#and of course my music playing to drown out the rest of the world

[mariacallous]

Save me, sitting by the waterfront

[munsonthings86]

sunshine

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a love-struck steve cooks you dinner for the first time

warnings: cursing, alcohol, bit of backstory, oversimplified summary, steve's parents kinda suck (when do they not), best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, soft!steve

an: i think this is my favorite thing i’ve ever written. i'm so in love with these two. i hope you all enjoy this one as much as i do. * don’t copy my work * (also pretend there's a big city near hawkins for the sake of this pls)

wc: 6.0k

“Ow!” Steve hissed, nicking his finger yet again as he made his best effort to dice pesky onions. The knife was razor-sharp as it was fresh out of its packaging, having never been used yet. Frustrated, he squeezed the band-aid he'd spent a solid ten minutes looking for, tighter on his finger, earning a harsh sting.

"Goddamned knife," he whispered, tightlipped, but as soon as the complaint left his lips he wished to yank it back in. It was the chef's knife you'd bought him along with many other thoughtful housewarming gifts to celebrate Steve moving into his first apartment. Steve had insisted that you return some of the gifts, noting that "one gift was more than he could ever ask for".

In spite of his pleas, you didn't return a single gift. Of course, you didn't. You had bought items you knew Steve would need but would ultimately forget to buy for himself. Just to name a few, you'd gotten him a trash bin for his bathroom, a record player, and the best utensil set that the rest of your Family Video paycheck could buy.

Peering at the odd assortment of household objects you'd lugged into his barren apartment with a bright smile pulling at the corners of your lips, an expression of gratitude and bewilderment claimed his face. Steve's round, chestnut-brown eyes ogled yours as you ranted and raved, explaining your thought process behind each purchase.

The record player was for nights like these. Peaceful nights indoors, simply enjoying each other's company without the tense presence of his parents who would shout for him to turn that damn music down if he even thought about letting the needle hit the groove of the record.

"Now we can play music as loud and as much as we want to," he remembered you saying, blushing at your use of the word "we". Though you two were only best friends and have been since grade school, Steve couldn't help but fantasize about a life with you. You, drowning in one of his bigger-than-you t-shirts, prancing around the apartment as you listened to some your favorite records.

He'd begun pondering on how he would rearrange the bit of furniture he had, that'd allow for space for your belongings as well, before you lured him out of his thoughts, defending the bin.

From what he gathered, you bought the garbage bin due to his burning inability to keep his bathroom clean. Steve was someone who took great care of his appearance, always well-kempt and attentive to even the smallest of details.

His bathroom did not reflect this, whatsoever. He had a bad habit of harboring empty cans and bottles of Farrah Fawcett spray that littered the already limited counter space he had in his en suite bathroom.

Steve was such a boy when it came to tidiness.

Everyone knew that about Steve, though. What they didn’t know, however, was how skilled he was in a kitchen. After being left to his lonesome whenever his parents would venture off to one of their many business trips, Steve spent his nights learning to cook after his allowance dwindled and he couldn't afford pizza delivery anymore. The second he'd clock in for his shift at Family Video, he'd make a beeline to where you stood, stocking VHS tapes, and instantly began buzzing and bustling about the new recipe he tried the night before.

You had begged him to let you come over one night to taste one of his home-cooked meals, but his response was always the same. "You can't rush perfection, sweets. But I promise, when I'm ready to grace the world with my master chef skills, you'll be the first to know."

You would roll your eyes dramatically at him but admittedly, you felt a sense of pride wash over you whenever Steve would tell you about his cooking endeavors. It may not seem like a big deal to others, but you knew how much his parents being so negligent, so often, bothered him.

Though they were never the most warm and affectionate, there seemed to be a colder chill and heavier sense of loneliness in the house when they were gone. That's why you never denied Steve whenever he'd call late at night asking if it was okay to spend the night at your house.

He always felt at home there.

Steve learning to cook for himself meant that his parents' absence was finally beginning to help him grow; no longer craving validation and tenderness from his family. He got that when he was with you. That's what the utensil set was for. A silent sign saying that though his parents weren't there, you were.

"Don't get me wrong, sunshine, I love the gift, but why's this knife so funny looking?" Steve asked, squinting his eyes at the sharp object that looked like it was from some alien universe. It had three square-like holes infiltrating the blade, and the tip came to an up-turned point that split in two. The handle was the only average looking part about it.

"That, my friend, is a cheese knife," you answered matter-of-factly, gazing at the box that had all of the included utensils neatly labeled.

"They make knives specifically for cheese?"

"Apparently, yeah," you snorted, tossing the empty box off to the side of the room with the other discarded cardboard that you made a mental note to move to the recycling bin on your way out. Steve never recycled. Bad habit he picked up from his parents, you figured.

"Well, I can't wait to use my weird new knife. Thank you. Seriously," Steve smiled softly as he watched you with those big brown eyes that voiced his gratitude and sentiment louder than his words ever could.

"The best weird chef has to have the best weird equipment. You're welcome," you grinned, toying with the loose thread dangling from your distressed band tee, as your eyes collided with Steve’s.

Looking at Steve was hard.

In the midst of quiet and almost intimate moments like these, the nerves bolting through your body screamed at you to look anywhere else, but the greed of your heart yearned for you to keep drinking in the deep chocolate pools that were Steve Harrington's eyes.

The two of you gazed at each other for another second, though it felt identical to a blissful eternity, until Steve furrowed his eyebrows after registering what you'd just uttered. "Did you just call me weird?" He asked, hand on his hip as if he's offended, though he truthfully isn't because he's positive you're infinitely weirder than he is, and he's more than willing to debate with you for hours on that topic.

"Nooo," you sang, quickly turning away to distract yourself with some unpacking that Steve had called you over to help him with, which you happily agreed to. A little extra time with him was time well spent.

"Yeah, okay," he rolled his eyes. He happily tucked away the flashy silverware he'd poached from his parent's kitchen into the darkest corner of the drawer, leaving the less flashy but much more appreciated utensils you bought him, front and center, ready to be shown off.

"Oh those? My best friend got them for me. Aren't they nice? Did you know they make knives for cheese?" He imagined himself saying, hoping he'd get the opportunity to boast about them to his guests some time soon.

Steve smiled to himself at the memory, angling the cutting board that harbored a pile of diced onions that he'd at last conquered, into a bowl, sliding them off with the blade of a knife that was a lot less odd shaped compared to his trusty cheese knife. It didn't even have to be that specific memory. It could've been any imagery of you being the effortlessly sarcastic, intelligent, breath-taking person that you were, and it would be the warm light to inevitably guide him out of whatever dark mood that dared to plague him.

Steve was so helplessly in love with you.

April 14, 1978, he could never forget the day, was particularly dreary. So dreary it made Steve begin to question why the spring time was thought to be such a radiant, pleasant season when all it ever did was bring rain and provoke people with allergies. Steve slammed his blaring alarm off with a groan, never bothering to pry open his tired eyes.

The sky was dark and dreadful, concealing the golden rays of the sun he yearned to see. As he trudged through the house, reluctantly gearing himself up for yet another torturous day of middle school, Steve silently prayed for some unorthodox happenstance that would call for the canceling of school.

But much to his dismay, that wasn't the case.

When the bell pierced through the classroom speakers, alerting the beginning of Steve's favorite class, P.E., he rushed to the locker room, jumping into his gym uniform, as he was determined to continue his unfaltering streak of dodgeball victories.

Steve was in the zone, taking out his opponents left and right as if it was nothing. If dodgeball was an Olympic sport, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he could've won multiple gold medals.

Then you came.

Sauntering into sixth grade gym class, adorning a lengthy, bright yellow dress with your hair done up, looking as anxious as can be. It was your first day at Hawkins Middle and you'd just transferred halfway into the semester, all thanks to your parents decision to move to the small town, leaving New York City and all your friends behind.

Everyone turned their curious heads to peer at you, whispering amongst each other, prompting you to clutch your books tighter to your chest as if to shield yourself. Your soft smile as you looked around at your new classmates instantly made Steve's chest and stomach warm and gooey inside, making him want nothing more than to walk up to you and convince you to be his friend. Steve hated how gossipy his classmates were, as it clearly made you uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to look away either.

The way the illuminous medallion hue complimented your skin tone was nothing short of art. To him, you were the sun personified. The sun he was so eager to see.

Due to your lack of sports attire, Coach Daniels had you sit on the bleachers, watching as the other kids resumed their game of dodgeball after mumbling a "warm" welcome to you, per Coach's request.

Steve lost his first game of dodgeball that day. He just couldn't seem to focus when you were perched just a few feet away, thumbing through your withered book, looking like one of the prettiest girls he'd ever laid his adolescent eyes on. Steve, or the boy with the hella good hair as you dubbed him in your diary later on that night, was too enamored with you to be bothered by the taunts coming from his friends. He jogged over to you, offering to keep you company until fourth period began, which you happily accepted.

And ever since then, the two of you have been as thick as thieves.

"Hawkins PD, open up!" Steve recognized your muffled voice, though you deepened it, to imitate a police officer. Your signature three knocks followed, urging butterflies to erupt throughout his stomach, as he longed to see you. It couldn't have been more than twenty-four hours since the two of you had last seen each other, but even one hour without you was an hour way too long for poor Steve.

"It's open", Steve called, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder, setting the stove ablaze, planting a pot over the flame. Right on time, he thought.

"Hey, Harrington," you smiled as you struggled to enter, cradling two bottles of rosé wine and your purse in your arms, pushing the door open with the help of your hip.

"Hey, sunshine. Lemme get those for ya," Steve offered, stowing your bearings on the counter gently, while you kicked your shoes off, mumbling a "thanks".

A warm amber light casted from the ceiling of the kitchen spilled into the shadowy living room a few feet away, like a neglected can of paint. The only thing that remained un-melted by the darkness was the quiet record player, as if the generous light knew you'd be looking for it the minute you walked in.

"How was your day?" Steve smirked as he watched you rush over to the object he swore was the only reason you liked to come over, sifting through the vinyl's searching for your favorite one. What’s Love Got To Do With It by Tina Turner. Steve spotted it before you did. Absentmindedly, you responded, “Not too shabby, ya know? How was yours?”

“Yeah, it was alright.”

You crouched down to the two tier storage table, running a finger across the spines of the records, searching for your beloved song. It quickly became the song you most adored when you'd bought the tape for your Walkman a few years prior. Your days weren't complete unless you played the song at least twice, so much so that Steve found himself quietly humming the song to himself whenever he'd miss you. He even caught himself doing that dumb little finger dance you normally did whenever you listened to a song you really liked. He'd never tell you that, though.

Much to your dismay, you couldn't seem to spy that sneaky record. You dropped your hand disappointedly, faintly fearsome that it'd been misplaced. Steve's apartment wasn't huge, but it wasn't exactly tidy either. “It’s right there, sweets. To your left.” So you diverted your attention to the left. No Tina Turner. “No, your other left.”

“Here?” you pointed. Steve hummed in confirmation.

“Well, that’s not the left, Steve. That’s the right,” was your response that you punctuated with a roll of your tired eyes. Apart from knowing how to get to Skull Rock with his eyes closed, the boy had zero sense of direction. It was something you found both endearing and infuriating. It depended on the day, really.

“Potato, potahto.” Oh, Steve. Melting butter into the burning pan in front of him that he almost completely forgot about, all thanks to your beautiful presence, he began sautéing his diced onions along with some fresh garlic. "Well, speaking of 'potahtoes' you need to be cooking some, 'cause you promised me dinner tonight," you smiled tight-lipped, cocking your head at an angle.

You felt the unpleasant sensation of your stomach growling, cursing you, at the heavenly thought of food as your shift at Family Video earlier today was unforgiving to your non-existent breakfast. You fumbled with the vinyl a bit as the mouthwatering aroma of home cooking stormed your senses and Steve spoke once more. "Feisty today, aren't we?"

"Just a tad," you laughed quietly.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you but tonight we're not having potatoes. I'm making your favorite," he pointed, shuffling the pan to give it a gentle stir. He made sure to turn to face you in time to see your hopefully delighted reaction. "Alfredo?!" you spun around with a glittering grin, almost knocking over Steve's plant. A fake one, of course. A real plant was a bit too much responsibility for him.

At the nod of his head, your cheesy smile soften to a smaller, less toothy one as you watched Steve while he resumed cooking. What you failed to share with your best friend was that the last phrase you'd actually use to describe your day was "not too shabby". Besides waking up almost an entire hour past the start of your shift (Keith made sure to give you an earful about that) and everyone and their mother in town deciding to be at Family Video today, it seemed like your day was never-ending. The only thing keeping your mood from turning stink to sour was the idea of going to see Steve.

Steve was kind of magical in that way. Anger, sadness, anxiety, you name it, it was no match for Steve. Though he was no poet, he had this way with words that would never fail to make you feel so comforted. So safe. Any instance where Steve had to talk you out of whatever mental turmoil you were enduring, it felt you were being endlessly wrapped in a cozy, tight blanket, sheltering you from all the darkness.

How Steve knew you were having a shit day and needed your favorite meal along with your favorite boy? Lord knows. His ability to read you without even needing to be near you was nothing short of wizardry. But like you said. Steve was magical.

"You're the best," you proclaimed, prompting a mumbled sly remark from your chef for the evening, before the music began. Being here, along with the divine sound of Tina's ethereal voice and pasta boiling in water, was more than enough to make you feel like you were right at home, though your true address was miles away. When the time to depart would make its cursed arrival, it was never easy to leave, especially with the way Steve begged for you to stay, using those unfairly adorable puppy dog eyes that paired beautifully with his lengthy lashes, against you.

And it always worked. Well, not always. You had some degree of self-control. But more times than not, you couldn't help but to cave in to his protests. How could you resist? It was Steve.

With a satisfied grin that carved deep smile lines into his blushing cheeks, he'd tuck his sheets snug around your body, repeatedly asking you if you were comfortable enough. His bed was cloud-like, plush and doughy and his pillows smelled like his shampoo and conditioner, a hint of cologne on his comforter. It was like you were trapped in a cocoon of Steve. You wanted to tell him you were beyond comfortable, that there, in his bed, you were in just about your favorite place on Earth but, habitually, you concluded that a simple nod would suffice.

Crawling onto the empty space beside you, he made sure to face you, leaving a soft squeeze on your shoulder before humming "G'night, sunshine," closing his eyes and tucking his hands under his head. And like always, Steve was a perfect gentleman, dead set on never getting under the covers himself when you'd sleep over.

Guilt would disrupt your relaxation at the sight of the brisk night chill building little hills on his freckled arms, though you selfishly loved the way he'd cuddle up to steal some of your body heat. His plump lips would part as he drifted into a peaceful slumber, light snores and chirping crickets being your lullaby.

You hoped to have another night like that soon.

In the midst of times like those, storms of wonder and doubt raged on. Was Steve like this with everyone else? Were you being silly thinking that you and Steve could be more than friends? Being Steve's best friend for nearly a decade, you knew he wasn't exactly a prude. His King Steve era was honestly one of your least favorites. Though he reserved his usual tenderness and affection all for you, you've witnessed a whole slew of girls enter and leave Steve's life, and none of them looked like you.

You wanted nothing more than to be one of the girls he'd have leaned up against his locker, arm resting next to their head, cheeks fanned by his minty breath as he whispered honeyed words. You craved dates at the drive-in theater in Steve's burgundy 1983 BMW only to neglect the movie and end up making out, like he did with other girls.

When Steve would bring his latest lover around, desperately, you did your damnedest to bury your jealousy and and fill its grave with merriment for him, because if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Steve. But the girls at school only wanted to be with Steve because of his status and all the flashy things he could buy them.

The flashy things were dull to you, though.

You wanted to be with Steve because you wanted to hold his hand and press soft kisses to his cheek. To hug him a little tighter and little longer than a best friend normally would. To run your fingers through his fluffy hair whenever he would grow stressed because you knew it calmed him down. To make him breakfast in bed when he was sick and even when he wasn't. To love him your fullest potential.

But you had to settle for this. Calves tucked under your thighs with a blanket draped over your legs as you stared off into space, longing for someone you thought you couldn't have, not knowing he was stealing glances of you wondering what was running through your pretty little head.

Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, holding your head up, your lips were downturned in a pout, eyebrows pulled together as you studied the throw pillow a few inches away from you. A little pillow can't be that interesting, something has to be bothering you, he thought. He was unapologetically curious to know if pressing his lips against your own would make that frown melt into that sweet smirk you usually had.

Steve hated when you were unhappy. It made his mind race. Did someone say something to you? Did someone do something to you? Did you eat today? How was your shift? Why did you lie when you said your day "wasn't too shabby"? Obviously it was shabby. Look at your face. That tired and troubled, cute little face. What can he do to fix it? You were his sunshine, you deserved to be happy, always.

Giving the pot a final stir and turning the flame off, Steve carelessly tossed the grease-stained hand towel flopped over his shoulder, down by the sink, strolling over to where he'd earlier set down the two bottles of wine. White Zinfandel. Neither you or Steve were wine connoisseurs, but when you called Nancy panicking about how extensive the selection at the liquor store was, she swore by it.

Balancing two glasses and a single bottle of the rose-tinted alcohol, Steve took an extra glance at your face, deciding to scoop up the second bottle into his arms. By the looks of it, it was gonna be one of those nights.

You tried to hide your smile as you noticed he was coming over, a slight grin on his face as he set the glasses down. You and him both knew he was only coming to cause trouble. He set the delicate haul down on to the thrifted wooden coffee table in front of you, slipping you one of those comforting 'Steve smiles' he usually did.

Like the forgotten towel, he threw himself down on the couch next to you, warm hand having a much softer landing on the plush of your thigh; a familiar and welcomed touch. Habitually, you curled up closer to him, no longer able to hide your smile.

"Why so glum, chum?" He tilted his chin down, slightly poking his bottom lip out, as he looked at you through batting eyelashes.

Laughing through your nose and subsequently parading a grin that displayed nothing but teeth and hollow happiness, you remarked, "What do you mean? Don't you see me smiling?"

You were fooling absolutely no one. Steve knew you were sad. And, goddamn it, he was gonna get it out of you.

"You know exactly what I mean, you weren't smiling just a few seconds ago until I came over. You're welcome, by the way, I'm flattered that I have such an effect on you," he smirked, placing a hand on his chest in gratitude.

"Okay, now I'm glum again," you roll your eyes at his not-so discreet cockiness. You hid your face in your hands, resting your forehead on Steve's shoulder. It was hard with muscle, but soft with tenderness and safety. "I was smiling at the wine, for your information."

The palm of your hand that pressed against your face muffled your words, but Steve could still understand what you said, it was evident in the way your tone was laced with satire.

"Ah, yes, that makes way more sense" Steve replied, monotone. His thumb began coasting along your skin as he urged you, "Alright, jokes aside. How are you really feeling?"

Hoisting your head up, you almost answered before he continued, "And don't give me that 'not too shabby' crap 'cause that frown you had going on earlier already snitched on ya."

When the hell did he get so observant? Steve was no idiot, but sometimes things needed to be spelled out for him. But come to think of it, you never had to spell things out for Steve whenever it came to you. He just always had a way of knowing.

"I don't know, Steve. Honestly. Some days are just a bit tougher than others. Today was one of those days," you murmured, avoiding the attentive gaze he was burning into your shifty eyes.

He slowly nodded as he processed your words, head falling on top of yours as you again found comfort on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as you began mimicking the affection he was giving you on your thigh, rubbing his arm through the creamy cotton material of his crewneck. You hadn't seen it before. This one was new. So were the jeans he'd paired with it.

"Why're you dressed so nice, Harrington?"

He laughed more to himself than to you. "Well, the food can't be the only thing that looks good, you know? Wanted to look nice too. It's our first dinner together, after all," he mumbled the last bit.

Steve felt the skin around your eyes tighten against his shoulder as your eyebrows scrunched together. "We've had dinner together before, though."

"This one's different," he replied, almost instantly. You'd hoped Steve's eyes were still closed so that he wouldn't see the bashfulness you were weathering, plucking the corners of your lips into a soft smile.

A silence fell between the two of you. Not unusual. Not awkward. Never unusual or awkward. There was a mutual cherishment of moments like these. Shamelessly invading each other's personal space on the couch as if it was made to only fit one person, music playing lowly the distance, but preferring to listen to the sound of the other's breathing.

"How can I make you feel better, sunshine?" Steve questioned, voice still hushed. The volume of your voice wasn't much louder as you responded, thoughtlessly, "You don't have to ask me that. You make me feel better without even trying."

"Oh yeah?" He craned his neck so that his head was impossibly closer to yours, awaiting your confirmation. Steve knew that you enjoyed his company, as he did yours, but he was only joking earlier when he gushed about having such an effect on you. It was now his turn to hide his blush, when you hum, nodding your head fervently.

These were the warm moments that confused you so much more than any subject in school ever did. And unbeknownst to you, it messed with Steve's head too. He'd never been this close with anyone before. Especially not with any of his "girlfriends" in the past. Sure, they'd cuddle and talk about their feelings. But it never felt the way it does with you. Steve was in love with you. It was hopeless.

And he had to make it known. Soon. If not, he swore he'd explode.

"Ready to eat?"

"Mhm," you buzzed, untangling yourself from the envelop of Steve. As he pressed his knuckles into the sofa, willing himself up, you reached for the bottle of wine and a glass, but your hand only made it so far until it felt the sting of a petty swipe from the boy next to you. "Ah ah, missy, dinner first. Lord knows how many hours its been since you last ate."

You snorted, "Relax, it hasn't been that long."

"Oh yeah? When was the last time?" He looked at you with raised eyebrows and an expression that said he already knew your answer was going to be ridiculous. And if there was anything you learned tonight, it was that Steve was highly skilled at knowing when you were lying, so instead, you left him with a goofy smile and giggle that told him he was absolutely right in his assumption.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the spot where he sat went cold as he left to the kitchen, fixing two plates for the both of you. You moved the drinks and glasses over to the dining table, using a nearby lighter to ignite the accompanying lavender and vanilla scented candles. Tina Turner's vinyl was replaced with Tears for Fears' album Songs from The Big Chair instead, as Steve used his elbow to dim the kitchen lights, hands full with heavy plates of pasta.

"Oh my gosh, this looks so good! Good job, Stevie," you cheered, as he set your plate down in front of you, pouring you a much needed glass of wine. Your hands shook with hunger or excitement, or both, as you picked up your fork, ready to dig in. "Yeah, don't get too psyched yet. Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."

"I'm sure it does."

His knee rests against yours as he sits adjacent to you, gathering food on his fork, though his eyes are peering at you, awaiting your verdict. The mouthwatering smell of garlic, butter, cheese and other heaven-sent elements overwhelm your nose and you feel like you can't eat it soon enough. You pause for a beat and so does his heart, hand over your messy mouth as you chew. Steve's hand twitches as he contemplates wiping the sauce from the corners of your lips and licking his finger clean.

