for old time's sake."

"i'll do my best. i'm meeting a new ballet teacher who's coaching us on musicality later this afternoon."

"i don't know what any of those words mean," he states plainly and you snort. "i never understood your world."

"and i never understood yours," you confess. "yet, here we are."

"here we are, indeed," he murmurs, looking at you with an expression you've never seen on his face before. it has your heart racing like an idiot. "well, i'll let you have your rink back. thanks for letting me borrow it." he carefully steps past you and heads for the benches, throwing back his snowy hair in a way that has you gripping the edge of the wall for stability. it takes all of your willpower to keep your voice from shaking.

"i'd say come use it anytime, but i am very protective of my timeslot." he sends you a smile over his shoulder. holy shit, were his shoulders always that broad? and was he always that tall? was he always this fucking hot?

"i'll respect it, though i might pop in to watch you skate. you're mesmerizing, you know?"

"careful, any more sweet words and i'll think you have a crush on me." the words slip from your mouth faster than you can stop them and he looks at you curiously, and you'd be lying if you said he didn't look amused at your jab. you'd learned to flirt from him, after all.

when he's slipped out of his skates and re-approached you, you're barely tall enough to look him in the eyes. "it was good to see you," he murmurs.

"feeling's mutual." he's close enough that you can smell his shampoo and you resist the urge to touch his undercut.

"i missed you." his three words have you feeling weak in the knees and slightly breathless. "a lot." despite the chill, you feel your palms start to sweat.

"i missed you too."

"keep your eyes on me tonight?" you roll your eyes at his familiar, comforting self-assurance.

"like i would look at anyone else." his eyes are sparkling and time seems to slow down to a honey-covered crawl. "what number should i be watching?" he cracks a mischievous smirk, shrugging and walking to the exit. you're speechless on the ice until he turns back a final time.

to tell you that his number is your birthday.

I CALL WRITING THE GAME I'M GONNA WRITE THE GAME I WANNA WRITE THE GAME SOON I JUST FEEL SO AWKWARD WRITING WITHOUT ANY FIRST MEET/CONTEXT

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[raininyourblackeyes]

And here is THE program I want to rant about:

Hana's Shakuhachi is absolutely my favourite program in this disciplinne this season.

In terms of her technical elements she has good technique, lots of speed into and out of her jumps. I love her landings especially, great flow, smooth running edges. Commentators keep mentioning those and for a good reason, it's a guaranteed GOE bullet point hit for her with how amazing they are. She is quite quick, with solid ankle action allowing for flow and glide. Now switching onto what makes this THE program for me:

All program components are connected obviously, but to me composition is supposed to give an entire picture of a program really. It is the ice coverage, the way elements are woven into choreography and music, what the skater is trying to convene in those few minutes. Shakuhachi is more convenient than her SP, it follows a mostly standard music arrangement with the final spin being the peak, but what sets it apart to me is that the sense stays constant throughout. I feel like she is one singular lonely crane from the first moment to the end, but also, especially during the StSq and to the end I also feel like I'm watching a flock in flight and trying to single out one bird? But it is still somehow a graceful solitary flight. If that makes sense? This program's quniqueness in composition comes from choreography I think. Just take a look at the opening! So serene when majority of skaters open their programs with a bang. I just love it when programs build in intensity. The concept is what makes it stand out and it's beautiful!

Her ice coverage is just huge. She takes up the entire ice as if a bird could take up entire sky.

Her presentation is just stellar. Every movement connects to the theme of the program, she is always conscious of her hands - so so important as her entire body represents a crane. The red glove doesn't stand out of the costume because you can exactly point out the exact movement of the bird she embodies. Her endless, long running edges, and ability to control body movement smoothly and effortlessly serve purpose in painting a crane. It's so important to note how she utilizes spins in her expression. The movements are so precise, so bird-like!

My favourite part of the program has to be the StSq. This entire program has so much class and elegance. It doesn't feel like a 1st senior season program to me at all. Hana is simply stunning.

[iseos]

: PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS

library. p. trainee!nakamura kazuha x f!r g. slight angst, fluff wc. 736 w! slightly implied that reader speaks japanese © iseos

the two sat alone in the practice room, the music continuing to play despite the girls having stopped dancing a few minutes ago. y/n watched kazuha through the expansive mirror that covered the wall; both were visibly exhausted.

"i don't think i can keep doing this," y/n managed between heavy breaths. kazuha didn't even open her eyes.

"same," she huffed out and moved to get up, "it's getting late; we should head back to the dorm."

"no—i mean...i’m thinking about leaving the program,” y/n interrupted, catching kazuha’s attention through the mirror. she watched as her body froze in an awkward half-standing position and her head snapped towards her.

