#even i’m like yeah but am i a punk??? and at that point i KNOW ohhhhhh being kind is punk letting sunshine flow out of your ass is punk

[anthonycrowley]

‘well punk is rooted in socialist beliefsssssss’ okay cool. call yourself a socialist and get out of my music subgenre

[starlightkun]

⏯ word count: 16.6k ⏯ warnings: general angst around not knowing what you’re doing with your life, the usual cursing ⏯ genre: fluff, suggestive/steamy but no actual smut, strangers to lovers, band au, punk drummer!sungchan, office worker!reader, not really badboy x good girl trope, more like sungchan has tattoos and reader is… a bit boring and hates her job. but she’s trying!, reader is having a quarter life crisis, ft. shotaro/eunseok/wonbin as sungchan’s bandmates, and nct dream 00 line as reader’s normal friends™ ⏯ author’s note: take a shot every time i say ‘tattoos’ in this fic, and you’ll die of alcohol poisoning! ⏯ sequel ⏯ now playing… quarter life – txt | NEED (ooo-eee) – løren | medicine – woz

“If you really want to do something brand new…” Sungchan took your receipt out of your hand, writing on the back of it with a pen that was on the counter. “Make this your thing for tomorrow.”

“You still haven’t told me what you do.”

“Live a little. And bring some friends, yeah? Don’t want you getting lonely in the mosh pit.”

“Y/N’s hit her quarter-life crisis,” Jaemin announced for you as the two of you joined your other friends at dinner.

You groaned and dropped your head in your hands, already regretting telling him your idea.

“24…” Renjun muttered to himself, then said louder, “Hey, life expectancy of 96, not bad.”

“So what is it?” Donghyuck grinned. “A tattoo? Nipple piercings? I can’t see any hair dye or choppy bangs done with kitchen scissors, so—”

“Don’t give her any ideas.” Jaemin shot him a disapproving look.

“So she doesn’t know what her quarter-life crisis is going to be yet? She’s… planning it out?” Jeno asked skeptically.

“No. She’s decided to do one spontaneous and/or new thing every day,” Jaemin explained your idea to the group.

“Oh. That’s not so bad.”

“So you’re in your manic pixie dream girl era… at 24,” Renjun nodded slowly.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, sitting up straighter as you went to defend yourself. “It’s not a… thing. I’m just tired of feeling like my whole life is filler, okay?”

“Main character syndrome,” Donghyuck declared.

“No, I’m not going to expect the entire world to revolve around me and call random people in public NPCs,” you retorted. “I just want something different in my life, alright? You know I’ve never even gotten drunk?”

“24 is not the time to start,” Renjun stated disapprovingly.

“Exactly, we’re not 19. Can’t get blackout and snap back the next day anymore.” Jaemin shook his head.

Donghyuck looked a bit miffed at Jaemin’s advice. “Speak for yourself.”

“I’ve barely been tipsy,” you pointed out.

“So you’ve always had a prefrontal cortex, unlike us. Congrats,” Jeno shrugged. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing?”

“I’m the boring friend, aren’t I?”

“Boring isn’t bad!” Donghyuck tried to reassure you.

“So I am,” you huffed, dropping your cheek into your palm.

“You’re plenty of fun, Y/N,” Jaemin promised, rubbing your arm soothingly.

“If we didn’t like you, and didn’t have fun with you, we wouldn’t hang out with you,” Jeno pointed out, actually sort of making you feel a little better.

“I’m fun like rotting in bed all day is fun.” You knew you were just pouting now, but you were finding it hard to shake your sullen feeling.

“Exactly!” Donghyuck said brightly.

“Shut up!” Jaemin hissed at him, and you heard a sudden yelp as you imagined that Jaemin had kicked your other friend under the table.

“Y/N, do what you need to do.” Renjun leaned forward across the table. “We’re your friends, so here’s the obligatory: don’t die, don’t get maimed, and if you do something illegal, don’t get arrested.”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you guys. I’m not even doing crazy things. Yesterday I walked home instead of taking the subway,” you informed them glumly.

“That’s new!” Jaemin cheered supportively, squeezing your shoulders.

“Yeah, whatever…”

Clutching your tote bag strap tighter to your body, you turned onto a street, trying to ignore the sun that was getting lower in the sky. Surely this way would lead towards your apartment. You’d lived in this city your whole life, you could walk from your work to your home, two places that you went to every single day.

There was a tall man outside one of the shops on this street, and you went to skirt around him on the sidewalk as he swept a few stray leaves and dirt out of a bookstore. Other than him, the street was fairly quiet, many of the stores having already closed up for the day.

“What are you doing?” The young man called out to you before you could fully pass him by.

You pivoted around on your heel, quickly looking around to see if there was anybody else that he could possibly be talking to. But it was definitely just you and him.

He looked about your age, wearing a cream pink long-sleeve button down presumably as part of the store uniform, though you weren’t sure if he really needed to have it buttoned all the way to the top button. It seemed a bit too warm out for that.

“Walking. Why?”

“This is the fourth time you’ve walked by here.” He did a sweeping point to the sidewalk in front of the shop, then leaned against the broom he had been cleaning with. “Wasn’t sure if you might have a particular destination in mind.”

“Fuck! I knew I was going in circles!”

“You’re lost.”

“Yeah, this isn’t my normal way home…”

“And your phone died?” He cocked his head curiously.

“No, I’m trying to get home without using my phone map,” you admitted, looking around for any familiar landmarks.

“Why? That’s what it’s for.”

“It’s… You’ll think it’s stupid. My friends did.”

He shrugged. “Probably. But why does that matter to you? I’m just some guy.”

“I’ve been doing something new every day. Just small things. But if I change enough little things, then everything will have changed.”

The guy was quiet for a beat, looking altogether unimpressed, then asked, “Where do you live?”

“Uh…”

“General area, see if I can give you directions from here.”

“Oh, uhm, if you can get me to the tea shop on Magnolia, I can get myself home from there.”

“Jade Gardens, I know it,” he nodded, then pointed left down the street, in the same direction that you had just come from. “That way, left onto North Oak, right onto Foxtail, another right onto Broad Street, it’ll eventually dead end into Magnolia, keep going until you see the tea shop.”

“Left onto North Oak, right onto Foxtail, right onto Broad,” you recited. “Got it, thank you!”

“Stay safe.” He waved you off, returning to sweeping without seeing if you had gone the way he’d pointed you.

It was Monday that you got lost and were given directions home by the questionably friendly but overall helpful bookstore worker, and the tea shop on Magnolia had been on your mind since. So on Thursday, you decided to stop by after work. You were running low on the green tea that you usually kept in stock at home, and thought that you might pick up something new for yourself.

Opening the door to Jade Gardens that Thursday, you were enveloped by the familiar aromatic smells wafting around the small shop. When you didn’t hear the usual kind voice of the owner, Mrs. Choi, greeting you, you peered around the aisle that you were in to look for her.

“Mrs. Choi?” You called out, also not hearing her TV show that she usually was watching behind the counter between helping customers. You were by the black teas anyway, so you didn’t mind wandering into the next aisle as you looked for any other sign of life in the shop.

“She’s not in,” a voice that was definitely not Mrs. Choi informed you right as you turned the corner into the beginning of the green teas. You could see enough of the man’s profile to recognize him as he stood by some of the shelves in the store. The worker from the bookstore. He was standing over an open cardboard box, a couple tins of tea in his hands.