"Steve," you begin, eyes flickering shut. "I'm gonna need you to cook for me every night. This is so fucking good." The tension in his face eases at your palpable delight, mission well accomplished. He was proud of himself. Very proud. Almost as much as you were of him.

You throw your head back, the purest form of satisfaction consuming you. "I'm glad you like it, I've been trying to nail it for weeks," Steve laughs, finally taking a bite for himself.

"Well, you've succeeded," you beam, washing it down with a sip of wine. Everybody Wants to Rule the World begins playing and you smile at Steve, knowing it was his favorite song at the moment. You nod your head along as Steve hums. A truly peaceful pocket in time.

Through the large windows opening the living room to the rest of Hawkins, you had the perfect view of the bright lights and mountainous buildings from the neighboring city. It was like the sky had flipped on its axis and the stars weren't in the sky anymore, they were among the trees and high rise properties.

"Steve, look how pretty," you point towards the window as his gaze shifts from you to raindrop-riddled glass. "I love being able to see the city so close. Sucks that we can't see the stars, though. I've always wanted to go stargazing."

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that a while ago. We gotta go one of these days," he replied, shoving a forkful of alfredo into his mouth.

"Oh, did you wanna go too?"

He shrugs his shoulders, chewing before speaking, "Eh, I'm not really a big stars guy. Besides, if I wanna see a pretty little light, all I gotta do is look at you," he says inattentively, going right back to eating as if he hadn't just said the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you.

"Shut up, Harrington," you roll your eyes, letting out a half-hearted laugh as you take your last bite. How could he flirt with you so easily? So carelessly? Couldn't he see that you loved him and that whenever he says things like that it does something to you? Clueless boy.

"I'm serious. Why do you think I always call you sunshine?" He replies, not a hint of irony in his face.

"Steve," you warn, sitting back in your chair. You didn't know where this conversation was going, and you'd be damned if you got your hopes up for what you always got whenever you did: absolutely nothing.

"It's why I love when you wear yellow. Reminds me of the first time I ever saw you," he pressed. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clueless girl.

"Steve," your voice wavered. "What? Why do you keep saying my name like that?" He laughed, dryly.

He grew worried that he was saying too much. Saying things that a person shouldn't say to their best friend. He took a sip of his wine. Then another. Then another. He was considering just downing the whole glass. Maybe he was saying too much.

Screw that, he was in love with you.

"What're you saying to me right now?" You charged, voice a little harsher than what you'd intended, but you demanded an answer. A straightforward one. "I'm saying that I'm done hiding it."

"Hiding what?"

"That I love you."

The revelation yanks your parted lips shut, unsure of what to say next. You had dreamed for what felt like a lifetime for Steve to say those words to you and at last, it was no longer a dream, but instead reality. The rapid pace of your heartbeat could be felt in your chest and ears, and the butterflies in your stomach were more wild and untamed than ever before.

Steve's eyes didn't leave yours, though the stillness from you was killing him. The silence between you two that was once never awkward or unusual, was now painful and nearly unbearable.

Your dilated pupils scanned over his face, relentlessly. The jokey, teasing grin that he often sported when he was messing with you was unaccounted for. Holy shit. The gate to your thoughts opened once more. "You're serious," you whispered.

"How could I not be?" Steve watched you with adoring eyes, the warm light of the candle giving the melted chocolatey pond the sweetest infusion of honey.

"Kiss me."

Forks and butter knives fall to the ground with several, loud unpleasant clanks as Steve leans over the square dining table, hungrily pressing his lips against yours. His lips are garlicky and a little chapped, as yours probably are as well, yet the kiss is nothing short of perfect.

His mouth does a passionate dance against yours as you follow his lead, embracing the plush little pillows with your own. It was both everything you've imagined it'd be and nothing like you'd thought at the same time. You already knew Steve was an amazing kisser. Anyone who went to Hawkins High knew it. But experiencing it for yourself was completely different and new. It was euphoric.

The two of you have to reluctantly pull yourselves off of each other to catch your breaths. This moment was a long time coming.

Steve's hands are still holding onto to either side of your face, unwilling to let you go just yet. Truly savoring every second of the present. His breath fans across your cupid's bow, as he smiles against your lips. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

Giggling, you wrap your palms and fingers around his wrists, rubbing your nose on his. "Sorry," you shrug, feeling his thumbs caress your warm cheeks.

"Don't be," he shakes his head, engulfing your soft lips into another kiss.

message from jojo: pls comment and reblog if you enjoyed! it means a lot <3

[southerngothicchic]

Do You Think I'm a Nasty Girl

Hi! So this is my attempt at getting back into the groove of writing again, and what better way than with a lovers to enemies to lovers again fic?

On a summer night in '84, while your parents are away, you decide to test out their new hot tub and wind up getting an unexpected visit from your annoyingly hot neighbor.

After setting up your radio with your favorite mix tape, you slip out of a dainty, pink kimono, revealing a low-cut black bathing suit. It's cut high, on the sides, showing off more skin than you would ever dare to at the local pool. It was your latest scandalous mall purchase, and you knew your parents would freak if they saw you wearing it. Luckily, you had the house and hot tub to yourself for the weekend and could wear or do whatever you wanted.

You press play, on the tape deck, before easing into the warm water. You wince a little, and check the temperature gage, on the side, worrying you had it set too high. It was previously set at 104 degrees and you immediately lower it to 100. You then sit on the edge of the tub, waiting for the water to cool slightly. Turning your head, your eyes scan the empty backyard as an odd feeling comes over you, making you wonder if you're truly alone.

Shaking your head, you tell yourself to stop being so paranoid before lowering yourself into the water.

The whirring of the jets almost drowns out your music, so you scramble over to the side and lean over to adjust the volume.

Laura Branigan's Self Control fills the night air as you settle back into your spot, nestling your head against the plush headrest behind you. A sigh of relaxation then leaves your lips as you close your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the swirling water.

You drift into a sort of meditative state, as all the sounds around you fade into a low hum. You're so completely absorbed in your own world that you're oblivious to the sound of someone entering your backyard.

The usually distinct creaking of the wooden gate doesn't reach your ears, as it's slowly opened then quickly shut.

Careful footfalls on the manicured grass also go unnoticed as the visitor walks up to the back patio. They stand, in front of you, smirk on their lips as they admire the serene state you're in. They debate whether or not they should disturb you but ultimately decide to make their presence known.

"And here I thought you were having a party and didn't invite me..." they say, causing your eyes to instantly open.

"What the fuck, Harrington?" You ask, with a glare, trying to keep your composure, as your heart feels like it's going to pound right out of your chest. "How'd you get back here?"

"The gate was unlocked," he casually replies, gesturing to it with his thumb. "And like I said, I thought there was a party, given the music and all."

Rolling your eyes, you sit up slightly and lean over to turn down the music.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just me," you remark, glancing up at him.

"Who said I was disappointed?" He smiles, his eyes meeting yours before traveling lower to your partially obscured cleavage.

"This song's a bit scandalous for you, don't you think?" He then asks, with one hand resting on his hip, while the other points to your radio.

You haven't been paying attention to the song that's playing, and when you realize it's Nasty Girl by Vanity 6, you sigh dramatically.

"Are you, of all people, offended by it?" You challenge, getting up to move closer to him.

He scoffs. "Of course not, but I didn't think you listened to stuff like this."

"Why? Because it's too risqué? Too obscene?"

You lean over the edge of the tub while he opens his mouth ready to respond. The sight of your glistening body causes him to freeze up.

"Kinda, yeah..." he mumbles, while you lean back into the water.

"I guess there's a lot you still don't know about me," you say with a smile.

He licks his lips before taking a step closer. "Why don't we fix that? Can I join you, or is this just a party for one?"

Deciding to up the brattiness, you roll your eyes and sigh.

"I guess you can, as long as you keep your opinions on my taste in music to yourself."

A grin spreads across his lips. "I can do that."

He then kicks off his Nikes before pulling his white t-shirt over his head. You watch a little too intently as he peels off his tight Levi's, leaving a pair of tiny green shorts underneath.

He sits on the edge of the tub before swinging his legs around and lowering himself into the water.

"Ooh, this is nice," he breathes, as he sits across from you. "I wish my parents would get one of these."

"You should tell Daddy you want one. I know the girls would love it," you snark as he shakes his head.

"Is that all you think of me?" He asks, defeatedly.

"You've never given me the opportunity to have a different perception of you," you explain, averting your eyes from his.

He sighs. "I know, but I'm not that guy anymore. At least, I'm trying not to be."

"And you expect me to just take that at face value?" You counter, unable to keep the hostility out of your voice.

"I guess not..." he begins, as he shifts in his seat.

Your eyes widen as he moves to sit next to you. He's suddenly so close, with his thigh pressing against yours as he reaches up to cup your cheek.

His gaze cuts through the steamy air as he leans in, so close the tip of his nose grazes yours as he finally continues, "I'll have to prove it to you, then."

You're struggling to speak, let alone breathe, as it's all too much. His thumb gently caresses your skin as he waits for some sarcastic retort that never comes.

Your mind's then flooded with memories of the first time he held you like this, the first time you felt his breath on your skin, of so many firsts, its overwhelming.

You manage to whisper his name, causing him to whisper yours in return.

"You can pretend to hate me all you want, but I know you missed this," he breathes, as he ghosts his lips over yours.

You resist the urge to lift your arms out of the water and wrap them around him.

"You're already off to a rough start, Harrington," you reply, relishing in his annoyance at your continued use of his last name.

"But am I wrong? Don't you miss me at least a little bit?" He asks, brushing his lips against yours, teasingly.

You sigh as you feel yourself weakening for him all over again. You wish more than anything that you could hate him, but no matter how much you want to, you just... can't. It's what lured you into his bed, his backseat, anywhere he could get his hands on you.

He made you feel so pretty and wanted and possibly loved... until someone else caught his eye. He'd then treat you as an afterthought, especially at school, practically staring you down as you walked by, with his arm around another girl.

That's the closest you got to hating him, and for the rest of the school year, you believed you did. You tried everything you could to make yourself forget the smug allure of Steve Harrington.

And it worked, until tonight.

Your hand grips the slippery bench underneath you, as he nuzzles his nose against yours, content with teasing you all night, if he has to, just to finally hear what he wants.

"Yes," you quietly reply, your voice barely audible over the sound of water swirling around your bodies. "I missed you."

He pulls away, only to look into your eyes, and smiles.

"I missed you, too, honey."

You immediately bristle at his pet name, as all your hurt feelings come rushing back.

"Don't..." you warn, raising your hand and pressing it against his chest, stopping him as he goes to lean in again. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"I do, though," he quickly defends, placing his hand over yours. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and how I'm so stupid to have lost what we had."

"Really?" You ask, allowing yourself to gaze into his eyes.

"Yeah," he nods. "You're the last person I ever wanted to hurt and I'm sorry for being such a dumbass."

His apology makes you crack a smile and he thinks you've never looked prettier.

"It was always you," he breathily continues as you cradle his face. "I'm just sorry it took me so long to realize it."

"I just... don't want you to ever hate me..." he quietly admits, as you slowly pull him towards you.

"I could never hate you," you softly reassure, right before your lips touch.

"Promise?" He whispers, almost muffled, against your lips.

"I promise."

You each then melt into an overdue kiss. His perfect nose presses against your cheek while your fingers curl in the ends of his damp hair.

"Fuck, honey, I've missed you so much," he breathes, between kisses.

You sigh his name, needing to feel more of him. You break the kiss, leaving him dazed and panting, while you carefully maneuver yourself onto his lap. Your knees press against the hard plastic of the bench underneath him, but you don't mind how it feels when Steve's hands are immediately on your hips, helping to guide your movements.

You lean in to kiss him again, and he's already moaning into your mouth with every grind of your hips. You smile, against his cheek, as you press kisses across it, kissing your way to his jawline.

You feel his wet fingertips glide up your back before his nails dig into your skin when he feels you lightly nibble on his neck.

"Did you miss this too, Stevie?" You coo, glancing up at him.

He nods before his eyes roll back from another grind of your hips.

"No one else ever really took the time to find out what you liked, did they? So many selfish lovers... though I thought that's what you wanted?" You ask, your voice sickeningly sweet.

He groans when he feels your lips at his ear.

"Someone as selfish as you," you whisper, before softly biting his earlobe.

You feel him shudder underneath you, so painfully hard and desperate for either some friction or release.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" He then shakily asks, as you pull away to look into his eyes.

You shift slightly, freeing up both hands so you can place them on each side of his pretty face. You lean in again, lips just close enough to tease when you reply, "Nope."

"I'm sorry, honey, alright? I'll apologize all night if I have to..." he rasps, sounding as if he's on the verge of tears.

"I just might make you," you smile, enjoying your newfound power over Steve Harrington.

"Let me make it up to you," he pleads, lowering his hands back down to your hips. "I'll spend the night with you... the whole weekend if that's what it takes for you to forgive me."

"You really care about me that much?" You ask, combing your fingers through his hair.

He nods. "Let's go inside and I'll show you just how much."

You're both then scrambling into your house. Little droplets of water fall from your bodies as you hurry up the stairs. The towels around your shoulders doing little to prevent water from dripping everywhere.

The house is also quite chilly, as you had the A/C cranked up all day, so you're shivering as you enter your bedroom. You stand next to your bed, clutching your towel around you, while Steve stands in front of you. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

"Oh no, honey, are you cold?" He asks, cupping your cheek, with his other hand.

You nod, timidly, your earlier attitude seemingly nonexistent.

"I'll have to warm you up then," he replies, before pressing his lips to yours.

He pushes your towel from your shoulders, and it joins his on the floor. You whimper into the kiss when you feel his large palm flat against your back before his hand ventures lower. He gives your ass a good squeeze, earning another whimper from you.

You then feel him grinning as his hands continue to roam your body.

"You're so fuckin' sexy in this, it's driving me crazy," he breathes, after temporarily breaking the kiss. "I kinda want you to leave it on while I fuck you..."

You sigh his name before pulling him into another kiss. It's messy and desperate as you lay back on your bed, with him on top of you.

He nestles himself perfectly between your legs, and now it's his turn to tease you. He grinds himself against you, the thin material you're both wearing making it more tortuous until you feel him move the crotch of your bathing suit to the side.

You're already squirming under him as you raise your hips, chasing the movement of his fingers.

He's smiling again, unable to hide how smug he feels as he just glides his fingers over you.

"Not so tough now, are you?" He purrs, against your cheek, while your hands are already twisting in his hair.

You try to speak, but he stops you.

"Its okay. I deserved it, and like I said, I'm gonna spend all night making it up to you."

He presses a couple wet kisses to your cheek, before slipping two of his long fingers inside you. You're already moaning at the stretch and the way he's suckling on your neck.

"Shit, honey, you're tighter than I remember..." he pants, sounding as ragged as you feel. "Guess no one else fucked you like I did, huh?"

You shake your head. "N-No, just you, Steve..." Your voice trails off into a series of moans as he adds another finger.

"Didn't think so," he says, glancing up at you.

"Look at me, honey," he softly commands, and once you open your eyes you see how he's gazing at you with complete adoration.

"So fuckin' pretty," he breathes, before crashing his lips to yours.

Your nails claw at his biceps as he mouths at your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, then flicks his tongue over a newly formed hickie. He plans to leave several more all over your body, wanting to cover you in little reminders that you're his girl again, and always will be.

You moan his name, your hand gripping his wrist when you feel the familiar waves of pleasure building.

"This is all for you, honey, remember?" He reminds, breathless. "I have to earn your forgiveness, even if it takes all night..."

You throw your head back, against your pretty, pink pillow as the most intense orgasm you've ever had washes over you.

Steve's lips are at your ear, talking you through it, praising you for how good you are for him.

His words have you biting your lip and squirming all over again. You gaze at him dreamily as he places his fingers between his lips. A soft moan escapes him as he tastes you.

"Just as sweet as I remember," he grins, before you grab his smug face and pull him in for a kiss.

You're moaning for him all over again when you taste yourself on his tongue.

"So, how am I doing so far? Want me to still spend the night?" He quietly asks, still breathless.

"What do you think, Harrington?" You snarkily reply, running your fingers through his tousled hair, before pulling slightly.

With a groan, he kisses you again, knowing you're both in for a long night.

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 21 Prompt: Home and/or Dinner

I honestly think this is my favorite one yet!

Tags: Pre-Relationship Steddie, Eddie Munson Has A Crush On Steve Harrington, Holiday Parties, Overstimulation (the bad kind, not the fun kind), Steve Harrington Is A Sweetheart

wc: 2215 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

The holidays were always a quiet affair at the Munsons.

A few gifts, wrapped in week-old copies of the Hawkins Post, placed under a modest tree from Merrill’s. Wayne’s famous (well, famous to Eddie) chocolate chip pancakes in the morning with a questionable amount of syrup and a reheated casserole from Ms. Jenkins down the street for dinner.

No church or family plans, just the two of them, a couple of beers (root beer in Eddie’s case until a few years ago), and whatever movie Eddie had insisted they watch before he turned the TV over to Wayne and the Christmas basketball game.

It was good. Great, even.

Eddie loved his holiday traditions with Wayne.

He did, but sometimes he’d catch sight of Ms. Jenkins welcoming her brood of kids and grandkids into her cluttered trailer or spot Gerald loading the passenger seat of his pickup with toys for his nieces and nephews and wonder what it would be like to have a big family to spend the holidays with.

Turns out, it’s loud.

So, very, loud.

The Hopper-Byers’ new house is bursting at the seams with guests. The entire We Survived The End of the World gang is here along with some guests — Wayne and Ms. Henderson. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair stopped by for about an hour before excusing themselves to finish up holiday shopping (said in a hushed tone to not ruin Santa for Erica — as if she still believes, Eddie had thought). But mostly it was just the usual gang.

Eddie learned, in the form of Dustin’s “you’re being stupid” voice that it's become a tradition for them. Gathering a week before the holidays to pig out on food and dessert, play games, and exchange presents. Celebrate the year coming to an end and them making it.

As the apocalypse gang grew every year, the celebration got bigger and bigger until they were tripping over each other inside of the Byers house. That is, until this year when Joyce and Hopper got their shit together and finally moved into a decent-sized house on the outskirts of Hawkins. It’s no Loch Nora mini-mansion, but it works for them — even if it's still a tight fit when everyone is together.

Murray, Joyce, and Ms. Henderson are gathered in the kitchen — arguing over when to take the turkey out of the oven and the proper milk-to-cheese ratio in macaroni casseroles. A small radio sits in the corner, attempting to play Christmas music over the static. That’s the con about living farther out, Eddie supposes.

El and Max have claimed a fold-out table on the outskirts of the kitchen where they’ve been decorating cookies for hours, it seems. El’s simple and artistic, Max’s a chaotic mess of spilled-over frosting and candy sprinkles. (Eddie’s stolen one from each and thinks they’re both delicious much to their delight.)

The den’s been co-opted by Hopper and Wayne, and the TV volume turned all the way up (“We can hear just fine! It’s you kids that are making it hard,” Hopper gruffed when one of them pointed out the volume). They’re switching between basketball games while nursing beers and pretending not to hear the argument going down in the kitchen.

Jonathan and Argyle are hiding out in his room — smoking and trying to drown out the noise with whatever record he managed to pick up from the store he’s working at. Eddie thought about joining him, but the scowl he earned from Wheeler Jr. had him changing course.

The rest of them have taken refuge in the spacious basement. It’s too chaotic for Dungeons & Dragons so the boys and Erica have taken to playing an intense game of Monopoly. The threats he’s heard hurled at each other have been clever and downright terrifying. Way worse than anything they’ve uttered at his DM table. Those heathens.

For some reason, Steve’s taken on the role of the banker. Something about Dustin skimming from the top last time he held the role and played. Now, house rules say the banker has to be an NPC, and well, Steve fits the bill. Unfortunately, he seems to be struggling with the math of it all judging by the scoffs and annoyed eye rolls thrown his way. Eddie would go help, but he doesn’t think he’d be much help. Godspeed, Steve.

Nancy and Robin are there too, sprawled out on the couch and lost in their own little world. Occasionally Robin gets up to flip the record on the record player, but mostly they sit together, gossiping and talking about who knows what in hushed voices. Eddie might understand every little thing about dungeons and hobbits, but girl talk? That’s an alien language if he’s ever seen one.

As for him? Well, he’s hovering in the middle of it all. With Steve occupied, he’s taken on his babysitter role of sorts. Racing up and down the stairs to fetch whatever snacks the gremlins demand, rustling Max and El’s hair on the way in, and nodding at Hopper and Wayne on the way out. He narrowly escapes being sucked into being the official judge for the impromptu Murray vs Ms. Henderson pie off and almost makes it up to Jonathan and Argyle’s room before Dustin is bellowing for him.

It’s fun, mostly.

Getting to see everyone relaxed and having fun. A far cry from the last time they were all together like this back in March.

In some ways, it's what Eddie’s always dreamed it would be like. Being part of a big family, a cog in a never-ending machine of noise and organized chaos.

But it’s also becoming a lot.

Lucas is about to put a hotel on Boardwalk that has everyone shouting and throwing their own pieces at his head. Steve’s trying to keep them under control but it's a losing battle. One that pulls Robin and Nancy from their own little world to join the chaos.

And then there’s even more noise.

A crash from upstairs, the blaring voice of Joe Strummer coming from Jonathan’s room, more shouting, Wayne and Hoppers stopping, and giggles from Max and El.

Suddenly all Eddie can hear is noise.

It gets louder and louder and louder until finally, he’s certain his eardrums are going to explode.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he pushes through the chaos going on upstairs (dropped pies and frosting stains and shouting at TVs) and makes his way onto the wrap-around porch.

The crisp cold air is the first thing that hits him. Like an idiot, he ran out of the house without a coat or scarf or hell, even the warm hat Ms. Henderson knitted for him earlier in the month. He shivers, rubbing his hands up and down his bare arm as he tries to take deep breaths, watching as his warm breath twirls in the breeze.

As his body adjusts, so do his ears. He can still hear the chaos going on inside, but it's muffled now. Distant. He can hear himself think for the first time in hours and for once, it’s nice.

The snow is falling in slow but steady flakes, dusting the backyard in the white. Or, it should be white, but the hoard of Christmas lights decorating the house illuminates the backyard in reds and greens. It’s a real Christmas wonderland out there, now.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and his trusty lighter. The first inhale of nicotine warms him from the inside out, sending the goosebumps packing as he focuses on his steady and slow inhale and exhales.

At some point he zones out, so focused on the snow falling and the repetitive nature of lifting the cigarette to and from his lips that he doesn’t hear the creak of the door or the heavy footsteps that follow until the intruder is standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Figured you might be needing this,” Steve says, hand outstretched with Eddie’s coat.

“Thanks, man.”