"oh."

part of kazuha understood y/n’s sentiment; she wanted the best for her, yet selfishly, she didn't want her to leave. she was one of the only people the former ballerina could talk to and she would've been lost without her.

being a trainee was undoubtedly tough, physically and mentally. constant stress, sore bodies from long hours of practice, and sudden evaluations clouded their uncertain future and debut prospects.

as the song came to an end, an uneasy silence filled the room. y/n shifted uncomfortably under kazuha’s intense gaze, avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

they both hesitated to speak again, the weight of y/n's words lingering in the air. kazuha's eyes eventually softened, a mix of concern and bittersweet understanding replacing her previous unreadable expression as she sat back down beside her.

y/n stumbled over her words, voice vulnerable. “i love this—i really do, and i want to debut—but i’m tired zuha. i just don’t know if i can keep up with the constant pressure anymore. i feel like i’m suffocating.”

her eyes trained on her shoes as she fidgeted with the ends of her laces, "i'm scared that all this hard work might not lead to anything and i'm just wasting my time."

kazuha scooted closer, leaning her head on y/n's shoulder. she remained silent, taking in her words.

their weary faces reflected in the mirror showed their shared struggle, not just with dance routines or vocal exercises, but with the relentless pursuit of a dream that demanded everything from them.

a mixture of emotions swirled within the former ballerina. she understood y/n’s struggles, having similar doubts herself. the pressure of training, the uncertainty of their future debut, and the relentless grind had taken a toll on both of them.

finally, after a long moment, kazuha spoke softly, her voice carrying the weight of understanding and empathy. “y/n, i understand. it’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” her hand found y/n’s offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance, “but remember why we came here. we knew it would be tough, but we believed in this dream.”

y/n nodded slowly, absorbing kazuha’s words. “i’m just…i’m scared of giving up,” she admitted quietly, her voice wavering.

“you won't have to,” she replied firmly, lifting her head to meet y/n’s eyes directly, “we’ll figure this out together, whether it’s pushing forward or finding another path.”

a faint smile formed on your/n’s lips, grateful for kazuha’s unwavering support. they sat there in the quiet practice room; the music had stopped, but their resolve to pursue their dreams, regardless of how small it had become, continued to burn in the reflection staring back at them.

it was silent again for a moment, the only sound being the faint footsteps of people walking the halls despite the late hour. once y/n gathered her thoughts she turned to the other girl, “thank you, zuha,” she began, her voice steadier now, “and i’m sorry for dampening the mood—i mean, we finally got the choreography right, we should be happy right now!”

seeing y/n’s spirits lift, kazuha knelt beside her, grasping the girl’s shoulder. “think about how we felt watching our seniors perform. one day, that will be us, center stage with our own songs!”

“repeat after me: we will debut…and soon,” kazuha declared, shaking y/n lightly. y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the girl’s enthusiasm. “say it!”

“we will… debut!” y/n managed through laughter.

grinning brightly, kazuha practically shouted, “yes we will!”

as they caught their breath, both girls fell into a comfortable silence once more.

“okay, can we go home now? i’m so tired.”

“please,” y/n groaned out.

[voidartisan]

CORRIE GUARD BRAINROT????

RIGHT. YES. OKAY. HEADCANONS

The CG has like. a totally different culture than the rest of the GAR due to them being more settled/attached to one place. rituals are more attached to specific times and places than events

There's a specific noodle shop that will give them free noodles once a week bc the owner likes them

Also definitely one bakery that donates all of the pastries that they were gonna throw out at the end of the day

they never take off their helmets in front of natborns so they go wild with their appearances. as long as your haircut can fit under your bucket, its been tried by someone. dying facial hair neon colors. makeup (thorn is especially fond of eyeliner). all kinds of piercings.

they have more contact w/civilians, which makes them both hyper-aware of how most of the galaxy views them but ALSO means they have higher chances of encountering ones that actually see them as people. they're more likely to have significant others (is marriage to them legal? who knows! CT-7768's spouse doesn't care! the ceremony was legally binding on their home planet), civilian friends, and civilian clothes

multiple have applied to coruscant's most prestigious universities as a joke. at least one definitely got in with a full-ride scholarship and is halfway finished with his undergrad degree by the time the war ends

three words: corrie. guard. radio. a project that got set up by some bored padawans in conjunction with a few communications students looking for a senior project. it's got news, it's got music (specific songs played at shift changes and also takes requests!), it's got a radio show hosted by some random captain in the guard who wanted something to do with his limited free time, it's even got sports! only accessible over their comm channels.

because of this, you might notice corries on-shift nodding rhythmically during patrol, even dancing. this also means that sometimes only a pair of shinies assigned to cover a shift change know that Marshal Commander Fox is essentially strutting down the corridor to the beat of the gffa equivalent of 9 to 5. (the real question is: does he know?)

they're fond of jedi, and technically have access to most of the resources in the temple, but rarely work with them directly (unless they're in the diplomatic service)

they have mixed opinions on sheev. some love him, some hate him, some are apathetic, others are ambivalent.

palpatine definitely does override their free will and use them to do his dirty work at times through a combination of sith techniques and other specially programmed orders in their inhibitor chips. mostly commanders, but sometimes those in lower ranks, too. whoever's convenient.