“Uhm…” You trailed off, blinking at him as you weren’t sure exactly what to say. He placed the tins on the shelf.

“You think I’m stalking you, don’t you?” He said flatly, turning to show you the name badge on his longsleeve teal shirt. It was metallic gold, with the name SUNGCHAN engraved into it. “I work here too. For the past six months.”

“Oh, right.” You relaxed, flashing him a smile. As he went back to restocking and you went back to looking at the tea on the shelves that he wasn’t currently stocking, you commented lightly, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I work Tuesdays and Thursdays. You ever been here on a Tuesday or a Thursday?”

“No. I always come on Sundays.”

“There you go.” He had emptied the box of product he was restocking from, and carried it into the back. When he reemerged, he stopped behind the register, but engaged you in conversation again, “So is this your new thing for today? Coming on a Thursday instead of Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

“And? Is your whole life different yet?”

“I’ve only been doing this for two weeks…” You replied defensively, looking over at him from the two kinds of green tea that you were debating between.

“Have you done anything new yet?” Sungchan asked, arching an eyebrow.

“That’s the whole point—”

“From what I know, as some guy who doesn’t even know your name, is that you have walked home from work without using the maps on your phone—something you would have done anyway—and gone to a shop that you go to regularly, just on a different day of the week. Have you done anything that you’ve never done before at all?”

“My name is Y/N, by the way.” You bit the inside of your cheek, and grabbed your tea selection. “Ordering a drink I’ve never tried at my usual boba place doesn’t count, does it?”

“You already know the answer, Y/N.”

“The point isn’t to quit my job and travel the world and completely overhaul my life—”

“I thought it was to change everything?”

“If I change enough little things, then—”

“—everything will have changed.” “—everything will have changed.” The two of you finished at the same time, Sungchan putting more emphasis on ‘everything,’ a pointed look on his face.

“I just don’t get how everything is supposed to change by you coming to a tea shop on a different day one time, but still working the same job you hate,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“How do you know I hate my job?!” You retorted, bringing your selections up to the counter.

“If you loved it, you wouldn’t be in a crisis about changing your whole life.”

“Do you like your two jobs?”

“They’re fine.” He shrugged, ringing up your purchases.

You handed him your card. “Fine?”

“They’re just my day jobs.”

“And what’s your night job then?”

A smirk grew on his face as he bagged your tins of tea. “Nah.”

“‘Nah?’” You repeated incredulously.

“You’re not doing anything new. No point telling you.”

“If it’s stand-up, I don’t want to know,” you snorted.

“It’s not stand-up.”

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re giving me real stand-up energy right now,” you snipped, gesturing to his entire demeanor. “I’m really glad you haven’t told me, actually, because I can’t control my face when I’m told bad jokes.”

“I don’t do stand-up comedy,” he reiterated with the same calm, self-assured tone, handing you your bag of tea and receipt.

“Considering you’re refusing to tell me, I’m convinced it’s like, open mic nights. Tight fives, not even a full—”

“Not stand-up,” he said again. “But considering how badly you’re begging me to tell you—”

“Pretty sure you’re the one desperately trying to convince me you don’t do stand-up, but—”

“If you really want to do something brand new…” He took your receipt out of your hand, writing on the back of it with a pen that was on the counter. “Make this your thing for tomorrow.”

You accepted the receipt when he held it back out to you. “You still haven’t told me what you do.”

“Live a little. And bring some friends, yeah? Don’t want you getting lonely in the mosh pit.”

Your eyes scanned the address and time he had scrawled on your receipt. “Mosh pit?”

“We’re going to fucking die,” Donghyuck declared from beside you as soon as your group of friends entered the basement of the building that Sungchan had given you the address to. It was already packed with people, dark, and loud.

“Nobody drink anything!” Jaemin hissed, clutching onto your other arm. “Especially Y/N! Getting drunk is one thing, I don’t want getting roofied to be on your bucket list.”

“It’s not, Jaem,” you retorted. “Trust me.”

“Why the fuck are we here again?” Renjun yelled from behind you over the din of the crowd.

“Y/N met some hot guy—Ow!” Donghyuck had gotten cut off by you stomping on his foot.

“Sorry, it’s so crowded in here!” You glared at him. “I didn’t say anything about what he looked like. I needed something new to do for today, this seemed as good an option as any.”

“Okay, well, what the hell is this? Basement party?” Jeno asked, next to Renjun.

“I think it’s a concert?” You couldn’t see anything over the heads of the other people. “He said something about a mosh pit…”

They all exchanged a look.

“We’re going to fucking die,” Donghyuck repeated.

A roaring started up in the crowd, and you looked around in bewilderment to see what had gotten them all excited. In the far corner of the basement, it looked like a band was getting set up to play, two guitarists, a bassist, but it was the drummer that made you do a double take. You couldn’t be quite sure from the distance, the poor lighting, and the fact that the tank top he was wearing exposed two sleeves of tattoos along rather defined arms that you had never previously seen unclothed, but… that might just be Sungchan.

“We need to get closer,” you declared to your friends, yanking Jaemin along with you.

“What?!” Renjun yelped, following you nevertheless.

“Did you forget the part where he apparently said mosh pit?” Donghyuck scrambled after you.

“At least let Jeno be our human shield!” Jaemin pleaded with you.

“Thanks for volunteering me, Jaemin,” Jeno snorted, but willingly took the role, stepping in front of you to clear a path a bit easier than you had been doing on your own.

The five of you stuck out a bit, you noticed. You hadn’t exactly been given a dress code, nor a description of what to expect, so you did unfortunately stick out like a sore thumb among all the black, leather, and more black. It wasn’t that you were wearing a rainbow so much as you were clearly wearing something… uptight in comparison. Corporate. All you had was work clothes, and stuff to go to work dinners in. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to something even remotely like this. You’d done your best to dress down without wearing pajamas, but it was obvious that you were out of place.

Finally, you got close enough to the band to be able to make out the drummer’s face. He was looking down, making a final adjustment to his instrument, and when he looked back up, he pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. Definitely Sungchan. So this was his night job. Drummer. For just a second, his gaze flicked over the crowd, and you couldn’t be absolutely sure—after all, it was packed in there—but you swore he saw you for a second, surprise on his features for a moment before a cocky smirk overtook it.

One of the guitarists said something, they all had mics, you were pretty sure he was introducing the band or something, but this close to the speakers, all you could do was feel the words in your chest, not hear them with your ears. And when the music actually started, you felt like it was rearranging your brain matter. The crowd didn’t seem to really know the songs, as nobody sang along, but they were having fun nonetheless, dancing, jumping, and headbanging. As you got on your tiptoes to keep peering over Jeno’s shoulder at Sungchan, you found yourself bouncing along to the beat. Someone must have bumped into Renjun, as he stumbled into your back, and you let out a squeak and latched onto Jeno’s shoulders to avoid losing your balance.

“What is going on back there?” Jeno turned around.

You looked back at Renjun as well, who was now squeezing himself in between you and Donghyuck. Just behind and to the side of you, closer to the middle of the crowd, something was going on. Everyone was moving around a lot more, and… shoving each other?

“Mosh pit,” Renjun shook his head.

