#and i think the fact that getting new stock to shift is part of the issue here

[grim-echoes]

this may be controversial but i think maybe there are people on flight rising who should be banned from purchasing skins ever again until they can learn to stop reselling them at 5-10 times the original price

[purinfelix]

yes Ollie fics I BEGGG🙏🏻🙏🏻

sweet as sugar ⟡ ݁₊ . - ollie bearman

summary: it isn't everyday you see a classmate shopping at the grocery store you work at, especially not when he's buying the most expensive ingredients possible. w/c: 3.4k

a/n: your wish is my command !!! been binging the bear necessities vlogs so i felt verrrryyy inspired for this one (also bc i recently started a second job as a checkout chick HAHA)

Working at a grocery store was far from glamorous - but given that it was close to your university, you figured it was definitely far from the worst part-time job you could've taken up. In between stocking shelves and dealing with rude customers, it hadn't been too bad, and that was the reason you had stayed for over a year.

In that time, you had seen your fair share of things. Given that the dorms were so close by, it wasn't uncommon for you to recognise people from class. Often they were polite enough to start up some small talk or ignore you completely, leaving with several bags of instant ramen and frozen garlic bread, more than enough to last them the week.

But this, this was new.

"Oh, hi," he lets out, polite and a little shy as he piles his groceries onto your conveyer belt.

"Hey," you let out, a little drawn out to show your confusion at the multi-coloured produce headed towards you. You spot a couple radishes, a whole head of cabbage and several jars of spice amongst everything else. "Do you have your own bags?"

"Oh, yeah," he mumbles, reaching into his back pocket and producing several reusable bags, most of them from your grocery store chain - you find it a little cute, though you don't say anything.

"I think I've seen you around, you know," he says quickly, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room as he positions the bags. You drag your focus away from the items you're scanning and study his face instead - he's tall but boyish, and his eyes are round and innocent as he looks at you.

"Right, Professor Royce's class, stats right?"

His expression lights up, almost out of relief at you not asking about the groceries. "Yeah! It's tough, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and he marks really strict as well, a friend of mine got a quarter mark taken off because her power wasn't written high enough."

"Jeez, that's rough," he laughs, and his eyes flicker between yours and your hands as you bag the last of his things.

"Your total will be $75.80," you announce, pulling a face to show that you don't envy how much he's going to have to pay - but to your surprise, his expression doesn't falter as he reaches for his wallet, pulls out his credit card and taps it without another word.

"Thanks, see you around," he smiles, as he takes his several bags with ease and leaves, the automatic doors closing behind him. You find yourself watching him, gaze lingering as his lean figure grows smaller and smaller in the direction of the dorms. What could he possibly be using that kind of food for, how many people was he planning on feeding - and most importantly, what sort of dorm fridge would fit all that?

You hear an annoyed grunt from in front of you as you're once reminded of your job, turning to face a stern-looking woman. "Sorry ma'am," you let out, beginning to scan her items - though your mind doesn't leave him, not for a while.

Given how much he had bought, you didn't think you'd run into your classmate at your job for a while. To your surprise though, it's less than a week until you see him again, and for about a month he continues showing up weekly - and as fate would have it, always when you were on shift and at your register.

What's even weirder though, is the fact that the two of you barely make it beyond awkward small talk about the singular class you share in common or the weather lately. Still, you manage to glean some information - his name (Ollie), his major (marketing) amongst other, smaller, details like the fact that he normally comes in the mornings to get the freshly baked loaves of bread, or that he has an unusually large collection of reusable grocery bags.

For the most part, you don't mind, working at a grocery store register has made you vulnerable to over a year of awkward conversations. What seems to actually get to you though, is the gnawing curiosity of just what on earth he could be using all this for because, at the rate you see him, he can't be the only one eating it.

You're busy pondering this thought, mindlessly stocking shelves mere minutes before closing one night - until you notice a familiarly lanky figure creep up behind you.

"Oh!" you gasp out in surprise, but when you spot the full grocery basket in his hand you dart quickly behind the register to help him. For a minute it seems like your opportunity to get to the bottom of this mystery has reared its head.

However, from the awkward smile he gives you in greeting and the way he nervously shoves his hands in his pockets while he scoots up to your register - you're inclined to just mind your own business and leave the poor boy alone. That is until you break eye contact with him and turn to the items now moving towards you.

He seems to have replaced his normal fresh produce and meat for dessert ingredients, and you watch as several bars of dark chocolate - the most expensive brand your store carries, at that - cartons of eggs and sacks of flour make their way towards you.

"Okay Ollie I'm sorry, but I have to ask," you hold your hands out as you preface your question, "What on earth do you do with all this stuff?"

"Oh, I mean, a boy's gotta eat right?" He laughs shyly, causing you to furrow your brows to show your doubt.

"I don't mean to judge but, surely that's a lie."

He looks almost disappointed at the fact that you don't believe his obviously made-up excuse, as he looks down at his feet to avoid eye contact.

“Well, you see,” he starts, and you can hear the squeaking sound of his sneakers against the store floor. “It’s sort of embarrassing.” 

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad,” you reply, waiting for him to hit you with it, only to be met with a moment of silence as the two of you just stand there, even the conveyor belt refusing to move. 

“What, you cooking for a roster of girls every night?” You joke, desperate to diffuse the suffocating silence. 

“Wh- no!” he replies immediately, hands springing up in defence, causing you to let out a low laugh. 

“Well?” 

He takes a step closer to the register, looking around as if to make sure no one will eavesdrop - despite the two of you being the only ones in the store - before whispering to you. “I’m an influencer, like, a cooking influencer. 

You hear yourself let out a shocked laugh, and Ollie’s eyes widen in response as his cheeks burn up. 

“Sorry, that sounded mean, but that’s actually really cool!” you blurt out. 

“Oh,” he laughs in relief, “I mean it’s not that cool.” He shuffles around awkwardly to help you bag his groceries, though you’re pretty sure he’s just eager to avoid eye contact. 

“Home come I’ve never heard of you before?” 

“Well, I keep it anonymous,” he sighs, “not many people in real life know.” 

“Wow, you’re a proper Peter Parker.” 

“Yeah, if his superpower was stuffing up puff pastry for the third time.” 

“$32,” you read out his total, pausing before following up, “you know, I don’t know if I completely believe you.” 

“Wh- why would I lie?” he asks as he taps his card. 

“I don’t know, to hide the fact that you’re actually cooking for a never ending rotation of girlfriends.” 

“Oh please, I wish that was the case,” you quirk your eyebrow at his response, showing just how much you’re struggling to believe him. As he loops his arms through the several grocery bags, he catches sight of your expression. 

“Wh- look me up then!” 

“Alright, what’s your username,” you say, whipping out your phone. 

He seems to regret his words, his voice immediately shrinking to a shy tone, “promise you won’t make fun of it.” 

“Just tell me Ollie.” 

“It’s, @ bear in the kitchen.” 

You have to fold your lips together to stop yourself from letting out a laugh as you type the user into your search bar. However, once it pops up your eyes widen in shock instantly.

“Ten thousand followers? Ollie, holy shit!” He lets out a little chuckle as you continue to scroll through his posts. “God this stuff looks amazing.” 

“Alright, just don’t tell anyone about it okay? I don’t need this spreading around,” he sighs nervously. 

Lowering your phone, you feel an idea coming to you, “well what’s in it for me?” 

Once again, you watch his brows rise in shock as he chews on his bottom lip, thinking. You’re about to break the silence to tell him you’re only kidding, and that of course you wouldn’t tell anyone and that it’s totally f-

“What time do you get off?” 

“Wh- in about five minutes?” 

“Do you want to come watch?” 

“Watch what?” 

“Me cook, duh,” he says, making it seem like you’re the one being crazy here. 

“Huh?” 

“I live in the dorms so it isn’t too far and you could even try some of it if you want, unless you’ve got something on after this that is.” 

“I mean, not really.” 

“Great, then, help me with these will you?” 

So that’s how you ended up closing up a little earlier, and then helping your classmate Ollie - who a couple weeks ago had been little more than a stranger - carry his ingredients back to his dorm. If you had told anyone that, they probably would’ve called you crazy, and you would’ve agreed. But still, no matter how many times you tried to wake yourself up from this strange dream, you were still there - closing the store, in the elevator with him, even watching as he struggled to use his keys to open his dorm. 

“I got lucky with the dorm lottery this year,” he explained as he finally managed to get the door unlocked, “I think it’s supposed to be for special accomodation students but no one took it so, I figured I would.” 

“Woah,” was all you could say as he ushered you in and shut the door quickly behind you. And woah was correct, given that his 'room' was the size of a small apartment, and much much bigger than any of the other shoeboxes most students got. Aside from the usual bed and desk, he also had his own small lounge room and bathroom - and of course, a kitchenette, which you recognised from the background of his videos. "Lucky is an understatement."

All he does is let out a low laugh in response as he lifts the grocery bags onto the counter, prompting you to do the same. "Do you want my help?" you ask.

"No, I mean you're my guest if anything, so you can just pull up a chair and watch," he offers you a warm smile before turning to unload the bags, stuffing condiments into cupboards and tossing things into the fridge. You do as he says, finding yourself a stool and scooting it over to the counter so you can watch him.

You're amazed, obviously by the fact that someone as unexpected as a boy from your statistics class has a cooking page, but more so by the nature of his movements. After setting up his phone on a small tripod and clicking record, he falls into a rhythm that's mesmerisingly beautiful to watch. Every grab of a bowl or flick of his wrist as he whisks this and stirs that, like a conductor bringing together a symphony.

You don't realise how long you've been silent until he looks up at you, almost as if to silently ask if you have any questions, all the while he's separating a couple egg yolks from their whites.

"So, what exactly are you making?"

"Mille-feuille," he responds.

"Milly- huh?"

He laughs softly at your attempt to mirror his pronunciation. "It's a French dessert, basically just puff pastry with some cream but it's a pain to make."

"So why are you making it?"

"Well, it's fun, I guess? It's nice to challenge myself to do things, even if it takes me a while, the satisfaction of mastering it is really like nothing else." He turns to you, a slight sparkle in his eye and you're taken aback by the pure passion in the way he talks.

"Wow, you really enjoy this, why are you studying at university then? Why not do this full-time as a chef or something?"

"Don't be silly, this is just like a hobby there's no way I could make it a job."

"Ten thousand people seem to say otherwise," you say, and as he pulls a couple things out of the oven and places them on the counter he turns to look at you with an expression that's equal parts confused and surprised. "Well, ten thousand people plus me."

He smiles earnestly, though you can tell you've made him a little shy by the way his cheeks are flushed. "Well, you haven't even tried it yet."

"You're right, how much longer?"

"Maybe another five minutes, why do you need to go?" His expression morphs into one of worry, almost as if he's pleading you not to leave.

"No," you laugh, "I'm fine to stay for as long as you want me to."

"Okay, good, I just," he says, searching for an excuse, "I just want you to taste it before you go."

"Right," you hum, looking around his dorm, or more his apartment complex. "If I had a space as big as this I'd probably throw a party every second night."

"Oh nah, parties aren't really my thing." You watch as he looks down shyly and for the first time, you notice the way the dim kitchen lights illuminate his soft brown curls.

You notice that the only thing separating the two of you is a couple inches of marble countertop and that this is the longest conversation you've had with him, ever. You notice, when his brown eyes rise to meet yours, that the bashful smile spread across his face makes your heart rate quicken a bit more - and for the couple of seconds you're able to hold eye contact with him, you're thinking about how oddly intimate this moment is.

A loud ringing sound brings you back to the current moment - the timer that Ollie set a couple minutes ago signalling that his dish is ready to plate. You straighten up on your stool, eyes darting around as the boy across from you hurries to take out a plate. You pull out your phone, just to have something to do with your hands, but as you do you hear a couple soft groans coming from Ollie's direction.

"Hey," you hear his timid tone call out to you, "could you help me?"

Hopping off of your stool, you pad your way over to where he's bent at an awkward angle, trying his best to hold a broken sheet of puff pastry together.

"Just put your hands where mine are," he instructs you, and you do as he says, allowing him to let out a sigh of relief as he reaches for a piping bag. As he does, you notice the phone camera pointed directly towards you.

"Won't I be in your shot?" you ask nervously.

"Don't worry, your face won't be in it and I can edit it out if you want," he brushes you off, clearly more concerned with the structural integrity of his dessert.

"Oh, right."

"Wait, just-" his voice is just above a whisper and before you realise what's happening you feel his warm touch on yours as he nudges your hands slightly into position. You try not to overthink the fact that his touch alone makes you feel so flustered that you almost drop the pastry. "Okay, hold still."

"Yes, chef," you joke in as serious a tone as you can, trying to alleviate the suddenly intimate tension between you two. You watch silently as he pipes a couple of dollops of custard onto the pastry then nudges you once more to let you know you can let go as he reaches for the last piece of pastry to place on top.

The two of you stand back, and you hear him let out a proud huff as he rests his hands on his hips. "Finally," he breathes, reaching into a drawer to retrieve a spoon.

As you watch him break apart the pastry he spent the last hour trying to perfect, you catch the tender smile he gives you and feel your heart warm at the fact that he seems so different to the awkward, shy boy you first served a couple weeks ago. The image of your classmate, who you only ever saw shuffling out of class as soon as possible, melts away as Ollie confidently scoops some of the custard onto the spoon.

You wait for him to bring it to his own lips, but instead watch it take a turn towards you, his eyes catching yours.

"Here," he smiles, "a payment for your help."

"Wh-" You're taken aback, partially by him not wanting to taste his own food first, but mostly by the fact that he seems to be insisting on feeding it to you. Obediently, you open your mouth and he feeds you the dessert, other hand cupping your chin to catch any crumbs that fall - and you can only hope he doesn't feel how hot your face gets when he does.

"Holy shit Ollie, that's delicious!" You exclaim, watching as his eyes survey your expression.

"Really? That's a relief then," he laughs, taking his own serving of the dessert, nodding thoughtfully as he tastes it. For the thousandth time that night, the two of you stand in silence, just looking at each other - though it's less awkward than you thought and more comfortable.

Until you see your phone on the countertop buzz awake and you catch sight of the time.

"Oh crap, it's past midnight!" you gasp, reaching for it and sending a text back to your roommate, who's probably wondering where you are.

"Do you need to get back?" Ollie asks, brows furrowed.

"Yes, I'm sorry, and thank you for all this it really was amazing-" you ramble out as you try your best to shove your feet into your shoes by the doorway. He seems a little lost by your sudden movements, dropping the spoon and padding his way over to you.

"Do you need me to walk you home?"

"No, no it's fine, I'm just in the next building and you should probably get to cleaning up all this anyways," you gesture to the small mess of used pans and bowls waiting for him in the kitchen behind.

"Right," you catch a tinge of disappointment in his tone, "well get home safe okay?"

"I will," you insist, letting out small grunts as you finally manage to get your second shoe on, "oh, and send me the video you post about this, I want to see my cameo!"

He laughs, "of course."

You're just about to reach for the doorknob and bid him farewell when you hear his voice pipe up again, a little less sure this time.

"Oh and hey, do you think you'd want to do this again?"

"Come over and watch you cook?" You're a little confused by his request since you were sure you had just been in his way all night.

"Yeah, I mean it's nice to have someone keep me company, and help me out when I need it," his hand rubs the back of his nape as he looks at the floor.

"Sure, I'd love to Ollie, you know where to find me anyways."

"Checkout number 4," he laughs, "goodnight."

"Goodnight Ollie," you respond with a smile and a wave before opening his dorm door and leaving.

It's only once you're out in the night air, frantically rushing from his building to yours - that you notice the smile hasn't left your face.

(and as a little something extra, a mockup of ollie's account :)) )

taglist: reply/send an ask to be added!