[loremaster]

CHAPTER 1 - Man Door Hand Nail Fur Door (Comic)

...aka the Zilara manifesto.

(tw: strangulation, suggestive themes) BOBA AU MASTERPOST: [link]

Yakou tells Yuma to go to the hotel and corral all the other detectives who have been sleeping soundly in the nice fancy rooms over there. Yuma, who got 3 hours of sleep on Yakou's creaky couch, says "Okay, sure thing, Dad." ((side note - wouldn't the train detectives have had rooms reserved at the hotel? Couldn't Yuma have had one of those?))

Instead of agreeing to meet up, they all send poor little Kokohead around the city doing side quests.

Pucci wants to know if Kanai Ward has any good symphonies; recordings of classical music are all well and good, but it's no substitute for the acoustics of a live concert hall. Closest thing Yuma can find is Aetheria Academy's chamber orchestra program. Musicians in Kanai Ward used to be part of a larger regional symphonic orchestra, but since Amaterasu locked off the city, they've had to resort to busking. Pucci seems disappointed, but resigns herself to checking out the high school girls' next concert anyway.

Aphex is cruisin' for a bruisin'. He spotted some suspicious movement in one of the districts on his radar (drug deals?), but every time he goes to check it out, he can't find out which people in the crowd are the suspicious ones. They must be afraid of Aphex's intimidating appearance, so Yuma goes in his stead to grill the people hanging around the square. Turns out they weren't dealing drugs, they were passing around anti-Amaterasu propaganda. They beg Yuma not to tell Aphex. Yuma goes back to the hotel to tell Aphex... who thinks anti-fascist action is cool, actually, so no need to do anything about those guys.

Melami wants to know about the local fashion scene, and is very curious about the dronebrellas she's seen around Kanai Ward. She sends Yuma to see what the big deal about them is, and once there, he gets roped into a long winding sales pitch for technology he can't afford. He relays as much of this as he can remember back to Melami, but once she hears they only come in one color, she decides she's not interested. What's the point if you can't customize it? Just get a regular umbrella. Or a rain coat. That's a much better way to show off your personality! Yuma tries not to scream about how much time he just wasted.

Zange shows Yuma a picture he took (with his mind) of a specific location in Kanai Ward, but can't quite remember where it was. Yuma has to go on a scavenger hunt to find the place that matches the picture and tell Zange how to get there. Zange assigns Yuma a numerical score based on how long it took him complete the quest (which is always too slow). This will be a repeatable quest/minigame with different locations every time.

As Yuma is about to leave the hotel, Zilch stops him. He offers a more formal introduction (since, you know, they didn't actually meet aboard the train) and volunteers (insists) to accompany the poor useless trainee as a senior detective, to show him how it's done.

Zilch has four animal companions with him at the moment: three caged mice and a dog named Bosch.

He doesn't seem to treat them very kindly, though. He isn't careful handling the mice's cage, and he orders Bosch around like one would speak to Alexa.

Anyway, Zilch and Yuma go look for the last remaining detective, Halara Nightmare. Canon ensues.

They run into The Boy and accept the quest to investigate the Nail Man murders. Halara needs some convincing.

At the church, Zilch makes a new friend, or so he thinks.

Zilch tactlessly asks the nun if her ears are natural or not, and starts bragging about how well his own surgery went. For the ears and tail, that is. The Nun doesn't like Zilch's attitude one bit. She watches him use his mice for spying and gets freaked out. The nun threatens to kill Zilch but he doesn't think she's serious.

Zilch says that he didn’t expect there to be a Metal Fox Church here, of all places. Yuma asks him to elaborate, and he says they’re a denomination that exists elsewhere in the world. The church near where he grew up was much larger and more spectacular than this one. The Metal Fox is a deity known for its fortitude and cunning, that offers protection from “hunters,” or persecution of any kind. Zilch doesn’t seem to believe in its teachings at all. #atheistpride

Meanwhile, the dog, Bosch, sniffs around and seems agitated by something. He can place the smells of all the church NPCs around the scene, but there's something else, too. Zilch barks the order - literally - for Bosch to track whichever scent doesn't belong, and the dog goes off on a solo mission.

Zilch has a plan to catch the Nail Man red-handed, but he won't tell what it is yet. He needs to prepare some stuff. So in the meantime, Yuma and Halara hold hands at several different crime scenes.

While Shinigami keeps blabbing about stripping detectives, Halara fucks off to who knows where and Yuma returns to the church to meet with Zilch. Zilch leads Yuma to the nearby woods and reveals his master plan to lure out the Nail Man by taking a doll with a slip of paper on it to the forest, and writing the name of someone for the Nail Man to kill...

"Yuma Kokohead," of course.

Yuma is terrified of being used as bait, but Zilch promises he'll intervene before the Nail Man can actually kill him, it'll be fine. So Yuma the pushover gets tied to a tree...