You kept your grip on Jeno’s shoulders, using them as leverage to stay on your tiptoes as you watched the performance. They had a lot of passion, you couldn’t deny that. You thought that maybe if you could actually parse out more of the melody and words being sung, you might even like their music.

Then it was over after what felt like less than a handful of songs. One of the guitarists seemed to thank the crowd briefly as Sungchan sat and spun one of his drumsticks mindlessly. And then they were done. The guitarists and bassist took their instruments with them as they disappeared into an adjoining room, and Sungchan stood up and took his sticks.

“They’re done, are we done?” Renjun requested.

“Sure, sure,” you agreed, having satiated your curiosity.

Back on the street, everyone let out a simultaneous breath of relief. Your lungs were happy to be inhaling fresh air again, and the sounds of the city streets at night felt quiet in comparison to that basement.

“My ears are ringing,” Jaemin groaned.

“Mine are bleeding,” Donghyuck scoffed.

“They weren’t that bad, Hyuck,” you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, which one was he?” He pointed an accusing finger at you. “Bookstore-slash-tea shop guy. Which one was he?”

“What?”

“He was in the band, wasn’t he? That’s why he invited you, that’s why you’re not agreeing with me right now. No way you actually liked that noise. So? Which one?”

“You’re annoying.”

“Bet he was the bassist,” Renjun took a crack at guessing. “Totally your type, Y/N.”

“I think it was the frontman, he would’ve been the only one shameless enough to beg for girls to come to their shows,” Jaemin retorted.

“Definitely not the drummer, did you see those tattoos? Our Y/N wouldn’t have gone to some random address that a guy like that gave her,” Jeno snickered.

“I’m not prejudiced, assholes,” you replied, a bit miffed when Jaemin and Renjun nodded their heads in agreement at Jeno’s assessment.

Jaemin gently reassured you, “No, of course not. You just… stick to what you know.”

“Says the four guys who were begging to leave. I thought I was supposed to be the boring friend?”

“There’s a difference between being fun and patently stupid,” Renjun snorted. “Going to a random address that some weird guy gives you falls into the second category.”

“I think it was the drummer,” Donghyuck announced, narrowing his eyes at you. “He invited you, didn’t he, Y/N?”

You poked your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “He was wearing longsleeves…”

“Knew it,” he grinned victoriously. “The other guitarist was blonde. Blondes aren’t your type.”

“So I’m predictable even when I’m trying to be unpredictable?” You groaned.

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re still getting food, right?” Jeno asked hopefully.

“Hell yeah,” Donghyuck threw an arm around your neck and shook you around. “On Y/N!”

You elbowed him in the side. “Yes to food, fuck no I’m not paying for you again Hyuck. Freeload off someone else.”

“It’s not freeloading, it’s compensation, for the damage that your boyfriend’s shitty band did to my eardrums.”

“I don’t even know him, you dick.” You shoved him off you this time, inadvertently directly into Renjun, who complained loudly at being collateral damage. “Sorry, Renjun.”

“Push him off a bridge next time, not into me,” he scoffed, straightening his clothes.

“You’ve got to stop letting him rile you up, Y/N,” Jaemin advised you, looping his arm with yours.

“Says the man who was literally threatening to run him over two days ago.”

On Monday, you walked down the street with a particular destination in mind this time. You pushed the door to the bookstore open, making the bell above it ring lightly. The inside smelled like old books and pine.

“Sorry, we’re actually about to…” Sungchan trailed off when he looked up from the register and spotted you.

“Are you closing? I can go,” you offered, already sheepishly backing up towards the exit again.

“No, you can stay. Just turn the closed sign around and flip the lock for me, will you?” He gestured to the door.

You did so, and took a few hesitant steps further into the shop as he went back to closing out the register. You were admittedly staring at him a little, trying to line up the visage of the tattooed drummer you’d seen at the show with the man in a cream pink button-up in front of you, no visible body art in sight. His hair was nicely parted and styled to show some of his forehead; he could even blend in at your office.

“Wasn’t expecting you to actually show up,” Sungchan said, pushing the drawer of the register closed.

You rolled your eyes. “Do I really seem like that much of a drag?”

“You’re wearing a pantsuit.”

“It’s a blazer and slacks! That’s not—” You looked down at your own clothes, cutting yourself off with a huff. “Point taken. From the man wearing a pink button-up.”

“Uniform.” He indicated to the shop around him generally. “I’d wear the short-sleeve option, but I have to look… how’d Mr. Kang put it? Respectable.”

“Mm, of course. I almost didn’t recognize you without the sleeves and with the… sleeves,” you finished awkwardly, trying not to picture his biceps right in that moment.

He chuckled, sitting down on a stool behind the counter. “So who was the guy?”

It took you a second to follow his leap in conversation, and even then, you didn’t quite stick the landing, only able to explain, “The guys were my friends. You told me to bring some, if you’ll recall.”

“I meant the one that you were hanging onto the whole time.”

“I didn’t realize you were watching me the whole time,” you teased, tilting your head.

“You picked a spot right in front of me. Couldn’t help but notice.”

“Jeno is my friend, as I just said. He’s sturdy, I was trying not to fall over.”

Sungchan looked at his phone. “Have you done your new thing for today?”

“By your standards? No.”

He stood up, grabbing a backpack from the ground to sling over his shoulder and jerked his head towards a narrow hallway behind him. “Come on.”

With the voice of Jaemin nagging you in the back of your mind, you followed him. At the end of the hallway was the back door of the bookstore, which led you into the alleyway between rows of shops. Sungchan locked up behind you, then dropped his bag at his feet and opened it.

“Where are we going?” You questioned.

“Food. You haven’t had dinner, have you?” He replied, starting to unbutton his shirt from the collar.

You failed to come up with an answer as he untucked it and slipped one arm out. “What are you doing?”

“Changing my shirt.” He stared back at you, the button up hanging off of one arm. You could see now that the tattoos extended onto his pecs as well. “Turn around if you want.”

Feeling like you were losing some kind of challenge, you turned your back to him, continuing your previous conversation instead. “No, I haven’t eaten.”

“Neither have I.” The zipper on the bag opened.

“But what if I’ve been to the place before?”

“I don’t think you have.” Zipped back up.

“If you told me the name—”

“Ready,” Sungchan declared, stepping up next to you. He was now in a dark shirt that had the logo of what you were sure was another band on it, and a worn leather jacket with an assortment of patches. He ran his fingers through his hair, intentionally shaking it out of the nice style from before and into a more natural, messy state. He took off down the alley, leaving you to follow after him.

“You’re not going to tell me the name of the place we’re going, are you?” You sighed.

“No.”

“What if I have allergies?”

“Do you?”

“…No.”

Sungchan turned down another street. “You left early. You missed the other bands.”

“Didn’t know there were other bands, and my friends were hungry.” You shrugged, opting not to tell him that your friends hated his music and had been begging you to leave. And that you didn’t put up a fight about going.

“Leaving after four songs to get food. Your friends sound lame.”

“They’re fun,” you immediately went to defend them. “I’m the boring one out of us. They’ve at least actually gotten drunk.”

The two of you had reached a crosswalk with the stop hand lit up. You stopped and pressed the button to wait for it to change. Sungchan paused just long enough to look both ways, then took your elbow in a loose grip and pulled you into the empty crosswalk.

“Let’s go.”