They swap, Eddie takes the coat from Steve and Steve takes the lit cigarette from Eddie, keeping it safe while he shimmies his way into the monstrosity that he calls his winter coat. When he’s finally situated in the plaid nightmare, he reaches a hand out ready to take his cigarette back only to find it perched between Steve’s lips.

Oh.

That’s different.

Sure, they’ve smoked together before. Bummed off cigarettes in the ally behind Family Video and in the parking lot of Palace Arcade waiting for the gremlins to be done. But they’ve never shared the same one. Never pressed their lips to the same filter. Felt the dampness of their mouths on their own lips.

“Sorry,” Steve says, lips turning up in a small smile as he removes the cigarette. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Eddie nods, unable to say much else as their fingertips brush when he takes it back. Is it weird if he puts it between his lips right now? Is he supposed to wait a minute? Let Steve’s taste linger for a moment. God, he’s being so weird right now. In the end, he brings the cigarette to his lips and takes the smallest inhale, nearly coughing as the smoke floods his lungs because he’s so distracted by the way the filter feels different now that it’s been in Steve’s mouth — as if that makes any sense.

“You okay? You sort of booked it out of the room.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, before leaning against the banister of the porch. “Yeah, m’good. It just—“

“Got too loud?” Steve supplies, mirroring his position. “I get it. I remember my first holiday dinner. There were a lot less of us in ’83 but shit. It was still so loud.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m a pretty loud son of a bitch.” Eddie’s caught off guard by Steve’s snorting. Stealing a glance, he finds Steve lit up in reds and greens, a smile etched on his face so deep he can see the spot where smile lines are going to emerge in the next ten years, catching the way his eyes already wrinkle in the corners. Fuck, he’s beautiful. “But, uh, yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house that loud before. Not even when I’m fucking around with the Corroded Coffin boys.”

“Well, I doubt that. Your music is very loud.”

“Uh, yeah, ‘cause it's metal, Steve.”

“So I’ve been told,” Steve says, smiling that soft, private smile again.

If Eddie was braver, he’d close the distance between them and press his lips to his. But if this year has taught him anything, it’s that he’s not. Not really. So he lets a quiet fall between them instead. They continue to stand shoulder to shoulder, passing the dwindling cigarette between them despite the pack in Eddie’s pocket being brand new, and watch as the snow steadily starts to pick up.

“You know,” Steve says, then stops.

Eddie turns, watching the gears tick in Steve’s brain as he decides what to say next. It’s magical watching it all pass on his face — the knit of his brows, his pupils dilating and returning to their normal size, letting the hazel shine through. The way his lips open and close like some gasping fish.

“If it ever gets to be too much, you can tell us. Tell me. Hell, I know I need a break after a few hours with those shitheads. Maybe we could come up with a code word or something.”

“A codeword? That’s might nerdy of you, Steve.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, waving his hand through the air as he bites back a chuckle. “But yeah, a code word. It’d be easier to say than “hey it’s too loud and I can’t think” you know. Plus, it would annoy the shit out of Henderson.”

“Well, then. Count me in. You know I love annoying the shit out of that kid. Gotta keep that ego in check somehow.”

They spend the next few minutes going back and forth trying to decide on a word that could work. Steve wants something common — a fruit or a vegetable. Eddie disagrees, saying it has to be something uncommon so they don’t accidentally say it, but common enough that it doesn’t sound weird casually being dropped in conversation.

They wrack their brain, throwing out silly words left and right until there’s a crash from inside. Their heads swivel in tandem toward the source of the noise. A flurry of shadows passes on the other side of the window as Steve shakes his head and sighs.

“Come on,” he says, handing the cigarette back to Eddie. “If we’re not at the table the minute the food gets served, we won’t be eating. The gremlins know no manner.”

Eddie laughs, stubbing out the cigarette on the ashtray precariously balanced on the banister, “Teaching ‘em manners seems like a job for their babysitter.”

“Nah,” Steve snorts. “Maybe one for their Dungeon Master, though.”

Just as the words leave Steve’s lip, there’s a shout from inside followed by another crash.

“Think it might be a job for both of us, actually,” Eddie laughs. “Together?”

“We need all the help we can get,” Steve says. “Together it is.” 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

She's The Skeleton In My Closet (Mia Winters/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil/Resident Lover Genre: fluff? and whatever is a step down from smut Rating: T? not quite horny enough for M. Warnings: Brief, non-descriptive mentions of death/bloodshed, and relatively minor choking in a sexual context (it's more of a hand position than actual choking). Reader is referred to as a girl once by a side character. Summary: It's the end of another loop, and Mia allows herself to get closer to you... through a game of Seven Minutes In Heaven. Notes: Inspired by two pieces of art by @vivi-ness, specifically this and this. If you want to skip to the part of this fic that actually takes place in the closet (aka the making out part), start reading after the second section break -----. I did not mean for the lead-up to be as long as it ended up being. Also might make a part 2 with actual smut?

Alone. Curled up with the brazen darkness wrapped around her like a blanket, Mia’s eyes straining, as she glanced over her notes by candlelight. Less than thirty feet away raged a party fit to shake the heavens. As with every semester, the Umbrella Sorority felt inclined to celebrate the end of exams. Blaring music, countless games on rotation, enough booze to drown the world (or set it all ablaze). Even the theatre kids know to defer to the sorority for this evening. Normally, Mia would not hesitate to join in, downing shots of whiskey and kicking ass at every other game, all the while keeping keen eyes on interesting people.

Ah, but not tonight. Not with the reset looming in the distance, date preselected. Another loop on death row. There was plenty of work to be done, mostly preparations for the ritual, but Mia’s focus was on… other matters. Scanning through old tomes, searching for something that may prove useful in the next rotation. Maybe not enough to finally end the cycle, no, of course not, just something to influence it. Push it in the right direction, despite Miranda’s many protests regarding “interference”.

But there’s a knock on the door, and Mia pauses, unsure if it was simply the bass speakers thumping the walls again. A beat passes before the knock repeats, louder this time. Off-tempo. Quickly, she places her journal aside without marking her place (she remembers, of course, that it is page 28), then blows out the candles. Even as the darkness swallows the last sanctuary of light, her movements are smooth, flowing. In one motion she flips the light switch and unlatches the door.

“What’s up?” She asks, sickly sweet and every bit faking it, staring down at the unexpected visitor. They’re a sophomore, she thinks, a small woman whose name starts with an A. Or an E, maybe. Most loops have her just barely in Mia’s peripheral, sharing a single class but never really interacting. Definitely not the person she would have wanted to come knocking at her door. Only a brief moment passes before the woman replies, her gaze briefly (and unsubtly) scanning the room, voice filled with the unironic enthusiasm that made her grate on Mia’s nerves.

“Well, we’re one person short for 7 Minutes in Heaven- we had enough people, technically, but a few left after Cassandra got picked early, you know how it is- and so I was wondering if you’d join? It’s so weird not having you at the party, anyway, really feels like we’re missing an integral piece of the vibe, you know?” Alissa (if that was her name) says, offering a lopsided smile. Faint pink dusts her freckled cheeks, only some of it being makeup. One of her hands starts to reach for Mia, to rest a flirtatious hand against her shoulder, but the flash of something darker in her expression makes Alissa pull back.

“Oh, I would love to play, but technically my exams aren’t finished,” Mia answers, sporting a half-assed pout, dragging the words out. She lets her tongue click on the t in technically for emphasis. It’s not the best excuse, especially considering Elise (or whatever her name is) also still has one final left. All because the student council took one day too long to remind a certain professor that he couldn’t force students to complete a ritual as part of their exam. Not that Mia would have minded a little school-sanctioned bloodplay, especially since she knows (from experience) that the ritual Dr. Wesker had in mind wouldn’t work.

“C’mon, Mia, we both know you don’t need to study for our Occult Sciences class; you could probably teach it at this point!” Anna (Áine?) chimes, grinning wide, blissfully unaware of the true accuracy of her statement. Mia could teach the class, far better than the actual professor, although at that point it would be considerably harder to keep the university’s secrets. But that doesn’t mean she has any interest in joining the party.

Her reluctance must show, because the shorter woman (whose name may or may not be Enya) squints, lips pursing before she abruptly straightens up and switches tactics.

“Besides… your favorite person is playing,” she adds, leaning in to stage-whisper, glancing down the hallway as if checking for eavesdroppers. Despite the confidence in her voice, Mia stares at her blankly. As much as she definitely has a favorite, the one her very soul is bound to, she finds it unlikely that Eliza would know… right? It’s not like they’ve even spent that much time together this loop. Surely she’d been able to keep her cards close to her chest; it’s not like Eliza was terribly observant anyway. Unfortunately for Mia, her thoughts get cut off by another high-pitched exclamation. “Don’t play dumb, Mia! The girl with one earring, roommates with Angie and the youngest Dimitrescu?”

Well. Fuck. So much for being subtle…

-----

Turning down Anamaria (no, not that one, the other one) became impossible the second Mia’s eyes lit up, all at the mere mention of you. Within a minute she had relented, murmuring a few choice words under her breath, allowing herself to be all but dragged to a crowded living room. It takes all of her willpower to maintain a guise of boredom, lips drawn tight as she scanned the partygoers for familiar faces. A slight tension formed in her chest as she intentionally avoided looking at the center of the room, having caught a glimpse of familiar clothing, saving the sight for last. 

Caldwell is by the back corner, playing some complicated boardgame with a mildly enthused Stanley (and a confused but nonetheless supportive Jasmin), positioned where they can keep an eye out for trouble. All three of the Stans could be found hovering by the alcohol, debating whether to leave now or wait for Cassandra to inevitably grab a refill. Somehow Anamaria (yes, that one) was half asleep, tuckered out from one too many party games, curled up against a blushing Livia. Both were chatting with Angie, who was perched precariously on the back of the couch. The only thing keeping the short girl from falling off was a hand clutching one of her belt loops, pulling as necessary to rebalance her.

As Mia’s eyes traced the hand to its owner, she inhaled sharply, the slightest flare to her nostrils. There you are. Eyes crinkled at the edges while you laugh at one of Daniela’s jokes, the sound barely audible past the music, your mouth open in a genuine, shameless grin. Mia allows herself a single moment to admire the view. Luck plays a trick on her then, your gaze suddenly shifting to her, eyes widening when you meet her stare. Immediately you look away, warmth in your face contrasting the way your shoulders tense.

If Mia hadn’t torn her gaze away, flinching like she got burned, she would have seen the way your friends reacted, the way they jumped at the opportunity to tease you. Instead, she lets herself get tugged over to a spare chair by the woman hosting the game.

“Damn, Iris, I didn’t think you’d actually convince Mia to play,” Nicoletta says, trailing her eyes up and down Mia, appreciatively, before turning to the one who had dragged her here. Guess her name doesn’t start with an A or an E after all, Mia thinks, before shrugging off the attention. None of these people know her terribly well, beyond reputation, and she can’t be bothered to unpack why they wanted her here.

“I mean, I kind of had to, with how hard Iris was begging me,” Mia says, pointedly ignoring their gazes in favor of inspecting her nails (short, smoothed over, no polish today). Protests stream from next to her, while a few chuckles rise up around the room. A smirk crosses her lips as she makes eye contact with Iris. Before the woman can explain that Mia only agreed because you’re playing, she speaks up again, propping her feet up on the coffee table as she does. “So, are we drawing names from a hat or what?”

“Close, half of us already put a trinket or whatever in the bag. Anyone who didn’t put one in gets to draw one at some point,” Iris explains, eager to move past the embarrassment from Mia’s lie. “Since you had to be… convinced, you can go ahead and be the one to draw next. Once the lovebirds in the closet are done, that is!”

Nodding, Mia withdrew into herself again, content to sit in silence until her turn. Why had she agreed to this, exactly?... It’s not as if she’s ideologically opposed to party games, but she’d always been more of a fan of the ones that involve drinking. Maybe spin-the-bottle, if she was in the mood for it. But Seven Minutes In Heaven? Too time-consuming, and absolute torture if one got stuck with the wrong partner. What were the odds she’d even get paired up with you? Was that even what she wanted?

Something about this particular loop was messing with her head. Every other one so far involved you falling in love with somebody, even if it ended poorly. But this time?... She had been sure you’d end up with Daniela or Angie, with the way you pushed studies aside for parties, never officially joining the sorority but being a frequent guest at their dorm. Living it up, only getting serious when you helped break Daniela’s curse (not because you loved her, but because you love her, the same way you pour your heart into loving all of your friends).

That’s why the reset was looming overhead, of course. Your faith in Miranda lay shattered, if it had ever existed in the first place, your distrust a crime she considered worthy of oblivion. Any life where you would not love her was, to Miranda, a life unfit to continue.

Mia gets pulled out of her thoughts by a door opening, old hinges squawking in protest. Two flustered women readjust their clothing as they exit the closet, both sporting bright red cheeks, utterly oblivious to the fact that they had swapped shirts. Naturally, they are not allowed to remain ignorant for long, a chorus forming of drunken cheers and teasing remarks. Not everyone focuses on the couple, however, and Mia feels the weight of someone’s gaze on her.

Once more she looks to you, just in time for you to look away, although this time she notices something odd: You aren’t wearing your earring. How interesting. Suddenly she finds herself itching to take her turn, but she suppresses her thirst, not wanting to earn any gentle ribbing from the others. Another minute passes before the paper bag actually gets passed to her, Iris winking as their fingers brush up against each other. Maintaining eye contact, Mia reaches into the bag, offering a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

There are still five or six items inside, some of them in familiar shapes. A watch with a cracked face, one of those tiny skateboards (a Tech Deck, maybe?), a basic bracelet… None of them interest her, but it only takes another second for her to grasp her target, the cool surface smooth under her touch. Carefully, she retrieves it, ensuring the earring doesn’t snag on any of the other items.

With a triumphant smirk, she holds it up in the light. Although disappointment shows in Iris’ face, Mia can’t help but notice the way Daniela nudges your side with a knowing grin. Even Angie turns to whisper something in your ear, almost tumbling off the couch with how hard she laughs at the instant flush to your face, exasperation clear in your posture. Nonetheless, you rise on shaky legs, not meeting Mia’s gaze as the two of you move towards the unoccupied closet…

-----

“Have fun in there! Seven minutes starts when the door closes,” Iris chimes, having readopted her mask of overexcited joy, all but pushing you in after Mia. There’s a sharp click right after, the door settling into place. Another click, softer, and the small space becomes sparsely illuminated. You blink a few times to adjust to the dim lighting, glancing up in time to see Mia… on her phone? Before you can question her, she taps a button and sets it down on one of the shelves behind her, and you catch a glimpse of a timer on the screen.

“Six and a half minutes,” she says, as if that was all the explanation needed. Then she’s leaning forward, expression blank, hands reaching out to-... put your earring back where it belongs. It’s an oddly intimate experience, feeling out of place in a game that focused on a different kind of intimacy. If only it lasted longer than a few moments. Once she pulls away, there’s a noticeable flush to her cheeks. “Wouldn’t want anyone to catch us in a compromising position, right?”

Despite her words, Mia makes no further moves to touch you. One hand fiddles with the hem of her jacket, the other tucks her own hair behind her ear, the movement awkward in the cramped space. It’s easy enough to mistake her countenance for a kind of nervousness. Playing wasn’t her idea, after all, and you feel a twinge of guilt for being so excited about getting paired with her. Could she tell? Was she worried by the thundering of your heart, by the warmth of your presence?

Internally, however, Mia is struck with the sudden urge for her favorite brand of intimacy: Violence. Of the last eighteen times she was this close to you, with your breath just barely ghosting her skin, sixteen of those meetings had ended with homicide, attempted or otherwise. Gods, it was her curse, to only know your touch when she initiated it with heavy hands. To be so well acquainted with the feeling of your blood on her skin that it has become more familiar than her own. When was she last able to touch you without the many promises of pain? Can she even trust herself to love without consuming?

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, I know you probably weren’t planning on this tonight,” you say, softly, offering a weak smile. Now you’re the nervous one, rubbing your arm as if the sensation might smooth out your anxiety. It’s not until you feel Mia lean the slightest bit forward that you dare to meet her gaze. Something haunts her expression, lying beneath the flushed cheeks and hooded eyes. Before you can even blink, she’s brought her hand back up, cupping your chin and making sure your gaze never leaves hers.

“And if I do want to do something?” Mia whispers. One of her fingers shifts, gently tracing over the front of your throat. If only you knew how excited she got by the feeling of your heart racing beneath her fingertips. In contrast, she is all the more aware of the way your breath hitches at her touch. The way you look up at her with dilated pupils makes her every bit hungrier. Just one taste, she thinks, eying your lips. How was it fair that in all these loops, she had never once gotten to kiss you? “Tell me you want this. Say it, or I go right now, game be damned.”

She knows it’s not fair to put that pressure on you, to make you choose that very second. But she doesn’t care, not at all, not when she knows you’re already on the brink of giving in.

“Please, Mia,” you say, voice almost whiny from sudden need, a hand moving to clutch her jacket. More words get stuck in your throat, a part of your mind still keenly aware of how swiftly the mood has changed. Had Mia ever been nervous? Maybe, maybe just not the way you had interpreted her to be. No traces of hesitation can be found in her expression as she slides her hand lower, fingers resting on either side of your neck, only enough pressure for you to really feel her. A silent urging for you to spill the rest of your plea. “I want you.” You swallow hard, trapped by her touch, yet desperate for more. “I want this. Please. Please kiss me.”

In an instant she’s pulled you forward, lips crashing against yours; her hand on your throat is the anchor tying her to you. All other thoughts are crushed under the weight of her messy embrace. There’s just her. Instinct drives your movements, all of the desire that had built up this semester coalescing into a kiss, into the way your hand ends up fisted in her hair, the other sliding beneath her jacket to grasp at her shirt.

Mia’s fingers never tighten around your neck, never put any pressure on your windpipe, yet they still hold power over you. It’s her movement that changes the angle, that deepens the kiss until your lips part for her. You swear you can feel her hunger, the need radiating from her, and yet you have no idea how much she is truly holding back. Every bit of your hunger was matched and exceeded by her.

Your feelings, hidden until now, had gnawed at your heart for half a year. Hers had hounded her for countless loops. The hand on your throat is a warning to herself, arm a barrier to keep her from coming any closer. It’s not enough, her free hand itching to touch and tug, to begin unraveling you. Mia presses the hand to the wall behind you, clenching it into a fist. That might have done the trick… if not for the way you shift a moment later. As soon as your thigh starts to slot between her own, she throws out any sense of caution, giving in to this one chance to be with you.

“So eager for me,” Mia murmurs, having pulled back for just a moment, finally pulling her hand from your neck (you miss it, miss the warmth, miss her guidance). There’s a split second where you think you see love in her eyes- and then your back is flat against the wall, both her hands on your hips, her mouth pressing open kisses along your jaw. A tug encourages you to move your thigh again, letting her seek out that friction she so desperately needs. “So fucking good to me,” she whispers, breath hot against your cheek.

Then she’s practically nipping at your throat, relishing your gasp, only to eagerly soothe the skin with gentle kisses. Something like a growl leaves her as she starts to grind against your thigh, grip on your hips growing tighter. Each moment has the kisses growing more intense again, paired with more soft bites, making it harder and harder to keep yourself from moaning. When her hands start rubbing circles against you, it becomes impossible to stay completely quiet.

Both a blessing and a curse, your sound comes at the same time that Mia’s phone starts to vibrate, signaling the end of your time together. Instantly she’s peeling herself off of you, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, muttering a few swears in between shaky breaths. Following her lead, you try to smooth out your clothing and collect yourself. But that’s much easier said than done, neither of you satisfied at leaving things here, both itching to finish what you started.

“You should stay,” Mia starts to say, shrugging off her jacket. Each word sounds like she has to force it out. “After the party ends. I could… I could use the company.” This time the words come easier, accompanied with a crooked grin, and she doesn’t hesitate to drape her jacket over your shoulders, covering up the marks she definitely left all over your throat. More than that, it’s her way of making sure everyone knows that you’re with her tonight.

The door swings open before you have a chance to respond to her offer. For a moment the light feels blinding, and when you reopen your eyes you see that Mia’s already started walking away, ignoring the reactions of other partygoers. You would be disappointed… but this is the first time you’ve seen her without a jacket, and now you find yourself with a new appreciation for her arms, already picturing yourself getting pinned beneath her. Something to look forward to later tonight, you suppose.

[junkiepunkie]

Whats that? You want a sneak peek of the next chapter in my wolfstar fic that'll be posted in a few hours? Sure! Here's a flashback scene that comes to Remus in a dream...

December 24th, 1976.

It was getting close to midnight, to the day Sirius and Remus would finally get to join the rest of their friends at the Potter house for their annual Christmas celebrations. Remus had been going since third year, and Sirius since fourth, so they knew the drill. They'd go by flu early the next morning and music would be blaring while presents were being flung from Dorcas to Mary and from Mary to Pete and so on. This year it was even rumoured that Regulus Black may make a brief appearance under the guise of some meeting with Barty. The whole thing always had Remus' nerves working overtime, especially considering the moon was only a day ago. What if he was just as tired as he was now? What if he killed the mood with his new wounds? and how could he explain Sirius'. 

It had all gone wrong. Remus was meant to spend the full moon alone, content with enduring some nasty injuries if it meant not seeing Sirius until he absolutely had to. It had only been a month since the prank, and the boy still weren't on talking terms, but Sirius -stubborn as ever- had decided somehow that it would be a good idea to surprise Remus by staying behind for the holiday and joining him on the full moon. The wolf had freaked out, the betrayal in Remus' head over the prank overriding their usual bond, and clawed Sirius' dog form across one leg. The dog fought back on instinct of course -getting a good few bites and scratches on the wolf's torso- and so suddenly there was a fight. Lucky for Sirius, the wolf had heard some distant cry and got distracted after only one more scratch that wrapped around his lower waist and up his back. The dog had fled by the time the wolf refocused, and the rest of the moon played out almost normally. 

When Remus had woken, Sirius was asleep and just outside the shack, curled up in a ball shivering like Remus always had to on the nights he spent in the decrepit building. Both boys were covered in blood and cuts. He had carried Sirius upstairs and dressed his own wounds while he waited for the boy to wake up. Sirius eventually did, but not until late afternoon, when his gashes were expertly bandaged by the taller boy who'd caused them.

That took them to where they were as the clock closed in on midnight, sitting, record player up loud as they drowned in Bowie record after Bowie record, neither talking at all. The song switched from suffragette city to rock and roll suicide, causing Sirius to snap. The boy stood suddenly, teary eyed and wearing nothing but a vest and a small skirt Remus had handed him from the lost and found so he could wear something that wasn't tight against the bandages on his inner thigh. 

"dance with me." he whispered, so quietly Remus barely believed he'd heard it at all.

Remus looked up at him blankly.

"why?" he scoffed

"because I need you to-"

"yeah? well I'm still not over you trying to murder snap-"

"I DON'T NEED YOU TO FORGIVE ME REMUS!! I JUST- I just need you... us to dance."