@multifan-idk @presleycaudle @hadesnumber1daughter @monbear38

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 5th — more — 1108words — cw: reg has some pretty explicit dirty fantasies for a moment or two for @honeybcj and all the other james dad bod enjoyers out there<3

Regulus is sitting in his lifeguard chair, eyes trained on the long pool where people are swimming their laps. Nevermind he isn’t even on shift. Over the last few weeks Regulus has signed himself up for more shifts than ever, much to the surprise of their staff manager. Pandora too. They’ve stocked up on sunscreen and went shopping for new cute swimwear and then devoted their last college summer to spending every minute in the presence of piss covered ground, soggy fries and chlorine smelling air.

All for the sole purpose of making eyes at a beautiful couple and their toddler half the day. Or, not-couple, as Pandora has found out in passing, much to both their delight. The parents of little Harry are divorced, or not together anymore, but they still seem to get along well enough, regularly meeting up to come here and spend their days in the water. Lily, a gorgeous redhead with bright eyes and a sweet smile that occasionally makes Pandora squirm in her place and redden in the cheeks more fiercely than any sunburn. 

And then there’s James. Tall, dark haired, in his mid to end twenties, always grinning, tanned, insanely sexy and funny James. 

The sun is already low now and Lily and Harry have already gone home. On the days James doesn’t take the toddler home with him, he often stays a little longer to get some swimming in. Or just to take a nap on one of the chairs, molten popsicle dripping down and into the hairs on his stomach. His belly rising and falling in regular intervals, full lips parted, dark mob of hair a downright mess and the legs of his bathing shorts hiked so far up it should be forbidden.

The white fabric of it is drenched when James heaves himself out of the pool and shakes out his sopping hair.

Regulus’ eyes follow greedily as the older man picks up his towel and dries himself off. James rummages for his water bottle and then tips his head back and gulps. His throat is bobbing and he’s so overly enthusiastic with it that something dribbles out at the sides and along his neck. Regulus feels himself stir in his own swim shorts and he absently gnaws on his lower lip.

He has already perfectly well resigned himself to the fact that he will be an admirer from afar because how do you even walk up to a young dad and tell him you’d very much like to find out just how much of a daddy he is without overstepping multiple boundaries.

That is before Regulus gets pulled from his perverse thoughts of getting fucked deep into the mattress and stubble burn on his jaw and licking over a nipple circled by chest hair when suddenly said object of his fantasies is walking up to him, eyes squinting against the sun.

He comes to a stop in front of Regulus’ high stool and wraps his hand around the ladder railing next to Regulus’ leg, his shoulder muscle bunching deliciously. 

Regulus’ brain is currently projecting an Error404.

“Hi, sorry for disturbing you,” James says with a warm smile. To Regulus. The hot dad is talking to Regulus. “You can totally say No I was just thinking I should reapply,” he waves the bottle of sunscreen in his big hand, “and I need someone to get my back.”

Regulus just gawks, unable to form a coherent thought. There’s a dark mole right over James’ thick left eyebrow and Regulus wants to kiss it. His nose is a little crooked and his stubble looks so obscene from up close Regulus can’t help but imagine what it would feel like against the inside of his thigh, the crease of his ass.

James’ eyebrows raise and he frowns mildly, “You don’t have to, of course. I can ask someone else, it’s no iss—”

“No,” Regulus blurts, probably too quickly. He licks his lips. “I’ll do it,” he offers, his voice cracking embarrassingly, before clambering down his chair. Heat crawls up into Regulus’ cheeks and down his collarbones and he clears his throat.

A gust of realization flits over James’ face and then he grins, shamelessly. Regulus swallows. “Oh, so you’re the cute College kid Lily told me was ogling me.”

Regulus makes a panicked noise in the back of his throat, sputtering slightly.

“You really are pretty,” James murmurs, ducking closer. “I wear glasses usually, ’m sorta blind without them, really. It’s lovely getting to see you up close finally.”

“Oh,” Regulus nods, dumbly.

“What’s your name, love?”

“Regulus.”

James hums, repeating his name, slowly letting it roll over his tongue and Regulus shivers.

“I’m James by the way.”

Regulus nods again but he knew that already.

“So,” James cocks his head, “I was promised a slathering of sunscreen?”

And Regulus does just that. He lets James squirt the cool, milky white fluid on his hands and then begins rubbing it into tan skin. James is warm and sturdy under his fingers and when Regulus gets to his neck, adorned by a thin, golden chain, James lets his head loll to the side with a groan. Regulus has to work hard not to let his cock react to it.

When James turns around he has his lower lip trapped between his teeth and is watching Regulus with lidded eyes. There’s still some residue on Regulus’ palms and when James sees that, he takes his wrists slowly and brings his hands down over his bicep as well. 

Regulus is pretty sure he just sighed a little too loudly but he’s too transfixed to care. 

James hums once Regulus is done. “Thank you,” he says, tucking one of Regulus’ curls back. “I’ll let you get back to your shift then,” James mumbles, voice low and playful, “Wouldn’t want to distract you from saving lifes.”

“I’m not on shift,” Regulus replies, stupidly, basically exposing himself. He needs to get a grip.

A happy smile spreads over James’ face, “Well, then why don’t you come join me so I can keep looking at you without my glasses from up close?”

Regulus hesitates for a moment, dumbfounded by the amount of active flirting and compliments.

“I’ll share my fruit and you can tell me all about your courses and that blonde friend of yours that seems to have a thing for Harry’s mum,” James winks.

A small laugh tumbles out of Regulus, “Yeah, she’s ridiculously down bad for Lily.” 

“Oh, people who live in glass houses, love…” James smirks, starting for his spot next to the pool.

Regulus blushes a deep pink as he follows behind him.

[remcycl333]

some thoughts on imagination and fulfilling ALL your desires, no matter how small ♡

hiii! just wanted to share with you guys some things ive been thinking about lately and a new discovery!

so first of all! i went through a little phase this previous weekend where i could not imagine for the life of me. i just could not concentrate, and i kept hyperfixating on every little sound in my room and it was very frustrating. i also could not fall asleep because i usually use daydreams to lull myself to sleep and i couldn't daydream! it was very frustrating.

(side note--at one point i wished that my room would just be silent and then i lost power for a few hours and my room WAS dead silent for a while, lol)

but then i was scrolling thru loatwt, like i do, and i found this acct @/scriptercas and they made a couple of posts about the way they imagine (i like this one too) and i tried it that night and i was DEEP in my imagination for like an hour straight. like me??? adhd aphantasia me???

i know that a lot of you guys are like me and have aphantasia and therefore can't see mental images and you can get discouraged by imagining, but this is definitely my new holy grail and i think this will work so well for you guys too!

(p.s. if you guys are into shifting, that account has some great advice! i'd really recommend!!)

i also recently re-read edward art's series, which i have mentioned in recent posts. once again, i know ive also said this recently, but i highly highly highly recommend reading it (or listening, there's also an audio form) if you haven't already! even if you just read the first five parts. i swear if you are still struggling to fully grasp the law, after you read it you will get it. it's so good.

i bring this up because in a lot of the parts, edward talks about building the habit of fulfilling every single desire--no matter how small--that you have, as it comes to you. and i've just been ruminating on this so much lately.

i remember at the beginning of my loa journey, there would be things that i wanted and i'd kinda mourn the fact that i didnt have them... when i didn't have to. i could've just fulfilled myself. but instead i had the idea in my head that "i'll manifest my sp first, and THEN i can get my desire of receiving flowers." or, "i'll manifest money first, and THEN i can buy the expensive things i want" or "i'll manifest my new apartment, and THEN i can host dinner parties for my friends" etc.

but what i've been thinking about lately--prompted by edward--is that you dont have to want for anything anymore. i can give myself any and everything i want in my imagination. i don't have to wait to manifest something else first.

this has really bolstered my imagination game as well. everything you want to do with or experience once you have your desire, you can have/experience in your imagination right now. and it really adds to your imaginings. it really helps immerse you more and helps you capture the feeling of it being real.

for example, when i was manifesting my apartment, i had sooo many things i wanted to experience once i'd manifested it. i wanted to have my friends over for game night and cook them dinner and make them cocktails. i wanted to bake in my spacious kitchen and have fancy utensils and expensive ingredients. i wanted to shower in my fancy shower and use expensive bath products. i wanted my own vanity stocked with expensive makeup and perfumes. i wanted a large walk in closet with rows and rows of gorgeous clothing. i wanted to come back from a night out and leave my clothes strewn about the bathroom bc i was too drunk to put them away, and no one was gonna see them or yell at me for leaving them there. like some of the things i desired for were so mundane, yet i felt the absence of them in my life every day. for example: living close to a target, being able to make adventurous meals without worrying if my family members would like them, playing video games with my friends in my own living room.

everything i just listed were things i wanted so badly once i had my apartment, but whenever id run into the opposite in my every day life, i wouldn't fulfill myself at first. like i'd go to cook the same old dinner i cooked for my family every other night and i'd be like "ugh i wish i could be in my own apartment where i did the grocery shopping and i could buy fresh ingredients and make an elaborate meal instead of just having pasta and jarred sauce again." but then i realized that if i were in my dream apartment i would be able to do that. i spent so much time imagining waking up in my new apartment and what it would look like, but in the end, imagining stuff like this is what really helped me to fulfill myself and catch the feeling of the wish fulfilled.

i was really reminded of that whenever i re-read edward's series, and now im applying it to my new desires as well. it's so funny that no matter how much i manifest or how much i learn i always find myself forgetting little tidbits like that that really help me and are very valuable.

anyway i just wanted to make this post to help you guys a little maybe! i was just in the shower and i was remembering edward saying to fulfill every little desire you have--not matter how small-- and i was remembering the days i used to imagine myself in my current shower, and id close my eyes and imagine the scent of the shampoo i wanted to get and i'd feel where every individual bath product would be placed once i had my own shower. and all that inspired me to write this!

i hope that this helps you guys out and/or gives you imagination motivation! i feel like it's important to imagine all the small things that pertain to your desire that maybe you overlook while imagining, but that you know you deeply yearn for even if u think they're mundane or that you'll just get them once you get your big, overarching desire <3

[lostintransist]

The Boys Home | Part 4

Getting dressed for the day you talked yourself through every step of what would be required today.

“Boys are eating breakfast, once they are dressed we will hop in the van and drive the hour to Costco. We will get lunch there and stock up on everything we need. The Fisher children will arrive tomorrow. I can make it one more day. Need to remind them to leave the old house alone and the men who apparently have no social media at all.”

You mentally re-evaluated the complete lack of information you could find as you put your earrings in. The house had been bought via a trust with no names attached and the public records you could access had no information on full names. John had given only first names for him and each of his..his men? Why did that feel right? Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all shifted with or in reaction to him. The dynamic matched what you had seen from groups of children with a clear ring leader.

Sounds of your boys shouting tumbled up the stairs at you. With a sigh, you set about corralling the boys into clothes and into the car. Seth argued with you the entire hour-long drive that he was big enough to sit in the front seat now. He had been gunning for that position of privilege for months now. While he had reached the height and weight requirements you held firm that the law also stated no one under the age of twelve could sit in the front seat. You didn’t follow to many rules in life, but the safety of your boys? That always came paramount.

Several hundred dollars and a gas tank filled later every one of the kids fell asleep as you hummed along to your playlist that you could listen with them in the car. You were a playlist fiend, and your friends wondered how you managed to find what you were looking for each time you opened your music app. None of them quite understood you had a system and the intricate naming system of your playlists (that were sorted alphabetically so you could find them, mind you) helped you find exactly what you needed.

When you finally pull into your driveway one of the new neighbors is running down your street. Johnny, if you remember right. Waving to him as you stepped from the van you headed for the rear door. Crunching gravel under running shoes alerted you to the fact Johnny had paused his run to come and talk to you. Turning your head you smiled at him, the man didn’t even look winded.

“Nice run?” You pull out your first box packed with food items.

“Yeah, good area for it. The paths that spiral out from the house make me want to pick up trail running.” Johnny pulls the box from your hands and starts up the path to your front door.

With a shrug, entirely too used to men taking things from you in their efforts to affirm their masculinity, you grab a second box and follow the man wearing shorts that should be illegal for how good they make his thighs look. Setting the box down you pull out your keys and unlock the front door. Johnny waits until you have picked your box back up and leads the way into the house before he joins you.

Settling your groceries on the table beside the kitchen you gesture for Johnny to do the same. He does, his eyes scanning the photo-covered wall and the bright colors scattered through the space.

“They seem happy, your boys,” he looks at you with searching eyes.

“I would like to think they are, they are good kids even when they drive me batty.” Not terribly keen on continuing a conversation that came up in every biddies gossip circle with a new neighbor you head back to the car for the rest of the groceries.

Johnny follows and helps twice more with trips to move the half of the warehouse you had brought home with you. With a wave he starts off running again, you bet you would see him circle back soon enough. There was another connection to their road but it was over two miles before he would be able to cut over to it.

You carried Sam and Darren in and settled them on your bed. It seemed safer than hurting your back trying to deposit them on the bottom bunks of their respective beds. Seth and Reggie were much to big for you to carry anymore and you woke them as gently as you could, coaxing them along into the house. Summer had barely started but already it would be to hot to leave them to sleep in the car, even with the doors and windows open. They both whined at you for the rest of the afternoon until you finally shoved some controllers at them and let them play video games so you could put everything away and get started on dinner.

Bedtime came as a blessed relief and saw you collapsed onto the couch in the dark. When you woke the crick in your neck reminded you that grandpa naps would wreck you. Trudging up to bed your mind swirled with the tasks you would need to accomplish. Tomorrow, early, your rented dumpster would arrive and you could strip the rooms that needed insulating. Your hope was to finish ripping the walls out in two days and be able to schedule the sheet rock guys to come in next week.

The guys were at the house by nine am, fed and ready to put in a full day of work. Another day or so and John thought that they would have removed everything that had rotted out, been lived in by animals, or they simply did not wish to keep. Gaz queued up the playlist, the speaker set up in the entranceway to drift music through every corner of the house.

Several hours drifted by with the four of them tromping through the doors depositing chunks of plaster or dead rodents in the massive bin. When they broke for lunch Gaz got a notification on his phone. The guys had settled on the floor of the formal sitting room, their butt prints dotting the floor making John and Johnny laugh.

Gaz got a notification on his phone, the quiet ping saw him digging it out of his pocket. When he paused sandwich halfway to his mouth Simon glanced at him.

“How copy?”

“Our new neighbor is listening to some crazy stuff. Want me to link it so we can listen along?”

John pushed off the floor, knees popping as he stood fully. He brushed his hands along his butt to dislodge the dust; it didn’t help.

“I don’t care what you do as long as you keep working. I would rather not pay for the rental of the bin another day if we can help it.” John didn’t understand or care much about the fascination his men had started with you. He did wonder if this is how they acted off base and off jobs but decided as the stairs creaked below him that he didn’t actually want to know.

They had about an hour of variety, music swinging from Selena to Mumford and Sons until one deeply suggestive song began to repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

John fed up with the creaking bed sounds drifting past him and aggravating his tinnitus, powered down the speaker. When no clomping steps or shouting voices alerted him to their joint displeasure John stepped out onto the porch. With no sign of his men, he let out a weary sigh.

“Fucking muppets are bothering the damn neighbor. Now I have to go save her from three men who want to know who she’s sleeping with at two in the afternoon.” With a shake of his head, John took off at a low jog to trail his men to your house and drag them back if need be.

The song in question:

@harperstyles not my best work but I have to put the foundation down for the story to stand on.

The Boys Home Masterlist | Masterlist

[murdockparker]

Paralyzed

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: She walked in on a Friday afternoon. Steve needed nothing more than to get to know her--if only he could find it in himself to speak to her.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: just pure fluff, mentions of murder (but not frfr)

A/N: no this isn't based on a big time rush song you're crazy anyway!! I think this is my first real Steve fic? The first real one I got around to posting I guess. Cheers!

__

It was a Friday afternoon.

Correction, it was a terribly busy Friday afternoon. Family Video was seemingly the place to be, people swarming the building in hopes of renting new releases for their perspective weekends. Steve usually loathed his Friday shifts for this exact reason, countless questions about the new tapes, a dozen or so mothers berating him when a certain movie is out of stock—as if Steve Harrington himself is the reason behind the madness.

But, this afternoon was different. 

This afternoon she walked in. 