“What are you—”

“There’s nobody coming.” His hand slid down your arm to grab your hand as he walked backwards in front of you, gesturing widely with his other arm. “See? Not the end of the world.”

“I’m going to laugh if you trip over the curb behind you,” you informed him mildly, already eyeing the approaching sidewalk.

“If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.” He grinned.

“And you’ll break my fall.”

“Like in every good rom-com.”

“Are we making bets on if you’ll have a first- or second-degree concussion from hitting your head on the pavement?”

Sungchan turned around then, just in time to step up onto the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. He smiled down at you smugly, and you made a small ‘hmph’ sound in the back of your throat. You noted that he didn’t let go of your hand as you kept walking. You didn’t shake him off.

“How far away is this place?” You checked the time on your phone. “I have work in the morning.”

“Not too far. I can’t be out late either. I have practice tonight.”

“You called the bookstore and the tea shop your day jobs, and the band is your night job…”

“Uh-huh.”

“We didn’t have to pay a cover or anything to get in on Friday. How much does your night job actually pay?”

“That one was for fun. And a twelve-pack,” he answered nonchalantly. “Where we are now, a gig is a gig.”

“They paid you in beer and exposure?” You summarized dryly.

“It was just a friend’s basement, not a real concert venue or anything.”

“Oh, underground. Literally.”

He snorted. “You’re hilarious.”

“I try.”

“Maybe you should do stand-up.”

“No thanks, my day job is paying me just fine.”

He clicked his tongue. “And yet you hate it.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“You’ve yet to tell me otherwise.”

You sighed, but unfortunately, you couldn’t outright disagree with him. The two of you turned onto another street, where you bumped up into the back of a line for a food truck. Sungchan stopped you there, letting go of your hand to reach into his jacket and pull out his wallet.

“You got cash on you?” He asked, flicking through the bills in his wallet.

“No, do I need some?” You only had your phone and your credit cards.

“They’re cash only,” he nodded towards the food truck. “It’s fine, I’ll pay.”

“Sungchan, you don’t have to,” you insisted. “We can just eat somewhere else.”

“My idea, you didn’t know, I’ll pay.” He shook his head. The line moved up then, and he urged you forward with a hand on the small of your back. “Unless you think I’m broke because I don’t have some office job that I hate like you.”

“I didn’t say that! But you did just tell me you recently got paid in beer and exposure.”

“And have two other jobs,” he reminded you.

You didn’t outright accept his offer, but didn’t argue anymore. Getting on your tiptoes, you tried to look for a menu over the other customers in line.

“What do they even have?”

“Changes every week. We’ll find out when we order.”

“What if you don’t like what they’re selling this week?”

“What do I keep telling you? Live a little.”

“Fine.” You dropped back down to flat feet with a sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “How do you know about this place?”

“Couple of my friends run it, when they’re not playing.”

“They’re in a band too?”

“Uh-huh. That’s why it’s only open once a week. They’re performing or rehearsing every other day.” The line moved up again.

“Why have a food truck then? Food trucks run on narrow margins, they can’t be making enough money to cover their living expenses if they only do it once a week.”

“It’s not their day job. Music is.” He pointed to a piece of paper that was taped onto the side of the truck, the handwriting so faded you could barely make it out. Sungchan told you what it said anyway, “All the profits go to a local women’s shelter. And a lot of their ingredients and other stuff is donations, makes the margins a little less narrow.”

When you looked up at him curiously, he simply added, “The most punk thing you can do is help people.”

The two of you were finally at the front of the line, and a man’s head popped into view at the window. With the t-shirt he had on, you could see the tattoos that seemed to cover every inch of skin from his knuckles to his neck, the ink looking well-settled. He had gauges in his ears, the jewelry a bright rainbow of colors, and you couldn’t even count how many other piercings he had in addition to those. He seemed older than yourself and Sungchan, maybe late thirties or even early forties if you had to guess, a few specks of grey peppering his stubble.

He flashed Sungchan a bright smile as soon as he recognized him, deep crow’s feet around his eyes. “Hey, Sungchan! How are you? Sorry we missed your set Friday, SooSoo was up all night with a fever.”

“Don’t worry about it. Is she feeling better?” Sungchan asked.

“Yep, fever finally broke at like three in the morning Saturday, back to her normal self by Sunday.”

“Good to hear.”

“Anyway, let’s get you some food. I’m sure you didn’t bring your girl all the way out here to hear about my sick baby,” the older man chuckled.

Sungchan just laughed along and put in your orders. When the man turned around to help the other worker, a woman, prepare the food, you looked up at him suspiciously.

“Hm?” He had apparently noticed your look. “Oh, sorry, he was talking about his daughter, Yeonsoo. She’s… oh probably six months old now? Real cute.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Here you go.” The man was back at the window, two paper baskets of food in hand.

Sungchan went to grab a few bills out of his wallet. “How much?”

“On the house.”

“Jay, come on. Seriously, man, how much?”

“I’m serious, no charge tonight.” Jay shook his head. “You’ve never brought a date. So say thank you, don’t keep her waiting, and stop holding up my line.”

Sungchan sighed, stuffing the bills he had already grabbed into the tip jar that was on the counter and taking the food. “Thanks, man.”

“Goodnight, you two!” Jay sent you off with a jovial wave. Before you got too far, you could’ve sworn you heard a woman’s voice ask from inside the truck, “Did you say Sungchan had a date with him?”

The drummer handed you a basket of food as you started a meandering pace down the sidewalk. You took a bite to avoid talking about what just happened, despite the fact that it was very much the only thing you were thinking about.

“Oh, that’s really good,” you said, unable to contain your tone of pleasant surprise.

“I wasn’t going to take you somewhere shit for your new thing,” he replied.

“So if I told you that I had already completed my new thing for today, we would’ve gone somewhere with bad food?”

“Well, no, because I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Oh, of course,” you scoffed.

“You probably would’ve counted going to see me at the bookstore as your something new, right?”

“I’ve never done that before. I don’t know how that doesn’t count.”

“You have talked to me at the bookstore before. When I gave you directions.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t on purpose. And I didn’t go into the store, and it wasn’t like, a real conversation.”

“Still doesn’t count.”

“And who assigned you to decide if something counts or not? This is my thing.”

“You’re the one listening to me. I’m just some guy, remember? You could’ve told me to fuck off at any point.” He took a big bite of his food, wiping at the stray crumbs around his mouth with the back of his hand. “So either you’re really easy to peer pressure—which I doubt, considering you’ve never even gotten drunk—or you actually kind of agree with me.”

You were silent, scowling down at your rather delicious food.

“Which is it? Want me to fuck off or am I maybe kinda right?”

“Why do you even care?” You questioned in lieu of an answer. “I’m just someone who you gave directions to one time. Why do you care if I actually change my whole life with my stupid little plan?”

“Who said I care?”

“Then what is all this?”

“I’m not trying to be your life coach, Y/N.” Sungchan shrugged, then his features split into a grin. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be along for the ride.”

You stared down at your feet as you thought about it, about how different Sungchan’s life was from yours just from the brief glimpses you’d gotten of it. Looking back up at him, you nodded. “I could probably use some help brainstorming new things…”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

“Hell no.”

Sungchan grabbed your arm before you could turn and walk away from him completely. When he’d texted you the address to meet at, you thought that surely the online maps listing hadn’t been updated recently, and it was actually a restaurant or concert venue, or any other litany of things. But no, you were in fact standing in front of a tattoo shop with Sungchan, as your something new for today.