Halara unmasks the cloaked figure to reveal the priest of the Metal Fox Church, as they suspected. The priest begs for mercy - he was only trying to protect the people of Kanai Ward by purging it of corruption (and letting an innocent man take the fall for it)...!

Yuma thinks he might not have to rely on Shinigami's powers this time, but then...

Bosch leads them back to the church where Seth and his Peacekeepers are threatening Yakou.

And with that… it’s Mystery Labyrinth time!

Zilch’s voice is back to normal inside the Labyrinth. He seems oddly relaxed around Shinigami - because he insists this is not real and actually a dream. #atheist4lyfe

Yuma deduces that Zilch's name was written in the woods by the nun. She witnessed Zilch’s mistreatment of his animal companions and tactless assholery - but the thing that pushed it into murder territory was actually her recognizing the crest of the Alexander family on his fur coat. The full truth comes to light - the Alexanders have been known for generations as prolific trophy hunters. They “live alongside nature,” sure, but it’s a heavily controlled and subdued “nature.” This is antithetical to everything the Metal Fox Church stands for, so the nun, devout to her faith, believed Zilch to be an invasive threat to their way of life, and the peace of Kanai Ward.

And, since this revelation is taking place in the Mystery Labyrinth, of COURSE she gets a cool Mystery Phantom.

The gang also, like, solves the actual mystery.

Then once they find all the evidence they unmask the true culprit and his copycat, and the Priest's and Worshipper's souls are reaped.

Zilch is horrified. Somehow he didn't expect this was actually going to affect reality. Shinigami assures him that he won't remember any of the Mystery Labyrinth anyway, so...

Aaaaand eventually they do leave the Labyrinth. Halara is back to their usual steely exterior.

The masked priest in front of them drops to the floor dead. A scream from the church can be heard, presumably because the worshipper has just done the same. They go to check it out.

Then… Yomi shows up. He intimidates the group and doesn’t seem to deem any of the detectives worth his attention… until he notices Zilch.

Shinigami wonders if he recognized the Alexander family crest... but Yuma makes the connection and realizes Yomi might have had some sort of connection to the impostor on the train. That's pretty scary to think about. Was this the guy who tried to kill off all the Master Detectives coming into Kanai Ward? He seems dangerous...

Good thing Yomi has a devoted right hand to play around with. In front of everyone.

But anyway, regarding the Nail Man situation, Yomi decides to throw Seth under the bus, and punish him accordingly.

Bye Seth! Or should I say... Steve. :noes:

After his near-death experience, Zilch has a change of heart and decides he doesn't need a fur coat after all (seeing as it almost got him killed). Halara accepts it as payment for their services solving the case.... at least Zilch's half of it - Yuma still owes them a small fortune.

And with that the day is saved. Yuma plays a bit of baseball. Halara has a comfy new bed for their beloved strays. And Zilch... has a lot to think about.

-----

HELLO BOBA FANS!!! Thanks for your patience waiting for this update! I hope you can tell I've been working on this very hard (in between assignments for cartoon college)! The post didn't even fit all the images I made for this chapter - I'll be sure to post the other ones separately. At some point.

This chapter was an interesting challenge to write, trying to hammer down Zilch's character - how to make him distinct from his impersonator, but similar enough to lend credit to the impersonator. It took a while but I think I've finally landed on a solid backstory. I'll be posting more about him in the next installment of Boba AU - Zilch's Gumshoe Gabs. Then after that will be Chapter 2! Super excited to rub my gay little hands all over that one.

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, then please... I beg of you... draw me some Zilara ;_;

BOBA AU MASTERPOST: [link]

[kawaiichibiart]

Okay, new AU idea. This is gonna be a long one, so bear with me:

Our setting is a small village. Everyone knows each other and whatnot. They get along and are polite to each other, even if they wouldn't consider each other friends.

In this village, lived two wealthy families. The Asahinas and the Tenmas. However, one day the two senior Tenmas had to leave with their youngest. Her illness had gotten worse and word was that another village, one days away, had some of the best doctors who could help with her condition. Thus, they left, leaving behind their eldest, who decided to stay back in case either of his parents returned to get him or if he got a letter telling him to make the journey on his own.

Now, because of how close this village is, everyone knows Lady Asahina didn't like the Tenmas. She's spent years as the villaged wealthiest until they came along. She smiled politely and spoke courteously with them. She even allowed her only child to learn piano from Lady Tenma. When word got out that they were leaving, she thought they would be gone for good. But no, they had to leave the boy behind. And what does he do? Play piano and read stories? A waste if you ask her. Why bother with things like that when he could further his education? Find a nice young lady to court and marry? If he were more of a proper gentleman she'd push her daughter to marry him. The only reason she allows their friendship is because her husband already approved it in front of others. She'd be ostracized if she banned her daughter from seeing that boy.

Again, because of how close this village is, it's easy to see the animosity Lady Asahina has for the Tenma's. Tsukasa knows she wants nothing more than to get rid of his family. Mafuyu does as well. After all, it wouldn't be the first time she did.