He had enough of the madness, leaving Robin all alone to deal with the wolves for a mere five minutes—he needed to get out of there. With his head in his hands, he sat on an unopened box filled to the brim with different assortments of candy—candy he needed to stock sometime today, a fact he surely couldn’t have forgotten even if he tried. Only two minutes into his escape, Robin came bounding in the backroom, a wild look grazing her eyes.

“Steve,” she nearly panted. “You gotta take over for a minute. This woman is just—ugh—not taking no for an answer! I told her we don’t have The Breakfast Club in stock, but oh no, why trust the employee who rented all ten copies earlier today? Huh? How about we give the girl who makes a little over three bucks an hour a hard fucking time!” Robin was rambling at this point, the words falling deaf on Steve’s ears.

“Robs,” Steve groaned, finally looking up at his friend. “Give me another minute, I have a nasty headache—”

“Me too, Harrington,” Robin sighed, plopping down on the box next to him. “Her name’s probably Debra and she’s a beast in fake leopard print.”

Steve snorted with laughter. “Fine, I’ll head back out there,” he stood up, dramatically dusting off his jeans. “I just don’t know why the hell our help wanted sign hasn’t brought in more folks, we’re dying out here.”

“No one wants to work for Keith,” Robin said simply.

“Damn straight,” Steve pointed, pushing his way back onto the sales floor. The leopard printed demon was nowhere to be seen, much to Steve’s utter relief—he didn’t have the energy to fight her off anyway. Finding his way behind the counter, the doorbell rang out, a pavlovian response nearly spilled from Steve’s lips. “Welcome to Family Vid—”

His heart stopped.

She was gorgeous, like she just stepped out of a magazine ad—the one’s his mom bought, not the trashy shit they sell down at the gas station. Sunglasses adorned her temple like a crown, her hair perfectly falling around the pink lenses. Steve didn’t know what to say, it felt as if he simultaneously forgot all the words in the English language and stuffed seventeen Saltines in his mouth—he was tongue tied.

“Uh, hi,” the girl said softly, waving towards the frozen spectacle behind the counter. “I saw you have a help wanted sign outside?”

Steve could only nod, making a good effort to keep his jaw from falling on the floor. 

“Well,” she smiled, the kind that would make babies giggle at the sight, “I just moved here and sorta need a job so…” A resume was placed on the counter before him. It looked professional—way more than what Family Video could ever hope to ask for from an applicant, anyway. Steve couldn’t stop reading it. She was literally an angel, an answer to his very prayers—every one of them. If he had the power to hire her on the spot, he’d be tossing her a green vest from the back without a second thought. Part of him was cursing the fact Keith wasn’t here to interview her this very second, he needed to get to know this girl. 

“I-I…” Steve tried to speak, feeling his cheeks grow inflamed with embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being so… foolish around a girl.

“Steve, is it?” 

She knew his name. 

Of course he knew she read it off his name tag, he wasn’t that thick, but hearing it come straight from her lips? He could have melted directly into the floor and no one could have stopped him. 

“Yeah, this doofus here’s Steve, I’m Robin,” Robin appeared by his side, seemingly in the knick of time. “Don’t worry about him, we’re getting him the help he needs.”

The mystery girl giggled. “Ah, I see.”

“You want to apply here?” Robin asked, prying the resume from Steve’s—reluctant—hands. “Oh thank God, we’re dying for more bodies around here.”

“I love movies,” she explained quickly, noting how intently Robin was reading over her simple paper. “A-and I used to work at a movie theater back home before moving here, so I know a lot about the recent releases—”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Robin said, leaning onto the counter, voice dripping with secrecy. “You’re probably too good for this place, I mean, way too good for this shit-hole—”

“I need a job,” she repeated, almost desperately. “My folks forced me to move here and I’m trying to save up to get my own place back in Chicago, I’m not built for this small-town bullshit.”

This made Robin explode with laughter and Steve shrivel in despair. She had an expiration date—a way out of Hawkins.

“Well, I’ll make sure to pass this off to our manager—with a glowing recommendation, of course,” Robin winked.

“I appreciate it!” She smiled again, the sight nearly had Steve wishing he had his own pair of sunglasses to wear—it was blinding. “Well, I hope to see you guys around?”

“We’ll be here!” Robin called out, watching the girl walk back towards the door and out towards her car. A hand smacked across Steve’s bicep. 

“Hey!” He finally responded, rubbing the aforementioned spot. “What the hell?”

“I should bring that whiteboard out of retirement,” Robin arched her brow. “You’re positively hopeless, Steve Harrington. What the fuck was that all about?” 

“I don’t know, Robs,” Steve sighed. “She was just—I didn’t even know what to say!”

“Clearly,” she snorted. “You looked like a gaping trout—”

“I did not—”

“This was worse than the girl who asked for a Mint-Choco Deluxe and you handed her a straight scoop of ice cream—no cone. I had to practically chase her out with a stack of napkins and a thousand apologies.”

Steve cringed at the memory. “Maybe…”

“When Keith hires her—and you know he’s gonna—you better get your act together. I don’t wanna deal with…this every day.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve waved. “Sure.”

And deal with it, she did. 

(Y/N) was her name, Steve had the pleasure of unpacking her new name tag for her first day. He almost wanted to keep it, but figured it would make him look like a crazed lunatic. Patiently, he waited by the front door, hoping to see her pull up in her car, ready and rearing for her first day on the job. Steve begged Robin to allow him the pleasure of training her, given he could somehow speak in her presence, of course. She simply rolled her eyes and agreed to the shift exchange. 

A shiny, cherry-red BMW peeled into the lot—Steve noted it looked awfully familiar to his own car, minus the color of course. It seemed a bit out of place in a small town like Hawkins, but the car had suited her just fine. Everything about her suited her kindly, Steve had noticed, especially the clothing she wore. Family Video was no place for a fashion show, Steve could attest to that himself, but with the way she was practically strutting towards the doors? The parking lot was her runway and he was begging to see more. 

“Good morning!” (Y/N) greeted cheerfully, pushing the glass door open wide.

“Morning,” Steve managed to squeak out. He pushed the unflattering green vest towards her. “Your uniform.” She easily slipped the fabric over her own shirt, the stark whiteness of her blouse really made the green pop.

“Well?” She spun around, twirling like a princess. “Do I look the part?”

Steve could only nod. 

“So what’s the first thing on the agenda? Do y’all have a time clock?”

Steve nodded again, pointing his thumb towards the break room.

“Ok..ay…” She said quietly, walking in the direction she was given.

He could cry—it was so pathetic. The way this girl had him so worked up? How was he expected to train her? No, forget training her, how was he supposed to even talk to her? Steve had been in pickles before, but this one took the cake.

“So you just… don’t speak then?”

She had managed to sneak up behind Steve, who had clearly been deep in thought. Her angelic voice alone made him jump. 

“I-I speak,” Steve explained. “I just… have a lot on my plate currently, s’all.”

“I’m sure working at the Family Video is real hard work, superstar,” she giggled, jumping up onto the countertop. “But I’m glad I don’t have to understand your training through charades."

“I’m pretty good at charades,” Steve said, crossing his arms. “O-or so I’m told…”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she smiled. “But seriously, I really thought you just didn’t want to talk to me or something.”

That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. 

“So… I should probably show you the computer system for rentals,” Steve tried changing the subject—poorly, but she graciously turned her attention to the computer she so-conveniently sat next to. “Y’know, because that’s like, the entire job.”

The girl leaned in, not daring to remove herself from the counter top, trying to see what Steve was clicking on. 

“You seem tense,” she noticed. 

“It takes me a while to get warmed up to new people,” he lied. 

“What? Like a cat?”

“…exactly like a cat.”

“Well, Steve,” she hopped off the counter, “it’s a good thing I like cats.”

He tried his best to hide the redness flooding his cheeks.

She made Family Video more enjoyable, even after her first shift, Steve thought. He already liked the job enough, spending time with his best friend and getting paid for it was already a huge perk, but now that he got to know her? He might just keep this job forever.

Forever lasted only four months. 

“Steve!”

He peeked his head over the horror aisle, finding (Y/N) staring at him expectantly from the front counter. 

“Yes?”

“I’m dying over here,” she said dramatically, falling over on the countertop. “It’s so… boring.”

“It’s a Monday morning,” Steve said simply, commanding every fiber in his being to not shrug at the statement. “Mondays are usually boring around here.”

“Everything about Hawkins is boring,” she said, not lifting her face up from the counter. “How do you manage living in this God-forsaken town?”

“I don’t think everything is boring,” Steve scoffed, ignoring the rest of the tapes that needed to be put away. His feet were already leading him towards the counter, as if they had a mind of their own. “I mean, I doubt you’ve run through everything this town's got to offer?”

She lifted her head up from the counter, a red mark gracing her forehead. “In the last four months of living here? I think I have. Hell, the one cool place y’all could have had burned to the ground.”

Steve winced at the mention of StarCourt, the wounds still fresh. “It wasn’t that cool…”

“Fine,” (Y/N) propped herself up, head in her hands, “name one cool place in Hawkins.”

“Skull Rock.”

He doesn’t know why he said it.

“Skull Rock?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve sheepishly said, hand finding the back of his neck quickly. “It’s the go-to for the coolest kids in Hawkins—made popular by yours truly.”

“And what exactly is Skull Rock?” Her arms were neatly crossed by the time he managed to look back at her. 

A make-out spot.

“A-an… experience?” Steve squeaked, trying his best to sound cool. “It’s hard to explain, you just kinda gotta go and see for yourself.”

“Huh,” she tutted. “Why haven’t I heard of this Skull Rock until now? Certainly if it was as neat as you say it is I would’ve heard about it by now.”

“It’s underground,” Steve tried to convince her. “Not physically, I mean. It's above ground, I promise. Underground in the sense that only the cool kids know about it.”

She snorted. “Cool kids?”

“Y-yeah,” He tried to double down.

“As in, like, high schoolers?”

“Other people besides high schoolers can be cool kids, y’know,” Steve said, trying his best not to cough. 

“Maybe I’ll ask Robin about it when she comes in—”

“I could take you?” Steve is quick to interject. “To Skull Rock, I mean. Tonight, if you’re free.”

A smile crept across her ruby red lips. “Like a date?”

“Pshht, no,” Steve waved. “Like a thing friends do! An activity of sorts.”

“Sounds like a date.”

“An activity,” Steve corrected, feeling queasy at the thought she may actually say yes. 

As if mulling over her options for the evening, (Y/N) stared directly into Steve Harrington’s brown eyes, pinning him to the spot with such a glare. “Hm. Alright.”

“A-alright?”

“Do you think I have to change for this ‘activity’?” (Y/N) motioned her hands up and down her body, giving Steve actual permission to fully look at her. Her outfit was already sensible enough—she was here to work, after all—he didn’t ever see a reason for her to change.

“Maybe different shoes?” Steve offered, looking down at her feet, adorned with ruby red flats to match her lips. 

“What sort of shoes do you recommend? These are my favorite flats.”

“Sneakers. Something you don’t mind getting dirty—”

“I don’t mind getting these dirty.”

“Something more suitable for the forest,” Steve amended. “Sticks, mud, poison ivy. Would hate for the tops of your feet to succumb to that bullshit.”

“Succumb,” (Y/N) repeated. “Big word.”

“Average word,” Steve mumbled, feeling only a tad bit embarrassed.

“Average is fine,” she shrugged. “I have sneakers in my car. We could go after work?”

—

Six o’clock couldn’t have come faster. 

Steve had spent the last few hours of his shift trying to best plan his escape from Family Video—an escape that involved pulling (Y/N) into his car before Robin could tell her what Skull Rock really was. Thankfully, (Y/N) hadn’t had the mind to tell Robin what their plans were after work yet, but he knew it would come.

The minute hand finally ticked to the top of the clock. 6pm on the dot. Steve practically threw off his vest and ran to the wall clock to punch out.

“In a rush?” Robin asked. 

“Something like that,” Steve said, not wanting to share much more. 

“Well, enjoy yourself Rob!” (Y/N) nearly sang, now standing behind Steve waiting for her turn with the wall clock. “I left the counter nice and warm for you!”

“I know you meant that to sound endearing, but it just sounds gross,” Robin laughed, not even looking up from the book she had been reading. “Get out of here before Keith makes you both work overtime.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” (Y/N) said, pushing her pink sunglasses—which were housed in the tiny locker she used every day—onto her head. “Besides, we’ve got plans.”

“We?”

“Gotta go Robin!” Steve could only shout, pushing (Y/N) out of the small room in the back—it could hardly be called a break room. Containing a small T.V on the wall, a stack of lockers, a small fridge, quaint table and a broken microwave.

“Alright, weirdo,” (Y/N) laughed, “we made it outside.”

Steve hand only blinked, but she was right. Somehow he didn’t recall the jaunt from the break room to the front door, much less the fact they made it out to their cars. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she laughed again, “oh.”

He was sure his face was the near same color as her lipstick—cherry red and probably emitting the heat of a thousand suns. “Are you gonna change your shoes?” Somehow he strung together a full sentence.

“Go start up your car, pretty boy,” (Y/N) said smoothly, “I’ll meet you in a second.”

Pretty boy. 

Start up his car, he did. He fumbled through the few cassette tapes he stored in his glove box, eager to find one she’d like. Though a thought like this had crossed his mind a handful of times, he never thought she’d actually agree to go out with him. No, not go out, this wasn’t a date. Right? 

She had called him pretty boy. 

And he was planning on taking her to the unofficial make out spot of Hawkins. 

Maybe it was a date. 

“There!” (Y/N) exclaimed, sliding into his passenger seat, showing off her worn shoes. “My well-loved sneakers! Just like you requested. How I allowed you to talk me into going to a random forest is beyond me.”

Me too. Steve thought. 

“You’re not going to murder me, right?”

“What!?” Steve had already begun driving to their destination, but her sudden question had him nearly swerving off the road. “No!”

“That’s what a murderer would say.”

“I—why would I…?” Steve was at a loss for words. “If I was going to murder you, don’t you think I’d admit to it at this point?”

“No,” she shrugged, crossing her legs. Her sneakers were red too—her favorite color, perhaps? “I assume you’d admit it right before you kill me, not in transit to the murder location.”

Steve could only laugh. “You confuse me.”

“You love me,” she admonished. 

Maybe he did, and if he didn’t? He certainly could see himself, though, sooner than later. 

It only took another fifteen minutes of driving to reach their destination, parking his beloved BMW in a spot he knew all too well—part of himself cringed that he could admit that, even to just himself. “We’re here.”

“I’m still not convinced you’re not going to murder me,” (Y/N) hummed, hopping out of the car, a spring in her step. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle, popping his trunk to dig for a blanket he knew he had left behind for one reason or another. “Come on,” he ducked his head towards a clearing, “it’s this way.”

“You really have to start explaining the appeal, Harrington,” (Y/N) said, pushing past a rather suspicious looking bush, following closely behind Steve. “This trek is nothing to scoff at.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I thought the murder accusations already confirmed that I did not?”

“Yet you still got into a car with me,” Steve said.

“I still got into a car with you,” she repeated. 

As if on cue, Skull Rock, in all of its glory, peeked through the brush and into view—thankfully with no one else around. 

“We made it!” Steve exclaimed, nearly impressed he remembered how to get here. Quickly unfurling the blanket he grabbed, he sat on the ground. “Come on, I promise it’s clean.”

“Doubting that,” she said, still sitting beside him. “So, spill it, what makes this place so cool?”

Steve took a deep breath. 

“I, uh, may have stretched the truth a bit?”

“How far?”

“Huh?”

“How far did you stretch the truth?”

“Not by much…”

“You’re sweating,” she pointed. 

“No I’m not!” Steve said, trying his very best to not look down at his pits, afraid they were betraying him. Looking back up at the girl sitting beside him, her ruby lips were twisted in a wicked smirk. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Nah,” she said, almost sounding honest. “But I also know pretty well what goes on around this rock—sick as fuck, by the way, it really looks like a skull.”

“You know about Skull Rock?” He was nearly dejected, embarrassed, even.

“I do.”