“Not for you, not for you,” he quickly reassured you. “I’m getting a new one. Have you ever been in a tattoo shop?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at the darkened windows apprehensively. “No…”

“I promise you’ll make it out alive,” he teased, to which you shot him an unamused glare. “Let’s go.”

Inside was surprisingly quiet. Rock music played over the speakers at a low volume, and there was already one artist set up with a client, the tattoo gun buzzing as she worked on a large piece on their calf. But really, you’d been in libraries that were louder. Sungchan guided you over to the front desk with a hand on your back, the man behind it already standing up to greet him.

“Sungchan, hey!” The guy beamed, reaching out to shake Sungchan’s free hand. He was younger, around your age, maybe a few years older, with a patchwork sleeve of dozens of colorful, bold tattoos along his arms.

“Hey, Johnny,” Sungchan shook his hand. “How are you?”

“Just got back from doing guest slots out of town, so I’m happy to get back in the groove of my usual shop.” Johnny’s twinkling eyes then focused on you. “And who’s this?”

“This is Y/N.” Sungchan seemed to smoothly sidestep mentioning who you were in relation to him. “You don’t mind if she hangs out during my appointment, right? One guest?”

“Not at all.” The artist then picked up a tablet from the counter. “Let me show you what I’ve got drawn up, hm?”

You peered around Sungchan curiously as they went over the design. It was a black and grey circle of flowers, leaves, thorns, and branches all interwoven together. A few birds hovered along the outside of it. In the corner of the canvas that the sketch was on, you could see the reference photos that Johnny had used, of an old porcelain plate that looked like it belonged in your grandmother’s china cabinet, not on a punk drummer's skin.

“It’s great, man. You nailed it,” Sungchan gave his approval.

“And for placement, you said your back, right?”

“Yeah, I was thinking left shoulder blade?” He shook off his jacket, grabbed the collar of his tank top and took it off in one go. Both him and Johnny moved around so Sungchan could see his own back in the full-length mirror propped up on a nearby wall.

“If you fill up the rest of your back in the future, you’ll have an odd hole in the middle of that shoulder from the center of this tattoo,” Johnny pointed out, tracing where the gap would be on Sungchan’s otherwise bare skin with his tablet stylus. “Unless you were to add something in the middle of this design later on. Depending on the size we do now, that might be difficult.”

“That’s a couple options. What else you think? Upper middle?”

“Yeah, centering it will look good, whether or not you fill the rest of your back, and even if you leave the middle of the ring empty,” Johnny agreed.

“Center it is then.”

“How big are you thinking?” Johnny held his hands up parallel to each other at the top of Sungchan’s spine. “This? A little bigger? I wouldn’t go any smaller or you’ll lose detail.”

“Bigger.”

Johnny moved his bottom hand down. “Hm?”

“Yeah, about that much?”

“I’ll print a couple sizes and we’ll see how it looks.”

As Johnny sat back at the desk to print out the stencils, you walked over to Sungchan, keeping your eyes on his face.

“Whose plate is that?” You asked curiously.

“How do you know I didn’t just find it on the internet and like the design?” He tilted his head.

“The cottagecore vibes really don’t match the rest of your work.”

He looked down at his own forearms and laughed. “Okay, fair. It’s my grandmother’s.”

“Hm.” You couldn’t help but smile fondly at the idea.

Johnny returned then with a couple different stencil sizes, and he and Sungchan went back to the mirror. After determining the size of the design, the area was prepped, and the stencil applied. You watched with interest as the design was transferred from the paper to Sungchan’s skin in purple ink.

“Go check that in the mirror,” Johnny instructed.

Sungchan stood back up from where he had laid down for the application, using a second mirror in his hand to look at it closer. He motioned with his head for you to join him. “What do you think? Is it centered?”

You got up from the stool that you had been given to walk over to the mirror as well, standing behind Sungchan to evaluate the placement of the stencil. “Stand up straight. And straighten out your shoulders, you know you slouch?”

Johnny snickered from his seat.

Squinting one eye closed, then the other, you finally gave a short nod. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“That’s the best you can hope for with her, Johnny,” Sungchan joked, returning to the padded table to lay down. “‘Fine.’”

You rolled your eyes, but took your seat on the side opposite from the tattoo artist anyway.

“High praise. Let’s do it,” Johnny grinned.

As Johnny got to work, you watched the first few strokes of his tattoo gun with interest, as the ink was deposited into Sungchan’s skin.

“You have any tattoos, Y/N?” Johnny asked, not looking up from his work.

“No,” you replied. Looking at Sungchan’s face next, which was mostly concealed by his arms and the pillow, he didn’t have any outward expression of pain. “Does it… hurt?”

The both of them chuckled, and you tried not to feel patronized, then Sungchan answered, “You ever been scratched by a cat?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s like that, but worse, and continuously.”

“Doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“It’s worse if you’re by bone,” Johnny added. “Or other sensitive areas.”

“Again, doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“An hour or so of unpleasantness in exchange for a lifetime of a cool tattoo,” Sungchan said in a tone of voice that made you think he would’ve shrugged if it weren’t for the tattoo gun currently on his upper back. “Easy trade-off if you ask me.”

“So how did you two meet?” Johnny’s voice didn’t carry any judgment, if anything he almost sounded amused.

“She came by the bookshop,” Sungchan answered simply. “You know, one of my day jobs.”

“Now that makes sense. No offense, Y/N, but you seem much more like a bookstore and coffee shops kind of girl than a basement mosh pit regular.”

You nodded slowly. “None taken… What you see is what you get with me.”

“Oh, she’s been trying new things,” Sungchan chuckled. “She’s been to a show.”

“And? What’d you think?” Johnny looked up at you eagerly.

You were a bit caught off-guard. Sungchan hadn’t even asked you if you liked his band’s performance. He’d commented on the fact that you’d showed up, who you were with, and that you left without seeing the other bands perform. But he never asked if you liked it.

“It was different for me,” you admitted. “Good different. I had fun.”

“Yeah, they’ve got a lot of heart, don’t they?” You could see the tug of Johnny’s smile at the corner of his mouth.

At the end of the appointment, Sungchan had one new tattoo and you were hungry. After paying Johnny and giving the artist your goodbyes, the two of you stepped back out onto the sidewalk in front of the tattoo parlor. It was dark out already, and you looked up at the moon, just past the streetlamp shining down on you.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Sungchan declared. “Dinner?”

“Sure,” you agreed. “But, I pick. I’ve already done my one new thing for today, and I’m craving fries.”

“Hard to argue with that.”

The place you had in mind was only a few blocks away from Johnny’s tattoo shop. As soon as you walked in, however, you wanted to turn back around. But you were craving fries and had already been spotted. Jeno perked up curiously from behind the counter, giving you a friendly wave. Honestly, you should’ve considered this as a possibility when you brought Sungchan into his place of work. You smiled back as you stepped up to the register.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you brightly, clearly interested in who you had with you, but not outright asking as his gaze strayed over to Sungchan.

“Hey, Jeno,” you said. “I didn’t realize you were working tonight.”

“Coworker got sick, I picked up a shift,” he explained. “So what can I get you? Your usual?”

“Just the fries and milkshake.” You then pointed to Sungchan with your thumb. “And whatever he wants. I’m paying.”