The first were the Otori's, who left after a few years of living in the village, due to Lord Otori finding a bigger village for his family. Mafuyu remembered Emu, the bright and energetic girl, who had left in tears because her mother told her no one would ever love her if she kept acting like the fool she was. Last time she saw her, she was another girl and looking a lot happier. When she spoke with them, she learned the girl was Nene Kusanagi. She was a singer at a local theater and had met Emu a few days after she moved to her village. The two became friends and eventually girlfriends.

Then were the Hinomori's. Who left when their youngest got accepted into a knight training program in a kingdom further away. Shizuku was the first friend Mafuyu made and lost. Once she was gone, her mother told her it was for the best. After all, now with Shizuku gone, she'd have no competition in getting a suitor.

When she visited the Shiraishi Kingdom with her father, she saw Shizuku with a group of girls. All of them laughing and full of smiles. She wasn't going to say anything, thinking just seeing her old friend would be enough. But Shizuku saw her, left her group and pulled her over. There she was introduced to Shizuku's coven of "witches": Airi Momoi, Haruka Kiritani and their newest member, Minori Hanasato. When asked, Haruka explained they were all learning to be healers while also spreading hope to others via music. The "witches" was just for fun, and they had originally considered being "fairies."

The last one's were the Shinonome's. They had left shortly before the Tenma's arrived. Had lived in their village the shortest. Mafuyu had a rough relationship with Ena and Akito. She wasn't sure if she'd call them all friends. But their company was nice until her mother stepped in. She pushed and pushed, snide remark after snide remark, until Lord Shinonome snapped at her. It was one of the few times she's seen someone yell at her mother. One of the few times she's seen no one take her mother's side. She questioned a man over his marriage and right to raise children on his own. Mafuyu knew from Ena that Lord Shinonome wasn't the best father, but when she tried to visit them the next day, they were, having left some time in the night. She has yet to reunite with either of the two siblings and has no idea where they went to.

And now the Tenma's were gone. Or at least, 3 of them. Lord and Lady Tenma were alright. She didn't think much of them, as they were both busy people. Saki was almost always in bed, having been sick since she was very young. But the younger girl was so cheerful and would play piano alongside her brother almost daily. On the days she had extra strength, she'd leave her house and visit one of the other ladies houses. There she would spend time talking with other woman and learning new things. She was very beloved, so when the visits stopped abruptly, there was concern. Mafuyu would see her neighbors stop Tsukasa and ask after his sister. She'd see them knock on the Tenma's house and enter to help Lady Tenma.

And then the news came that the Tenma's were leaving. Their youngest needed medical help they, sadly, could not provide. They left, much like the Shinonome's, during the night. So, it was a shock to all of them to see Tsukasa was still around.

Not that anyone but her mother minded. The boy became very popular when he first arrived. He was loud and outgoing, but also so kind and gentle. He'd play piano for others and his loud voice meant everyone could hear him when he read or made-up stories for the children. Mafuyu remembers when her father told her he approved of her friendship with Tsukasa. He saw that she was happier with him. And he was glad someone could make her feel that way. And she was. She had a friend. But she was also hesitant to say they really are friends. After all, any she had and tried to make all left eventually. And it was never surprising that people around her would always say her mother had a hand in it, because she did.

It may not have been murder or threats, but she knew how to push people in a way that made them not want to be around. She'd say things so minor and unimportant, or speak on things none of her concern, but make a BIG deal out of them (Emu's behavior and Lord Shinonome's parental rights for example).

And as Mafuyu grew, she wished to leave herself. Her mother just got more and more overbearing. She gave her more chores to keep her home. Asked her to join her for tea at a neighbor's. Introduced her the sons of her colleagues, pushing her towards them. She made her take more etiquette classes. Dancing lessons. Equestrian training. And it was so obvious why.

The upside is that her mother can't control who the other women invite. One of the grandmothers in the village would often invite Tsukasa over for tea and he would play piano for her, much like her late son used to. A widowed mother with five children, two her own and three belonging to her long gone brother and sister-in-law, would invite him in the evening and he'd entertain the children while she made dinner. Her dance teacher liked inviting him because he didn't mind providing music or being someone's dance partner if someone was absent or injured.

It all got to be too much when her mother began drafting courting letters. She asked Mafuyu constantly, day by day, about each boy who could potentially be a good husband. She'd ask how her lessons were going. Did she want a need a new dress? Best get one either way, she has to look her best for her suitors. Really, she should brush her hair. What would her future husband think?

She wanted to leave. She wished her father would have taken her with him on his latest trip for work. But, would that just have meant she'd arrive to several suitors awaiting her?? Would she even have suitors waiting for her? Or would her mother have chosen her husband to be by the time they returned??

It was one of her rare days "off" when she confided in Tsukasa about what was happening. The letters, the extra chores and weapons, her fear of losing yet another friend, wanting to leave but being afraid to and not knowing how to do so without being caught.