“And you still came here with me?”

“If it meant I could spend some time with you outside of work? Sure,” she said with her brilliant smile. “Though, don’t expect any swapping of saliva.”

“Then why…?”

Her knees tucked under her chin, arms wrapped fully around them. “I don’t have many friends here. You and Robin kind of are it for me, at least, since I moved here. I figured I should try and spend time with y’all before I move again.”

Her big move. The one she was saving up for. 

“Back to Chicago, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Though, it’s going to be a while until I do actually move. Who knew trying to rent your own apartment in a big city is stupid expensive? Wait—don’t answer that, that’s a stupid fucking observation.”

“It’s a bit silly,” he agreed, trying his best not to laugh. “But, yeah, way more expensive than Hawkins.”

The sun had begun to set, not that they could see it, through the trees and all, but the sky was now a warm orange. The kind of color that reminded Steve of summer, melted creamsicles and sweet memories.

“What’s in Chicago, anyway?” Steve finally asked, eyes glued to the sky. The question had been on the tip of his tongue since he met her. “I mean, I never really hear you talk much about it—only when you feel the need to dig at Hawkins.”

“It’s where I grew up,” she shrugged. “All of my friends are out there, my life is out there.”

“I mean, you did just say Robin and I were your friends?” He offered, leaning back on his hands. 

She narrowed her gaze, pulling her head up from her knees ever-so-slightly. “Most of my friends are out there,” she corrected. “I just… my dad moved out here for work, a job he literally can’t tell us about—my mom is stuck being some bored housewife waiting every night for him to come home, slaving over a home cooked meal, and I’m just his failure of a daughter who works at a video store.”

Steve knows that feeling a bit too well. 

“It doesn’t even have to be Chicago,” she chuckled, mostly to herself. “I just can’t stay here. My forward thinking mind is too big for this town. I figure, maybe in the city I can find myself, figure out what this planet has in store for me, you know?”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“I mean, I never had the thought to leave Hawkins,” Steve said, still looking up at the sky—darker now, but still orange. “Especially now with all of the…”

How does he explain the Upside Down? Does he explain the Upside Down? No. She doesn’t need to know. Not yet, anyway.

“…you know, the missing people,” he finally said, finding the right explanation. “But the idea of going to a big city, finding my way and maybe figuring out what this big head is good for?” His self deprecating laugh echoed from under the large rock formation. “I get it.”

“Y’know,” (Y/N) relaxed her grip on her knees, “my mom had hesitations about moving here because of the missing people—afraid I was going to go missing too.”

“And your dad still moved you here anyway?” Steve still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact people would move here willingly, especially all that’s been in the news about their small town. 

“I told you, big secret job,” she said, as if that was the only answer. “My dad’s answer to the problem was buying my mom a new kitchen set and me a car.”

“The BMW?”

“Hell yeah,” she snorted. “Though I suppose once I get to the city—any of them, I’ve decided—I’ll sell it. No need for a car if you’ve got decent public transit. I wonder how much I can get for it?”

“Probably less than what you’re thinking.”

“You’re probably right.”

The sun had finally set, leaving a hazy, sort of mystical hue over the rock and clearing. 

“You could come with me, you know,” (Y/N) finally spoke up. 

“Huh?”

“Get out of Hawkins? Lord knows I’d need a roommate. Rent is gonna be insane regardless.”

He pondered the thought. Moving out of this God-forsaken town with practically the girl of his dreams? It sounded too good to be true. “Huh.”

“You obviously don’t have to answer right now,” she said, nearly flustered. Was she flustered? “It was just a dumb thought…”

“It’s not dumb,” he said steadily, truthfully. “Not dumb at all.”

“What? You’re actually considering it?”

“Don’t ask me things if you’re not serious about them,” Steve joked, pointing at her. “I mean, it sounds pretty perfect. Leaving Hawkins, making a way for myself, trying to not rely on my parents… I dunno. Something to think about.”

She only nodded.

“Of course, I can’t leave yet,” Steve corrected, mostly to himself. “I have… unfinished business.”

“Ominous,” she snorted. 

“A man has his secrets,” he smirked, turning to look at her. “Not murder-y secrets, I really can’t stress that one enough.”

“Handsome, funny and mysterious, the full package,” she hummed.

“You think I’m handsome?”

“I don’t want to stroke your ego,” (Y/N) said. “Surely you know you’re handsome.”

“I didn’t know you thought I was handsome.”

“I think everyone thinks you’re handsome,” her eyebrow raised. “Especially all those girls who come in to rent movies I know for a fact they have no interest in. Robin says you had a similar effect back at the ice cream place.”

“You’ve talked to Robin about my handsomeness?”

“I’ve talked to Robin about your obliviousness,” she corrected, “I think there’s a difference.”

He felt like his brain was melting. If he had a mirror, he’d check his ears to make sure no pink matter was dripping out. “But you think I’m handsome?” If the lighting hadn’t been as low as it was, he’d probably be able to see just how dark her cheeks had become.

“Irrelevant.”

He found the courage to scoot a little closer to her. “I mean, I think it’s pretty relevant… considering I think you’re pretty handsome too.”

Her head couldn’t have turned faster.

“Beautiful! I meant beautiful! Not that you can’t be handsome,” Steve felt himself choking on his own foot, falling deeper into a hole he knew he couldn’t get out of. “If you’d rather be called handsome, that’s fine by me, but traditionally, you’re stunning—so so pretty and I—”

“Steve—”

“A-and I’m messing this up,” Steve deflates. The crickets around Skull Rock must have been paid actors at this point. Steve made a mental note to bring a can of Raid the next time he came here—revenge of some sorts. “I can’t believe I’m messing this up.”

Something slightly wet touched his cheek.

“I don’t think you’re messing anything up,” (Y/N) said, pulling away from his face. She kissed his cheek. “I think you’re a little silly and overthinking a lot, though.”

“You kissed me?”

“I kissed your cheek, no need to short-circuit,” she smiled softly. “I figured it was a good way to bring you back down to Earth. Did it work?”

He nodded, a bit too fast for his liking. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Good,” she said, so sure of herself. “You were really spiraling there for a moment.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

More crickets. 

“Would you have kissed Robin on the cheek? If she was spiraling like that?”

“No,” she said honestly. “Just you.”

“Oh.”

“You took me to the make-out spot of Hawkins,” (Y/N) gestured to the rock above them. “Did you expect me to not kiss you?”

“You kissed my cheek,” he clarified, feeling bolder. “I don’t think that counts.”

“Hm,” she tapped her chin in faux-thought. “It probably doesn’t.”

“I could let you try again?”

“Oh you’d let me?” She crossed her arms, voice airy, light.

“Or I could kiss you,” he shrugged. “Dealers choice.”

“Oh what endless options I have,” she laughed, getting up from the blanket. It was only a little scratchy. “Come on, pretty boy, it’s getting late. My mom is probably worried sick I haven’t made it home yet. Probably waiting by the front window with some terrible dinner in the oven, I assume.”

She offered her hand, helping Steve up off the ground. “You’re probably right.”

“This was nice,” she said, walking back to the car. “Thanks for taking me out here, Steve. I finally found the one good thing in Hawkins.”

“Skull Rock is just that impressive, huh?” Steve laughed, his smile reaching his eyes.

“Something like that,” her smile was just as big. 

--

BONUS: “Pop your trunk, I’ll put this nasty blanket away,” (Y/N) said, circling to the back of Steve’s car.

“It’s not that nasty,” he snorted, fulfilling her request. Climbing into his car and starting up the engine, he waited for her to throw the scrap of fabric in the back. In the corner of his eye, he could see her through the mirror, staring intently at the contents of his trunk. “How long does it take to put a blanket away?” He sighed, hopping back out of the car to join her, realizing quickly why she was just staring in his trunk. 

“Y’know,” she clicked, “this doesn’t really help the whole ‘I’m not gonna murder you’ thing.”

In her hands was his tried and true baseball bat—still outfitted with spiky nails and the very essence of dried blood. 

“I-I can explain—”

“You probably can,” she said, throwing the bat back into the trunk, slamming it shut. “How about over dinner sometime?”

He’d be stupid to say no.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Just A Little Spice - Dean x Reader

“Just A Little Spice” - Dean x Reader

Rating Teen

Dean x Reader

Tags: Language, Dean Makes Bad Decisions, Dean in Mild Peril, Dean is Infuriating but We Still Love Him

Word Count: 1500

Dean likes to spice things up, but it would be nice if he didn’t have to put his life in danger in the process.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "I would burn down the world for you." dialogue square.

A/N: Something Short and Kinda Cute. I ended up finding a way to tie this to my other Bingo Square “Ice Play.”

Image created in Canva (photo used/found through Google Image Search)

You’d gotten back to the bunker a day later. Exhausted from the heat, satiated by the relief from the iceman. You’d found Sam organizing and labeling ingredients in his witchcraft cabinet. He was going to try a few new spells from Rowen’s bequeathed library. Realizing he needed some specialty items, he had to head up Nebraska way to meet with an herbalist who sourced supernatural spices.

Dean hovered near the cabinet, picking up jars, and mumbling pronunciations to himself. Sitting on a nearby stool beside a podium meant to support hefty grimoires for spellbook incantations, you chuckled at Sam’s constant swatting of Dean’s hands with each new inspection. You stared at Dean with your best telepathic “stop playing with your brother’s toys” look.

He frowned, relented, and placed a tincture back on a shelf. “That dude, Elijah?”

“Yep,” Sam huffed.

“What’s so important you gotta get right now?” Dean shrugged.

“Nothing important. I found a couple of spells that can change atmospheric pressure and manipulate temperature shifts. Was thinking those could come in handy in the greenhouse. Planning some experiments with out-of-season fruits and vegetables or plants that usually can’t grow in our area.”

You smiled. Sam had become quite the gardener the past year.

Sam eyed Dean in a way that cued me in on the fact that they had something private to discuss. Dean shot you a gentle “get the fuck out” request with raised brows and a head tilt.

“Alright, I’m gonna get unpacked.” You slapped your thighs and gave Sam a forearm squeeze as you passed. Dean tapped your ass on your way out.

You closed the door but lingered long enough to hear Sam, “I figured you were still planning something for-”

“Keep it movin’, sweetheart!” Dean bellowed.

You sighed and smiled to yourself. Dean had a surprise in mind for your anniversary.

~

You’d gone along with Dean’s ask for you to head out solo and grab beers and other supplies later that afternoon. Sam was well on his way to Nebraska by then. And, even if you didn’t play dumb well, you could give Dean time to do whatever it was he was doing for you.

Neither one of you was terribly romantic, but Dean could on occasion whip up the softest, cuddliest little moments.

So, two hours later, as Dean had nonchalantly yet specifically detailed for you to return, you stood outside the bunker door and readied for an anniversary celebration for the books.

Instead, after a hefty pull and the rattle and creak of the iron cell-like door, a plume of smoke released and assaulted your senses. Your eyes watered and you began to cough.

Beer and supplies dropped outside the threshold, you covered your mouth and nose with the collar of your T-shirt and darted inside. You crab walked down the stairs, below the cloud of smoke that hovered at the ceiling. Emergency flood lights flickered over the war room, washing it in an eerie red glow.

The bunker door slammed shut when your boots hit the ground floor, but that never happened. Some sort of automatic electrical protocol engaged for a lockdown scenario?

“Dean!” You tried your best shout to carry through the cavernous levels. He wasn’t in the library and the source of the smoke wasn’t anywhere near your current location. You dashed to the kitchen to what you assumed held the source.

You rounded the kitchen entrance. The contents of a heavy stock pot flicked with flames and churned out thick puffs of smoke on the stovetop. Your heart stopped, finding Dean splayed on the floor by the oven. Your eyes widened. Your coughing worsened at the acidic, burning taste filling your nose and mouth.

“Dean!” you called out again between wheezes. In the hazy film of smoke you spotted his head roll at your voice. You surveyed the area in seconds. You dropped to your knees and crawled over to him. You nestled by his side, grabbed his face by the jaw and jiggled. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

His lids flitted open. Upon a deep inhale, his coughing fit began.

You’d freak out and try to figure out what irritant or poison was in the smoke later. For the moment he was alive.

After shielding him from further smoke inhalation, you dragged him by his ankles out of the kitchen unceremoniously up and over a step. The back of his head cracked onto the granite with one of your sharp tugs. He cursed into a terry kitchen towel you’d wrapped around his mouth and nose. About 20 yards into the shit show of a rescue he had enough awareness to flip onto his stomach and urge you that he could manage.

You hopped up, lungs on fire, and ran back into the kitchen despite his yelling and a failed attempt to hook his hand around one of your shins. You grabbed the fire extinguisher in the kitchen corner, pointed the nozzle at the pot, and, from a safe distance, sprayed the flame retardant all over the stove.

The fire was finally out and with it the smoke production.

A familiar smell wafted through the heat now that the flames had dissipated. Roasted Pork? Barbecue?

Arms dropped to your side. They were heavy and searing from the exertion. Tears poured from your eyes. Through blurry blinks as the scene cleared, you spotted a tiny glass jar a few feet from where you’d found Dean.

The extinguisher clattered to the floor. You picked up the jar, examined it with a sigh, accompanied by many more coughs, and trudged your way back to Dean.

He was sat on the floor, back against one of the hall walls. He clutched the towel that had been wrapped around his face. He looked up at you with tear-streaked cheeks beneath the flashing red floodlights. “Thank Christ,” he wheezed out.

“You alright?” you asked and fell to your knees beside him. One hand steadied yourself on his thigh.

He nodded.

You waited a few agonizing minutes with him, gaze steady on each other. The air cleared as each second ticked by, enough for you to both begin to breathe with some regularity. The coughs subsided. His hand clutched yours and squeezed.

You pulled your phone out and dialed Sam.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sam.” You swallowed, throat dry. “Got a question for you,” you rasped.

“Yeah, sure. You okay?”

“Just peachy.”

You watched Dean’s face begin to redden for another reason.

“Curious, what’s this firecracker pepper do from your stash?”

Sam’s silence on the other end didn't bode well. “Why?”

“I’m guessing it’s not an herb you’d use for culinary experiments.”

After three more beats. “He didn’t?”

“Yep, he did.”

“Holy shit! That stuff is highly combustible! It’s meant to oxygenate a fire and sustain it for a prolonged period.”

“Gathered that. Anything we should worry about with substantial smoke inhalation?”

“Nothing more than the usual. I can be back in a few hours.”

“No, no, we’re good. He’ll clean up his own mess.”

Dean frowned.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. You enjoy your time away from us.”

Sam sighed. “For fuck’s sake. Never a dull moment.”

“Not with your brother it isn’t. Talk soon.”

You ended the call and stared at Dean. Hard. “Dean?” you prodded.

“We were out of pepper!” His shoulders lifted and met his ears.

“I was out getting supplies!”

“If I’d asked you to get pepper you’d have known I was cooking!”

“I already knew you were cooking for our anniversary, Mr. Not Subtle!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he murmured. “We missed celebrating the way I’d planned because of the hunt. I was making those spicy pulled pork sandwiches you love with all the extra chiles. I tossed some of the pepper in and this fucking flash bomb happened. I jumped back and lost my footing. Hit my head and that was all she wrote.”

You leaned in to feel the knot on the back of his head. “You probably have a concussion.”

He shrugged. “Nothing new there. I’ll be fine.”

You fumed, nostrils flared. “How can you be so, so-” you tossed your hands in his direction, “-this!”

He dared to toss you a cheeky grin.

“Dean, it’s not funny! You could have burned the bunker down and who knows what could’ve happened to-”

He grabbed your face with both hands. Quietly, he stated, “I would burn down the world for you.”

“Don’t do that.” You whispered. “You aren’t gonna get out of me being mad at you.”

He smiled. “Good. That means we can finally have angry make-up sex.”

You pursed your lips together and swallowed down a laugh.

His expression turned serious. “I made a mistake. It happens. I’ll clean up the mess in the kitchen.”

The thunder in your chest faded away. “You can be so careless sometimes.”

He nodded.

“You just act first, think later.”

He nodded.