“Y/N—” Sungchan was clearly about to argue.

“You got it last time. Kind of.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “And they take card here. So order.”

He held his hands up. “Alright, alright.”

Picking a table in the corner as far from the cash register as you could get, you waited for Jeno to call your order number out as usual. Except this time he brought the food right out to your table on a tray. You eyed him suspiciously as he walked over.

“Here’s your food,” he smiled brightly at the both of you, taking the food off the tray to set the individual items in front of you.

“Right, thanks, Jeno,” you said. When he was still standing there after he was done, you looked at him more pointedly, “I’m not tipping you again if that’s what you’re waiting for. Goodbye, Jeno.”

“Enjoy your meal!” He took off back behind the counter.

Sungchan watched him for a moment before turning back to his food. “He was at the show.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“Your sturdy friend.”

“Yup.” You grabbed your first fry.

“The show, that reminds me—” Sungchan stopped in the middle of his sentence, sandwich halfway up to his mouth. “Uh, I think your friend just took a picture of us.”

Your phone buzzed then, and you checked the notification from your lockscreen, letting out a deep sigh. “He definitely did.”

[jeno: attached image]

[jeno: ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️]

“Hold on, sorry,” you apologized as you unlocked your phone to properly open the message.

As soon as you started typing a scathing text about privacy, another text came through.

[jeno: FUCK WRONG GROUP CHAT]

[you: wtf do you assholes have a gc without me in it??]

You looked over at the register, shooting Jeno a glare as he was very obviously trying not to look at you. His entire face, ears, and neck were visibly pink from the other side of the restaurant.

[jeno: it was to plan your surprise party last year!]

[jaem: Y/N ON A DATE CONFIRMED???????]

[renjunnie: jeno you’re an idiot]

[hyuck: wait jeno take another picture of his face im trying to see smth]

A large group of teenagers entered then, and Jeno had to quickly put his phone away to take their orders.

Sungchan had been quietly eating his food the whole time, and raised an eyebrow as you put your phone down with a groan. “Everything alright?”

“Sorry about that…” You let out another sigh. “So what you were saying? The show?”

“Oh, I’m glad you liked the set.” He looked almost self-conscious as he spoke, a small smile on his face as he ran a hand through his hair. “You hadn’t said anything about whether or not you actually liked the show, so I figured it might not have been your thing, you know? Or, you at least told Johnny you liked it…”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Didn’t want to seem like I was fishing for compliments.”

“I had fun,” you assured him, grabbing another fry. “I’m still surprised you could even see me. It was packed in there.”

“You were easy to spot,” he teased.

“You didn’t exactly give me a dress code.”

“If I did, would you have been able to dress for it?”

You pursed your lips as you thought for a moment, then relented, “…No.”

He shrugged off his jacket and offered you the garment. “Here, so you’ll blend in better next time.”

You accepted it, already giddy at the idea of a ‘next time.’ “Then how will you spot me?”

“I think I’ll manage.”

[jeno: attached image]

[jeno: no need to see his face, hyuck. its definitely the drummer from the basement]

[hyuck: fuckin knew it]

[jaem: are we SURE those are the same tattoos?? maybe y/n knows another guy with sleeves???]

[renjunnie: still the same gc, dumbasses]

[you: jeno don’t be a weirdo challenge FAILED]

[jeno: definitely the same guy, jaemin]

[you: im gonna get you fired lee jeno]

[jeno: my rent :( ]

[hyuck: y/n out here trying to SILENCE independent investigative journalists and whistleblowers i see 🫵]

[you: OR i was trying to eat in peace and meanwhile you guys are having your weekly ‘being the most obnoxious guy ever’ competition and somehow jeno is winning this time]

[jeno: :(( ]

[jaem: you were on a DATE with drummer guy and didnt tell us???]

[you: omfg because it wasn’t a date? im allowed to hang out with people who aren’t you four]

[jaem: no youre not?]

[hyuck: since when?]

[renjunnie: and since when do you know people who aren’t us lmao]

[you: im gonna block all of you]

[jeno: :'( ]

Thursday night and you were back in the basement. This time you didn’t bring any of your friends, not wanting to subject them to an experience that they clearly hadn’t enjoyed last time, and also to save yourself from having to explain why exactly you were back in the basement again and wearing Sungchan’s leather jacket. Due to the oppressive body heat around you, you just had it draped over your shoulders, but made sure to grab either side and hold it tight to not lose it as you maneuvered through the crowd. You unfortunately barely had time to run home and grab the jacket on your way here, as your boss kept your whole team late after hours today working on an urgent deadline. You were still wearing your work clothes; you didn’t trust yourself to change quickly without freaking out over what to wear and ending up missing Sungchan’s short set.

Just as you had wormed your way into a good enough spot towards the front and near the drumset, the band walked out from the adjoining room, waving to everyone. It was easy to spot Sungchan, not only because he was the tallest, but because he wasn’t even wearing a shirt this time, as opposed to the others, who were all wearing a tank top or t-shirt of some sort. His gaze was very clearly searching the crowd for something, and stopped as soon as it landed on you. You gave him a small wave, and he smiled back as he headed to his spot.

You weren’t sure if they had set up the speakers differently this time, if your ears were just used to the volume now, or if you were positioned better than before, but you could actually understand what the frontman was saying as he introduced the band.

“Hey! How is everyone?” His voice was cheerful, and you couldn’t help but laugh as the crowd cheered back. “First, uh, big thanks as always to our buddy Anton for having us. Second, if you don’t know us, that’s fine, nobody does.”

Everyone let out a unanimous round of chuckles, and the frontman was smiling too.

“Anyway, we are Roses for Eyes. I’m Shotaro, that’s Wonbin—” He pointed to the other guitarist, then the bassist, “—That’s Eunseok over there—” and finally Sungchan, “—And we’ve got Sungchan on the drums. And we’re supposed to be performing for you guys, not reading you our non-existent Wikipedia page. Here’s the first one, ‘Lonely as Mars,’ hope you all like it.”

From the first kick of the bass drum, you couldn’t take your eyes off Sungchan. The music reverberated through your chest, and this time you could hear their voices, and the words they were singing. They were good, you decided, and you liked it. But your focus never left the drummer. He had the same relaxed, easy-going smirk on his face as the last time he played, arms flexing with each hit of his sticks.

The set simultaneously felt like ten years and ten seconds. It was a blur, and before you knew it, Shotaro was once again speaking into the mic to give the crowd another thank you and goodnight. He, Eunseok, and Wonbin took their instruments with them. Sungchan tucked his drumsticks into the back pocket of his jeans as he stood up and followed his bandmates. With no friends urging you to leave, and what certainly seemed like an infinitely long list of reasons to stick around, you stayed put exactly where you were. Exactly where Sungchan knew you were.

The next band had just come out when you felt a hand grab your arm. Turning around, you knew who exactly that hand would belong to. Sungchan had found a shirt somewhere between performing and now, a tank top that didn’t cover much more than before. And despite him having just been performing a few moments ago, nobody in the crowd seemed to notice him, all their focus on the next act.

“You did good!” You had to shout over the music of the band currently performing.

He bent down to talk right into your ear. “It’s loud over here.”

You let him guide you to a corner further back from the crowd with an arm around your shoulders. There were a few other people back there, either smoking, making out, or both. You rested your back against the wall, looking up at Sungchan, who leaned over you with his hand on the wall next to your head. You opened your mouth, about to repeat what you had said out on the floor.