The second the first tear streamed down Sirius' cheek Remus was out of his seat and holding him, swaying as easily as most people breathed. He hated Sirius, he reminded himself, but seeing him cry? That wasn't torturing Sirius that was torturing himself. Sirius wrapped his hands round his neck and sobbed into his torso and for a moment their common room was the whole world. 

That world got smaller as the next verse of the song began and Sirius maneuvered his head to be laying on Remus' shoulder, and gently pressed a kiss to the taller boys neck. Remus felt a shiver run up his spine. They had been snogging back and fourth for years, but this was further somehow, more intimate than a kiss on the lips, his head fell back to give Sirius more access to his scarred skin. Sirius allowed a sad smile to be felt against Remus neck as he sucked on the boys pulse point. Remus almost jumped.

"What're you doing?" he asked cautiously "Sirius we aren't..."

Sirius' wet, sad yet beautiful face looked up at Remus "shh... we aren't together, you hate me... I just- I want to give you one happy injury. One good scar." 

It was Remus' turn to cry as he felt Sirius go back to creating a hickey. Remus pulled away, scaring Sirius into thinking he'd overstepped for a split-second, and raised a fingernail to his new mark, without hesitation tearing his skin with it, following the shape of the risen skin.

"there," he sighed wiping any small traces of blood that came from the shallow wound. "werewolf's touch means its permanent."

Sirius began crying again and rushed back into Remus' arms. Remus held him, allowing his hand to run under the thin fabric of Sirius' vest and caressing the edges of the boys new scars, the parts that weren't hidden under a layer of gauze.

Sirius spoke, his words muffled against Remus' skin "bite me."

"what." 

The music, everything, stopped. Remus hunched to Sirius' level and locked eyes with his icy blues. The smaller boy just stared back, his eyes stinging and tinged red.

"I think- I think that's the only way you'll forgive me. You know? If I become one of you. If I feel the pain." 

Remus laughed gently. "oh baby no. No... I love you too much for that."

The air thickened around them. That was the first time he'd said that he loved Sirius. Everything had been passed off as being "between friends" up until this moment. Sirius didn't answer with words, he just pulled Remus' face down to his neck and held it there. Remus smiled,

"this doesn't turn you into a werewolf you know? It just makes you a little more like me."

Sirius pressed his head down farther, "I would die for you. To be with you. Please."

It wasn't a question, it was a demand. Remus did as he was told. Sirius sank to his knees, dragging Remus down with him and then it all flooded back in. The music, the world, the future. Remus broke away and flopped to the ground, laying down inches from the fireplace, and Sirius followed suit. 

"forgiven?" he pleaded.

Remus shook his head. "loved."

Sirius giggled. "I think I can work with that."

Remus turned to face the man he loved, brushing their noses together sweetly. 

Sirius grinned, placing a hand to the new bite on his neck and another on Remus' new mark. He met Remus' eyes peacefully.

"Moony, one day i'm going to marry you."

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dave Maass and Patrick Lay’s “Death Strikes: The Emperor of Atlantis”

Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

"The Emperor of Atlantis," is an opera written by two Nazi concentration camp inmates, the librettist Peter Kien and the composer Viktor Ullmann, while they were interned in Terezin, a show-camp in Czechoslovakia that housed numerous Jewish artists, who were encouraged to make and display their work as a way of proving to the rest of the world that Nazi camps were humane places.

Of course, it was all a sham. Like nearly all of Terezin's inmates, Kein and Ullmann were eventually shipped to Auschwitz to be murdered. "The Emperor" was never performed during their life, but the manuscript, written on scrounged paper (including the backs of other inmates Auschwitz transfer papers) survived.

In the decades since, "The Emperor" has been mounted a few times, with varying degrees of faithfulness. But those live performances were limited to the people who could attend them during their limited run. Now, a new graphic novel called Death Strikes: The Emperor of Atlantis, brings the work to us all:

https://www.darkhorse.com/Blog/3726/berger-books-and-dark-horse-comics-present-death-s

Death Strikes was adapted by my EFF colleague Dave Maass, an investigator and muckraker and brilliant writer, who teamed up with illustrator Patrick Lay and character designer Ezra Rose (who worked from the Kein and Ullmann's original designs, which survived along with the score and libretto).

The tale is set in the mythical kingdom of Atlantis, where the reclusive emperor has been holed up in an armored tower for decades, directing a forever war, greeting each battlefield report with fresh orders, all the while carefully scheming to maintain his grip on power by prolonging the war footing among his people.

But the Emperor has a problem: he's won the war. Every enemy has fallen. Without endless war, his system of social control will shrivel and he will be vulnerable to his people. So the Emperor declares a new war of all against all, announcing that it is every citizen's duty to make war on their neighbors. Problem solved!

But the Emperor goes too far. In announcing his new war, he directs his messengers – drum-beating automata who march through the streets of Atlantic rapping out his edicts – to claim that Death himself has blessed this new war, and "when the final drum sounds, our old friend DEATH, our flag-bearer, will raise his sword in salute to our great future!"

For Death – a swordbearing skeleton in a soldier's greatcoat and shako – this is too much. The Emperor's endless wars have already tried Death's patience. Death brings mercy, not vengeance, and the endless killing has dismayed him. The Emperor's co-option drives him past the brink, and Death declares a strike, breaking his sword and announcing that henceforth, no one will die.

Needless to say, this puts a crimp in the Emperor's all-out war plan. People get shot and stabbed and drowned and poisoned, but they don't die. They just hang around, embarrassingly alive (there's a great comic subplot of the inability of the Emperor's executioners to kill a captured assassin).

The Emperor will not be denied. He embarks upon a war of wills with Death, to see who will give in first. The surreal tale plays out among the people of Atlantis, the living and the undead, as they struggle to fight a war where no one can die. The tale cuts between these people, the Emperor, and Death, who is in company with Life, a sad harlequin who is even more demoralized than Death by the Emperor's long war.

What follows is a tale of revolution and love and hope snatched from despair.

Maass discovered "The Emperor" through a bargain bin CD of "degenerate music" he found in a suburban Best Buy in the 1990s, which was accompanied by illustrations by Art Spiegelman:

https://www.allmusic.com/album/the-music-survives%21-degenerate-music-music-suppressed-by-the-third-reich-mw0000711660

Maass found a six-panel cartoon Kein drew "expressing his frustration with the evolution of his libretto." Over the years, Maass turned this little strip over and over in his head, until he found himself travelling to Prague with Lay, where they were able to handle the surviving manuscript pages. After consulting with experts all over the world, Maass and Lay and their collaborators created this extraordinary graphic novel, updating it, queering it, and lavishly illustrating it.

While this is clearly an adaptation, Kein and Ullmann's spirit of creativity, courage, and bittersweet creative foment shines through. It's a beautiful book, snatched from death itself.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/23/peter-kien-viktor-ullmann/#terezín

[hetaherr]

the moon as our witness

: wanderer/ scaramouche x reader

: i dont know how to tag this, maybe fluff? crack?? angst

hey this is my writing practice because i struggle with the flow of my writing, especially like pacing and stuff so it's pretty bad imo TT but it's practice so its allg ig. this is very experimental , and i feel a little outta my element because i lowkey am hella informal with the way i write and IM JUST REALLY NOT USED TO IT???? anyway thanks for reading and if u have any advice please drop them! ok anyway reblog to win ur 5050s love u

watching the scene lay out in front of you was the very embodiment of your doomsday, it was the nearest thing to an apocalypse you'd ever seen- to your world of course. it felt like you were spiraling, you felt so asphyxiated as you watched him press himself against that- that bitch as if you didn't even exist. and almost as if the world was solely out to get you tonight, cigarettes after sex just had to start playing. like seriously, was catching your boyfriend cheat on you not gutting enough as it is, you did not need a song to tell you when to 'cry'.

pushing through the sea of people transitioning from jumping up and down to swaying with their partners was absolutely suffocating. in any other circumstance, the crowd would've been just right- like the calm ocean after a storm. but at this very moment, it felt like you were drowning, being dragged into the abysmal nothing that was the deep blue sea.

with a slam of the door, you found yourself rescued by the crisp night air. barely making it a few steps, you crumble by the side of the road. it feels like tonight the tears stung even worse than usual, you can't scream, you can't wail, your throat is all clawed up and drowning feels like it's becoming a lot more literal than metaphorical at this moment.

through your tears, the faint echo of music can be heard, and a soft clink sounds beside you.

"i think you need this more than me." he says, you cant see him clearly through the tears that still continue to pour. you look down and there's a glass bottle of whatever everyone's been drinking tonight.

"i don't drink."

"you look like you should." he comments, you can only scoff at the remark. he takes a seat beside you, a bottle in hand. he hesitates a second, but you don't tell him to bug off. there's a soft silence that comes with his presence, neither of you talk- unless you consider crying to be talking. it feels so pathetic, you can't understand what you could've done to be tossed aside so easily. but the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to contain your emotions.

"ah fuck this." you mumble, reaching out to take a swig of liquid courage. you hiss as it leaves a burning sensation down your throat, flushing your tears away leaving behind a bitter taste. the boy, shifts his gaze toward you- his head resting on his knees, hair framing his face so nicely and it feels a little unfair how fucking pretty he is.

"so much for not drinking." he says, his face is blank but there's a teasing notion to his words and just the way he was looking at you. you let him stare, violet eyes burning into your skin you feel like it's going to leave an imprint. you look back at him, under the warm glow of the street lamp. as you share the gaze, there's a feeling of guilt that has been set aflame within the pits of your heart, after all you still hadn't broken up with that jackass.

you unconsciously continue to stare at the boy, pondering. should you just break up with him through text? should you storm in and scream? should you even make a scene? maybe ghost him?

"a penny for your thoughts?" he speaks up, words so gentle it makes your heart flutter and it feels like the guilt burns worse than the alcohol.

"do you want to help me break up with my cheating boyfriend?" you think out loud. you watch his eyebrows furrow, and for a second you wonder if you made him uncomfortable. he blinks at you, and then slightly shrugs.

"sure."

within seconds, the chilly breeze outside is replaced with the smell of sweat, cigs and alcohol. it's disgusting. the boy takes your hand and lets you guide him through the horde of horny and drunk people that were either passed out or making out. you are reminded of why you didn't frequent these parties. the floor is sticky and you just hope whatever it is you just stepped on was not human fluids. and then you see him, sprawled across the couch with the same girl sitting way too close to be considered 'just friends'. with a smile so smug, that made you glad god gave you patience and not strength.

"that's him?" noticing your hesitance to move forward, the boy follows your gaze. the tears are already threatening to spill yet again, anymore and you fear the headache that follows. and yet your feet don't move, all the courage that that brown bottle clearly gave you wasn't strong enough. you barely hear his words, it feels like your body is moving on it's own as you nod. you hear the boy sigh, his hands gently grab your wrist and pulls you behind his frame. you're not able to react before he speaks up, this time his voice is a lot more harsh.

"yo asshole." he shouts, his hand still gripping onto yours, though it is a lot tighter than before. it startles people around you, and just like all humans and their natural desire to fulfil their curiosity, heads turn toward your direction. you can't even process the next few seconds, as he grabs the bottle out of your hand and pours whatever was remaining of the now warm booze down all over the cunt that sat before you.

"maybe think twice before cheating dickwad" he can't contain his laughter as he looks your now ex, up and down, eyes full of judgement. you look horrified, looking between the boy and your ex, noticing the rage building up as he spits a variety of cuss words. you can't suppress your own laughter, albeit the fact that it's slightly laced with fear- fear that your new friend would get punch right in the nose. so your feet decide it's time to get the fuck out of here, and you pull him out the door running so fast your gym teacher wouldn't have believed it was you.

there's another wave of silence as the both of you were bent over trying to catch your breath, everything that happened tonight was unpredictable and didn't feel real. you took a peek at the boy, he seemed to have the same thought as you catch his gaze. the silence is finally broken as you start laughing, like a maniac you couldn't stop your giggles. you are glad that there is no one else around to see your fit of laughter. there is still that redness and puffiness of your eyes from earlier, its odd given how drastic the contrast is to your current state, its so big that even the black hole would have a difficult time sucking it in.

"after all this, i still don't know your name." you huff. his violet eyes are morphed into that of a crescent. and with the moon as your witness, he smiles.

"you can call me, scara."

[anthroposeen]

tmagp 15 relisten notes!

episode 15 spoilers below the cut!! be warned!

celia:

- potentially the worlds most balanced and well maintained person, considering the way she handled herself around her coworkers and in uncomfortable situations. its unnerving to me to have a character be so seemingly well balanced

- she's hired a sitter to watch jack, meaning georgie is not watching him as previously thrown around by the fans

- she's very calm when facing down lady mowbray and her hunting dogs, and is called "different" and strange by her -> further confirmation that celia is not from this universe

sam:

- picked out tickets for 'the pillowman' for his 2nd date with celia. unlike sam, i did look into this play, which was written by a man named martin (may we never escape the same-name curse) and is has a theme surrounding the question, "what price do we pay for freedom of expression" (taken from the play's website). i think this is definite foreshadowing into the themes of the podcast or sam/celia's arcs specifically (what price do you pay for knowledge? for autonomy? for recognition?)

- sam seems a bit cold with alice throughout their interaction, not really engaging with her or trying to have any banter with her like normal. i think this is reasonable, considering he told her he wants to not discuss his relationship with her and shes interrupting him and celia, but i wanted to point it out since we last saw him in a bad mood with gwen. the guy seems a bit down and out

alice:

- her invitation to sam and celia is interesting to pick apart, and ive split into two interpretations of the invitation. on one side of the coin, i think she genuinely wanted to hang out with them, even as the third wheel, and she wanted to show off her brother's talent. on the other hand, she could be using the show as a resource to divide sam and celia and throw a wrench in their date plans. i think the first interpretation makes sense, and its the assumption im working off of to understand her character/motivations, and i think its evidenced by her checking the times to confirm the show happens after their date.

- seems to be very thrown off by celia having a baby, which of course speaks to alice's own relationships and expectations (anytime someone my age has a baby i'm thrown off), but also gives an idea of how celia presents herself at work. she must not speak of her personal life at all for no one but sam to know about jack.

- she meets a drowning victim in an alley after the show, and tried to help her. the fact that she seems unsure of whats going on means she doesn't actually know about the ins and outs of the fears/powers. so she may know the OIAR's deal but she doesnt seem to clock this as a supernatural event. this places a limitation on what alice knows

gwen:

- we can assume that lady mowbray is the external that lena wanted her to contact, and though she seems in control of the situation, she's uneasy when mowbray mentions she's ate recently. meaning she can be professional, but still isn't ok with the situation at hand

incident:

- the caller is ex-military and described lady mowbray as "not seeing people anymore, just assets" with "gun metal gray hair"

- he describes the feeling of staring down the barrel of a gun, and knows the sound of a head shot without looking

- mowbray has control of her hunting party and seems to have some influence over the man narrating, but i think thats a sign of him already being marked by the power she serves

- despite the man successfully hunting his coworkers and winning that race, he was still prey for her, with none of the rest of her party partaking in the chase (this is interesting since the hunt was a group activity in the TMA universe, with hunters preferring to work with a partner)

- the music indicating that mowbray is near is so well done and actually gave me goosebumps, i really enjoyed that it sped up the closer she got to her target, similar to the jaws theme almost. it added amazing tension!!

new characters/new introductions:

- lady mowbray, an avatar of sorts that seems to serve this universe's hunt/slaughter adjacent power. she's also an OIAR external and may know the bouchards

- alice's brother!! i was realy surprised we got to meet him (horrible awful news for him, im so sorry you're doomed mate you seem really chill)

- the drowning victim. i think that this woman is from the TMA universe, (a tape recorder clicks on to record this segment! which has only happens at the magnus institute in this universe!) and she may be from a vast/sea domain in the fear apocalypse. she's definitely experiencing a psychotic break, and i think she likely teleported/transported across dimensions like celia did. but theres also a possibility that she came from the institute, since we heard movement from the location (though im certain she isnt the error)

glitches/lies:

none

extra comments:

- you can faintly hear the hunting theme music play when mowbray is talking to celia and commenting on her being peculiar

- i think the incident is clearly hunt-related, but the caller being ex-military and using so many military phrases/metaphors throughout the incident does make me think it could be a connection between the hunt and slaughter, but im very cautious to try and reason how the powers work just yet

- i think the tape recorders will be an indicator of when we're dealing with someone/something from the TMA universe, and it may draw correlation to that world building in those specific scenes, but this is a hunch

- this is my favorite incident so far, as ive always been a very big fan of the hunt in TMA, and this is the closest tmagp has gotten to the power! i love mowbray's character so far, i can really get behind the cruella de-ville meets queen of hearts vibe she has going on and i really enjoy the melodrama she commands

[astromechs]

me like "lol cassian would have a really bad paranoid time if he was ever stoned out of his mind, wouldn't he," and then i put that into my wider college au; this is in no way serious also on ao3!

Inside his chest, his heart is beating fast.

Has it always been like that? At the moment, Cassian thinks, it's hard to remember a time it hadn't been. The pounding feels constant, and it's so loud that it's drowning out all the other voices in the room, along with the terrible music that's been playing from Han's phone from behind the couch all night in the living room of the apartment Jyn and Leia share, and —

No, his heart hasn't always been like this, of course it hasn't — but the way it's beating has to be a sign of something bad. A heart attack? Is that what's happening to him? Even if it's rare, it's not unheard of in someone his age, and now that he's, as Kay would say, become a statistic, he needs to think fast. Act fast.

Needs to grab his phone.

With a shaking hand and breaths that become increasingly shallow, he reaches into the pocket of his jeans, and has to fumble, has a couple of false starts, before his phone is finally in hand. It's only one button that he needs, and they make it easy to find on purpose….

He stares at his lockscreen, and clarity suddenly hits him, with all the force of a brick being dropped onto his head.

The problem isn't in his heart, or anything medical about him at all. No, the problem is the phone — and it's a problem for every single person in this room, for every single person on the planet. Because everyone knows about surveillance technology, how advanced it's gotten and how advanced it's getting more and more everyday, how no one can ever be sure just who's listening, how anyone can sell a collection of data from an entire person's life story for the right price. It happens everyday.

It's happening right now. The phone is the problem.

His fingers curl tightly around the phone in his hands, just like they had around a baseball, once, before the sport (or really much of anything in the way of sports) hadn't taken as a hobby. Without any further thought, he hurls it across the living room; it makes an arc in the air before plummeting to the carpet.

No, the physics of it hadn't been the best, but he's having a little trouble seeing straight and holding up his arm without it wobbling on him. Which — now the phone knows his weakness.

All the phones know his weakness.

So it's better for all of them to be crushed under his feet, isn't it? Starting with the one he'd brought with him.

He moves to stand from the couch, but the world wobbles under his knees in the instant of his first attempt; his head is cloudy, his vision starts to swim. As he sinks back down onto it, heart pounding and breath shortening again, the only thing able to get through the noise is a soft hand on his thigh, and an even softer voice in his ear.

"Cass?"

Slowly, he turns on his side until Jyn's wide green eyes are all he's looking into. Her other hand, the one that isn't still resting on his thigh, moves to his face, the warmth of her fingers a welcome balm against his cold, clammy skin. Her mouth twists into a frown.

"Oh, fuck," he can hear Han breathe out from somewhere across the coffee table. "He's one of those."

Jyn shifts away from him then, her hand dropping back down to her side, and he feels, more than sees, her tense, in the way she always does just before she spits venom. "What a brilliant fucking observation."

"Can you both just stop it for once?" Leia's voice nearby — about ten seconds from snapping, if he had to estimate.

Neither Luke nor Bodhi have anything to add, but their wide, worried glances in his direction are obvious. They probably don't know about the phones, he thinks — and he has to tell them; if the phones are listening and something terrible finds them because he hadn't told them, it'll be all his fault. He can't let that happen, because too many things have been his fault already.

But his heart's pounding and his throat's dry, and he can't manage to get his voice to speak. It feels like everything's spinning around him when he's completely still, and he just can't distinguish much of anything in the noise. He scrunches his eyes shut once, and then again.

Nothing helps.

A hand takes his, tugging him toward the edge of the couch. He gives it everything he has not to let it move him. This is important.

It tugs at him again. He stays still.

Even through his current hazy grip on consciousness, he knows Jyn's irritated, frustrated huff of breath like it's an extension of himself. Still, he doesn't move.

"Come on. You can stand. I've got you." She sounds like she's literally gritting her teeth, and she probably is, but still, he doesn't move. "We're gonna go in my room, okay? And you're gonna sleep this off, and you're gonna be fine."

Cassian shakes his head fiercely. Which makes the room spin around him all over again, so he stops that motion in its tracks. "No." It's only after scrunching his eyes shut for a moment that he's able to think a little bit again, able to meet Jyn's gaze. Able to rasp, "I have to tell them. About the phones."

Because she has to understand.

Her brows knit in confusion as she looks back at him, and he doesn't know how long they stay there like this, in this silent standoff. Eventually, though, she turns her head away from him even as her hand is still gripping his, and his eyes follow her as she sets her attention on Han across the coffee table.

She doesn't say anything, but he sees her mouth form words: I'll kill you.

It's all silent, because… clearly she knows about the phones, even if he hasn't been able to say anything.

Of course she knows; she's smart and great. And also beautiful — which doesn't have anything to do with the other things or define who she is to him, it's just true and he likes thinking it.

So, actually? He can let her lead him anywhere, even if it's out of the room and out of sight, because she'll know what the right next move is.

Later, probably several hours later, when he'll stir awake with a headache like nothing he's ever known but unable to move on account of Jyn collapsed on top of his chest, snoring softly, it'll occur to him that something had tasted a little off in the brownie that had been suggested for him to try.

And later still, it'll occur to him that following any suggestion coming out of Han Solo's mouth would never be destined to be anything but a terrible idea.

[wonderland-journals]

3am. ☆

🔞🔞**CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP 21+**🔞🔞

★ pairing: Takashi Mitsuya & f!reader ★ word count: 3.4K

★ cw/tw: comfort, anxiety, sleepy kisses, sleepy cuddles, suggestive (at one point), sweet whispers, reassurance

"Worry is my worst enemy… an enemy I unleash upon myself." -Terri Guillemets

This fic is also located on my AO3. Feel free to like and kudos ♡

All comments and likes are greatly appreciated, but please be respectful!! ♡

A steady rhythm thumping through your headphones drowned out the world around you – pulling you into a bubble of solitude. A soft breeze blew through the room, coming in from the window you had cracked open earlier. Occasionally, your head would roll back when you stretched your arms over your head, and a sigh of relief would escape you, feeling the small pops between your shoulder blades from the action. The silence of the night would have unnerved you had you given it even a second of attention, but you barely registered the hum of your laptop fan running in the brief silence between songs. Shaking your head, you blinked a few times to clear your vision before letting your eyes scan over the page before you.