“Well, you're right that you’re cleaning up all that mess and whatever the hell you did to the bunker.” You pointed down the hall to the kitchen and up at the lights.

He nodded. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine! You can kiss me now!”

He repeated. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

[graysparrowao3]

i'm thinking. Maybe Rolan is in heat. And the infuriatingly flirty and handsome Zhent guy who keeps trying to get discounts might be populating Rolan's horny thoughts. Maybe Rolan asks this Rugan guy if he'd like a...ah, mission. a very special mission that would imply them locked into Rolan's room for three days

Oh ho ho, what a message! Well this is new for me! You sure are thinking thoughts... Thank you for sharing them! ... Now I'm thinking them too...

Interesting… two of my favourite blorbos, conveniently in such an improper situation…🤔 Hope you don’t mind, I had a play around with how such a discussion might go. Hopefully it's got the same sort of vibes you were thinking too!

Summary: Rugan wants a discount. Rolan wants release. They come to an agreement.

Words: 1,108

Very suggestive, not outright explicit.

A bead of sweat laced down Rolan’s neck and tickled as it slid beneath his collar. He tried to adjust the fabric, but little good it did. He was burning from the inside out, infernal resistance be damned.

His entire damn body was pulsing in knots; a bottled up rolling thunder threatening to detonate. Instead of having the company or decency to take care of it, he was trying desperately to concentrate through the steam in his head and take stock and procure items and take payments. Then a figure appeared at the entrance of Sorcerous Sundries; sandy hair tied back and an infuriatingly charming smile pulling at the lines around his crystal eyes.

Just who he did not need to be putting up with right now.

The human strode through the wide, open double doors like his balls hardly fit and deposited himself at the counter, lounging against it and ignoring the fact that Rolan was still finishing a transaction with another customer.

“Y’alright, gorgeous,” Rugan winked.

Rolan blew frustrated air from his nostrils as he completed the exchange and cast his eyes sideways over to the annoyingly handsome interruption. “I suppose you imagine that might actually work one of these days?”

“You are a tease,” Rugan clicked his tongue. “Go on, be an absolute gem and do us a favour.”

“I’m not sorry to say I shan’t. Are you actually going to be making a purchase this time or shall we skip forward to the part where I demand your swift departure?”

Rugan made a show of patting the firm sides of his waist. “Alas, I seem to find myself tragically short in the coin department.”

“I’ll attempt not to be overcome with disbelief,” Rolan muttered, letting his eyes linger far too long where the human’s fingers rested on his lean body, dangerously close to the tempting creases where his thighs met his groin. “I see you are once again under a misconception that this is not a place of business where goods and services are available for purchase.”

Noting the direction of the wizard’s gaze, Rugan’s own eyes narrowed as he studied the tiefling. The desperate glisten on his skin, the hungry flare in his eyes, the awkward shifting between his feet to hide the discomfort of his need. Oh, now this he could work with.

Rugan let his tongue wet his lips as his lilting voice danced indecently across the space between them. “Looks to me like I’m not the one in need of said goods and services.”

“I’ve no idea what you could possibly mean,” Rolan said dismissively.

“Now I could be wrong,” Rugan’s voice lowered as he leaned over the counter, “but something tells me you’ve need of a man well-versed in his trade.”

Rolan raked his eyes up and down the worn leather and tight straps that outlined the human’s body. He didn’t realize the tip of tongue also flickered across his lips. “You are a mercenary of some description?”

“Aye,” Rugan lip pulled into a lopsided smile. “Let’s go with that.”

“Then I’ve had more than enough of you and your compatriots.” Rolan snapped his head towards the open doors of the establishment, and Rugan followed his sightline. 

In the courtyard outside some loud gobshite with a rat’s nest on his head wouldn’t shut up about the song of the night or some such rubbish. Rugan shook his disapproving head. He turned back to the wizard and gestured with his hand to emphasize his point. “What you need is a professional.”

“If only there were such a thing in this Godsforsaken city.” Rolan’s tongue hung deliciously on the sibilance.

“You’re in luck,” Rugan rolled his shoulders and braced himself on the counter in a way that made his biceps strain against the material of his sleeves and his chest press against the leather. “A consummate professional. At your service.”

Rolan indiscreetly adjusted his robes. “What I want would be a paying customer.”

“Said I don’t have the coin,” Rugan stared up, his bright eyes meeting the fire in Rolan's. An obscene smirk could be heard in his voice. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t pay.”

A deep maroon flared across Rolan’s cheekbones and he turned away. He covered his flush of flaring need with a cough, missing the smirk that flashed across Rugan’s face. When the wizard turned back, he paused, one nail tapping incessantly on the counter surface.

“Perhaps…" Rolan said, slowly. "I could find a task for you. A contract, if you like. Unofficial. Unaffiliated with Sorcerous business.”

An indecent smile grew on Rugan’s lips. “Now you’re talking. Always best when things are on the smart side of official.”

“I could…” Rolan cleared his throat, then raised his chin to maintain some essence of dignity. “Use a hand. Personal matters.”

The way one of Rugan’s brows raised in a suggestive curve was not subtle. “You don’t say?”

“I imagine a professional might find other suitable ways to go about it.”

“Oh, I imagine you’re right about that.” The Zhentarim agent’s wicked grin broadened.

“Then we’re in agreement. In exchange for a selection of items of your choosing,” Rolan swallowed. “You will… assist me.”

“I can only imagine what such a notable purveyor of his craft might need assisting with,” Rugan let an elbow rest on the counter and leant his chin on his fist as he crooned across it. “Consider me your dutiful apprentice.”

Rolan imagined he’d be calling the man a great many things in the near future, though that would not be among them. He found the sharp attitude that often clipped his voice, a flare of arrogance to cover his indignity. “I'm quite the particular employer, I expect your undivided attention. It may take some time.”

Rugan reached forward and hooked a finger under the cool, silver curve of Rolan’s mantle. He jerked it down, forcing the wizard’s head towards his. Rugan leaned close, his tone low and gruff as his rough cheek grazed against the tiefling. “It’ll take as long as I say it will.”

Rolan’s face burned as he was released from the Zhent’s grip, a hand instinctively against his heaving chest, desire hard between his legs. He blinked for breath, then turned around and called out across the echoing chamber of Sorcerous Sundries. “Due to unforeseen circumstances, we are closing immediately. Management does apologize but you must depart the building at once.”

The patrons had not quite all left when an impatient, stern hand smacked firm onto Rolan’s backside.

“Hope you’re as tightly wound as you look, sunshine,” Rugan’s breath was hot on his ear. “Because I’ve got one hell of a shopping list.”

[chernabogs]

Congratulations on 100 followers!!! I'm so glad to see your work getting the love it deserves! If it's alright with you (and please don't feel pressured, I just saw your reblogged prompt list and had a thought) I would like to request Jade and Reader with the "You're about as intimidating as a butterfly" prompt. I'm just curious as to how you would write something with Jade since I enjoy how you phrase things in your works. And again, congratulations!!!!!

WAH THANK YOUUUUU so excited to dig my hands into some Jade stuff

RHODOMEL

Inc: Jade x Reader, some Floyd (naturally), a touch of Azul Warnings: None! WC: 2.3k Summary: It's a quiet night at the Lounge, and his newfound conversation partner has just arrived.

Most people would hate it—'it' being the concept of a routine. A baseline set of tasks to complete at a certain point of time, day in and day out, which serves as both a tether and a guide for how the hours are meant to play. Jade follows somewhat of a routine in his life. Waking up, attending classes, and then in the evening assisting with the operations at Mostro Lounge. 

Sometimes there’s a wrench in his routine. Floyd may shake things up (he, who lives with no routine at all), Azul may request something be looked into, or he may find himself with a few spare hours on the weekend to venture off into the mountains that lay scattered around the island. He doesn’t mind the changes—he’s rather quick at adapting to things on the fly—and he also doesn’t mind the conflicts that arise with them. 

“—and at least twenty pounds of tomatoes.” Azul is next to him at the ‘bar’ area of the lounge, dubbed so despite the fact that no alcohol is permitted to be served on campus. He’s hunched over on a stool, his uniform half complete and his sleeves pushed up as he writes out the stock order that’s meant to be sent tomorrow evening. 

Floyd has that task. Jade wonders if he’ll feel up to it when the time comes, or if he’ll be taking it on instead. Not that he minds. 

“Twenty?” He muses as he picks up another glass to wipe clean. “We often order less than that.” 

“There’s a discount for twenty. We’ll think of new dishes with tomatoes to add. Perhaps we can also get in touch with Lilia to see if he’ll buy some…” Azul hums back as his pen continues to strike across the stock paper with vigour. Jade feels a twinge of amusement at the way the man is already strategizing how to make a profit from their purchase. 

His attention is then drawn back to the patrons currently in the lounge. It’s a quieter night—which makes sense, considering that this is on the brink of midterm season. A few Pomefiore students are in a booth in the corner, and he spots a Diasomnia boy with two Octavinelle ones at another table. One of the lounge’s waiters moves between the tables with practised ease.

Then he hears the door open. He feels that twinge of amusement grow when a familiar face passes through the threshold with a frown—possibly from the way this night seems particularly colder than most. 

“You have an expression I’m not too sure I like.” Azul’s voice draws his gaze once more. His friend, as he supposes that’s the best way to coin it, observes him with narrowed eyes before looking back to the door. His expression then shifts to a brief flash of understanding before he chuckles and closes the order books. 

“Done?” Jade asks innocently as Azul pushes the stool in with a sly look. 

“Do remember to restock the limes.” Is all he says before departing for his office, leaving Jade alone in the bar area, and giving their new customer an ample opportunity to approach. 

He knows that you will. This has become somewhat of a routine for you, although you still try to play it off like you’re not coming in here to speak with him for an hour or so. He finds it quaint that you come up with new excuses each time you sit at that bar and order something for him to make. A part of him wonders where you get the funds to come out nearly twice a week—but then again, why question where the money comes from when he’s the one receiving it in the end? 

“Welcome.” He muses as you sit down in your usual spot, right where Azul was sitting moments earlier. He sets another newly scrubbed glass down before pulling out the lounge’s menu and sliding it your way. “I would imagine you’d be too preoccupied with your midterms to come visit tonight.” 

“I'm considering this a study break,” you counter as you peer at the menu.

Jade feels a slightly genuine, but still mostly polite, smile play at his lips as he looks back out to the lounge. He spots Floyd lurking by the door, and when the two brothers make eye contact, the latter's expression lights up. Jade hums quietly when the other starts to make his way over. 

“This is bullshit!” 

That is, until an explosive voice from the table with the Diasomnia boy stops everyone in their tracks. Even you turn to look back in surprise, as Jade sets yet another glass down to observe the next few moments with interest.

He doesn’t feel the need to step in. Floyd’s attention has already been diverted, and the boredom his twin was feeling hovering by the entrance is now suddenly abated as the grin on his face grows wider. You look back to Jade, who glances at you and flashes yet another polite smile. 

This isn’t unusual to happen in the Mostro Lounge, especially during exam times when students try all that they can to swindle opportunities for higher grades with less of the legwork. Jade has never quite felt any sympathy for those who approach Azul, or anyone else in Octavinelle for that matter, in a bid to gain a higher grade. Perhaps it was his upbringing under his parents guidance or perhaps it’s just the constant exposure to Azul’s strategies, but he’s always been under the impression that one gets what they deserve in the end—regardless of what they do.

“Floyd looks way too happy about this,” you murmur as you turn back slowly to look at the menu. Jade picks up another glass with a soft hum. 

“I have no idea what you mean.” He continues to clean the glass as the volume from that table grows, now drawing more attention towards the conflict. He can see that it’s beginning to disturb the clients—yourself included—and he has half the mind to go silence it himself. Floyd is taking far too long, playing around with the students and goading them on. 

The Diasomnia boy, in his fury at whatever the other students just tried to rip him off of, turns around and in that very moment catches Jade’s eye. It takes very little facial expressions or micro-movements for the students to quickly sober up, and then turn red in a combination of both embarrassment and fear. He grabs at his jacket, slamming his madol down on the table, before storming out of the lounge with Floyd trailing along behind. His twin's laughter is audible even when the doors close. Jade returns back to his duties as you nudge the menu forward. 

“It’s quite interesting how fast that student ran out of here when all you did was look at him.” You muse, resting your chin in your palm as you peer at him. He feels that twinge of amusement again in his gut. If one were to see the two of you right now, they might think that you’re making eyes at him. Perhaps you are, unintentionally or not, and it’s this thought that makes him decide that he’ll humour your conversations once more. 

“Is it?” He replies, cryptic as always as he glances down to the drink menu. This isn’t necessary—he knows every item on display by heart at this point. After all, he’s one of the people who devised it to begin with. “Why do you say so?” 

“From where I’m sitting, you’re about as intimidating as a butterfly,” you counter. He stifles a laugh as he glances back at you. His smile almost reaches his eyes this time. 

“From where you’re sitting? Then perhaps you should move a bit closer—or order a drink that improves your sight.” Another glance at the menu. “Are you ready to order, by chance? The fact that you slid this my way tells me so.” 

“I’d like to move closer…” he hears you grumble under your breath before you shake your head. “I can’t decide. What is it that you’d recommend for tonight?”

For tonight? He recalls vaguely what the weather was like outside before he sequestered himself back into the lounge’s kitchen and storage rooms. The sky had been a mess of gray clouds swirling above, with flecks of white snow gradually descending to kiss the earth. He’s been on land long enough now that the first snowfall of the season has lost its allure—although Floyd still finds amusement in it, when the mood strikes. “It’s rather cold out there right now, isn’t it?” 

More patrons leave until it’s only the two of you left—save for Floyd, who skulks off to Azul’s office with a pleased grin on his face. Jade hums softly again as he sets another glass down. 

They would be closing soon enough. Perhaps something off the menu could be made—as a slight nod to your continuous patronage. 

“Do you like tea?” He asks after a moment, sending a glance your way. He can see your expression perks up slightly. Even if you don’t like it, something tells him that you’ll be apt to accept whatever he sets down in front of you anyway. Perhaps he can use this to his advantage later—he’s beginning to feel bored with only using Silver as a guinea pig for his mushroom dishes. 

“Depends on the kind.” You try to play off your brief excitement with a more relaxed answer as you lean against the bar once more. Jade has to hide the amused little quirk of his lips as he kneels down to put the glasses away. 

“I was taught by Kalim most recently a way to brew tea that I have been itching to try once more.” He looks up from behind the counter, his eyes slightly shadowed in the light, and he can see your curiosity growing. “Would you be so kind as to let me do so?” 

True to his prediction, he sees your lips curl into a smile and you nod, giving him your permission. This time Jade does little to conceal his own pleasure over your comment as he rises back up and brushes his hands on his uniform pants. 

“Wonderful. We may as well go into the kitchen for this. I’m beginning to have doubts that we’ll be seeing anyone else tonight.” 

—------

Truthfully, he doesn’t mind the company. Unlike his brother who often flips between wanting to be around others and wanting to just be alone, Jade finds himself in a consistent state of ambivalence towards company. Your company may rank a bit higher than others, only because you let him do things like this without protest. 

“This is a spin on rhodomel that I’ve been testing out.” he explains, as though giving a lecture as he holds up a tea blend infused with roses. “Traditionally, the drink is a mead made of honey, water, and some syrup—but we aren’t permitted to serve any alcohol, and so I make do with what I can.” 

He recalls Kalim’s instructions for brewing—along with the horrors of just how much sugar the other man dumped into the drink. Jade gestures for you to have a seat as he sets the kettle up. 

The kitchen of Mostro Lounge is large enough to accommodate more than a few people, and yet you situate yourself right next to him at the counter, watching each step he takes with an astute interest. It’s almost flattering just how keen you seem at making sure you don’t miss a single action of his. 

He puts the leaves in the kettle and boils them before preparing a few more herbs of nature that he doesn’t fully disclose. Once the boiling is done, he pours the tea into the herb bowl that he’s prepared, drops a few sugar cubes inside, and then pours the blend into one of two cups he’s set aside. 