“Fuck, you look so hot in my jacket,” Sungchan groaned, sufficiently wiping all previous trains of thought from your brain. His fingers messed with the zipper teeth of one side, eyes scanning your whole frame.

“I feel a bit silly wearing it with the pantsuit, but I got hung up at work and didn’t want to be late…” You trailed off, noticing that his gaze was definitely now on your mouth. Tilting your head, you asked teasingly, “Sungchan, are you flirting with me?”

“Have been for like three weeks now, thanks for noticing.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t count this as my something new. I’ve been to one of your sets before, at this exact basement,” you sighed wistfully, latching onto his free arm and pulling him even closer to you.

“Mm, good point.” His hand grabbed your waist. “I think we can come up with something to do tonight that you haven’t done before.”

“I think I’ve got one.”

“Oh, here I thought I was the ideas guy?”

You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to yours. Sungchan let out another low sound against your lips, grip on your waist tightening as he pushed you back into the wall as hard as you were pulling him down with you. He dropped from leaning on his hand to his forearm, caging you in closer. Your hand that wasn’t tangled in his hair was shamelessly feeling up the muscles of his arm and shoulder. When he softly sank his teeth into your bottom lip, you couldn’t help but dig your fingernails into his tricep in surprise, pushing your hips up against his insistently.

“Fuck, Sungchan,” you panted against his mouth when he pulled back for a brief moment of air, his thigh now wedged between yours.

“God, you’re so—” He pressed his lips to yours again, hand at the small of your back to pull you as close to him as possible. If you thought you were warm before packed in the crowd, you were in a stifling heat now, pinned between Sungchan’s body and the wall. He broke the kiss, asking between deep breaths, “Can—Can I take you home?”

“What about the other bands?” You giggled, lips ghosting over his as you spoke.

“Fuck the other bands,” he replied immediately. “As soon I saw you out in the crowd wearing my jacket, could barely focus on the set because you looked so good.”

“Yes, Sungchan.” You kissed him again. “You can take me home.”

As soon as Sungchan’s front door was shut, he had you pressed up against it again. You pulled at his flimsy tank top as his tongue slipped past your lips. Finally, he gave in to your persistent hands and let you pull it off him.

“Honestly, don’t even know why you bother with shirts at this point,” you scoffed, throwing it off towards the side somewhere.

“With how much I’ve spent on tattoos? I agree,” he chuckled, cupping your cheek to pull your mouth to his again.

Still attached to each other, you’d only succeeded at getting Sungchan’s belt unbuckled by the time you made it to his bedroom. Before you could unbutton his pants, however, he stepped back from you, familiar teasing glint in his eyes.

“Well this isn’t very fair, don’t you think?” He gestured between his half-dressed state and your fully dressed self.

“I thought you liked me in your jacket?” You taunted, wrapping the garment tighter around yourself.

“Which is why you’ve got to let me take it off you.” He put his hands together in a pleading motion. “And the pantsuit…”

“Mm, alright.” You dropped your hands from the jacket.

He circled behind you, hovering close to remove his leather jacket from your shoulders, pressing kisses to your neck as he did so. With him no longer blocking the rest of his bedroom from your view, you couldn’t help but be a little surprised at the presence of one thing.

“You know, I was mentally prepared for you to not have a bedframe,” you commented as he took off your blazer next.

“You got mattress-on-the-ground vibes from me and still came home with me?” Sungchan asked incredulously, letting out a breathy laugh. His deft fingers started unbuttoning your blouse next. “I think I’m flattered? And you’ve got to raise your standards.”

You turned around to face him, feeling the smirk on your face as you replied, “Let’s see how high we can raise those standards, hm?”

“Is that a challenge or what?” Sungchan laughed again, wasting no time in attaching his lips and teeth to your neck, dropping your blouse off your shoulders and to the floor.

When the garish blaring of your work alarm came, you reached over to the right to blindly grab your phone off your nightstand. Instead, your hand hit what felt like someone’s face, and you jolted up in bed as they did as well, already swearing.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Sungchan was holding his eye. “What the hell was that for? That’s not my alarm.”

Blinking a couple times to orient yourself first, you then jerked over to grab your phone off the floor on your left side. Sungchan may have had a bedframe, but he did only have one nightstand. You quickly turned off your alarm and fell back onto the mattress. You weren’t going to be able to go back to sleep, having been sufficiently scared awake, but you needed a second to catch your breath.

“Work alarm…” You explained belatedly, in case that wasn’t apparent.

Sungchan made a grunt of acknowledgement, dropping his hand from his face as he laid back down as well. He rolled over towards you, slinging an arm around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. You stared up at his ceiling, feeling his warm breaths washing over the skin of your arm.

“Mars isn’t lonely,” you blurted out into his still-dark room.

“What?” He mumbled into your shoulder.

“It’s got two moons.”

Sungchan shifted around, propping his head up with his other hand to be able to talk. “Yes… Phobos and Deimos. Named for the Greek gods of fear and dread, respectively.”

“So to be lonely as Mars… with fear and dread as your only companions.”

“That was the idea, when we wrote it.” He brushed hair back from your face. “Don’t tell me the title of one of our songs kept you up all night.”

“No, was just kind of in the back of my mind.” You felt a sudden prickling along your skin as his hand fell to your arm, fingers playing with the sleeve hem of the t-shirt you were wearing—his. Sitting up out of his grasp, you pushed the covers off of you. “I have to get ready for work.”

Sungchan wordlessly watched you gather up your clothes from the floor and get dressed. When you went into the adjoining bathroom to check the tuck of your shirt into your pants and make other adjustments, he followed, leaning in the doorway with a troubled look on his face.

“Am I just something new, Y/N?” He asked bluntly, arms crossed over his chest.

“Am I just entertainment?” You immediately fired back, trying to smooth out a wrinkle that your blouse had acquired from sitting crumpled on the floor all night.

“What? Why would you think that?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“‘I don’t care. I just want to be along for the ride.’” You paraphrased what he said when he agreed to help you with your plan. “Am I just entertainment?”

His features softened. “No, you’re not entertainment.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, shoulders falling as they lost the tension they’d just held. “No, Sungchan, you’re not just something new.”

He walked over to you with a wide grin on his face, cupping your cheek and pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss too, giving him one more peck before turning back to fixing your attire in the mirror. There was nothing you could do right now about the wrinkles, but you could at least attempt something with your hair.

Sungchan stepped behind you, resting his hands on your hips and pulling you back into him. He placed a few lazy kisses along your neck, murmuring, “I think the pantsuit is growing on me, actually.”

“Then why are you trying to take it off me?” You questioned, grabbing his hand that had been reaching for your blouse buttons again.

“Because I like what’s under it better.”

“Nice try. I have work.” You spun out of his arms, heading for his bedroom door.

Two steps into the hall, you knew something was wrong. There were other voices in Sungchan’s apartment, which stopped when they saw you. As soon as your eyes registered the three men in the living room, you skittered backwards back into Sungchan’s room again.

Practically slamming his door closed behind you, you didn’t let him get whatever surprised statement he had out of his mouth, as you hissed, “Sungchan! Why is your whole fucking band out there?”