And this is why she became friends with Tsukasa, he listened to her problems and told her to do it. Leave. Leave when her mother is either gone or asleep. He'd offer to go with her, but he said he'd wait in the village for his family or for a message from them. But if leaving was the thing she needed, she should leave. No one should prevent her happiness, not even her.

That night, while her mother is asleep, a deeper one thanks to the tea Mafuyu made for their evening dinner, she snuck out. She didn't take much with her. She had a letter for her father that she was going to give to Tsukasa. She didn't trust her mother to not tear it apart.

Just as she was about to knock on his door, it opened. Tsukasa looked at her and just smiled. He knew. She didn't know how, but he knew.

He moved to the side and let her in. They stood in silence for a while before Mafuyu handed him the letter. She asked him to give it to her father when he saw him. To not tell her mother or anyone else. She didn't want anyone else knowing why she ran.

And just as she's about to leave, he stops her and gives her a beautiful looking music box. A reminder of him. And a little extra protection. He'll miss her and promises to give her father her letter. With that, he closes the door behind her.

A little extra protection??

Mafuyu thinks nothing of it as she leaves. Quietly and slowly at first. And when she's far enough away, she runs. She runs and runs until she's certain she's far enough away. She isn't sure where she'd go or if she'd run into someone she knew along the way.

The downside to leaving in secrecy was she avoided lighting a lantern. The weather was also getting colder and colder every passing day. She couldn't see anything but her breath. She was cold despite wearing warm clothing. She jumped at every noise and fell because she was being so jumpy while temporarily blind. Her eyes widened when she heard a clink. The music box Tsukasa gave her fell out of her bag.

She's so stupid. She's so, so, stupid. Why did she think this was a good idea? Why didn't she just, light the lantern once the village was out of sight? God, why couldn't she have just, waited? Maybe Tsukasa would get his letter or one of his parents would return soon and she could have left with them. Sure, it meant hiding her letter to father with someone else, but...

She's so, alone and scared and cold. It's so cold. She puts the music box away in her bag again and starts to fumble with her lantern. She might as well light it now, right?

She stops when she hears more rustling. She can hear howling and crickets chirping.

A light breaks through the nearby forest and a group of people walk out. All dressed darkly with their faces hidden. She can't hide. The path she was on led into the forest. Behind her was her old village. These, criminals (?), blocked her path. Just as one of them moved towards her, she ran, crossing into one of the larger fields belonging to one of the men in the village.

She used the field to cut around the group and enter the forest. Her lantern now lit, but very dim as well. She was tired and wanted to stop, but they kept chasing her.

One of them did, eventually, catch up with her. They grabbed onto her and forced her to the ground, tossing her bag towards the others, her lantern broken besides them.

She was scared. She was scared and alone. She cried as the rest of the group emptied her bag. At first they just dug through it and dropped things on the floor. But then one of them decided to just, dump everything out.

She let's out a scream when she hears a loud shatter. Right in front of her, was the music box Tsukasa gifted her. Smashed into pieces.

God, what was she thinking? She should have just stayed in the village.

She closed her eyes and waited for whatever would happen next. Death? Kidnapping?

She felt the person holding her on to ground get off her. She could hear the others whispering before they screamed.

Did someone notice? Was there another traveler?

She opened her eyes and that's when she saw it.

Right where the broken music box once was, was a girl who looked ethereal. She was small and held a large scythe in her hands. Her eyes seemed empty, but when she looked at Mafuyu they were so warm and kind and loving. Her eyes then turned to group robbing her, turning cold and protective. She slams her scythe into the ground, causing the ground to shake. She tells the group to leave. Leave and take nothing. She had more power than they could believe, and when one of them scoffed, she used her scythe to turn a tree into ash. Not wanting to risk it, the group left, dragging some members with them.

Once they were gone, the girl walked over to where Mafuyu was still sitting on the floor. She held a hand out and gave her a gentle smile. She asked if she was okay now. Did she need anything?

Who...who was she? Where did she...

The music box...

The girl is named Kanade. She was created by Tsukasa years ago.

He asked her to protect his friend. To take care of her and help her find somewhere she'd be happy.

Oh...

A little extra protection.

Now for some additional information:

Magic is real!! Shizuku's coven of "witches" are actually witches. They just say they aren't.

While magic is real, not everyone has it, and those who do usually have an affinity for a certain type. For example, MMJ specialize in healing magic, while Tsukasa specializes in protective magic.

Magic users can use other types of magic, just to a lesser/smaller extent.

No one in their village knows Tsukasa has magic. Because it's protective, he does a lot of things in secret. It's why his parents and Saki had to leave. He tried, but he isn't a healer.

People who use magic go by different names, some call themselves mages, some go by wizards, some choose not to label themselves as anything. But they're all magic users, no real difference between them.

When Mafuyu told Tsukasa she was leaving, he knew chances were she'd leave at night, hence him staying up to give her Kanade.