“There,” he muses before grabbing a bottle of honey from a nearby counter and adding a dash of that as well. “Perhaps it won’t be as savoury as rhodomel is alleged to be, mainly because we haven’t let it steep for too long, but I do hope it’s somewhat enjoyable.” 

He nudges the cup towards you with his usual coy smile. “Enjoy.”

You take the cup without so much as a second thought, blowing on the hot brew before taking a tentative sip. Truthfully, Jade has never even tried this himself—if it tastes like shit, then he’ll be able to tell by your expression, despite the words of praise you may give. You’re a readable person.

He appreciates that to a degree. 

But then your eyes light up, and you take another sip, and he knows that he’s performed somewhat of a miracle with whatever he’s just made. “This is really good…!” 

A smug look briefly flashes on his face before he leans against the counter once more and finally tries it out. It is quite good, and he gives himself a mental pat on the back for that. Maybe he’ll even pitch this to Azul for a weekend morning special to offer.

Or he'll sell it to Heartslabyul.  

A comfortable silence settles as the two of you enjoy the experimental concoction together. His fingers lightly tap the rim of his cup as he gives you a sly, sidelong glance, studying you a bit more intently than before. Your expression is satisfied and your body language tells him just how relaxed you feel in his presence. Your previous comment of how he’s hardly intimidating to you plays through in his mind once more. 

Perhaps…

“Do you like hiking by chance?” He doesn’t ask subtly—he just outright says it, and he watches as you look at him with a wide-eyed expression. 

“Oh. Sometimes?” You reply.

Not a no, but not a yes. He taps the rim of his cup again. 

“I like to do hikes in the mountains on weekends, when I get the time. You would be surprised at how many fascinating species of flora and fungi exist up there. I collect them for the Lounge, on occasion.” Before Azul shuts that down after a week or so. “You strike me as someone who can be quite adventurous—so, would you like to come along the next time I go?” 

Is this a recruitment? Yes. Is he trying to get you to taste-test his dishes? Yes. Is there maybe a small, selfish reason for asking to steal more of your time without interruptions?

“Sure!” You reply brightly, and this time he does offer a genuine smile. 

Oh, absolutely.

[girl4music]

There’s two very significant scenes in ‘Ides Of March’ and they come one after the other so that they impact and emphasise each other. You get the action scene and then you get the explanation for the action scene and you can feel a monumental shift following them but one you know the show has been building up to since the start. ‘Ides’ is a pay-off episode. That’s what it is because at first the shift seems to be that suddenly the damsel is the heroine and the heroine is the damsel. But no, that’s not accurate because that’s never been The Way with this show from the start of it. They’ve always saved each other. They were always heroines for and to each other and neither one of them was ever a ‘damsel’.

The shift is something else. Something more profound.

In fact if you think about it, the shift is not a shift at all. Yes, it’s still a turning point for the show but nothing has changed from what we already had or from what it already was. What’s really happened is what we already had and what it already was has been put into the forefront rather than left to scramble for attention in the background. It only feels like a change because it’s never been a focus before although it was always there.

It’s not actually a change. It’s an evolution.

It’s not actually a shift. It’s a transformation.

Nothing different has happened. Not really…

It’s just the underdog parts of the show have been given a spotlight to shine ever brighter than before.

When you see these two very powerful significant scenes side by side you realize something you maybe did think about before but never put much stock in because you kept seeing Xena as the superhero and Gabrielle as the victim that is saved by the superhero.

Gabrielle in ‘Ides’ is simultaneously Xena’s saviour and successor. She’s her rock and her replacement. She’s her partner and her protégée. Her match and her mirror. And then her endgame makes complete sense because they do both. They make her the cornerstone for and to Xena and they also make her the competition of Xena.

It’s great stuff for Gabrielle. Great writing in her overall representation and development. It’s like she’s the one keeping Xena alive to do what she needs to do as the Warrior Princess but at the exact same time she’s also showing you she can stand in for the Warrior Princess.

I don’t know about you guys but I found myself actually wrestling for what I wanted more as an endgame of the show. Them together or Gabrielle going at it alone as a standalone character - a standalone heroine - because from this point on they play both sides and they play both sides simultaneously. Parallel to one another.

It becomes a question of: Is Gabrielle going to end up the warrior because she loves Xena OR is Gabrielle going to be pulling the warrior back because she loves Xena? And the answer is… both. They end up doing both simultaneously. They essentially give you Gabrielle, the warrior saving Xena as well as Gabrielle, the warrior succeeding Xena. They give you “I’m going to be a warrior like her” AND “Even in death Gabrielle, I will never leave you”. Both. You get both Gabrielle: Warrior Princess and an epic love story about soulmates that never separate but as they grow more and more in love with each other, they also grow more and more into each other as well because their hearts, bodies and lives intertwine in the same way that their souls were, are, and will always be intertwined as one soul in two bodies. And I would say ‘Ides’ is the best indication of what they were really doing and where they were really going with them because it’s THE declaration of love and devotion. So in a sense at the same time you’re seeing a female so in love with a female that she’ll do anything and will sacrifice everything to save her life, you’re also seeing a new female superhero has arisen. And they never definitively go one way or the other on it. They instead - in their own odd ways - give you both. It looks like you get Gabrielle at the end of the show as a standalone character. A standalone heroine. But not really because Xena is still with and within her and they sort of just merge into one total physical entity instead. I suppose in much the same way as the ‘Soulmate’ story in ‘Prometheus’ or as the ‘Tree In The Forest’ story in ‘Chariots Of War’ that Gabrielle narrated. It’s actually ironic that they gave us Ancient Japan in the endgame visually but ended up with Ancient Greek thematically.

Or you could just take what happened literally and see it as Gabrielle as a standalone character,… if you want. But for me that leaves the WHOLE story feeling empty because the epic love story was still a huge part of it…and Gabrielle saving Xena once again and merging with her spiritually because of it I think is just as conceivable of an endgame as Gabrielle alone is because it’s Greek. It’s what Ancient Greek philosophers are known for and you can’t tell me Gabrielle isn’t a Greek philosopher…You can’t honestly sit here and tell me she isn’t a Plato or a Socrates or a Aristotle. She is. But she’s just as much a warrior too. Hence her being The Battling Bard.

So I think it works best as both. Both sides played are what end up being the truth of what actually happened because I think the main theme of the story in XENA is how much true epic love can evolve and transform you but it’s not necessarily because that love has changed you. It’s that that love has brought out the best in you.

That’s what ‘Ides’ is. It’s THAT episode that turns the tide of the ocean but the ocean was always an ocean. Meaning it was always capable of becoming a tsunami but waves don’t ever crash that hard without a catalyst. No change is necessary for water to act like an inferno. Just something forcing it into action in the first place.

Gabrielle doesn’t change The Way she is or how she lives because of Xena. That Way was always her Way but that was never going to be realized without Xena. Xena might have been the catalyst in the waves that make up Gabrielle but those waves were meant to crash because an entire ocean cannot only ever remain still because then it’s just lifeless. It has no quality of life. That would have been Gabrielle if she never followed Xena and never had her life change so drastically and irrevocably because of being with Xena. A still ocean. So much depth, so much dimension - so much of her just wasted because nothing would force that tide to turn.

Sure she would still be a soulmate but she wouldn’t be a warrior, a heroine, a storyteller, a philosopher. She really wouldn’t be anything of what she truly was if she had never met and followed Xena or if she was without Xena. Even when the Season 6 episode ‘When Fates Collide’ showed us that Gabrielle became a famous playwright … Xena was still the catalyst of her success and story. Xena was still what was driving the romantic fantasy of which eventually led her to meeting the woman herself.

Metaphors aside - they really were inseparable souls but the epic love story is only so epic because they were whole people on their own too. Their own warriors and heroines. They could’ve done the heroine x damsel dynamic all throughout if they had wanted to. But I’m so glad they didn’t because that’s never been romantic to me. I’ve never really considered that a representation of ‘love’. It’s always been more condescending to me because a hero x damsel dynamic only creates power gaps and as far as I’m concerned, a ‘damsel in distress’ doesn’t exist in reality and it most certainly doesn’t exist in ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’. I think there’s a lot of layers to Xena and XENA that make her and the TV show far more than just a female superhero on a mission of redemption. But that’s really the only layer you get without the lead character and unconditional love of Gabrielle. So it does feel empty if you choose to interpret the endgame as Gabrielle standing alone and that nothing more happened when Xena disappeared.

To me ‘Ides’ is a huge turning point for the TV show because I believe this is when it truly becomes an epic love story between Xena and Gabrielle. In my mind this is when they made up their minds. The characters and the creators/cast/crew alike. This is when they truly knew what they even wanted XENA to be as a lead main driving engaging overall thematic narrative that makes everything that happens in the show feel more valuable.

They chose a redemption story, a coming-of-age story and a love story all in one AND they chose to merge them all together so that you couldn’t separate them.

Very much like you can’t separate the lead characters.

‘Ides’ is a very important episode. Crucial, I would say because the shift you think has happened isn’t a shift. It’s the deeper story they were always desperate to tell finally being told with no pretences and no excuses for it. From ‘Ides’ and onwards XENA is an epic love story between lead female characters as far as both the fans/shippers AND the creators/cast/crew were concerned.

[glassprism]

Hi! I was wondering if you know the history of the Broadway Star Princess dress and why it’s so different to London’s version? I saw your post saying it was originally from Vegas, but didn’t Sarah Brightman also wear the Broadway version at one point?

So first, I think you might be a bit confused about the wording in my last post. I never said the Star Princess costume itself was from Vegas. I said that the specific photo of the specific Star Princess that I linked was from Vegas. That specific costume was created there and then later sent to Broadway, one of many, many other Star Princess costumes among their stock. The Vegas production opened in 2006, years after the Broadway production opened in 1988, so they certainly did not design and come up with that costume. Rather the Vegas production created their own specific variant of it (albeit one still very close to the Broadway design), and when the Vegas production closed, that costume was sent to the still-running Broadway production to be used there. I hope that clarifies!

On to the history, which might also answer the second part of your question. The first thing to note is that the Star Princess was not the original dress Christine wore in 'Masquerade'. That dress was the fondly nicknamed "Hershey's kiss" dress, which looked like this:

Supposedly the dress was not very popular with the Christine actresses, so when the show went to Broadway, it was redesigned into the Star Princess dress we know today. That's also why you see Sarah Brightman wearing both - she wore the "Hershey's kiss" dress on the West End and the Star Princess on Broadway.

After a few months, the West End production also adopted the Star Princess costume, and has used it to this day. Now, you did ask why the West End and Broadway versions differ. Well, in fact, in the early days the Star Princess did not differ that much at all between the two flagship productions, as you can see below - West End on the left, Broadway on the right. There's differences, sure, but they're nowhere near as striking as it is now - you have the dark blue ruffles along the chest that continue into the sleeves, rows of beading along those ruffs, light shades, nice transition from darker pink to light, very similar shape and styling of the bodice, and so on.

So why did it change? Well, same reason every costume in every production worldwide has slight changes from each other: different costume makers, different materials, different interpretation of the design. Especially when Maria Bjornson died, I feel like the West End production started getting more experimental. Meanwhile, Broadway was more traditional, so their costumes adhered closer to the original style as the West End struck out for new avenues. So it's actually kind of funny that you ask about the history of the Broadway Star Princess, like that's the one that chose to be different, when the reality is the opposite - you should look at the history of the West End Star Princess and see what happened there.

To demonstrate, I made a little transition photoset below. The top row is West End, bottom row is Broadway, and the photos go chronologically from left to right, starting from the early 90s and ending with the West End revival and Broadway re-opening in the 2020s.

Hopefully you can (squint and) see what I mean there. Looking at the bottom row, you can see that the Broadway production certainly makes some changes here and there, but the overall design has remained largely the same from when it began in 1988: dark blue ruffles that continue from chest to arms, silvery beading, soft shades of pink, a bell-like skirt shape.

Meanwhile in the top row, the West End production has undergone a lot of changes, but hopefully you can also see that it's not exactly a jarring shift from one to the next. Rather, it seems like they're taking each previous iteration and just making it more extreme. The previous dress was a little brighter in color? Well now we're going to make them even bolder. Arm ruffles the size of pool floaties? Well now we're going to make them the size of your head. Simplifying the bodice beading? Well now we're going to take away entire rows of them. And so on.

And hopefully what that teaches you is how changes gather and snowball over time, how a little shift can lead to another shift, and another, and another, until you look back and realize that what seemed like a minor change at the time has been magnified over the years to become a much larger one.

(Also thank you to @operafantomet and her wonderful blog of photos, many of which I took for this post.)

[archer-kacey]

Shawn Flynn (Analysis)

Let's talk about my favorite JDS weirdo!

We first hear Shawn's voice in Bendy and the Ink Machine, but Joey also mentions him in Illusion of Living in passing.

Joey mentions two things here, firstly that Shawn does "an excellent job." I know Joey lies more than a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but considering the fact that JDS is held together with duct tape and rubber bands, I'm inclined to believe him here. After all, how the hell could they keep up with demands (so much so that the Alice dolls were overstocked) if the foreman fucked off constantly.

Joey also says that Shawn's "creativity knows no bounds." Makes sense for his position, but also helps confirm that Joey does think highly of him in terms of his work. On a personal level, though, maybe not so much.

Based on Joey's insistence for perfection, we can infer that Shawn, like many, was just trying to do his damn job, and Joey blew his lid when things weren't exactly to his liking.

Shawn also mentions that the Alice merchandise wasn't selling well, and offhandedly proposes that they may have to melt the remaining stock down in order to get rid of it. Pretty self-explanatory tape, all things considered.

(The Bendy Wiki also mentions that he has a Dublin accent. I am not at all an expert on ANYTHING Irish but I did find out that Jacksepticeye is from Offaly, Ireland (Midland/East Ireland) and Dublin is also part of East Ireland, so...I'm assuming this is correct.)

There is also an easter egg with the Seeing Tool in BATIM written over Shawn's audio log, though this is mostly a nod to his voice actor.

Anyway, onto Boris and the Dark Survival.

In BATDS, Shawn mentions that he bought a new belt, (a one-of-a-kind toolbelt apparently,) and it was stolen immediately the next day. The perpetrator was a Gent employee, and they very brazenly wore it around right after stealing it. We aren't sure who this employee is, that's mostly speculation. But I don't think that's the point- this odd anecdote represents some of the first seeds of distrust being sown between JDS and Gent employees.

This brings us to Dark Revival.

Funnily enough, I find Shawn's departure from the studio much more interesting than his actual time employed there.

Firstly, Shawn mentions that Joey took it well when he decided to leave. Between the shift towards Gent's experiments and new technology, the funding from Gent, and the sudden irrelevance of having Bendy merch going out in droves, it's possible that Joey just didn't care.

Shawn also seems to give zero fucks about Joey's opinion, based on his Dark Revival and Bendy audio logs, which I find fucking hilarious. Not the first disgruntled employee, but certainly the most confident when faced with Joey himself.

He mentions wanting to find a cabin upstate, see some open sky, and start anew with his family. Overall it seems like leaving JDS gave him a more hopeful lens on life.

But the MOST headscratching thing about his parting audio log is the last few lines;

"But before I go, I've made one last toy. A little parting present for the factory lads. Let's see how long it takes them to find it."

We never hear from Shawn again, so we have NO IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS LMAO. Leave it to Shawn to be mysterious for no apparent reason.

However, there is a possible connection to be made. In the Heavenly Toys area, there's a factory output sheet slapped on one of the walls.

The last column mentions a "Bendy Starface Stuffed Toy", which we've never seen presently. There was only one ever made, and after that it was immediately discontinued.

I don't know why it would be listed at all if Shawn did leave the Starface Bendy as a gift, so this may all be a dead end. (I'm also aware that this might be a "Scarface" reference, although I really don't know what that has to do with anything.) Regardless, I find it a weird coincidence that Shawn left a single toy behind, and Starface also seems to be a completely unique Bendy toy.

TL;DR Shawn Flynn is cool and might have left an Among Us plushie at the studio for his co-workers

[jmagnabo92]

PW2024 - Day 7 - Trapped Together - Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way

@prongsfootweekarchive

Prompt - trapped together

When an order mission goes awry, James and Sirius get stuck in a shack together... naturally things get... interesting.