Your eclectic taste in music showed now more than ever in how your playlist would jump from the sound of waves crashing against the beachfront shore to some poppy tune you heard somewhere online. There was no method to your madness, but it got the work done as you continued to check off task by task on the list. Each checkmark urged you onward in your goal despite the edges of your vision darkening slightly as your exhaustion finally began to wash over you.

Should you have gone to bed hours ago when your boyfriend asked you to? Probably. Would you regret staying up late to get some work done? Absolutely. When he had asked you, though, sleep hadn’t yet sunk its fangs into you then, and you had made the mistake of glancing over to the notebook on your desk with two ever-growing lists of things you needed to get done. So, of course, your only thought was that it wouldn’t complete itself, and you had promised him you would join him in bed after a few minutes.

You almost didn’t want to take off the full-screen mode you were in to check how long ago that was…

A deep bass vibrated through your eardrums, startling you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously started to bounce along to the pace it set as you sat up straight again. In a way, you lived for nights like these when you could lose yourself to the music and let the words flow through your fingers to the keyboard with a movement so effortless it almost seemed natural. Occasionally, you would lean back in your chair and tap your nails against the desk’s wooden surface, trying to recover the train of thought that would briefly derail before jumping back into your work.

The white light from your monitor was the only thing illuminating you or any other part of your desk, allowing your eyes to dart back and forth between the screen and a scratch sheet filled with the messy scribbles that were your notes when sleep made your mind wander and lose its momentum. That thread of inspiration would come back to you, though, and the clicking of keys would begin anew. It was filling the silence of the room around you with the muttered utterance of its words that only those who received the results would read.

At one point, the song changed to an old track from your childhood and brought you to a pause again. The pads of your fingers rested against the smooth keyboard for a second before sliding over two, three, four keys in a row and ultimately sliding off the keyboard altogether. The spark had disappeared, filled instead with gnawing dread that clawed at the center of your chest. An ache centered around memories brought about by the song that played. A part of you wanted to change it, but instead, you let your eyes slip close as the memories washed over you.

A shallow sigh of a laugh forced its way out of you as the song played. Remembering your childhood dreams of how you thought your life would end – a comfortable home with just enough space for the things you loved, a comfortable job, a loving partner…

You could feel your muscles relaxing slowly the further entranced you became with the song. It should have given you a sense of accomplishment knowing that you achieved two of your primary goals in life. Instead, there was an ache in the back of your throat with the sour taste of bile forcing you back upright. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your nose scrunched up in frustration.

Another list left unfinished.

Suddenly, you felt your left headphone plucked out of your ear, and your heart raced into overdrive almost painfully in your chest. You hadn’t even realized that someone had entered your office – didn’t feel the vibration of footsteps against the hardwood floor beneath you.

“It’s 3 AM…”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what surprised you more, the headphone taken out of your ear or the low timbre of a male’s voice rumbling next to it in place of the music. Either way, your body went tense and jerked away from them in immediate response; the movement was so sudden you almost fell out of the chair had it not been for the other person’s quick reflexes. Calloused fingers tightly wrapped around your upper arm when the person reacted, only loosening when they were sure you were safely seated again.

Turning your head to look up at the intruder, you let out a deep sigh of relief and felt your body begin to relax almost instantly. Your lips parted to greet him, but no words came out. So, you smiled up at your boyfriend, a tired half-smile that almost matched his amused one with which he looked down at you with. There were soft shadows under his half-lidded eyes from his own long nights at work that the blue light of your computer put on full display for your tired eyes to see.

“You scared me, Taka,” you finally said while he held your earbud away. The shrill guitar solo of the song that had just started was distant now.

Heat crept up your neck to paint your cheeks with a soft blush of embarrassment. A burglar would never take your headphones out and alert you of their presence like this – and the fact that you thought otherwise made you feel silly.

“It’s 3 o'clock in the morning, love.”

His voice was so soft, still heavy with sleep, as if something had woken him and compelled him to find you. He spoke clearly despite the slow drawl to his words. Still, your brain took longer than it should have to process what he said – focused instead on how his black and purple hair was mussed in the back from obvious tossing and turning. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in his lavender eyes, letting your body relax further as you unconsciously leaned toward him for extra warmth – the chill in the room suddenly more noticeable than before now that your attention wasn’t focused on a singular task. Mitsuya chuckled, watching the exact moment his words finally clicked in your mind. Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to your computer and scrambled to minimize the window you had pulled up to finally look at your clock.

“Huh…”

Takashi raised an eyebrow at you, but you merely slumped back in your chair. Eyebrows furrowed together in thought, and your bottom lip poked out in a slight pout. He knew that the endless deadlines had started to weigh on your mind, haunting you the closer they got, but he didn’t expect you to lose track of time this way.

“Didn’t realize the time.” You mumbled more to yourself than to him.

Eyes focused on the flashing cursor on the document you had minimized down to a windowed screen. It sat precisely where you left it, in a box halfway down the paper you were finalizing for work. Another cold chill ran down your spine, forcing your shoulders to jerk up in an almost shrugging motion that you knew had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with your once calm nerves, which were beginning to fray at the ends again. Slivers of panic creeping into your mind once more and bringing your focus back to where it was before he had come in.

“Gimme another hour, ‘kay?”

Keeping your eyes on the computer in front of you, you straighten your posture and reach out with your free hand for the earbud he had taken from you. He held it just far enough away that it threatened to pull the other earbud from you too as you leaned over until you felt like you would fall out of your chair again. You glared up at him, but he only smiled down at you knowingly. The corners of your eyes prickled with the threat of tears from the sudden yawn you had to stifle back.

“Give it back.” You demanded; hand still outstretched toward him.

The combination of fatigue suddenly starting to wrap its hands around your throat and the stubbornness of your partner’s actions at this moment had irritation seeping into your veins as he continued to silently refuse. You could feel the weight on your chest pushing further down on you as if it was trying to crush you into the ground. The panic and mental exhaustion you had been trying to push away for weeks came back full force to slap you across the face. Something had Mitsuya crouching down so he was at eye level with you.

“Love.”

The low rumble of his sleep-laden voice and the hooded look he gave you put you at unease. What was he seeing when his soft lavender eyes looked at you? Did he see the exhaustion finally taking hold of you after weeks of pushing it back? Did he notice your silent plea for help that your pride forced you to swallow with your dismissive smiles and soft words of assurance that you were fine?

He turned his head toward your notebook and the extensive to-do list you had written there and let out a low whistle. “Did this get bigger since yesterday?”

His question pulled your thoughts from their spinning track of anxiety. You didn’t need to look at it to know what he saw. Countless little activities that demanded your attention with deadlines written down for many of them in bright red – deadlines that seemed to be racing at you faster than you could manage.

“Shit, I thought you were making progress on this.”

That was it. That was the line that broke through the cracks in your wall. You hated the single choked sob that escaped you so suddenly. Hated the tears you could no longer hold back. Your cheeks now wet with the salty liquid steadily streaming from your eyes.

That stupid little paper with every stupid little task you needed to get done written in black ink. Perfectly written in your best handwriting that pleased your hamster brain with its small, simple strokes. It was your main method of staying organized, giving you a strong sense of accomplishment every time you could cross an item off with your red pen. Normally when you make a new list for the month you could get through it within the week. You were no stranger to adding to it, of course, but this month had hit you with so many deadlines and activities that you felt like you were barely holding on by a thread these days. There was something about the way Takashi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked over the remaining items on your neatly made paper that compelled you to rip the single headphone from your ear and toss it to the table in front of you in frustration.

“Don’t worry about it, Taka.” You muttered in defeat, looking down to hide your shame from his prying eyes. 

It was borderline painful to hear the haunting words of your parents come back to the forefront of your mind.

‘Lazy!’

‘You’ll never accomplish anything like this.’

‘Why can’t you just do what needs to be done?��

‘If you didn’t waste so much time, you’d be done already.’

‘This is why you keep failing.’

Failing. That was the word that stood out to you more than anything else. You couldn’t finish your list on time, not for lack of trying, and the crushing feeling of disappointment and failure was burning through your lungs. Scraping at your throat and preventing you from speaking the words that you wanted to say. Stopping you from asking for the help you desperately needed.

You took out the other headphone from your ear and tossed it on the desk before standing up from your chair, you didn’t look at where he was still crouched next to you. Eyes pinned on the door instead. “Let’s just go to bed and I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

The quiet rustling of his sweatpants when he stood up was the only indication you got of his movement. “Do you need help?” There was a lump in your throat, choking you, keeping you from replying. So, you shook your head, your pride too strong to give the answer you wanted anyways. “Do you want my help?”

“I want to go to bed…” You winced at the crack in your voice when you spoke.

You just needed to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot-

Takashi’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Still, you didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at you with concern. His soft lips parted slightly, ready to speak even when he didn’t know yet what to say. Sleep was probably the last thing on his mind right now, pushed away by the concern he felt for you and your mental health. His thoughts racing around and around, trying to figure out how to best help you.

Help.

“You know you don’t have to do this alone, beautiful.” You were pulled back towards him, turning on your heel so you didn’t fall, but you still stumbled into him. Chest to chest with him with the tips of your ears burning from embarrassment. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I don’t need help.” The response came out of you like a knee-jerk reaction. Your words were a bit crueler than you intended them to be.

He only raised an amused eyebrow at you, bringing a hand up to smooth your hair down. “I saw the list. You need a little help.”

His chuckle made your jaw clench. Venom swimming in your veins ready to come out. Did he think it was funny to look down at you? He probably thought you couldn’t do it either. Why-

“My stubborn, stubborn girl…” You barely heard him with his voice so gentle, but his lips on your forehead quelled the darker thoughts for the moment. “Let me help you.”

Stubbornly you shook your head again. Takashi only brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek with such care. As if he were handling a porcelain doll with hairline cracks hidden just under the surface.

“I got some free time, let me help you.”

“I can do it.” You whispered.

“I know you can, but it doesn’t mean you should.”

Before you could say another word, he leaned down to slot his mouth against yours. Your responding hum was immediate from the action. Eyes fluttering shut while his lips molded with yours, moving in sync and parting with the slightest push of his tongue against them. It was futile to attempt any form of dominance with this man, but you were stubborn to a fault, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give him some form of pushback. It was one of the many things he loved about you, after all. Your tongue battled his for dominance, only needing the pressure of his hand that had held your wrist to make its way behind you push against the small of your back with just enough pressure to have you arching into him.

Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours, it seemed. Just you and him in the middle of your office space that was once drowned out by the dark clouds of your anxiety and fear. Now filled with the familiar warmth and peace that seemed to always follow him. Filling your mind with a distracting haze, the smell of his deodorant and shampoo overwhelmed your senses. He pulled back from you, eyes locked on the string of saliva that still connected you two until you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip to disconnect it.

“I can help you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled; a bit more audible now that he was a bit more awake. “Wouldn’t it be easier with two more hands though?”

“Do I have a choice?” You cocked your head to the side with mock curiosity. You knew Takashi, which means that you knew the answer to this already.

It was his turn to shake his head now. “No.” He let out a deep sigh. “We’ll tackle this in the morning though.”

“It’s already morning, Taka.” You quipped.

That made him roll his eyes. “Later in the morning. After you’ve gotten some actual sleep.”

“But-”

Another kiss pressed to your lips, this time to silence you.

“Don’t be a brat.” He murmured against your lips.

A smile tugged on the corner of your lips, but you didn’t argue this time. This time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Forehead pressed to yours with his eyes still closed. The comfort of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. It was something you simultaneously knew you could never live without yet didn’t realize it was exactly what you needed right now. Lethargy crashed into you immediately when he loosened his hold on you. The clock was usually striking 5 AM when you would make your way to bed to then wake up an hour later. This time there was no fight left in you as he led you to the bedroom, helping you out of your jeans while pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Tongue darting out to lick over the spots he would nip at to soothe the sharp sting from his teeth. Your breathing became shallow the lower he got, kicking off your pants where they pooled at your ankles. This desire that made your stomach curl only grew the lower he traveled. The calloused pads of his fingers graze up the sides of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Let’s get to bed.” He smirked against the apex of your neck, leaving one more chaste kiss before pulling away. “’M tired.”

“You’re an asshole, is what you are.”

You tried to stifle a yawn, but he still caught it, opting to not say anything, but still shooting you a knowing smirk before climbing into bed. For a moment it felt like all you could do was stare in shock at him, lying comfortably in bed with an arm behind his head. He was waiting for you, and that knowledge was enough to have you crawling into the comfort of your shared bed with him. He only hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the covers over you both before comfortably pulling you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.

All was quiet for the moment. No crickets, no computer fans, no racing thoughts. Just peace and silence. The peace you had craved so desperately lately.

After a few minutes of silence, Mitsuya shifted his head down to kiss your cheek. Nudging your chin with his index finger to make you look up and catch his lips with yours in slow, lazy kisses. Soft sighs and sleepy giggles between kisses; whispered “I love you”s that were never spoken aloud but portrayed through subtle actions. An arm around your waist to keep you against him. The two of you sharing the same small smile with each other before settling yourselves back to let sleep take you under.

“What’s on your mind, pretty?”

Your eyes were already heavy from the surrounding peace stripping you of the adrenaline that kept you moving. Your muddled mind was already struggling to process his words.

“Nothin’.” For once, you weren’t lying. All you wanted to do was fall asleep in your partner’s arms. When was the last time you had laid with him like this?

“You sure?” Something about his gravelly voice whispering low above you filled you with a comfortable warmth. “If you wanna talk-”

“I think I want to sleep now.” You breathed in his scent, letting it lull you further into the promise of a dreamless slumber. “’S 3 o'clock in the morning.”

A steady rhythm thumping through your headphones drowned out the world around you – pulling you into a bubble of solitude. A soft breeze blew through the room, coming in from the window you had cracked open earlier. Occasionally, your head would roll back when you stretched your arms over your head, and a sigh of relief would escape you, feeling the small pops between your shoulder blades from the action. The silence of the night would have unnerved you had you given it even a second of attention, but you barely registered the hum of your laptop fan running in the brief silence between songs. Shaking your head, you blinked a few times to clear your vision before letting your eyes scan over the page before you.

Your eclectic taste in music showed now more than ever in how your playlist would jump from the sound of waves crashing against the beachfront shore to some poppy tune you heard somewhere online. There was no method to your madness, but it got the work done as you continued to check off task by task on the list. Each checkmark urged you onward in your goal despite the edges of your vision darkening slightly as your exhaustion finally began to wash over you.

Should you have gone to bed hours ago when your boyfriend asked you to? Probably. Would you regret staying up late to get some work done? Absolutely. When he had asked you, though, sleep hadn’t yet sunk its fangs into you then, and you had made the mistake of glancing over to the notebook on your desk with two ever-growing lists of things you needed to get done. So, of course, your only thought was that it wouldn’t complete itself, and you had promised him you would join him in bed after a few minutes.

You almost didn’t want to take off the full-screen mode you were in to check how long ago that was…

A deep bass vibrated through your eardrums, startling you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously started to bounce along to the pace it set as you sat up straight again. In a way, you lived for nights like these when you could lose yourself to the music and let the words flow through your fingers to the keyboard with a movement so effortless it almost seemed natural. Occasionally, you would lean back in your chair and tap your nails against the desk’s wooden surface, trying to recover the train of thought that would briefly derail before jumping back into your work.

The white light from your monitor was the only thing illuminating you or any other part of your desk, allowing your eyes to dart back and forth between the screen and a scratch sheet filled with the messy scribbles that were your notes when sleep made your mind wander and lose its momentum. That thread of inspiration would come back to you, though, and the clicking of keys would begin anew. It was filling the silence of the room around you with the muttered utterance of its words that only those who received the results would read.

At one point, the song changed to an old track from your childhood and brought you to a pause again. The pads of your fingers rested against the smooth keyboard for a second before sliding over two, three, four keys in a row and ultimately sliding off the keyboard altogether. The spark had disappeared, filled instead with gnawing dread that clawed at the center of your chest. An ache centered around memories brought about by the song that played. A part of you wanted to change it, but instead, you let your eyes slip close as the memories washed over you.

A shallow sigh of a laugh forced its way out of you as the song played. Remembering your childhood dreams of how you thought your life would end – a comfortable home with just enough space for the things you loved, a comfortable job, a loving partner…

You could feel your muscles relaxing slowly the further entranced you became with the song. It should have given you a sense of accomplishment knowing that you achieved two of your primary goals in life. Instead, there was an ache in the back of your throat with the sour taste of bile forcing you back upright. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your nose scrunched up in frustration.

Another list left unfinished.

Suddenly, you felt your left headphone plucked out of your ear, and your heart raced into overdrive almost painfully in your chest. You hadn’t even realized that someone had entered your office – didn’t feel the vibration of footsteps against the hardwood floor beneath you.

“It’s 3 AM…”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what surprised you more, the headphone taken out of your ear or the low timbre of a male’s voice rumbling next to it in place of the music. Either way, your body went tense and jerked away from them in immediate response; the movement was so sudden you almost fell out of the chair had it not been for the other person’s quick reflexes. Calloused fingers tightly wrapped around your upper arm when the person reacted, only loosening when they were sure you were safely seated again.

Turning your head to look up at the intruder, you let out a deep sigh of relief and felt your body begin to relax almost instantly. Your lips parted to greet him, but no words came out. So, you smiled up at your boyfriend, a tired half-smile that almost matched his amused one with which he looked down at you with. There were soft shadows under his half-lidded eyes from his own long nights at work that the blue light of your computer put on full display for your tired eyes to see.

“You scared me, Taka,” you finally said while he held your earbud away. The shrill guitar solo of the song that had just started was distant now.

Heat crept up your neck to paint your cheeks with a soft blush of embarrassment. A burglar would never take your headphones out and alert you of their presence like this – and the fact that you thought otherwise made you feel silly.

“It’s 3 o'clock in the morning, love.”

His voice was so soft, still heavy with sleep, as if something had woken him and compelled him to find you. He spoke clearly despite the slow drawl to his words. Still, your brain took longer than it should have to process what he said – focused instead on how his black and purple hair was mussed in the back from obvious tossing and turning. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in his lavender eyes, letting your body relax further as you unconsciously leaned toward him for extra warmth – the chill in the room suddenly more noticeable than before now that your attention wasn’t focused on a singular task. Mitsuya chuckled, watching the exact moment his words finally clicked in your mind. Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to your computer and scrambled to minimize the window you had pulled up to finally look at your clock.

“Huh…”

Takashi raised an eyebrow at you, but you merely slumped back in your chair. Eyebrows furrowed together in thought, and your bottom lip poked out in a slight pout. He knew that the endless deadlines had started to weigh on your mind, haunting you the closer they got, but he didn’t expect you to lose track of time this way.

“Didn’t realize the time.” You mumbled more to yourself than to him.

Eyes focused on the flashing cursor on the document you had minimized down to a windowed screen. It sat precisely where you left it, in a box halfway down the paper you were finalizing for work. Another cold chill ran down your spine, forcing your shoulders to jerk up in an almost shrugging motion that you knew had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with your once calm nerves, which were beginning to fray at the ends again. Slivers of panic creeping into your mind once more and bringing your focus back to where it was before he had come in.

“Gimme another hour, ‘kay?”

Keeping your eyes on the computer in front of you, you straighten your posture and reach out with your free hand for the earbud he had taken from you. He held it just far enough away that it threatened to pull the other earbud from you too as you leaned over until you felt like you would fall out of your chair again. You glared up at him, but he only smiled down at you knowingly. The corners of your eyes prickled with the threat of tears from the sudden yawn you had to stifle back.

“Give it back.” You demanded; hand still outstretched toward him.

The combination of fatigue suddenly starting to wrap its hands around your throat and the stubbornness of your partner’s actions at this moment had irritation seeping into your veins as he continued to silently refuse. You could feel the weight on your chest pushing further down on you as if it was trying to crush you into the ground. The panic and mental exhaustion you had been trying to push away for weeks came back full force to slap you across the face. Something had Mitsuya crouching down so he was at eye level with you.

“Love.”

The low rumble of his sleep-laden voice and the hooded look he gave you put you at unease. What was he seeing when his soft lavender eyes looked at you? Did he see the exhaustion finally taking hold of you after weeks of pushing it back? Did he notice your silent plea for help that your pride forced you to swallow with your dismissive smiles and soft words of assurance that you were fine?

He turned his head toward your notebook and the extensive to-do list you had written there and let out a low whistle. “Did this get bigger since yesterday?”

His question pulled your thoughts from their spinning track of anxiety. You didn’t need to look at it to know what he saw. Countless little activities that demanded your attention with deadlines written down for many of them in bright red – deadlines that seemed to be racing at you faster than you could manage.

“Shit, I thought you were making progress on this.”

That was it. That was the line that broke through the cracks in your wall. You hated the single choked sob that escaped you so suddenly. Hated the tears you could no longer hold back. Your cheeks now wet with the salty liquid steadily streaming from your eyes.

That stupid little paper with every stupid little task you needed to get done written in black ink. Perfectly written in your best handwriting that pleased your hamster brain with its small, simple strokes. It was your main method of staying organized, giving you a strong sense of accomplishment every time you could cross an item off with your red pen. Normally when you make a new list for the month you could get through it within the week. You were no stranger to adding to it, of course, but this month had hit you with so many deadlines and activities that you felt like you were barely holding on by a thread these days. There was something about the way Takashi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked over the remaining items on your neatly made paper that compelled you to rip the single headphone from your ear and toss it to the table in front of you in frustration.

“Don’t worry about it, Taka.” You muttered in defeat, looking down to hide your shame from his prying eyes. 

It was borderline painful to hear the haunting words of your parents come back to the forefront of your mind.

‘Lazy!’

‘You’ll never accomplish anything like this.’

‘Why can’t you just do what needs to be done?’

‘If you didn’t waste so much time, you’d be done already.’

‘This is why you keep failing.’

Failing. That was the word that stood out to you more than anything else. You couldn’t finish your list on time, not for lack of trying, and the crushing feeling of disappointment and failure was burning through your lungs. Scraping at your throat and preventing you from speaking the words that you wanted to say. Stopping you from asking for the help you desperately needed.

You took out the other headphone from your ear and tossed it on the desk before standing up from your chair, you didn’t look at where he was still crouched next to you. Eyes pinned on the door instead. “Let’s just go to bed and I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

The quiet rustling of his sweatpants when he stood up was the only indication you got of his movement. “Do you need help?” There was a lump in your throat, choking you, keeping you from replying. So, you shook your head, your pride too strong to give the answer you wanted anyways. “Do you want my help?”

“I want to go to bed…” You winced at the crack in your voice when you spoke.

You just needed to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot-

Takashi’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Still, you didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at you with concern. His soft lips parted slightly, ready to speak even when he didn’t know yet what to say. Sleep was probably the last thing on his mind right now, pushed away by the concern he felt for you and your mental health. His thoughts racing around and around, trying to figure out how to best help you.

Help.