Kanade's feelings for Mafuyu are heavily based off those Tsukasa had. She does, eventually, begin to grow her own feelings for the girl she's protecting.

Mafuyu's mom was definitely a reason why people left the village. Most people only invite her because she'd cry about it if they didn't.

Mrs. Asahina's beef with the Tenma's also comes from the fact they aren't generational wealth. They became rich. Tsukasa still wears his old clothes rather than get new, tailored, clothing.

Whenever she asks, he tells her he has no interest in that. Why would he want a spouse who's first concern is what his clothes are made out of? He wasn't going to marry anyone who was only interested in his family's wealth. They had to like him.

Mrs. Asahina's comment towards Emu was specifically about the younger's dream to become an adventurer like her late grandfather. She thought Emu should stop playing around with foolish ideas and sign up for classes on how to be a proper lady. Told her that if he were around, her grandfather would be disappointed his granddaughter was acting like a fool, thinking she could play in dirt all day, every day. Emu left the village crying and wasn't herself until her sister took her a theater, which is where she met Nene.

The Shinonome's ended up separating when they left. Ena and Akito went one way and their father another. As much as it hurt to hear Mrs. Asahina say what she said, they knew she was right. And Ena was the one who ultimately decided she was leaving and taking Akito. If he wished to write to them, they would be in the Aoyagi Kingdom.

[hitlikehammers]

party staples

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar husbands, wedding plans, soul-deep love, slice of life, seriously: the softness

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-one: Love is letting him pick the music (@sparklyslug)

look look it's the rockstar husbands' third wedding! ♥️

He wants this for Steve.

Like, it’s all for Steve. Kind of…not in a way that’s, y’know, where Eddie’s not living for himself, but in the way where who and what he is, the life he has: it’s something he’s woven alongside Steve into this tapestry that’s…that’s them and so every breath he takes is from those threads, right, so all of him, all he has and all he feels and all he does: it’s them, because they’re stitched together not so that you can’t tell the difference, but so that you…you can’t unravel them. They’re too entwined.

And it is glorious.

But so, here’s the thing: they’ve exchanged rings? Twice, now. Maybe kinda-more if you want to get technical: they’d asked each other for forever, though, well—

Technically, Eddie thinks they do that every day. So, fine, but—

They have managed two formal-ish proposals. As formal as you can get if one’s the morning after you moved in together and christened the new bed, with a bread-bag twisty-tie, and the other the night after a graduation from community college with an acceptance to the night educators program in hand from IU East, fresh off the most promising label talks Eddie’s had with anybody ever, and they both just felt it, y’know, like they wanted to mark this as always, that they were growing and changing and their lives were moving and the momentum of them both was the momentum of them both, their life together was this beautiful always they were actively taking steps into, and it was just: they were dizzy with it, they were overfull of it, they were so happy and the only thing they could do was stop at a 7-11 and buy goddamn Ring Pops but they’d laughed and they’d kissed so fucking drenched in that feeling and if Eddie’d ripped off Steve’s gown to the point where it was really good they hadn’t rented it?

Eddie’ll forever pretend that was planned in advance.

Point being: Eddie’d worn Steve’s ring—his grandpa’s, who’d loved Steve right and Eddie wished he’d have known him, if only to tell him thank you—and Steve’s worn a cheap ass band Eddie’s tried to upgrade probably every-other-month for a while now but Steve won’t have it, the sentimental bastards still wears the probably-rusting remains of the twisty-tie—but they’re…they’re already married in every way that matters. So the idea of doing it again? Isn’t…isn’t stressful.

It’s kinda…exciting.

Because they’re going to share this with all their friends, their family. They’re going to bring everyone to their little house when the kids are back from school and Robin and Nance can make it in, hell: Jon just left with the intention to spend the next month roadtripping his way from California for the occasion. They’re making real money, now; the band’s doing more than he ever would have expected, Steve’s beloved—of course he is, as he damn well should be—at school, he’s the kind of counselor Eddie might have made it through senior year the first time with, if he’d had someone that invested, showing that much care for him. They’re…they’re in such a good place, and it’s only looking brighter on the horizons to come, all the way into forever: and that isn’t more than Eddie could have expected.

No: that is more than he ever even knew to hope for, it’s…it’s so much bigger than anything he ever knew existed.

But Robin’s going to officiate. Hopper and Joyce, and Claudia too: they nearly squared off for who could stand up for Steve, not to give him away so much as to hold him close and make sure he knows what he means and Eddie could kiss them for it, because the look in Steve’s eyes when they’d asked if they could share the job, it was…

Eddie might just kiss them all for it, when the day comes. Hopper included.