AO3

***

Despite the fact that there are a million ways to travel via magic, that doesn’t mean that they can’t still become trapped together. 

For example, going on a mission to suss out some death eaters (and maybe steal a Voldemort treasure chest) and ending up having to hide out together in a safe house that’s more of a shack until the death eaters disappear.  

They’d been lucky that they were able to slide into a safe house that had the fidelous over it so that the death eaters couldn’t do anything besides stalk outside the perimeter of the grounds.  

Then, of course, the unlucky part: no fireplace, no owl, anti-apparition wards on the grounds, and they’re together so their mirrors don’t work.  The only way out was stepping outside the grounds where they can see the death eaters waiting for them.

“We’re lucky the Order keeps this place stocked with supplies,” Sirius offers.  It’s a one-room shack that at least has a bed in one corner and a kitchen in the other, but it’s something.  

“Except they never thought about supplies to reach other,” James counters.  “It’s too bad neither of us can do the talking patronus.”

Sirius shrugs.  “Well, it shouldn’t be long and at least we’re not hurt.  We’ll just hang out here together until they leave.”

***

Until they leave was not the few hours that Sirius and James were expecting.  Surely, a couple of Order members weren’t that interesting that three days after they’d been chased into the shack the death eaters would still be patrolling the grounds.

James huffs as he looks out the at the death eaters while sitting on the front steps.  “I don’t get it.  Why haven’t they left, yet?”

“Maybe they think we’ll kill each other being stuck together like this,” Sirius states.  “And they’re just waiting until they can confirm there’s no life.”

James scoffs.  “They must not know us then.  We’d never get to that point.”

Sirius grins.  “It’s just a theory.”

“A bad theory.  Everyone knows we’re practically inseparable.”

“Yeah, well, death eaters aren’t known for their brains.”

“True.”

“And regardless of the fact that we can hang out here trapped forever, I think we should try and figure out another solution…”

“Like what?”

“Like learning the talking patronus.”

James smiles.  “I’m always up for learning something new.”

“Good.”

***

Learning how to make their patronuses talk was not as easy as they believed, and three days later, they’re all annoyed and frustrated. 

Sirius isn’t sure how it happens.  One minute they were practicing and the next minute they’re wrestling because they can’t go running as their animagus forms … and then, he’s on his back, panting, looking up at James who has him pinned down. 

He can’t stop himself from getting hard and judging by the shifting of James’ hips, he’s hard, too.  

He swallows hard as James’ eyes flit between Sirius’ eyes and lips as he lowers his face to Sirius’ face.

He’s going to kiss him, Sirius can feel it, and he’s just… thrilled.  

He never really thought about James in this context before but being stuck together like this and knowing that if it’d been anyone else, he would’ve just risked the attempted apparition and some distraction, but with James… he knows they could be trapped together for the long-haul and be fine.  

And being with him 24/7 has made Sirius learn to appreciate James’ body.   He’s always known he’s bent, but he’s never appreciated what James has to offer before, and now he can.  

James is a hairs-breath away from Sirius’ lips when he lightly asks, “Are we really doing this?”

“We better be.”

“Good.”

***

The next few days or weeks (Sirius isn't sure how long it's been) are spent in a haze of hot sex and getting to know each other on a whole new level to the point that they’ve almost forgotten that they’re trapped together, that is until Sirius and James are laying together on the small bed a threadbare blanket covering their naked waists, legs entwined when the door bursts open, suddenly jarring them awake. 

They’re lucky it’s not the death eaters, instead it’s a team of Order members, Kingsley, Remus, Peter, and the Weasley twins.  

“What the bloody hell?” Sirius asks, angrily.  “Bursting in like this?”

“We thought you’d been killed or died in here,” Kingsley states.  “We hadn’t heard how the treasure hunt went and then decided to check the nearby safe houses and with the death eaters outside…”

“But it turns out you’re just using this safe house as a fuck house,” Remus grumbles.

“Not exactly,” James starts.  “We started off trying to figure out a method to communicate, but it didn’t work out … our patronuses won’t talk…”

“And then, well, the inevitable happened,” Sirius states.  “Besides, it hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been a month,” Peter says, quietly.  

Sirius frowns.  He hadn’t realized since they had duplicated the supplies before they ran out to keep them going and well… sex with James was much more entertaining.  “You took you that long to care and come looking?”

“It’s not like you were in any danger,” Remus scoffs.

“We technically were,” James states, getting up to get dressed.  “We just got lucky that this house has the charm on it that kept the death eaters at bay.”

“Yeah.  Why did they care so much about the treasure we got anyway?” Sirius asks, opting to do the same.  Neither of them is particularly shy and honestly, that’s what this group gets for showing up like this.  

“Dumbledore didn’t say,” Gideon states.  “Just that it’s important.  Did you acquire it?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Fabian hums.  “Dumbledore said that we should transport it carefully.  It could be the key to end the war.”

“And the death eaters?”

“Are gone.  It’s safe to head back to headquarters,” Fabian states.  “He gave us a portkey just in case.”

“What time is it set for?”

“No time.  Just a key word.”

“Then, let’s get going.”

***

After they’re debriefed and back home, they both hesitate when they get to their rooms, originally separate, but now…

“Can’t we just switch off rooms?” James suggests.  “I kind of … don’t want to sleep without you.”

Sirius grins.  “I’m game for that.  I’m definitely happy to continue what we started in the shack.”

James grins, too.  “Good.  ‘Cause I don’t want it any other way.”

“Me either.”

[xunandran]

Tease (more than a) Tidbit Tuesday - PolyFire Edition

Extra bit since I don't think I posted anything last week. Here's the first part of some PolyFire smut I'm working on. some of the prompts for the piece include:

Buck and Tommy want to fold Eddie into their dynamic.

Tommy shows Eddie all the different things that he's found that drives Buck crazy.

-- Your body, my only lesson (3054 Words - Unfinished) --

Every two weeks, the television at the Diaz household is taken over by, as Buck puts it ‘half naked men pummeling each other.’ Back in the beginning, it was Eddie and Tommy. Marisol usually took Christopher out for ice cream or pizza or to the movies. After Buck and Tommy started dating, the dynamic gradually shifted. It was still Eddie and Tommy watching the fights, but Marisol became less and less of a fixture, instead replaced by Buck and Christopher in the teen’s room, often playing some video game or another. 

Tonight’s fight isn’t one for the record books. It’s slow and uninteresting, affording Eddie and Tommy more time to talk than usual. They’re already on their third beer in rather quick succession, Buck already agreeing to get him and Tommy back to their places at the end of the night. 

One of the things Eddie’s noticed about Tommy in their months of hanging out is how honest he gets when he’s had a few too many. When Tommy and Buck had first started officially dating, outside the tragic pizza parlor incident, it was on this very couch that an inebriated Tommy had spilled the beans as to how quick a study Buck was in the bedroom. 

Eddie wants to claim that he is scandalized by this knowledge. If anyone asked, Tommy included, he’d surely hem and haw and make some show of being thoroughly disinterested in the fact. But in truth, since he’s admitting it to himself and nobody else, knowing Buck’s sexual prowess secondhand is somehow more enticing than hearing it from Buck himself. He tucks Tommy’s stories into a small box in the back of his mind to revisit behind his bedroom’s closed doors. 

Over time, he’s come to expect and enjoy these little confessions from Tommy. He pretends that he’s not hanging on the older man’s every word or storing the way Tommy demonstrates some new trick Buck’s learned on the bottle of beer in his hands. He always makes sure the fridge is stocked, making a special trip every two weeks to make sure Tommy has his favorites. 

Periodically throughout the evening, Buck passes through, padding to the kitchen for more pizza, more popcorn, more juice for himself and Christopher. At first, he’d comment toward them as he walked back, but as time and familiarity with their relationship bloomed, words turned to looks, looks turned to touches, and touches turned to gentle kisses as he carried whatever snackfood he had in his hands toward the back of the house. If he’s ever heard Tommy’s confessions, he’s never said or acted bothered. 

Tonight’s confession comes four beers in, and it’s a doozy. They’re between matches when Tommy slides closer to Eddie and whispers “You know I was interested in you too, right?”

Eddie swallows dryly, both from the words and from the way Tommy’s hot breath ghosts against his skin. “What?” His single word is higher pitched than he’d like. He doesn’t want to turn to the right. That’s not true. He wants to turn to the right because Tommy’s not moved back to his neutral and safe spot at the other end of the couch. He’s still leaned in, strong hand clapping on Eddie’s shoulder like he’s said the most casual thing a friend can say to another. 

“When?” Eddie risks a glance to the right. Steel blue globes are still trained on him, scouring over his eyes, his cheeks…

His lips. He needs to swallow again. He settles for another drink of his beer to coat his suddenly dry throat. 

“You know…” Tommy’s voice is smooth and sure. His thumb massages along the strip of muscle north of Eddie’s collar bone, occasionally daring to trace the rough digit against the skin under his collar. “Vegas… Muay Thai… The Chevelle.” The light strokes are mesmerizing, and they’ve barely noticed that the next fight has started. 

Eddie dryly swallows a second time, brooding eyes tracing over wide, sharply angled lips. He could kiss him, kiss Tommy. They’re so close. He reads the permission in the other man’s stance and eyes. It’s been weeks since he separated with Marisol. That’s enough time right? It’s not like it’s a relationship. It’s not like he’s moving too fast again, right? His breath is sharp, in through the nose, out through the nose. “What about Buck?”

Tommy’s lips lift into an effortless smile. “I’ve told Evan, god, what, about a month after we started dating. He… understood the interest.”

Eddie laughs, using the levity to break the hold that Tommy’s lips have on him. “I honestly had no idea. When Buck told me that you two were on a date that night, I was clueless.” And he was. Thinking back on it, it didn’t really surprise him that Buck could be into guys, but Tommy? And apparently into him? It was flattering. He clinks their bottles together. “Another?” Tommy nods and Eddie gathers their empties and stands to go to the kitchen. Logic would dictate that it’d be easier to circle around the back of the couch to get to the kitchen. Instead, Eddie lifts his leg and straddles Tommy for the briefest of moments as he steps over the other man to get into the open area of the living room. Tommy’s blue eyes track the line of Eddie’s waist through the entire movement. 

Eddie makes a detour to check on Buck and Christopher. They’re singularly focused on their video game. Eddie hovers in the doorway and watches the way the pink tip of Buck’s tongue slides along the side of his mouth as he concentrates. A brief lull, a loading screen, and Buck looks up from his spot on the floor, teeth flashing in the brightest smile Eddie’s seen. Should he tell Buck about what Tommy’s said? What if Tommy hadn’t actually told Buck anything. He didn’t want to be the reason that anything happened between them. 

“You okay?” Buck’s voice is concerned, quiet.

Eddie shakes off the thoughts of kissing Tommy, of even kissing Buck. “Yeah. Just checking in on my guys.”

“Aww…” Buck teasingly draws a small heart with his index fingers. “How are the fights tonight?”

“Boring. Tommy and I have been chatting mostly.”

“Oh?” 

Eddie doesn’t know if it’s the single syllable, the tone that Buck uses on it, or the unreadable glint in his bright blue eyes, but something about their interactions seems heavier and more stout than a second before. He walks to the kitchen and discards their empties before grabbing two more from the fridge. He cracks the bottles and tosses the caps, trying to decide on his next course of action. He can’t exactly hide in the kitchen. Tommy’s expecting him. He pads back to the living room, this time opting to walk behind the couch. He hands Tommy his beer as he sits down. The brief brush of the other man’s fingers against his is electric. They clink the bottles together and start on number five. 

“I’ve dreamt about you, you know,” Eddie admits. He doesn’t know why it’s his turn to confess, but the words slip from his lips before he’s properly thought of them. 

Tommy chokes on the potato chip that he has just stuck in his mouth. “Uh, what?”

“You heard me.” Eddie fixes his gaze forward, focusing on the fight on the screen. He pulls a deep swig from the bottle of beer between his hands before setting it on the coaster in front of him. 

Tommy coughs, throat still a bit raw from the sudden sharp fried projectile. “What kind of dreams?” His voice is slightly raspy from the incident. It sounds great on him. Eddie fixes him with a look that needs no explanation or elaboration. “Oh,” Tommy smirks, nodding and taking a large pull of his own beer.

“It’s not just you,” Eddie supplies to fill the space between them. “There’s plenty of people.” Buck chief among them, but he doesn’t say that one. 

Tommy breaks into a jovial laugh. “Someone’s mind is working overtime.”

Eddie sips on his beer. “I don’t know why. I’m in my thirties. I’m not some randy teenager. Hell, I wasn’t even this bad when I was a randy teenager.” Now that it’s out in the air, he likes that he can admit these things to Tommy, risking little more than some gentle teasing but overwhelming support. It should be Buck though. The thought plays in his forefront of his mind, the steady mantra continuously pounding through him like a second heartbeat.

They sit in silence, eyes fixed on the fight. Eddie doesn’t know if it’s awkward or not. He steals glances to his right, furtive sightlines sliding over Tommy before flitting back forward. His fingers drum against his leg nervously as he tries to only pay attention to the screen in front of him. 

Tommy’s noticed the shift, and he’s turned and about to comment when Eddie looks at him. “Did you mean it… that Buck knows?” The words are fast, breathless.

Tommy nods slowly. “I can text him right now if you don’t believe me. Yes, I know he’s in the back with Christopher, and we could just go ask him, but I’d imagine that’d be awkward.”

Eddie palms his hand over his face and groans. When his fingers slip from in front of his eyes, he glances right. Tommy’s bemused expression is endearing. 

Tommy sets his bottle on the coffee table and slides closer to the center of the couch. Not too close, like he’s trying to give Eddie enough time to make some sort of decision. “We’ve talked about it,” He says, almost matter-of-factly. 

“It?” Eddie swallows. He knows what Tommy’s talking about. He’d be lying if he said that recently he hadn’t thought about it, even outside the admitted dreams. But Buck’s his best friend. He knows that argument’s weak. Shannon was his best friend too, before everything. 

“You.” Tommy says as he slides his phone out of his pocket. “Us.” He opens a conversation between Evan and himself and hands the phone over to Eddie. 

Evan:

>> Hey! I have a question, and I hope you

>> don't take offense.

Tommy:

I doubt I can take offense to a simple <<

question. What’s on your mind? <<

Evan:

>> Have you had a threesome?

Tommy:

A couple. Why? <<

Evan:

>> Did you like them?

Tommy:

They were alright. Where’s this coming <<

from, Evan? <<

Evan: >> Would you have another?

>> I’ve never had one.

Tommy:

Really? <<

With all the stories about Buck 1.0 <<

I would have assumed a threesome <<

or two would have been par for the <<

course <<

Evan:

>> You never answered the question.

Tommy:

Do you want to have a threesome? <<

Evan:

>> I kinda do. Not that I’m not extremely

>> happy with things how they are. I’m 

>> just curious. 

Tommy:

Do you have anybody in mind? <<

Evan: 

>> You’ll laugh.

>> Or maybe not. 

>> Maybe I shouldn’t say.

>> It’s probably weird. 

Tommy:

Is it Eddie? <<

Evan:

>> It’s weird, right?

>> He’s my best friend.

>> And all I can think about

>> is what he’s like in bed. 

Tommy:

That’s not weird, Evan <<

It’s natural. I told you I <<

thought Eddie was hot, <<

right? I mean, after we <<

started dating. <<

Evan:

>> I wonder if that’s what’s put

>> it in my mind. 

Tommy:

I’m up for it. Would you like me to <<

test the waters and see if Eddie’s <<

interested? <<

Evan:

>> You’d do that?

Tommy:

Sure, Evan. Plenty of couples have <<

threesomes. I’d rather it be with me and <<

someone you trust. <<

Eddie licks his lips as he reads the message string twice. Buck wants to have a threesome? Buck wants to have a threesome with him and Tommy? He hands the phone back to Tommy and takes a shuddering breath. “Well…” he says airily, not quite knowing what to say. His brown eyes dart around Tommy’s still too close features. Did the man scoot closer while he was reading? 