“You know you don’t have to do this alone, beautiful.” You were pulled back towards him, turning on your heel so you didn’t fall, but you still stumbled into him. Chest to chest with him with the tips of your ears burning from embarrassment. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I don’t need help.” The response came out of you like a knee-jerk reaction. Your words were a bit crueler than you intended them to be.

He only raised an amused eyebrow at you, bringing a hand up to smooth your hair down. “I saw the list. You need a little help.”

His chuckle made your jaw clench. Venom swimming in your veins ready to come out. Did he think it was funny to look down at you? He probably thought you couldn’t do it either. Why-

“My stubborn, stubborn girl…” You barely heard him with his voice so gentle, but his lips on your forehead quelled the darker thoughts for the moment. “Let me help you.”

Stubbornly you shook your head again. Takashi only brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek with such care. As if he were handling a porcelain doll with hairline cracks hidden just under the surface.

“I got some free time, let me help you.”

“I can do it.” You whispered.

“I know you can, but it doesn’t mean you should.”

Before you could say another word, he leaned down to slot his mouth against yours. Your responding hum was immediate from the action. Eyes fluttering shut while his lips molded with yours, moving in sync and parting with the slightest push of his tongue against them. It was futile to attempt any form of dominance with this man, but you were stubborn to a fault, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give him some form of pushback. It was one of the many things he loved about you, after all. Your tongue battled his for dominance, only needing the pressure of his hand that had held your wrist to make its way behind you push against the small of your back with just enough pressure to have you arching into him.

Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours, it seemed. Just you and him in the middle of your office space that was once drowned out by the dark clouds of your anxiety and fear. Now filled with the familiar warmth and peace that seemed to always follow him. Filling your mind with a distracting haze, the smell of his deodorant and shampoo overwhelmed your senses. He pulled back from you, eyes locked on the string of saliva that still connected you two until you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip to disconnect it.

“I can help you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled; a bit more audible now that he was a bit more awake. “Wouldn’t it be easier with two more hands though?”

“Do I have a choice?” You cocked your head to the side with mock curiosity. You knew Takashi, which means that you knew the answer to this already.

It was his turn to shake his head now. “No.” He let out a deep sigh. “We’ll tackle this in the morning though.”

“It’s already morning, Taka.” You quipped.

That made him roll his eyes. “Later in the morning. After you’ve gotten some actual sleep.”

“But-”

Another kiss pressed to your lips, this time to silence you.

“Don’t be a brat.” He murmured against your lips.

A smile tugged on the corner of your lips, but you didn’t argue this time. This time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Forehead pressed to yours with his eyes still closed. The comfort of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. It was something you simultaneously knew you could never live without yet didn’t realize it was exactly what you needed right now. Lethargy crashed into you immediately when he loosened his hold on you. The clock was usually striking 5 AM when you would make your way to bed to then wake up an hour later. This time there was no fight left in you as he led you to the bedroom, helping you out of your jeans while pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Tongue darting out to lick over the spots he would nip at to soothe the sharp sting from his teeth. Your breathing became shallow the lower he got, kicking off your pants where they pooled at your ankles. This desire that made your stomach curl only grew the lower he traveled. The calloused pads of his fingers graze up the sides of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Let’s get to bed.” He smirked against the apex of your neck, leaving one more chaste kiss before pulling away. “’M tired.”

“You’re an asshole, is what you are.”

You tried to stifle a yawn, but he still caught it, opting to not say anything, but still shooting you a knowing smirk before climbing into bed. For a moment it felt like all you could do was stare in shock at him, lying comfortably in bed with an arm behind his head. He was waiting for you, and that knowledge was enough to have you crawling into the comfort of your shared bed with him. He only hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the covers over you both before comfortably pulling you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.

All was quiet for the moment. No crickets, no computer fans, no racing thoughts. Just peace and silence. The peace you had craved so desperately lately.

After a few minutes of silence, Mitsuya shifted his head down to kiss your cheek. Nudging your chin with his index finger to make you look up and catch his lips with yours in slow, lazy kisses. Soft sighs and sleepy giggles between kisses; whispered “I love you”s that were never spoken aloud but portrayed through subtle actions. An arm around your waist to keep you against him. The two of you sharing the same small smile with each other before settling yourselves back to let sleep take you under.

“What’s on your mind, pretty?”

Your eyes were already heavy from the surrounding peace stripping you of the adrenaline that kept you moving. Your muddled mind was already struggling to process his words.

“Nothin’.” For once, you weren’t lying. All you wanted to do was fall asleep in your partner’s arms. When was the last time you had laid with him like this?

“You sure?” Something about his gravelly voice whispering low above you filled you with a comfortable warmth. “If you wanna talk-”

“I think I want to sleep now.” You breathed in his scent, letting it lull you further into the promise of a dreamless slumber. “’S 3 o'clock in the morning.”

A steady rhythm thumping through your headphones drowned out the world around you – pulling you into a bubble of solitude. A soft breeze blew through the room, coming in from the window you had cracked open earlier. Occasionally, your head would roll back when you stretched your arms over your head, and a sigh of relief would escape you, feeling the small pops between your shoulder blades from the action. The silence of the night would have unnerved you had you given it even a second of attention, but you barely registered the hum of your laptop fan running in the brief silence between songs. Shaking your head, you blinked a few times to clear your vision before letting your eyes scan over the page before you.

Your eclectic taste in music showed now more than ever in how your playlist would jump from the sound of waves crashing against the beachfront shore to some poppy tune you heard somewhere online. There was no method to your madness, but it got the work done as you continued to check off task by task on the list. Each checkmark urged you onward in your goal despite the edges of your vision darkening slightly as your exhaustion finally began to wash over you.

Should you have gone to bed hours ago when your boyfriend asked you to? Probably. Would you regret staying up late to get some work done? Absolutely. When he had asked you, though, sleep hadn’t yet sunk its fangs into you then, and you had made the mistake of glancing over to the notebook on your desk with two ever-growing lists of things you needed to get done. So, of course, your only thought was that it wouldn’t complete itself, and you had promised him you would join him in bed after a few minutes.

You almost didn’t want to take off the full-screen mode you were in to check how long ago that was…

A deep bass vibrated through your eardrums, startling you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously started to bounce along to the pace it set as you sat up straight again. In a way, you lived for nights like these when you could lose yourself to the music and let the words flow through your fingers to the keyboard with a movement so effortless it almost seemed natural. Occasionally, you would lean back in your chair and tap your nails against the desk’s wooden surface, trying to recover the train of thought that would briefly derail before jumping back into your work.

The white light from your monitor was the only thing illuminating you or any other part of your desk, allowing your eyes to dart back and forth between the screen and a scratch sheet filled with the messy scribbles that were your notes when sleep made your mind wander and lose its momentum. That thread of inspiration would come back to you, though, and the clicking of keys would begin anew. It was filling the silence of the room around you with the muttered utterance of its words that only those who received the results would read.

At one point, the song changed to an old track from your childhood and brought you to a pause again. The pads of your fingers rested against the smooth keyboard for a second before sliding over two, three, four keys in a row and ultimately sliding off the keyboard altogether. The spark had disappeared, filled instead with gnawing dread that clawed at the center of your chest. An ache centered around memories brought about by the song that played. A part of you wanted to change it, but instead, you let your eyes slip close as the memories washed over you.

A shallow sigh of a laugh forced its way out of you as the song played. Remembering your childhood dreams of how you thought your life would end – a comfortable home with just enough space for the things you loved, a comfortable job, a loving partner…

You could feel your muscles relaxing slowly the further entranced you became with the song. It should have given you a sense of accomplishment knowing that you achieved two of your primary goals in life. Instead, there was an ache in the back of your throat with the sour taste of bile forcing you back upright. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your nose scrunched up in frustration.

Another list left unfinished.

Suddenly, you felt your left headphone plucked out of your ear, and your heart raced into overdrive almost painfully in your chest. You hadn’t even realized that someone had entered your office – didn’t feel the vibration of footsteps against the hardwood floor beneath you.

“It’s 3 AM…”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what surprised you more, the headphone taken out of your ear or the low timbre of a male’s voice rumbling next to it in place of the music. Either way, your body went tense and jerked away from them in immediate response; the movement was so sudden you almost fell out of the chair had it not been for the other person’s quick reflexes. Calloused fingers tightly wrapped around your upper arm when the person reacted, only loosening when they were sure you were safely seated again.

Turning your head to look up at the intruder, you let out a deep sigh of relief and felt your body begin to relax almost instantly. Your lips parted to greet him, but no words came out. So, you smiled up at your boyfriend, a tired half-smile that almost matched his amused one with which he looked down at you with. There were soft shadows under his half-lidded eyes from his own long nights at work that the blue light of your computer put on full display for your tired eyes to see.

“You scared me, Taka,” you finally said while he held your earbud away. The shrill guitar solo of the song that had just started was distant now.

Heat crept up your neck to paint your cheeks with a soft blush of embarrassment. A burglar would never take your headphones out and alert you of their presence like this – and the fact that you thought otherwise made you feel silly.

“It’s 3 o'clock in the morning, love.”

His voice was so soft, still heavy with sleep, as if something had woken him and compelled him to find you. He spoke clearly despite the slow drawl to his words. Still, your brain took longer than it should have to process what he said – focused instead on how his black and purple hair was mussed in the back from obvious tossing and turning. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in his lavender eyes, letting your body relax further as you unconsciously leaned toward him for extra warmth – the chill in the room suddenly more noticeable than before now that your attention wasn’t focused on a singular task. Mitsuya chuckled, watching the exact moment his words finally clicked in your mind. Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to your computer and scrambled to minimize the window you had pulled up to finally look at your clock.

“Huh…”

Takashi raised an eyebrow at you, but you merely slumped back in your chair. Eyebrows furrowed together in thought, and your bottom lip poked out in a slight pout. He knew that the endless deadlines had started to weigh on your mind, haunting you the closer they got, but he didn’t expect you to lose track of time this way.

“Didn’t realize the time.” You mumbled more to yourself than to him.

Eyes focused on the flashing cursor on the document you had minimized down to a windowed screen. It sat precisely where you left it, in a box halfway down the paper you were finalizing for work. Another cold chill ran down your spine, forcing your shoulders to jerk up in an almost shrugging motion that you knew had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with your once calm nerves, which were beginning to fray at the ends again. Slivers of panic creeping into your mind once more and bringing your focus back to where it was before he had come in.

“Gimme another hour, ‘kay?”

Keeping your eyes on the computer in front of you, you straighten your posture and reach out with your free hand for the earbud he had taken from you. He held it just far enough away that it threatened to pull the other earbud from you too as you leaned over until you felt like you would fall out of your chair again. You glared up at him, but he only smiled down at you knowingly. The corners of your eyes prickled with the threat of tears from the sudden yawn you had to stifle back.

“Give it back.” You demanded; hand still outstretched toward him.

The combination of fatigue suddenly starting to wrap its hands around your throat and the stubbornness of your partner’s actions at this moment had irritation seeping into your veins as he continued to silently refuse. You could feel the weight on your chest pushing further down on you as if it was trying to crush you into the ground. The panic and mental exhaustion you had been trying to push away for weeks came back full force to slap you across the face. Something had Mitsuya crouching down so he was at eye level with you.

“Love.”

The low rumble of his sleep-laden voice and the hooded look he gave you put you at unease. What was he seeing when his soft lavender eyes looked at you? Did he see the exhaustion finally taking hold of you after weeks of pushing it back? Did he notice your silent plea for help that your pride forced you to swallow with your dismissive smiles and soft words of assurance that you were fine?

He turned his head toward your notebook and the extensive to-do list you had written there and let out a low whistle. “Did this get bigger since yesterday?”

His question pulled your thoughts from their spinning track of anxiety. You didn’t need to look at it to know what he saw. Countless little activities that demanded your attention with deadlines written down for many of them in bright red – deadlines that seemed to be racing at you faster than you could manage.

“Shit, I thought you were making progress on this.”

That was it. That was the line that broke through the cracks in your wall. You hated the single choked sob that escaped you so suddenly. Hated the tears you could no longer hold back. Your cheeks now wet with the salty liquid steadily streaming from your eyes.

That stupid little paper with every stupid little task you needed to get done written in black ink. Perfectly written in your best handwriting that pleased your hamster brain with its small, simple strokes. It was your main method of staying organized, giving you a strong sense of accomplishment every time you could cross an item off with your red pen. Normally when you make a new list for the month you could get through it within the week. You were no stranger to adding to it, of course, but this month had hit you with so many deadlines and activities that you felt like you were barely holding on by a thread these days. There was something about the way Takashi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked over the remaining items on your neatly made paper that compelled you to rip the single headphone from your ear and toss it to the table in front of you in frustration.

“Don’t worry about it, Taka.” You muttered in defeat, looking down to hide your shame from his prying eyes. 

It was borderline painful to hear the haunting words of your parents come back to the forefront of your mind.

‘Lazy!’

‘You’ll never accomplish anything like this.’

‘Why can’t you just do what needs to be done?’

‘If you didn’t waste so much time, you’d be done already.’

‘This is why you keep failing.’

Failing. That was the word that stood out to you more than anything else. You couldn’t finish your list on time, not for lack of trying, and the crushing feeling of disappointment and failure was burning through your lungs. Scraping at your throat and preventing you from speaking the words that you wanted to say. Stopping you from asking for the help you desperately needed.

You took out the other headphone from your ear and tossed it on the desk before standing up from your chair, you didn’t look at where he was still crouched next to you. Eyes pinned on the door instead. “Let’s just go to bed and I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

The quiet rustling of his sweatpants when he stood up was the only indication you got of his movement. “Do you need help?” There was a lump in your throat, choking you, keeping you from replying. So, you shook your head, your pride too strong to give the answer you wanted anyways. “Do you want my help?”

“I want to go to bed…” You winced at the crack in your voice when you spoke.

You just needed to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot-

Takashi’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Still, you didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at you with concern. His soft lips parted slightly, ready to speak even when he didn’t know yet what to say. Sleep was probably the last thing on his mind right now, pushed away by the concern he felt for you and your mental health. His thoughts racing around and around, trying to figure out how to best help you.

Help.

“You know you don’t have to do this alone, beautiful.” You were pulled back towards him, turning on your heel so you didn’t fall, but you still stumbled into him. Chest to chest with him with the tips of your ears burning from embarrassment. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I don’t need help.” The response came out of you like a knee-jerk reaction. Your words were a bit crueler than you intended them to be.

He only raised an amused eyebrow at you, bringing a hand up to smooth your hair down. “I saw the list. You need a little help.”

His chuckle made your jaw clench. Venom swimming in your veins ready to come out. Did he think it was funny to look down at you? He probably thought you couldn’t do it either. Why-

“My stubborn, stubborn girl…” You barely heard him with his voice so gentle, but his lips on your forehead quelled the darker thoughts for the moment. “Let me help you.”

Stubbornly you shook your head again. Takashi only brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek with such care. As if he were handling a porcelain doll with hairline cracks hidden just under the surface.

“I got some free time, let me help you.”

“I can do it.” You whispered.

“I know you can, but it doesn’t mean you should.”

Before you could say another word, he leaned down to slot his mouth against yours. Your responding hum was immediate from the action. Eyes fluttering shut while his lips molded with yours, moving in sync and parting with the slightest push of his tongue against them. It was futile to attempt any form of dominance with this man, but you were stubborn to a fault, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give him some form of pushback. It was one of the many things he loved about you, after all. Your tongue battled his for dominance, only needing the pressure of his hand that had held your wrist to make its way behind you push against the small of your back with just enough pressure to have you arching into him.

Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours, it seemed. Just you and him in the middle of your office space that was once drowned out by the dark clouds of your anxiety and fear. Now filled with the familiar warmth and peace that seemed to always follow him. Filling your mind with a distracting haze, the smell of his deodorant and shampoo overwhelmed your senses. He pulled back from you, eyes locked on the string of saliva that still connected you two until you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip to disconnect it.

“I can help you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled; a bit more audible now that he was a bit more awake. “Wouldn’t it be easier with two more hands though?”

“Do I have a choice?” You cocked your head to the side with mock curiosity. You knew Takashi, which means that you knew the answer to this already.

It was his turn to shake his head now. “No.” He let out a deep sigh. “We’ll tackle this in the morning though.”

“It’s already morning, Taka.” You quipped.

That made him roll his eyes. “Later in the morning. After you’ve gotten some actual sleep.”

“But-”

Another kiss pressed to your lips, this time to silence you.

“Don’t be a brat.” He murmured against your lips.

A smile tugged on the corner of your lips, but you didn’t argue this time. This time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Forehead pressed to yours with his eyes still closed. The comfort of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. It was something you simultaneously knew you could never live without yet didn’t realize it was exactly what you needed right now. Lethargy crashed into you immediately when he loosened his hold on you. The clock was usually striking 5 AM when you would make your way to bed to then wake up an hour later. This time there was no fight left in you as he led you to the bedroom, helping you out of your jeans while pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Tongue darting out to lick over the spots he would nip at to soothe the sharp sting from his teeth. Your breathing became shallow the lower he got, kicking off your pants where they pooled at your ankles. This desire that made your stomach curl only grew the lower he traveled. The calloused pads of his fingers graze up the sides of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Let’s get to bed.” He smirked against the apex of your neck, leaving one more chaste kiss before pulling away. “’M tired.”

“You’re an asshole, is what you are.”

You tried to stifle a yawn, but he still caught it, opting to not say anything, but still shooting you a knowing smirk before climbing into bed. For a moment it felt like all you could do was stare in shock at him, lying comfortably in bed with an arm behind his head. He was waiting for you, and that knowledge was enough to have you crawling into the comfort of your shared bed with him. He only hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the covers over you both before comfortably pulling you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.

All was quiet for the moment. No crickets, no computer fans, no racing thoughts. Just peace and silence. The peace you had craved so desperately lately.

After a few minutes of silence, Mitsuya shifted his head down to kiss your cheek. Nudging your chin with his index finger to make you look up and catch his lips with yours in slow, lazy kisses. Soft sighs and sleepy giggles between kisses; whispered “I love you”s that were never spoken aloud but portrayed through subtle actions. An arm around your waist to keep you against him. The two of you sharing the same small smile with each other before settling yourselves back to let sleep take you under.

“What’s on your mind, pretty?”

Your eyes were already heavy from the surrounding peace stripping you of the adrenaline that kept you moving. Your muddled mind was already struggling to process his words.

“Nothin’.” For once, you weren’t lying. All you wanted to do was fall asleep in your partner’s arms. When was the last time you had laid with him like this?

“You sure?” Something about his gravelly voice whispering low above you filled you with a comfortable warmth. “If you wanna talk-”

“I think I want to sleep now.” You breathed in his scent, letting it lull you further into the promise of a dreamless slumber. “’S 3 o'clock in the morning.”

A steady rhythm thumping through your headphones drowned out the world around you – pulling you into a bubble of solitude. A soft breeze blew through the room, coming in from the window you had cracked open earlier. Occasionally, your head would roll back when you stretched your arms over your head, and a sigh of relief would escape you, feeling the small pops between your shoulder blades from the action. The silence of the night would have unnerved you had you given it even a second of attention, but you barely registered the hum of your laptop fan running in the brief silence between songs. Shaking your head, you blinked a few times to clear your vision before letting your eyes scan over the page before you.

Your eclectic taste in music showed now more than ever in how your playlist would jump from the sound of waves crashing against the beachfront shore to some poppy tune you heard somewhere online. There was no method to your madness, but it got the work done as you continued to check off task by task on the list. Each checkmark urged you onward in your goal despite the edges of your vision darkening slightly as your exhaustion finally began to wash over you.

Should you have gone to bed hours ago when your boyfriend asked you to? Probably. Would you regret staying up late to get some work done? Absolutely. When he had asked you, though, sleep hadn’t yet sunk its fangs into you then, and you had made the mistake of glancing over to the notebook on your desk with two ever-growing lists of things you needed to get done. So, of course, your only thought was that it wouldn’t complete itself, and you had promised him you would join him in bed after a few minutes.

You almost didn’t want to take off the full-screen mode you were in to check how long ago that was…

A deep bass vibrated through your eardrums, startling you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously started to bounce along to the pace it set as you sat up straight again. In a way, you lived for nights like these when you could lose yourself to the music and let the words flow through your fingers to the keyboard with a movement so effortless it almost seemed natural. Occasionally, you would lean back in your chair and tap your nails against the desk’s wooden surface, trying to recover the train of thought that would briefly derail before jumping back into your work.

The white light from your monitor was the only thing illuminating you or any other part of your desk, allowing your eyes to dart back and forth between the screen and a scratch sheet filled with the messy scribbles that were your notes when sleep made your mind wander and lose its momentum. That thread of inspiration would come back to you, though, and the clicking of keys would begin anew. It was filling the silence of the room around you with the muttered utterance of its words that only those who received the results would read.

At one point, the song changed to an old track from your childhood and brought you to a pause again. The pads of your fingers rested against the smooth keyboard for a second before sliding over two, three, four keys in a row and ultimately sliding off the keyboard altogether. The spark had disappeared, filled instead with gnawing dread that clawed at the center of your chest. An ache centered around memories brought about by the song that played. A part of you wanted to change it, but instead, you let your eyes slip close as the memories washed over you.

A shallow sigh of a laugh forced its way out of you as the song played. Remembering your childhood dreams of how you thought your life would end – a comfortable home with just enough space for the things you loved, a comfortable job, a loving partner…

You could feel your muscles relaxing slowly the further entranced you became with the song. It should have given you a sense of accomplishment knowing that you achieved two of your primary goals in life. Instead, there was an ache in the back of your throat with the sour taste of bile forcing you back upright. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your nose scrunched up in frustration.

Another list left unfinished.

Suddenly, you felt your left headphone plucked out of your ear, and your heart raced into overdrive almost painfully in your chest. You hadn’t even realized that someone had entered your office – didn’t feel the vibration of footsteps against the hardwood floor beneath you.

“It’s 3 AM…”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what surprised you more, the headphone taken out of your ear or the low timbre of a male’s voice rumbling next to it in place of the music. Either way, your body went tense and jerked away from them in immediate response; the movement was so sudden you almost fell out of the chair had it not been for the other person’s quick reflexes. Calloused fingers tightly wrapped around your upper arm when the person reacted, only loosening when they were sure you were safely seated again.

Turning your head to look up at the intruder, you let out a deep sigh of relief and felt your body begin to relax almost instantly. Your lips parted to greet him, but no words came out. So, you smiled up at your boyfriend, a tired half-smile that almost matched his amused one with which he looked down at you with. There were soft shadows under his half-lidded eyes from his own long nights at work that the blue light of your computer put on full display for your tired eyes to see.

“You scared me, Taka,” you finally said while he held your earbud away. The shrill guitar solo of the song that had just started was distant now.

Heat crept up your neck to paint your cheeks with a soft blush of embarrassment. A burglar would never take your headphones out and alert you of their presence like this – and the fact that you thought otherwise made you feel silly.