But everybody: Wayne’ll be there, for him, the boys are coming, gonna play requests for a couple hours, which should be fucking hilarious, and then hand it over to a band Steve insisted they hire so everyone could enjoy the evening, and it’s gonna be in their backyard, with the barbecue and a bonfire, just this mastic joyful potluck and—

“You finish the playlist, so we can send it off? I figure we’ll let the three finalists react to the song selection, might make the decision easier if any of them hate it,” Steve’s leaning over his shoulder and he turns, bumps into Steve’s cheek and Steve ducks his head to kiss Eddie’s jaw: because he was supposed to be finalizing the list for the band that would come on to give Jeff, Dougie, and Gareth the rest of the night off. Because Eddie was the musician, here. Eddie would of course pick the songs.

Except…he’s not the only person who loved music, in this relationship. And…he doesn’t know what specifically makes it so strong, and obvious in his chest, but: Eddie…wants this, for Steve.

He wants to dance to the songs Steve picks, he wants his heartbeat to waltz in time with Steve’s, first-and-foremost-and-always, but then find the rhythms Steve likes most to pick up the downbeat, he…

He wants to drown in Steve, in as many ways as he can find.

So he hands the paper over and pops the pen out of his mouth, which Steve only eyes for the movement, doesn’t even bother chastising him for chewing on the plastic cap anymore, knows to pick his battles: but Eddie hands it over, wordless—an offering, and a request at once:

Let me dance to your music, with you in my arms.

Steve look at him for a long stretch of moments, and his lips are plush around the soft smile that settles on his mouth: contented. So wreathed in love.

He leans in and Eddie’s ready this time, tilts his neck so Steve can kiss him full at the neck, wrapping arms around Eddie’s waist so he can squeeze him close and breath against his jaw:

“I’ve got just the thing.”

And then he’s gone, and Eddie stares after him, just…lost in thought except it’s not lost, even inside his head: he knows exactly where he’s at in his thoughts. Same place he always is.

With Steve.

And then the genuine article is back, grinning a little…not nervous exactly, but something, as he walks over to the stereo and pops the cassette into the deck.

And Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, curious, as he reaches an arm out toward Steve, not really an invitation just a knowing, that Steve will come to him and settle in his lap, in his arms.

Which he does. Because that’s who they are.

“Strings?” Eddie asks as the sound fills the room and Steve just grins, a little bashful; huh. “And piano,” because the keys are swelling on the track and it’s pretty, no, it’s kinda beautiful, but Eddie doesn’t know what it…is.

“Seemed appropriate,” Steve mouths next to Eddie’s ear, warm and kinda almost impish.

“It’s perfect,” Eddie whispers close but what is it, I don’t…” but: oh.

Oh: but he does.

That’s…that’s his music. His song. The band, but this is, he’s—

“Stevie?” he asks, a little breathless, a little wondering because, because—

“I’d kinda hoped you might not fill the whole list,” Steve murmurs, lips pressed against his skin so warm, so firm, so…

Perfect.

Perfect, and it sends the most delightful shivers up Eddie’s spine.

“What,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, feels his cheeks start to ache a little as he smiles bigger and bigger because…this is classical, and this is fucking professional, and it’s goddamn Corroded Coffin, in orchestral…splendor.

“Friend of Robin’s is at Berklee, in Boston,” Steve nuzzles against his neck a little as he explains; “studying composition, I asked if she could,” and he sighs a little, the softest little breath and he drags his lips to catch against Eddie’s skin, wanting nothing from it; almost lazy as he exhales: “just if she could arrange some things.”

Some things, he says, like Eddie’s heart—which was already overfull—isn’t trying to burst not just out of Eddie’s chest, but out of its own size and shape, a glorious tender explosion of just, just…

Feeling.

“I thought we could have someone to play, these,” Steve nods toward the speakers; “and then Dustin said he’d play DJ for, you know. Party staples.”

Eddie leans so he can look Steve in the eye to ask the most important question:

“Love Shack?”

He is not ashamed to say he fucking loves when that song comes on at a wedding. Steve huffs.

“Of course, baby.”

“Van Halen?” and Steve grins. “All sorts of Van Halen,” which is as it should be. Steve wooed Eddie too fucking well with Why Can't This Be Love; “also some George Michael,” and that’s perfect, Eddie doesn’t even care, he just loves the sly grin Steve gets when he says it, wants to eat that grin, if he gets to see that mouth look so soft and happy he can sure as hell appreciate some George fucking Michael; “but if I miss anything, you’ll see it before Dustin gets his paws on it, you can add whatever I overlooked,” and he leans in again, this time claiming Eddie’s lips and Eddie gives willingly, gratefully—as always.

And it settles, all around Eddie in that moment: the way he’d wanted Steve to have this thing that’s so him on the outside, but if it is, then it’s them at its core, like all of it is.

And what did this magnificent bastard go and do, but give Eddie his own songs right back as a…a gift; songs that are all Steve, anyway.

He can’t help the laughter, this buoyant thing with its own velocity: he can’t help but let it shake out of him against Steve’s lips as he kisses him harder, deeper, as he tries to get lost in the feeling, in the reality of this man: his husband.

Because wherever he gets lost? Steve’s right there, always and forever.

He’ll be just fine.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

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