“So what do you think?” Tommy’s voice is measured and clear, casual. How is he not as nervous as Eddie is right now? All he has to do is say yes and he can know the answers to the questions that have nagged at him for the last couple months. He can know for certain if the feelings he’s been harboring for Buck and Tommy are just his mind trying to understand a new dynamic, or if the ache in the back of his throat is one that can be salved with their touch. 

“You’ll show me… I mean… I’ve never…” Eddie trips over his words, his cheeks blazing with a fiery red blush. Tommy closes the distance and tenderly slides his lips against Eddie’s. Eddie breathes their connection with a shudder. For as rough as the man should be from his occupation and his build, his lips are soft and taste of a lingering belgium stout and barbecue from their wings. When Tommy pulls away, Eddie’s body tries to follow, his dazed form captured in Tommy’s magnetic pull. 

Tommy chuckles as Eddie’s mind catches up to the rest of him. “Somehow I’m not surprised that you both had the exact same look. You okay?”

If Eddie were capable of currently making sounds, he’d tell Tommy that yes, he was in fact okay. He tries to form his traitorous voice around numerous different words before simply nodding and smiling dopily. 

“Good.” Tommy strokes his fingers through Eddie’s hair and watches in real time as the redness in his cheeks and neck fade to a comfortable tan. “We’ll show you everything you need to know.” His fingers slide down Eddie’s cheek, and Eddie wants to kiss him again. He leans into the caress, lips pressing against Tommy’s palm. 

“Can you get a sitter for tomorrow evening?” Tommy asks nonchalantly as he strokes Eddie’s cheek. “Does tomorrow work for you? Not too fast?”

Eddie huffs and vigorously shakes his head. “Not too fast. I can find a sitter.”

“Okay then,” Tommy says, lips brushing lightly against Eddie’s again. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

===========

Buck has spent the following day texting Eddie throughout. It’s little things mostly, some memes, random bullshit. Eddie’s aware of what he’s doing. He’s trying to keep things as normal as possible. Eddie doesn’t know if the texts are helping, or rather serving to make him more nervous. He wonders if Buck’s just as hyped and/or nervous as Eddie’s been feeling all day. Thankfully, Tommy’s been a bit more muted in his communication. He checked in around lunch to confirm that Eddie was still up for the evening. 

He’s showered twice today, thoroughly cleaning himself in preparation for the evening. Though he’s never been with a man, he’s somewhat familiar with some of the logistics, by virtue of his time as a medic. Should he text and ask what role they are expecting of him? He opts to message Tommy, who says not to worry, he’ll be alright. By the time that Carla shows up to take care of Christopher, Eddie’s wound pretty tight, a solid 50% nerves, 50% excitement. 

They’ve agreed to meet at Tommy’s. Eddie swears he catches every red light on his way there. Tommy texts him along the way to just go ahead and come on in and lock up behind him. Tommy’s place is dark and quiet, save for the low murmur of Buck’s voice from the back. Eddie latches the locks before rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. With his hands in his pockets, he pads back to Tommy’s bedroom, not entirely sure what he’s going to walk into. 

Buck is sitting cross-legged in the center of Tommy’s king bed. At present, Tommy’s mostly sat on the edge, but he’s laid back so that his head is in Buck’s lap. The younger man absently slides his fingers through Tommy’s hair as he looks up at Eddie. “Hi.” The word is thick, Buck’s own voice a worried and somewhat raspy mess. Eddie watches as he presses his tongue nervously against the back of his slightly parted lips, the barest hint of pink briefly flicking into view. 

Tommy looks up at Buck before sitting up. “Hey.” Eddie pulls his hand from his pocket and sheepishly waves. He’s not sure what the protocol is, so he’s thankful when Tommy stands up and walks near him. The large man’s presence is strangely comforting as well as exciting. “Evan and I talked while we were waiting.” Tommy’s voice is low in Eddie’s ear and firing through his bloodstream as he circles him. 

“And?” Eddie’s own voice is dry, and he swallows in a vain attempt to moisten the desert behind his lips. 

“So Evan thinks, since you’re new to all this, that I teach you what he likes.” Tommy’s lips brush against the back of Eddie’s neck, and Eddie focuses on Buck.

Buck’s blue eyes are already dark and intense with desire. He pulls himself off the bed and closes with Eddie. Eddie groans as he’s sandwiched between the two lovers. Tommy’s hands drift lazily over Eddie, fingertips tracing their way down his arms. They slide over his hands, interlacing with his own fingers. Buck’s cologne, or maybe it’s just the way he smells sears its way into olfactory memory. He stares at the other man’s lips, so pink and plumped, begging to be kissed, to be nipped and greedily sucked on. Tommy’s strong hands nudge, pulling Eddie’s fingers across Buck’s midsection. The two friends hiss a low groan, eyes locked with each other. Buck’s gaze never wavers as Tommy guides Eddie’s hands under Buck’s shirt and across his hot skin. 

“He’s very sensitive,” Tommy whispers, lips still tracing along Eddie’s neckline. As if on cue, Buck’s stomach ripples underneath Eddie’s light touch. Tommy shifts, lips sliding against Eddie’s ear. His steel blue gaze locks onto his boyfriend. “Evan? Tell Eddie what you want.” Eddie shivers as Tommy’s breath ghosts against his earlobe. 

Eddie can see the trepidation in Buck’s features. It’s not something he can miss, having known the man for so long. Buck’s lips part and Eddie focuses on the image of his lips on Buck’s. Buck’s eyes slide from Eddie’s to Tommy’s. Eddie can’t help but wonder at the look that the other man is giving Buck right now. 

“Undress me, Eddie.” Buck’s voice is small, near afraid. 

[inkformyblood]

(Ghost x Soap x  König, Established Relationship Ghost x Soap, Pre Relationship Ghost x Soap x Konig)

“Hey, LT.” 

 Soap is close, too close really for this to be anything other than a deliberate invasion of Ghost’s space, territory claimed with a single step between Ghost’s legs and a grin that reminds him of smoke and shifts just as quickly. Ghost blinks, slow, careful, taking stock of the heft of a tactile knife lying against the groove of his spine and the careful way Soap transfers his weight so it settles almost entirely over one leg, dragging the other rather than stepping. He hadn’t quite managed to hide the limp as he had moved closer and Ghost isn’t the only one who's noticed.

 “Johnny,” Ghost answers. He hooks the fingers of one hand over the jut of Soap’s hip, fancying he can feel the delicate ink against the blunted fingertips of his gloves, and moves them both so Soap can lean against him, tugs him so that he does so. There’s always a curious little blush that erupts whenever he does something like this, not touching Soap’s cheeks but setting his ears ablaze in a riot of blotchy pinks and reds. “How’s the leg?”

 (Ghost already knows the facts of it. He knows about the torn ligaments and the heavily bruised muscle and the fucking three inches of leather from Soap’s boot that had stopped the injury from being any worse. He knows what Soap’s hand feels like in his when he’s too drugged up to see straight, his fingers all loose and curling in all the wrong places to try and hold his hand. He knows Soap’s a lucky son of a bitch and he’s just going to get injured again in some other stupid accident unless Ghost stops him.)

 “Be fucking jigging by next week, LT. Just you wait and see.” Soap tries a grin, a little too small for his face, a little too much teeth as he tries to adjust his stance and reconsiders it in the same heartbeat, leaning back into Ghost. “How’re the new recruits doing?”

 “What do you think?”

 Soap snorts, drawing another set of eyes to them, this pair belonging to one of the recruits who quickly thinks better and looks away. 

 “Well, no-one’s curled up on the floor crying so I’m guessing it’s going well enough.”

 “Not bad.” Ghost turns his face away from Soap then, pressing his cheek to the shaved side of the other man’s head. It prickles slightly through the thin dark cloth of his mask and he can just make out the distant apple scent of Soap’s shampoo beneath the sterile blanket of the medical ward. His gaze locks on to the observer tucked into the corner, still mostly hidden despite his height, despite his mask, and dark eyes meet his. 

 König stands apart from the others, his shoulders curling in a way that reminds Ghost of a vulture’s hunch, part protection and part warning. He’s competent. He’s dangerous. And he’s watching Soap like he’s being fucking paid to. 

 “You’ve got a little bird watching you, Johnny.”

 Soap, to his credit, doesn’t look immediately. He hums low and lilting, reaching to one side to tuck his fingers into Ghost’s pocket, tugging at the small paper bag of sweets he knows is in there, just for him. It’s a rough handful of gummy worms this time, deliberately made lighter by the girl working behind the counter holding the bag up of the scale and Ghost couldn’t work out why. The bag rustles as Soap pulls it free. “Some of my favourites in here, Ghost.”

 “Is there?”

 (Ghost knows. He’d spent an exacting five minutes picking all of the colour combinations that Soap had mentioned he liked out of the twisted clinging mess of the others.)

 “But, yeah. It’s König watching isn’t it?”

 Ghost doesn’t answer.

 König doesn’t look away. 

 “He’s cute,” Soap says finally, his words slightly muffled as he chews on a gummy worm. “I think I’d like to see him cry.”

 “I can arrange that,” Ghost answers, immediate, focused. He can feel the dog whistle click in every fibre of his being, locked and loaded and waiting to be pointed at his target. All for Soap. Only for Soap. He won’t think too much about that until later.

 “Nah.” Soap tips his head to one side to press a sweet in every sense kiss to the edge of Ghost’s mask, high enough that he can feel the curve of his grin above the fabric. “Might take you up on it later though. Have you got work to get back to soon?”

 Ghost taps Soap’s hip in warning before he barks, “König!” There’s a shockwave of heads turning, first one way and then the other before they course correct back to minding their fucking business unless they fall under Ghost’s attention next.

 König straightens, slumps, then settles into a halfway measure between the two, his hands pressing into the small of his back. “Ja, sir?”

 Soap is so close to him that Ghost feels his chuckle rather than hears it, the tremble of his ribs that are likely still a mottled patchwork of purple and blue from his last half-thought through scheme, the slight exhalation that quickly resolves itself into a show at straightfaced placidity. It doesn’t work, never has, and Price has seemingly just resolved to ignore it at their briefings. 

 “Seen something interesting there?”

 If König was a few steps closer, Ghost fancies he’d be able to feel the heat rolling off his skin even at this distance. He’s carefully still, barely breathing if the sudden stillness of his mask is anything to judge. His gaze hasn’t wavered from Soap. “Ja, sir.”

 “Now ain’t that interesting,” Soap murmurs, twisting in Ghost’s hold to peer over at König, letting more of his weight sink into Ghost’s hold. “Might get to see him cry a little sooner than I thought.”

[yeonjunszn]

ASAP! — NINE

PAIRING! mark lee x f!reader

SUMMARY! you’re not exactly the best barista at zhong coffee, but for some unknown reason (his massive crush on you), mark thinks you can do no wrong. sick and tired of his favoritism and your lack thereof due to absolute obliviousness, your coworkers are determined to fix this problem. asap.

MORE! first written part let’s go

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To be completely honest, Mark was kind of dreading Thursday.

The bigger, better part of him was excited to get the opportunity to teach you some of the tips he received when he was first starting out as a barista at Zhong Coffee. He was looking forward to seeing that cute little quirk of your brows whenever one of your shots wouldn’t pull, and then watching it smooth out when he helped you adjust the grinder.

When you were first hired at Zhong Coffee, he was only a shift lead and Chenle’s older brother was still manager, so he never trained you. (This was before he left to pursue his big boy job.) The shop ran differently and the environment wasn’t as relaxed. Mr. Zhong’s ideals have always matched up with Mark’s, so it was no surprise to anyone that he was named manager afterward.

He likes to think you never got the opportunity to grow confident in your job because you were too scared to ask questions. Chenle’s older brother was a stricter manager and his training wasn’t as personal. Mark assumed that disconnection is a chunk of the reason why you’ve always struggled to figure things out.

But then there was this tiny, ugly part of him deep inside that reminded him of Choi Yeonjun’s existence. It reminded him that there were other men who were equally as drawn to you as he was and he couldn’t stomach the idea that one day, one of those men just might sweep you off of your feet.

That part kept winning no matter how many times he tried to push it away.

When Mark arrives at Zhong Coffee at around 6:15 Thursday morning, he has to hold his breath and bite his tongue. The shop opens at 7 am every morning, but on days when it receives product, it gets dropped off at around 4:45, so those scheduled to stock go in at 5 that day and then continue with their morning shift as usual.

He’d nearly forgotten you were going to stock with Jeno before your training, so it felt like a punch in the gut when he saw the male standing so close to you as you put the syrups on top of the bars. You giggled at a joke he made, not paying any mind to the fact that Mark was openly staring at both of you. Jeno wasn’t even funny.

It’s when he trips over a box on his way to his office, that you finally look away from the unnecessarily buff barista. Mark blinks, standing up right and letting out an awkward laugh as he dusts his hands on his pants.

“Are you okay?” You ask with so much concern in your eyes, it genuinely hurts Mark’s heart.

“I’m good! Don’t worry about me! Finish up your stock so you can take a little break before the new hires get here for training.” He says, words coming out a little too fast and pulse beating a little too hard.

He sits in his office in complete silence for what feels like years, his focus on a blank computer screen as he processes just how down bad he is for you. It doesn’t help when he hears the softest of knocks at the door at around 6:45 and he knows it’s you. He calls out for you to come in and you do, a paper sleeve with the shop’s logo in your grasp.

“I didn’t know if you’d eaten yet this morning, so I warmed up a couple croissants for us,” you tell him shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want the plain or the chocolate one?”

And this is why Mark has the world’s biggest crush on you. You had such a pure soul, too kind for this cruel society. You always thought of others first and yourself last, not caring if it meant that you’d get the last cookie in the batch— or if you got one at all. You thrived off the happiness of everyone around you and it was something he admired so fondly.

“I know you really like the chocolate ones, so I’ll take the plain.” He answers, smiling when you take a bite of your croissant, savoring the pastry.

When all of the new hires arrive for their first day of training, Mark realizes that a group training was probably the worst idea he’d ever come up with. It feels more like a show and tell than a manager teaching new employees how to do certain tasks. It was worse when you factored in Choi Yeonjun and his stupidly beautiful lips. (How Donghyuck thought this guy was mid was beyond him. He wondered what he truly thought of him.)

Mark has to stop himself from huffing like a petulant child when all the trainees partner up and take turns trying out the bar. Of course, Choi Yeonjun asked you to be his partner, because why wouldn’t he? Yeonjun was shots and you were his milk, but his shots kept pulling too short, so he asked you for help.

“Hey Y/n, can you help me adjust the grind?”

“Um, I don’t really know how to do that myself… I always just ask Mark to do it for me.” You shrug, turning around and giving him a lopsided smile.

He pretends that it’s just the two of you when he comes over, pointing at the machine. “Okay, do you know why the shots are pulling short?”

“It’s because the grind is too coarse right?” You ask hopefully. Mark nods with a bit of pride swelling in his chest.

“Yes, exactly. So we want it to be finer, that way the espresso runs through a little slower. You’re gonna push the lever away from you— righty tighty, lefty loosey— and then you also want to make sure you’re tamping with the right amount of pressure.” He explains, watching as you do what he told you.

You stick the tip of your tongue out of the corner of your mouth as you concentrate on tamping the grind. When the shot pulls at a perfect 22 seconds, you squeal, fist bumping the air.

“Oh my god! Mark! I’ve never pulled a 22 before!” You slap your forehead, over the moon with joy.

“Which way does the lever go when it’s pulling short?” He quizzes you, the smile on his face not disappearing.

“To the right! Away from me!”

“Good job, Y/n. I’m proud of you.” He pats the top of your head.

You look up at him with this gleam in your eyes as you say, “Thank you so much! You’re the best ever!”

Mark thinks his heart might’ve stopped that day.

NINE — the best ever

PREV! eight — mark antis 1 - mark 0

NEXT! ten — NANEUN ALCOHOL-FREE GEUNDE CHWIHAE

MASTERLIST!

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