“It’s 3 o'clock in the morning, love.”

His voice was so soft, still heavy with sleep, as if something had woken him and compelled him to find you. He spoke clearly despite the slow drawl to his words. Still, your brain took longer than it should have to process what he said – focused instead on how his black and purple hair was mussed in the back from obvious tossing and turning. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in his lavender eyes, letting your body relax further as you unconsciously leaned toward him for extra warmth – the chill in the room suddenly more noticeable than before now that your attention wasn’t focused on a singular task. Mitsuya chuckled, watching the exact moment his words finally clicked in your mind. Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to your computer and scrambled to minimize the window you had pulled up to finally look at your clock.

“Huh…”

Takashi raised an eyebrow at you, but you merely slumped back in your chair. Eyebrows furrowed together in thought, and your bottom lip poked out in a slight pout. He knew that the endless deadlines had started to weigh on your mind, haunting you the closer they got, but he didn’t expect you to lose track of time this way.

“Didn’t realize the time.” You mumbled more to yourself than to him.

Eyes focused on the flashing cursor on the document you had minimized down to a windowed screen. It sat precisely where you left it, in a box halfway down the paper you were finalizing for work. Another cold chill ran down your spine, forcing your shoulders to jerk up in an almost shrugging motion that you knew had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with your once calm nerves, which were beginning to fray at the ends again. Slivers of panic creeping into your mind once more and bringing your focus back to where it was before he had come in.

“Gimme another hour, ‘kay?”

Keeping your eyes on the computer in front of you, you straighten your posture and reach out with your free hand for the earbud he had taken from you. He held it just far enough away that it threatened to pull the other earbud from you too as you leaned over until you felt like you would fall out of your chair again. You glared up at him, but he only smiled down at you knowingly. The corners of your eyes prickled with the threat of tears from the sudden yawn you had to stifle back.

“Give it back.” You demanded; hand still outstretched toward him.

The combination of fatigue suddenly starting to wrap its hands around your throat and the stubbornness of your partner’s actions at this moment had irritation seeping into your veins as he continued to silently refuse. You could feel the weight on your chest pushing further down on you as if it was trying to crush you into the ground. The panic and mental exhaustion you had been trying to push away for weeks came back full force to slap you across the face. Something had Mitsuya crouching down so he was at eye level with you.

“Love.”

The low rumble of his sleep-laden voice and the hooded look he gave you put you at unease. What was he seeing when his soft lavender eyes looked at you? Did he see the exhaustion finally taking hold of you after weeks of pushing it back? Did he notice your silent plea for help that your pride forced you to swallow with your dismissive smiles and soft words of assurance that you were fine?

He turned his head toward your notebook and the extensive to-do list you had written there and let out a low whistle. “Did this get bigger since yesterday?”

His question pulled your thoughts from their spinning track of anxiety. You didn’t need to look at it to know what he saw. Countless little activities that demanded your attention with deadlines written down for many of them in bright red – deadlines that seemed to be racing at you faster than you could manage.

“Shit, I thought you were making progress on this.”

That was it. That was the line that broke through the cracks in your wall. You hated the single choked sob that escaped you so suddenly. Hated the tears you could no longer hold back. Your cheeks now wet with the salty liquid steadily streaming from your eyes.

That stupid little paper with every stupid little task you needed to get done written in black ink. Perfectly written in your best handwriting that pleased your hamster brain with its small, simple strokes. It was your main method of staying organized, giving you a strong sense of accomplishment every time you could cross an item off with your red pen. Normally when you make a new list for the month you could get through it within the week. You were no stranger to adding to it, of course, but this month had hit you with so many deadlines and activities that you felt like you were barely holding on by a thread these days. There was something about the way Takashi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked over the remaining items on your neatly made paper that compelled you to rip the single headphone from your ear and toss it to the table in front of you in frustration.

“Don’t worry about it, Taka.” You muttered in defeat, looking down to hide your shame from his prying eyes. 

It was borderline painful to hear the haunting words of your parents come back to the forefront of your mind.

‘Lazy!’

‘You’ll never accomplish anything like this.’

‘Why can’t you just do what needs to be done?’

‘If you didn’t waste so much time, you’d be done already.’

‘This is why you keep failing.’

Failing. That was the word that stood out to you more than anything else. You couldn’t finish your list on time, not for lack of trying, and the crushing feeling of disappointment and failure was burning through your lungs. Scraping at your throat and preventing you from speaking the words that you wanted to say. Stopping you from asking for the help you desperately needed.

You took out the other headphone from your ear and tossed it on the desk before standing up from your chair, you didn’t look at where he was still crouched next to you. Eyes pinned on the door instead. “Let’s just go to bed and I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

The quiet rustling of his sweatpants when he stood up was the only indication you got of his movement. “Do you need help?” There was a lump in your throat, choking you, keeping you from replying. So, you shook your head, your pride too strong to give the answer you wanted anyways. “Do you want my help?”

“I want to go to bed…” You winced at the crack in your voice when you spoke.

You just needed to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot-

Takashi’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Still, you didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at you with concern. His soft lips parted slightly, ready to speak even when he didn’t know yet what to say. Sleep was probably the last thing on his mind right now, pushed away by the concern he felt for you and your mental health. His thoughts racing around and around, trying to figure out how to best help you.

Help.

“You know you don’t have to do this alone, beautiful.” You were pulled back towards him, turning on your heel so you didn’t fall, but you still stumbled into him. Chest to chest with him with the tips of your ears burning from embarrassment. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I don’t need help.” The response came out of you like a knee-jerk reaction. Your words were a bit crueler than you intended them to be.

He only raised an amused eyebrow at you, bringing a hand up to smooth your hair down. “I saw the list. You need a little help.”

His chuckle made your jaw clench. Venom swimming in your veins ready to come out. Did he think it was funny to look down at you? He probably thought you couldn’t do it either. Why-

“My stubborn, stubborn girl…” You barely heard him with his voice so gentle, but his lips on your forehead quelled the darker thoughts for the moment. “Let me help you.”

Stubbornly you shook your head again. Takashi only brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek with such care. As if he were handling a porcelain doll with hairline cracks hidden just under the surface.

“I got some free time, let me help you.”

“I can do it.” You whispered.

“I know you can, but it doesn’t mean you should.”

Before you could say another word, he leaned down to slot his mouth against yours. Your responding hum was immediate from the action. Eyes fluttering shut while his lips molded with yours, moving in sync and parting with the slightest push of his tongue against them. It was futile to attempt any form of dominance with this man, but you were stubborn to a fault, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give him some form of pushback. It was one of the many things he loved about you, after all. Your tongue battled his for dominance, only needing the pressure of his hand that had held your wrist to make its way behind you push against the small of your back with just enough pressure to have you arching into him.

Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours, it seemed. Just you and him in the middle of your office space that was once drowned out by the dark clouds of your anxiety and fear. Now filled with the familiar warmth and peace that seemed to always follow him. Filling your mind with a distracting haze, the smell of his deodorant and shampoo overwhelmed your senses. He pulled back from you, eyes locked on the string of saliva that still connected you two until you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip to disconnect it.

“I can help you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled; a bit more audible now that he was a bit more awake. “Wouldn’t it be easier with two more hands though?”

“Do I have a choice?” You cocked your head to the side with mock curiosity. You knew Takashi, which means that you knew the answer to this already.

It was his turn to shake his head now. “No.” He let out a deep sigh. “We’ll tackle this in the morning though.”

“It’s already morning, Taka.” You quipped.

That made him roll his eyes. “Later in the morning. After you’ve gotten some actual sleep.”

“But-”

Another kiss pressed to your lips, this time to silence you.

“Don’t be a brat.” He murmured against your lips.

A smile tugged on the corner of your lips, but you didn’t argue this time. This time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Forehead pressed to yours with his eyes still closed. The comfort of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. It was something you simultaneously knew you could never live without yet didn’t realize it was exactly what you needed right now. Lethargy crashed into you immediately when he loosened his hold on you. The clock was usually striking 5 AM when you would make your way to bed to then wake up an hour later. This time there was no fight left in you as he led you to the bedroom, helping you out of your jeans while pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Tongue darting out to lick over the spots he would nip at to soothe the sharp sting from his teeth. Your breathing became shallow the lower he got, kicking off your pants where they pooled at your ankles. This desire that made your stomach curl only grew the lower he traveled. The calloused pads of his fingers graze up the sides of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Let’s get to bed.” He smirked against the apex of your neck, leaving one more chaste kiss before pulling away. “’M tired.”

“You’re an asshole, is what you are.”

You tried to stifle a yawn, but he still caught it, opting to not say anything, but still shooting you a knowing smirk before climbing into bed. For a moment it felt like all you could do was stare in shock at him, lying comfortably in bed with an arm behind his head. He was waiting for you, and that knowledge was enough to have you crawling into the comfort of your shared bed with him. He only hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the covers over you both before comfortably pulling you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.

All was quiet for the moment. No crickets, no computer fans, no racing thoughts. Just peace and silence. The peace you had craved so desperately lately.

After a few minutes of silence, Mitsuya shifted his head down to kiss your cheek. Nudging your chin with his index finger to make you look up and catch his lips with yours in slow, lazy kisses. Soft sighs and sleepy giggles between kisses; whispered “I love you”s that were never spoken aloud but portrayed through subtle actions. An arm around your waist to keep you against him. The two of you sharing the same small smile with each other before settling yourselves back to let sleep take you under.

“What’s on your mind, pretty?”

Your eyes were already heavy from the surrounding peace stripping you of the adrenaline that kept you moving. Your muddled mind was already struggling to process his words.

“Nothin’.” For once, you weren’t lying. All you wanted to do was fall asleep in your partner’s arms. When was the last time you had laid with him like this?

“You sure?” Something about his gravelly voice whispering low above you filled you with a comfortable warmth. “If you wanna talk-”

“I think I want to sleep now.” You breathed in his scent, letting it lull you further into the promise of a dreamless slumber. “’S 3 o'clock in the morning.”

© wonderland-journals || All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarize or translate my work on other platforms without my permission.

[asvterias]

𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖶𝖺𝗌 𝖶𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝖨𝗍 ~ 𝖲𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗂 𝖴𝖽𝖺𝗄𝗎

Sthandwa Sami (Xhosa) = my love

Warnings: Mentions of Teen Pregnancy, Sexual Innuendos, Threat Mentions, Toxic Relationship between Reader & Jamal

Pairings: Girlfriend!Shuri x Black!Girlfriend!Reader, Mom!Reader x Son!Kayden x Daughter!Karina

Summary: Finally getting her life back on track, Shuri moves to Haiti away from Wakanda to rediscover herself. Maybe, she’ll meet a certain someone who adds more spark to her life.

Word Count: 3.2k+

Author’s Note: Reader is 23 and she had her kids at 16, making them 7 years old. Kinda dedicated to my fav Shuri writers for giving me this huge inspiration with all of their amazing stories. I also suck at kissing scenes.

Tag List: @m1s41ly @aokoaoi @haechvn @axailslink @shuriss1utt @fentibeauty @shurishoe @shuris-whore @creamecafe @shuriswifey @shuriswifeyy @szalipcombo @prettyluhlaiiii @blackhottie25 @shuri-my-love @vargskelegore @camilaxmartin @d4ridi0rsworld @shuris-bbymama @chadwickswidowspeak @rayrayvan

The mixture of waves harshly crashing against the seashore and seagulls squawking from the skies drowned out Shuri’s sniffles as the warm breeze lightly wanders throughout her curls.

After finding out that she was not only a sister but also an aunt, her thoughts on the universe drastically changed once she realized that she wouldn’t have to grieve alone. Upon her brother’s passing and, currently, her mother’s recent passing broke her heart beyond pieces, and it was slowly rendering to its alignment.

Her eyes rested on the bonfire ahead of her, surveying the last bits of her funeral garments that furnished in the fire, transforming into black ashes. Breaking out into a tiny fit of giggles as she wiped away the runaway tears from her face.

All the weight on her shoulders was finally being lifted off and she felt like she can breathe again. Peace had managed to find a way into her heart once again.

Becoming an upcoming Queen was just going to bring back more unwanted stress that she simply just wanted to avoid. Of course, she’ll miss Wakanda, it was her homeland but from here on then, Haiti was her new home.

The waves brought her into a quiescent stupor as she admires the view in tranquility and astonishment. The ocean was her new getaway from time to time.

Music faintly played from the west side of the beach which caught Shuri’s ears but she didn’t pay any mind to it. The symphony gave her a soothing meditation to relaxation as she lets her eyes rest, swaying silently to the upbeat tune.

Being completely absorbed into her own world, the princess didn’t register when a shadow halted before her. However, when you gently tapped on her shoulder, it brought her out of a trance.

“Hey, you okay, you look like you’ve been through hell.” You softly speak, bending down slightly to the black woman.

Shaking her head in reassurance as a light-hearted chuckle erupts from her. “Trust me, you have no idea.” Shuri was finally healing and a stranger being sympathetic toward her wasn’t going to help. The stranger was only being kind to her and the princess shouldn’t chastise her for basic human decency.

She raised her head to look up at you, plastering on a charming smile, squinting her eyes a bit. “If it’s not a problem, I kinda wanna be alone right now.” Obligated to end the conversation with you, she spoke very dismissively, hoping you would take the hint and leave her be.

“Right, sorry for disturbing you.” You brushed her off with a firm head nod and got up to leave. But before you left, you stopped mid-track turning back towards her, “I’m over there,” pointing towards a horde of young kids, who seems to be playing numerous activities as her eyesight follows your finger.

“In case you wanted to chat. It looks like you need a friend.” You advised her before taking your leave.

As Shuri watches your figure in the distance become smaller, her lips transform into a tiny smile at the thought of your sincere words to her, despite never acknowledging her before. This was the kindest that a stranger had ever been so nice to her and she treasured it.

Shuri didn’t know you but you did know her. You were a close friend of Nakia and when T’Challa was around, the couple trusted you enough to tell you about the royal family and its members.

The princess was everything that you expected. Nothing more and absolutely nothing less. She was exceptionally stunning, both facial features and body physique, and that accent was….just so sexy.

When your body frame disappeared into the crowd of children, Shuri pondered on your kind suggestion, it was deemed healthy to create new friendships, so why not give it a shot?

Contemplating her decision, if she stayed alone it was eventually going to become tedious, and besides, you were allegedly interesting enough to spark up another conversation with.

Getting up from the log and dusting herself off, she strolled towards the west side of the beach to be met with a group of eager kids.

Shuri realized that you were nowhere to be seen and unknowingly a frown etched upon her face. A few children gathered around Shuri, curious about the newcomer’s whereabouts.

Amongst the children stood her nephew, Toussaint, and his vibrant smile catches onto his aunt’s. He swiftly ran up to her, tugging onto her hand and dragging her towards a cool shaded area. Without saying anything else, Touissant left the two to talk in private.

“I didn’t think that you would have taken up on my offer.” You persisted, chewing on the last of your watermelon.

“Well, I gave you the benefit of the doubt.” She chuckles lightly before pointing at the free chair, her eyebrows mildly arched. “Can I sit here?” You nodded, allowing her to sit on the lounge chair next to you. Once, she had planted herself in the chair, a cold icy pina colada was handed to her.

Taking the cold drink with a soft chuckle and radiant smile, “Cheers.” You delicately clinked your glasses together and began drinking the sweet cold cocktail.

“I’m Shuri.” She introduced herself.

“And I’m [name].” You greeted the girl beside you with a small grin. Soon enough, with you being an easy listener, Shuri gained the confidence to resume the conversation.

Toussaint had finished preparing a necklace for his new aunt and wanted to give her a welcome-home gift.

The neck jewelry consisted of shells with different varieties of shapes, colors, and sizes which were strung along by a thin piece of silver thread.

He got up from the table and ran towards his mother who was supervising the other children alongside a few other adults. “Hey, mama, can I give this to aunt Shuri? I made it just for her.” With a crooked smile, he dangled the handmade necklace in front of Nakia’s face.

“Of course, my son.” They headed to the secluded area where you and Shuri were currently occupying.

Nakia stopped her son with a halt of her hand. “Wait until later, your aunt appears to be busy at the moment.” The young boy follows his mother’s perception, landing on you and Shuri giggling at one of her jokes while snacking on daiquiris and watermelon.

The two seemed to be deeply engrossed in their conversation, simultaneously having inquiries for the other, recalling funny memories and whatnots.

It was only when Shuri removed her eyes from you, she spotted the young black boy staring intensely back at the duo. The princess beckoned her relative over with a vibrant grin and the boy staggers over to the two of you.

“Do you seem to be having a good time, aunty?” He asked his aunt, switching his eyesight between the two women in front of him, yearning to see who would reply first.

Locking her doe chestnut eyes adoringly reflecting on you, “I’m having a splendid time, to be exact.” Shuri beamed at her nephew who was mirroring a smile as well.

Nakia’s voice broke the calm atmosphere as she shouted at her son. “Toussaint, I told you to leave your aunt alone.”

Upon hearing his mother’s outburst, he slightly winced at the tone and began to rush off but, briefly, he stopped turning back around and tossed the necklace to Shuri to catch before sprinting off into the sea.

Both of you laugh at the boy’s antics, observing how well he blended in with the young children who were having a blast in the shallow water.

Adventurous and intelligent at a young age were definitely Shuri’s characteristics.

Maybe, moving to Haiti was the smartest thing that she’d ever done. Not that she’s admitting that tiny detail to anyone. Needless to say, T’Challa described Haiti as a home away from home, and he couldn’t have been more correct, the nostalgia was similar. The culture, food, and beliefs were all spectacular and unique.

Deep in thought, Shuri observed your mouth, drowning out your voice causing it to become unintelligible.

“Did you hear what I said, Shuri?” Bewildered by your sudden realization of her stupor and she quickly regains her composure trying to conceal her embarrassment after being caught. “Yeah, [name], I’m fine. What were you saying?”

You hum a smile as you finished your sentence and Shuri attentively complies, her countenance shows that she’s genuinely interested in whatever comes out of your mouth.

Yeah, the princess could surely get used to interacting with the alluring woman before her.

That was 7 ½ months ago and your friendship with the princess became stronger and more open. Even brought up the topic of your teen pregnancy nevertheless, Shuri accepted your rough teen years and even met the young ones.

Later on, the friendship developed into something better. Quite frankly, a romantic relationship in which, at the time, Shuri needed a friend, and you were exactly that to her but after spending hardcore intimacy with you, she knew that she had to make you hers.

Although you two were practically adults, you made Shuri promise to keep your relationship a secret from your children. It wasn’t for the wrong reasons at all. You deeply loved Shuri and wouldn’t want her to make her feel remorse for meeting you.

She was your sweet adoring girlfriend. Of course, you wanted to share that with your kids.

It’s just that…you’re worried that your twins are going to take it the wrong way. To say that you despised their father was a massive understatement, he disappeared when you told him and popped out of nowhere during their 1st birthday. Since you didn’t want to be viewed as the bad mother by your kids, you allowed Jamal to meet his kids.

Regardless of that matter at bay, you were at Nakia’s house in Shuri’s room doing some extracurricular activities. Nakia and Toussaint were out running errands and Shuri decided to seize the opportunity to an empty home, your girlfriend was always a brilliant one.

“You are truly breathtaking, my love.” Shuri pants, her head hitting the pillow as she slowly tries to regain her composure as beads of sweat cascade down her forehead. “And that was– how did you manage to even form that position?” For once in her life, she was puzzled. The smartest woman alive was clueless for the first time and science couldn’t have given her a reliable answer.

You smiled, snuggling farther into her warm embrace. “I took gymnastics since I was five, so it sticks with me.” Placing your head onto her chest as her fingers weaved through your knotless braids, content with you being closely in her arms.

“Ahhh…” The princess hums appreciatively. “My love, do you think that we have enough time to cuddle?” She questioned you, her eyes planted downward at you.

Looking up towards your sweet girlfriend, who has plastered on a cheeky smile, waiting for a response. “You’re in charge, aren’t you? Why don’t you tell me?” You smirked, and the lustful banter became unreleased, as you sultry moved from her waist and upward to her face.

You did know how to drive her crazy and, trust me, she loves it.

Raising her eyebrows in the query as she leaned in, her lips sweetly passionately greeted yours, just soft-hearted adoration, leaving zero space for hot pulsating desire.

Raising her eyebrows in the query as she leaned in, her lips sweetly passionately greeted yours, just soft-hearted adoration, leaving zero space for hot pulsating desire.

Just then, your phone rang interrupting your fervent makeout, causing Shuri to groan into the crook of your neck. “Just ignore it, sweetheart.” So you did and Shuri’s lips were back on yours without hesitation. Her hands were everywhere as they picked you up and adjusted you on her lap, the kiss becoming ravenous by the minute.

Even if you wanted to answer the call, your girlfriend was persistent about having you in her arms tonight, and how could you refuse that great opportunity?

Humming along to a random melody as you raked your fingers through her luxurious curls as your girlfriend listened intently to your heartbeat. These were the times that Shuri wish she could never stop if she ever had the power, just to freeze time and stay in the moment.

Your phone chirping up a message ruined the calmful aura, as you leaned over to grab your phone from the nightstand and read over the message. But glorious moments must always come to an end, don’t they all?

“That’s my sister, I have to go.” You frowned, irritated at your shortened quality time with her. Your girlfriend lets out a sigh of defeat as she begrudgingly removes herself from your loving embrace, watching you bounce off the bed and towards the mirror.

Soon enough, two arms slid sneakily around your waist and a chin is placed on your shoulder causing your frown to disperse into a warm smile of admiration for the girl in the mirror.

She knows your every weakness, and you knew hers. You two were a match made in heaven and Shuri wants everyone to know it as well.

“C’mon sthandwa sami, just stay for a little longer.” She persuades, littering your neck with wet kisses as her maze of curls tickles your cheeks. She knew damn well that neck kisses were your soft spot, but, surprisingly, you were stronger today and denied her advances, no matter how sexy and tempting they were.

“My sister has her date tonight so she can’t watch the kids, I’m sorry, baby.” You apologized, connecting her saddened eyes with your sorrowful beady ones, seeing her lips detached from your soft brown skin as her electrifying touch vanishes.

You had hardly seen your lover for the past few weeks due to your nosy ex always surprisingly showing on your doorstep with the same old excuse:

“I’m here for Kayden and Karina.”

It was a douchebag move, to be honest, using your children as an excuse to regain empathy with old lovers, could he be more pathetic?

Shuri was aware of Jamal’s advances on you and jealousy would consume her entire being, constantly she tried to hide it but you knew that the princess wasn’t a good liar at all.

Luckily, your girlfriend wasn’t a grudge holder and you would often reward her for being so grateful, which resulted in you between her thighs. In her opinion, she would rather give than receive, just to remind you daily, who you belonged to, so it’s a win-win either way.

“Of course, dearest, I mustn’t stop you.” Her playful facade seemingly disappears as her fingers gently brush across your ebony skin whilst tucking a few braids that were in her way. Reassuringly, her fingers began to re-hook your bra.

Once the last hook was completed, she manages eye contact with you in the mirror as the curves of her lips tug into a mischievous smile, her head tilting to the right slightly. “Although you seemed to be forgetting something.”

What was your girlfriend up to now?

Turning your head towards her, confused and curious as to what you could be supposedly missing. Your phone was in your purse, you weren’t wearing any of her belongings as of right now. Unless she probably meant the kimoyo beads that she gifted you on your fifth date. “Darling, what could I possibly for–“ In an instant, her lips were on yours as her hand softly caresses your face, a smile crept upon her face once she realized that she had you trapped.

“Hayi, mntwana wam. uyayazi nyani indlela yokundimangalisa.” ( “Damn, baby. You really know how to take me by surprise.” ) You spoke in between kisses, keeping the connection of your lips together.

Towering down over you as a smirk taunts her lips, “Seems like you’ve been learning your Xhosa a lot, didn’t you dearest?”

Her lips lingered on yours as you released a shaky breath and she pulls away with a satisfied grin, “Now you have everything.” Sauntering away from you, she tosses your shirt and jumps back on the bed.

That little tease surely likes to play the long game.

You focused your attention back on getting dressed before Shuri came up with any more ideas into seducing you to spend the night.

Your girlfriend was unusually quiet for the remainder of the night, fully aware that Shuri would talk whenever she had any given chance. By the time you were leaving, she shuffled awkwardly on her bed. “Do you think that I can meet your children anytime soon?” She hesitantly asked, her tone implying that she ruminated on this question for a couple of weeks, if so, maybe even months. “Like us as a couple since they only know me as your friend.”

Her question left you perplexed, it was an out-of-the-blue kind of question. You never discussed your kids that much with Shuri, so what was with the sudden question? Shuri was never the kind to beat around the bush, always out with the cold direct honesty, so you assumed that you’d be accustomed to her sharp mouth.

It was certainly a big step in your relationship and Shuri wanted to experience it, already envisioning creating a family with you.

Your children were the proportion so she just needed your confirmation, and she was determined on getting your permission.

The colossal extent of silence gave her the wrong indication as she hurriedly got up from the bed, rushed towards you and held her hands in yours. “Just ignore what I said. I realized that I was overstepping boundaries and didn’t want to make things more awkward.” It was frequent for Shuri to morph from cute into nervous in a matter of seconds, mainly you being the purpose.

Oh, there were numerous times when Shuri would unintentionally freeze up and become a flustering mess because of you, but that’s a story for another day.

You insisted, squeezing her knuckles tenderly as her beautiful eyes poured deeply into yours. “How about tomorrow night? We have dinner at my house, I’ll cook them their favorite and we break it down to them gently.”

“Really?” Her eyes glistened with passion. You’ve both been open in the relationship, expressing your love for one another, making it seemingly easy to understand each other.

“Hell yeah.” You grinned at your lovesick girlfriend. “I’ve been meaning to talk about telling my kids about our relationship but I couldn’t just find the right time.” In fact, you were beyond ecstatic, that Shuri was comfortable enough to discuss your kids about your dating status.

Besides what could go wrong? Your charismatic girlfriend and your two loving kids stuck in the same room, well…in the same house, if we’re being technical. Will it be a waiting disaster or a winning success? Only tomorrow will tell, and, god, you only hope that it all goes according to plan.

© asvterias, 2022. please do not plagiarize any of my works.

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

-Ode to Grief #3-

The concubine and the musician passed each other outside the king's bedchamber. It was past midnight. The musician was on his way in, and the concubine was on her way out. Both were carted around in a litter, although for very different reasons. 

Gao Jianli could not see her, but he knew a woman was there. He could smell her perfume and hear the creak of the sandalwood chair bouncing in time to the eunuchs’ footsteps. Her chair had only four pallbearers. Gao Jianli's had eight. That probably meant something, although he did not want to dwell on it. 

He wished desperately that he could see her face, to know what she might be thinking. How he wished to see a face. Anyone's face. 

The King of Qin amused himself liberally with the women, but they were never permitted to stay the night. He slept alone and kept a sword by his side. Gao Jianli knew this because the king had swung the sword at his face the first time he entered his bedchamber--to check that he was really blind. And he was, of course, so he hadn't flinched or even understood what was happening until a lock of his hair had fallen at his feet. 

The king had relaxed after that, and thus began their present arrangement. Gao Jianli would arrive every night, kneel at the foot of the king’s bed and play for hours and hours on end, not leaving until dawn crept in, the crickets fell silent, and the birds picked up their chorus.

It was not wholly accurate to say that the king slept with no one. He slept with Gao Jianli—and the musician suspected that he could not sleep without Gao Jianli. 

The king was drafting bills at his desk when Gao Jianli was announced and ushered inside. He could hear the rattling of the bamboo and the whisper of the brush. The faint smell of perfume still lingered in the room. 

"Ah, good evening, Court Composer! No, no, please don’t ke tou. I’ve told you, it makes me feel stupid when people do that while I’m in my underwear.” The servants led Gao Jianli to his designated mat. Another handed him the zhu--which had been locked away and inspected every night--and he clung to it like a drowning man finding flotsam. The bamboo drumstick and taunt silk strings had become the only things that felt real in this terrifying new world of shades and vertigo. He only felt whole when his instruments were safely in his hands.

“How do you like your new clothes?" said the king. 

"I’m sure they’re splendid, Your Highness, but I’m afraid their beauty is lost on me.”

The king laughed, “I mean, how do they feel? Are they comfortable? Easy to move in? I hope you don’t mind, but I had my tailor hem the coat a little higher than is proper so you wouldn’t trip over.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Your Highness,” Gao Jianli ran his hands over the zhu's wooden belly, checking it for any dents and scratches. 

“The colour is very becoming. You look like a proper Sage of Music now.” 

“His Highness does me too much honour,” No, no, no! Someone had tuned it wrong! The fourth string was painfully over-drawn, and Gao Jianli quickly eased it back, letting out a sigh of relief as the instrument was returned to its proper state. 

“I say! It’s drafty in here, isn’t it?” The king rose and bustled about the room. Moments later, something soft and heavy was draped over Gao Jianli’s shoulders—one of the duvets from the bed. The smell of perfume was stronger now. A large wooden table was dragged over to his left side, plates rattling. “Would you like a snack? Let’s see, there’s beef, lamb, swan, wild boar, abalone, shark-fin…Please stop and rest as often as you wish—good health isn’t something gold can buy, you know!” 

“I don’t want to eat.” 

“Some tea, then,” the king poured him a cup and blew on it gently, “careful, it’s still quite hot.”  

------------------------ [small pov shift! I'm going to try write this part with QSH's voice. lets see if all that roleplaying helped!] 

The king settled back down at the desk and picked up his brush, although he was far too eager to resume his work. He watched Gao Jianli tune his instrument from the corner of his eye and played a little game with himself; what would the Sage of Music entertain him with tonight? The Kingdom of Yan, for all its sickening frivolity and excess, produced extraordinary artists. The fact that he had acquired their best and brightest star was just further proof of heaven's favour. 

The musician shunned the stand, preferring to balance the zhu on his knees. One of his little idiosyncrasies. It muffled the sound somewhat, softening each note into something indescribably sweet and inviting. 

Gao Jianli bowed his head, was still for a long moment, and did something he’d never done before. He opened his mouth and began to sing. 

The king was rather taken aback. Unlike his legendary skills with the zhu, Gao Jianli’s voice was not a thing of breathless beauty or a technical marvel. It was reedy and feeble, fluttering like a moth in the vast, high-walled bedroom. He had obviously been crying—again--and his nose was stuffy. And yet, the sound was still utterly bewitching. The king sat forwards, his hands upon the desk, struggling to catch the words. 

Wait. This was his song! Gao Jianli was singing Without Clothes, the Qin battle anthem. It was a simple, stout chant signifying the people’s willingness to go to war. The king had heard it sung by soldiers, a hundred thousand voices raised as one unified roar, fit to shake the heavens. He had never heard it sung like this, had never heard anything like this. This fervent, tearful whisper. The low, agonised keening of an injured beast. Gao Jianli touched the strings as if he was afraid they might break. The zhu in his lap wailed and wailed like a lost child. He played like a man in his death throes, gutted and slowly bleeding out. 

“How can you say you have no clothes?  I’ll share my coat with you. The king calls us to arms, I’ll prepare my axe and spear to fight with you.”

How can you say you have no clothes?  I’ll share my shirt with you. The king calls us to arms, I’ll prepare my spear and halberd to stand with you.

How can you say you have no clothes?  I’ll share my skirt with you. The king calls us to arms, I’ll don my armour and weapons to march with you. 

And just like that, the song was over, and the last note petered into silence. 

King Ying Zheng sat frozen in place, trembling from head to foot, unable to understand what he was feeling. His eyes stung, his throat ached as if it had been slit open, and his chest felt vice-tight. The closest he had ever felt like this was when that dagger-wielding madman chased him around the throne room, except this was much, much worse. It felt like someone had hacked off one of his limbs. Like a raw, jagged hole had been carved into his chest, leaving him hollow and so desperately empty. 

Ying Zheng’s first instinct was to have Gao Jianli dragged out and executed. No. That wasn’t enough. He needed to cut off the hands of every musician in the country and throw their instruments onto a flaming pyre. He was a fool to think he would be safe by taking Gao Jianli’s eyes. He should have torn out his tongue and locked that wretched thing away inside a box of salt, right next to Gao Jianli’s treacherous heart. 

“Play it again,” Ying Zheng said hoarsely. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“It can’t be done.”

The king’s voice was dangerously soft, “can’t be done, or you won’t do it?” 

“Both, I suppose.” 

Ying Zheng was on his feet, scattering the bamboo books and brushes with a clatter. Hearing the commotion, the guards rushed into the room. The king held them off. 

“I have been more than lenient with you, Court Composer,” he hissed. “I have spared your life and given you the honour of serving me. I shower you with gifts and treat you with every courtesy, yet you have shown me nothing but contempt. First, you sing this seditious song and now you dare to defy me. You will play it again. Your King commands it.” 

Gao Jianli sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, leaving a shiny trail of snot on the silk Ying Zheng had personally picked out for him. He was still weeping softly.

“Command the oceans to empty,” he said, “command the sun to run backwards in the sky. Command the dead to rise from their graves and bid them to speak. Once you have done all that, I will play this song again.” 

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

Notes: the emperor's shadow has reached into my brain and rearranged ALL my neurones. here is the song gao jianli is singing. As you can see, I've changed the words slightly because my focus is on flow rather than accuracy. the biggest change is "the king calls us to arms" I've done it to give the song more immediacy and also to reflect the intent of the original "the king is summoning eager warriors."

[smallestapplin]

KICKS DOOR DOWN

I CANT SLEEP ITS 3AM

Honestly y'know what I would really love? I just want to bake bread with Ingo. I want to be happy and domestic and feel loved and enjoy nice warm bread with someone after putting in work to bake it.

So,,, Ingo x male/gn reader and they make bread together please? Thank u so much ur writing is a godsend to my lonely ass ❤️🙏

- Tofu Anon

I love domestic shit so much 😭 (I also cannot sleep, and it’s also 3am for me rn.)

M!reader, reader gets called husband and prince, cause Ingo is about loving his partner 😤

-

-

-

The kitchen is filled with the warmth of the oven preheating, along with the sound of music playing softly, though it’s being drowned out by laughter.

“Hold on hold on, I can make this better.” You’re quick to say, rushing back to the messy ingredients.

Ingo sighs, chuckling at your antics.

“I don’t understand why-“

“Ingo, baby, you wore a black apron, for making bread, it’s not gonna be staying black for long.”

Ingo lets out a playful huff, that’s cut off by his offended gasp as you take your now flour coated hand, and draw a smiley face on his darkly colored apron.

“There! Now we are ready to get cookin!”

He can’t help but laugh, before moving to help you make bread.

However, it was no secret that it would take longer than normal, especially with how you two can hardly keep your hands to yourselves.

Ingo stays behind you, chin on your shoulder with his arms around you, helping you knead the dough.

The stoic man feels his lips twitch, threatening to smile at how you keep giggling and laughing.

“What has you laughing like this?”

“This is just so much fun! Especially with you.”

You lean back against him, pressing your back against his chest with a smile. Ingo takes that moment to kiss you, his lips pressed sweetly against yours.

You hum, tasting the faint traces of honey on his lips, from his ingredient sampling earlier.

You pull away, reluctantly so, staring into this beautiful silver eyes of his, feeling his warmth and love.

“Dear, I hate to tell you, but you have flour on your back now.”

You jump away from him with a loud groan.

“Oh you are just the worst!” Your voice light, trying to keep up the act as you shake your shirt, trying to get most of it off.

“My husband calling me the worst? How cold, how cruel, of him.” His voice nothing but teasing, as he goes back to working on the bread.

It’s been so long, but you can’t help but bury your face in his back, whining at being called his.

“My love, it’s been two years, and I call you that nearly every day. You reactions never fail to make my heart race though.”

He’s right, your reactions are always so cute, and leave him falling deeper in love. Just seeing how you react to being called his husband, never fails to make him a little flustered.

“You have no right! You’re my husband too ya know.”

Ingo can feel his face burning.

He knows you’re right, seeing as how he acts the exact same when you call him that too.

You both continue on, buttering a pan and setting the dough neatly inside it. Now to wait for it to rest. In the meantime you both clean up, and making sure to take off the flour covered aprons to avoid another incident.

Once that was done, Ingo turns to you, watching you wash your hands.

He can’t believe he got so lucky to meet a someone like you, someone so kind, so sweet, so funny, you’re truly the light of his life, he’s so happy he married you.

“Stop staring at me.” Your soft voice breaks him from his trance.

You look so bashful under his stare, he can’t help but find you perfect.

You hear Ingo walk away, before hearing the music being turned up. Your ears perk up to him walking back to you, before your hand is grab and your world spinning as you’re twirled around.

“May I have this dance, my prince?”

You breathlessly chuckle, smiling so brightly at your husband.

“Of course, my love.”

It’s like the world disappears, leaving just you and Ingo. He moves with grace, gently swaying you around the kitchen.

Even having been with the subway boss for so long, he still knows how to make you swoon. Your laughter fills the kitchen, as Ingo dips you down, kissing you once more, stealing what little breath you had left.

Before lifting you up and twirling you out of his arms as the song comes to a close. But he still holds your hands, making sure to kiss the backs of them with his eyes never leaving yours.

“No fair, you kiss me so much, but you never let me return the favor. How can I shower my beloved in affection in these conditions?”

The stoic man simple laughs, he knows you’ll get him back for all this, but for right now he wants to enjoy this.

Bread having been left to rest, is now perfect for the oven, which you both happily do, setting a timer real quick, before moving to the living room.

You push Ingo to the couch, flipping on top on him. His deep chuckle rumbling in his chest, as you squirm up and get cozy.

Your face buried into his neck, with your hands gripping his shirt. His own arms around you, holding your tightly to him.

The house smells so good with the honey flavored bread, slowly wafting through the air.

Ingo is going to hate having to get up, or to let you up, he likes holding you, and doesn’t want to stop.

It’ll come eventually, but for right now he just wants to bask in your presence.

[under-myown-tale]

I found another one

For anyone who saw my last post about old Sans x Readers I used to write, that was a hot steamy piece of traaaaash

However, I found another little fic. There's only one chapter and I'm pretty sure I had a bigger idea for it but, alas, those plans are left to the cosmos. It's, like, 5/6 years old though, so...

If anyone's somewhat intrigued, I shall leave it here. There ain't much but I know I was proud of it then. (I haven't edited it but that would tarnish its raw form upon first creation)

It was places like this that could only truly be alive and bustling with people at such hours. Although music was playing in the background, it was drowned out by the many friend groups who had decided to hang out in the pleasantly welcoming establishment for a few drinks. The evening burned young and slow like the few candles that had been lit in their tinted glass cases to entice atmosphere. Her glassy eyes reflected the flames, bright orange hues hiding the vague tiredness. A half empty glass would occasionally be caressed by her fingers in an attempt to find solace in the poison. She peered away from her grim-tasting company to the rest of the pub. Many seats and spaces were still available but it was pretty early for that "bar buzz" to surface, which was a great surprise considering the upcoming holiday. Yet again, that was bound to be on account for the fact that last-minute shoppers were still roaming the sparkling streets. She couldn't complain, however. A calm pub was much more tasteful, in her opinion, as it gave her that chance to appreciate it more; sofas were covered in a plush, dark red leather, wooden beams, chairs, stools and even the tables and bar top were either make of oak or redwood with a beautiful vanish finish. Everything from the stone-slabbed and carpeted floors to the simple intricacies in the way the planked pieces of wood were diagonally positioned in the walls pleased her aesthetic. She wondered if anyone else took notice of the time and effort that went into constructing the very place they chose to socialise for the night.

There was much doubt in that.

Much motivation wasn't needed for her to turn back to her drink and take another sip, her tongue clicked. Heaven knows why her first chosen beverage for the night was a cheap wine the same colour as the couches. Perhaps she wanted to give off that fake sense of sophistication but to whom? She wouldn't go as far as to impress anyone she didn't know and she certainly didn't know anyone nearby. It was made quite clear in her mind that she wanted to visit a bar as far from her own home as possible. In moderation, of course. The happy-deprived woman chose not to bring attention to the reasons as to why.

"What's the matter? Got a drink ya' can't handle?" a deep voice asked, amusement clear in the low tone.

At first, she wasn't aware that the gentleman, who had situated himself beside her, was attempting to grasp her attention until a pale looking hand waved itself in front of hers. She blinked and turned over, blinking again to be sure she was seeing things right. It wasn't uncommon to see a monster: they'd been around for many years after the barrier trapping them underground had been broken. No. What surprised her was the fact that a sentient being was actually conversing with her in some way.

"I'll take that as a yes." A chuckle resounded and the creature spoke again, "you gonna' keep starin' at me, or...?"

The poor woman hadn't even realised that she was practically gaping at this newcomer. Bashful apologies bellowed from her lips and she hoped that she hadn't somehow offended the monster by staring. He seemed to shrug it off and presented her with a Cheshire cat grin, the face around it looking as though it had been built on the foundations of that very smile. It was an interesting sight seeing how one of the many selection of monsters that inhabited the world could be so human in appearance, or at least close. His pale complexion was due to the lack of skin, fur, muscle, or anything - anything but clean, white bone. She silently wondered how the composition of bones was holding its form but quickly discarded that thought when she recalled how magic was in fact a thing. It was easier to just swallow the simple explanations. 

Two little white dots, sat where there would've been human eyes, that acted as pupils made some speculations of their own. The woman sat beside him was adorned in nothing considered "flashy" or anything anyone would see as an outfit for a night out - it was casual. This brought upon the assumption that this fair lady had taken a seat after passing by the place on the off-chance. However, that was besides the point; she was by her lonesome and looked in need of some good company. Luckily, he was just the guy for the job. 

"Mr. Skeleton" focused his full attention back on the young woman, who had gone back to brushing her fingertip over the rim of her nasty drink. Her delicate touch almost made the glass chime, providing perhaps a little solidarity to it for the fact it had to hold such bitter wine. The other hand concealed her lips as her eyes shifted absentmindedly amongst the many bottles that decorated the bar. He tilted his cranium at a slight angle and his little pupils seemed to brighten up, along with his large grin. 

"Hey, don't be nervous kiddo," he spoke in a comforting manner. "if it makes ya' feel better, I don't have a bone to pick with you. In fact, I found your reaction pretty humerus."

Her finger paused, teetering above the thin wall of glass, and so did her gaze. A pair of brows huddled together and she turned to look at the monster again. She could only stare at him for a few moments in silence, the cogs turning in her head almost audible to his non-existent ears. There was almost a struggle in her expression, as though she was hiding something. That could be seen when she finally revealed her mouth to him.

"Did you just make two skeleton related puns?" Confusion was evident but it wasn't enough to hide the amusement.

He faked hurt, a hand dramatically grabbing his chest as he turned his face away from her. "Damn, you can see right through me, can't ya'?"

A light chortle begrudgingly left her person. The jokes were terrible! but they tugged at her lips like elastic. Who was this guy? His voice was deep and smooth but he had a gravely laugh, a certain spark would flicker in his eyes with every spoken pun, and apparently he liked to drink... ketchup, as seen by the red bottle secured with his phalanges. She had never met anyone who was this quick with their comebacks whilst also being so relaxed and laid back before. Even his attire was followed by a faint whisper of "chilled out": white shirt beneath an ocean blue hoodie, black basketball shorts, and a pair of pink, fluffy slippers that she thought best not to question. Pushing aside the obscurity of his outfit, she found comfort in the light conversation. It had been some time since she found herself enjoying a male's company, or anyone's company, in fact. Such time without an exchange in dialogue was nearly enough to convince her she no longer had a voice. 

"How 'bout I get you a drink? You don't seem to be havin' much fun with that one," the pale being audibly mused. 

Eyelids, tinted orange by the overcasting bulb, blinked rapidly and cocked to an angle along with the head they belonged to. Many questions disintegrated as quickly as they assembled, recoiling into nothingness and being immediately forgotten. If it hadn't already, the early night was certainly becoming interesting for the unsuspecting woman. 

[roo-bastmoon]

A note of motivation

My darling puppykitties,

The Music Industry, like the rest of the world, is blatantly unfair.

Talent, hard work, and merit are no guarantees of success in a system where money, politics, and backdoor deals talk loud.

But let me comfort you. BTS have already won the most important kind of success.

Yes, I want our boys to chart well and get awards. Of course I do!

But NOT if it means they have to diminish their art to be mainstream or pay the industry "protection fees."

I will still buy and stream and vote--always; I will always show up for our boys. Even if they don't get the accolades they deserve.

But keep in mind: there are plenty of "chart-topping" musicians that struggle to fill 10K venues or make 2K in sales. And there are amazing legends like Diana Ross and Michael Jackson and Queen who never got Grammys.

I know that BTS fills up whole stadiums AND overflow venues in minutes. BTS sells out entire brands in under an hour. BTS has more daily engagement on all platforms than anyone. BTS makes music that moves people regardless of the language or age barrier.

ARMY loves BTS for being authentic, not because they chart high or have trophies.

So if the rules keep changing, if the goalposts keep moving, and for some reason we cannot win fair?

Take heart.

BTS has us. And we will always show up, tune in, and appreciate them.

We will buy their music and play their music and promote their music so loud, it'll drown everything else out.

And the industry, the SK government, the bad actors who would use them or tear them down? They can never truly touch BTS.

Hell, almost twice as many millions of people tuned in to watch one of our boys eat chicken than tuned in to see the Grammys.

So who needs who? (Fuck all the opps.)

They are scared and their ever-changing rules reflect it.

Keep calm. Carry on. APOBANGO.