“Probably because your work alarm woke them up too,” he laughed, which turned into a yawn as he stretched his arms over his head. “They’re not really early birds…”

“Why are they here?”

“They live here?”

In your rush to get into Sungchan’s bedroom last night, you had somehow missed any signs of three other people living here. You didn’t even hear them come home last night, and you weren’t exactly… quiet yourself. Definitely not three roommates quiet.

“Oh my god…” You sunk down against the door, shaking your head. “I’m just going to stay in here and die, I think.”

“I thought you had work?” Sungchan pointed out smugly.

“Ugh…” You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“Y/N, they’ve already seen you. Here, I’ll walk you out. Will that help?” He offered, pulling on a shirt and his leather jacket.

“Fine, I’m gonna be late if I stay any longer.”

He held a hand out to you, and you placed yours in it for him to pull you to your feet. “Let’s go.”

The chatter that had started up again in your absence died down as soon as the bedroom door opened. Sure enough, the other three members of Roses for Eyes were sprawled out across the living room exactly where you’d left them. Shotaro was sideways in an armchair, Switch in hand as his thumbs moved over the controls quickly. Eunseok was sleepily eating a bowl of cereal on the couch, while Wonbin didn’t actually look awake, slumped against Eunseok’s shoulder with his eyes closed.

“Morning, guys,” Sungchan nodded to them as you walked by, still ushering you to the door.

Eunseok wordlessly held his hand out palm-up towards the armchair, and you saw Shotaro smack a few bills down into it.

At the front door, you were just ready to leave. Patting Sungchan’s arm, you gave him a nod and hushed, “Bye.”

Turning to grab the door handle, you heard Sungchan’s voice, nowhere near the whisper yours was.

“Baby, you almost forgot—” Sungchan stopped you, grabbing your hand and spinning you back around.

The sudden pet name made your skin burn. “What is it, Sungchan? My phone?” You started patting your pockets.

He took off the leather jacket that he just put on, putting it squarely on your shoulders. “Oh, and—” He cradled your face with two hands, kissing you.

It was short, sweet, and made your knees feel like jelly. When he’d pulled away, still holding your face, you whispered in the small space between you, “I’m going to be late.”

“Have a good day at work.” He smiled, letting you go and opening the door for you.

With a sigh, Eunseok gave the money back to Shotaro.

You weren’t late that morning, thankfully, but your mind was still in the stratosphere as you bustled around the breakroom making yourself coffee. You’d left Sungchan’s jacket hanging off the back of your chair; it wasn’t exactly in dress code for your office.

“Morning, Y/N,” Renjun said through a yawn, shuffling into the breakroom as well. He paused as he seemed to be taking in your clothes. “Am I crazy or did you wear that yesterday?”

“The only thing worse than an outfit repeater is an outfit remember-er,” you jested back.

“No, I mean like…” He got closer, rubbing his eyes as he peered at your blouse. “You didn’t wash them. They’re all wrinkled and—You got laid.”

“Or I need to do laundry.”

He pointed to your neck. “Hickey.”

“Damn, you caught me breaking my undying vow of chastity—oh wait,” you retorted sarcastically.

He held his hands up. “Hey, no slut-shaming here. Love that for you. One question?”

“What?”

“Was it drummer guy?”

You looked around the breakroom as you stirred sugar into your coffee. “…Yes.”

Renjun chuckled and grabbed a coffee mug. “Something new every day…”

“Why can’t you just get the food delivered?” You complained, pulling Sungchan’s blankets tighter around you as the bed grew cold without him in there with you.

He hopped on one foot as he pulled a shoe on. “Because the delivery charge is as much as the food is, baby. And it’s just around the block.”

You huffed dramatically, watching him start searching the sheets for his phone. He secured it in his hand victoriously, tucking it in his back pocket.

“You could come with me, you know,” he pointed out, mischievous hands already reaching for the covers and pulling them down, revealing your bare legs to the cold air conditioning. “But you’d have to put pants on.”

You yanked the blankets back over you. “I’ll wait.”

He snickered, leaning down to press his lips to yours. “Be back in a few.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sighed, kissing him again.

He dropped one more peck to your forehead before standing up straight and heading out, shutting his door behind him. You snuggled back under the covers, pulling the blanket up over your shoulders as you tried to enjoy the fleeting warmth left over as you scrolled on your phone. Sungchan had only been gone for a few minutes when you heard the front door open again. You perked up with interest. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be back soon. Then there were a couple light knocks on the bedroom door. Not Sungchan. One of his bandmates must have come home.

You scrambled to throw the sheets off you and grab a pair of your shorts from Sungchan’s floor, putting your legs through them as you stumbled towards the door. Opening it just enough to peer out, you saw Wonbin on the other side, a plastic grocery bag in his hand. He didn’t seem surprised to see you at all.

“…Hi?” You greeted him hesitantly. You had been seeing Sungchan for a couple weeks now, and had caught glimpses of his roommates around his apartment, but had yet to say much more than the occasional ‘morning’ or ‘night’ or ‘hey’ in passing.

Wonbin held up the plastic bag. “Can you help me dye my hair?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” You looked down at what you were wearing, one of Sungchan’s black t-shirts. “What color? Should I change? Like, is it bleach?”

“Black. That’s fine.” He turned around, walking back down the hall.

You followed him as he opened another one of the doors, this one leading to a bathroom. As he prepped the dye, you read the pamphlet of instructions carefully.

“I’ll do the mixing,” he interrupted your deep focus. “I just can’t see the back of my head.”

“Oh. Okay.” You set the directions down on the counter next to the bottles. “I’ve never done this before… Don’t want to ruin your hair.”

He shrugged, handing you a pair of gloves. “If you miss a spot, we’ll just do it again.”

After Wonbin mixed up the dye, he sat on the edge of the tub for you to stand over him and start applying it to his hair. As you worked the dark dye into his blonde hair, you watched his soft waves straighten out.

“I liked the blonde curls,” you commented, moving onto the next section.

“Me too.” He flicked through his music library on his phone. “Time for something new, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” you smiled to yourself, adding more dye.

“What music do you like?”

“Oh, put on whatever you want. I’m trying to broaden my horizons.”

He wordlessly selected a song, a soft guitar melody coming through the speakers. It was so different from the music that you’d heard them perform, your hands slowed as you listened thoughtfully.

“Is that why you’re dating Sungchan?” Wonbin’s question caught you off-guard.

“What?” You parted his hair, double-checking that you had gotten every bit of blonde in that section.

“You’re broadening your horizons.” He picked at his nail polish that was already chipped. “Is that why you’re dating Sungchan?”

“Something like that.” Satisfied that you had fully saturated that area, you went to the next one. “I also just like him.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? Because we’re so different?”

“No, because he’s lame.”

You laughed right as you had started squeezing more dye out, missing his head as the liquid dripped right down the back of his neck instead. Wonbin hissed in surprise, shoulders jumping.

“Oh! Sorry!” You were still laughing as you grabbed the end of the towel that was around his shoulders, wiping at the stray hair dye.

Shotaro came home soon after that, joining the two of you in the bathroom, hopping up on the bathroom counter to watch you apply the hair dye. He showed off his new nose ring that he just got, and tsked when he saw Wonbin’s chipped nail polish.

“We’re gonna have to redo that, Wonbin,” the frontman shook his head. “After Y/N’s done with your hair.”

“Once it’s applied, it’s got to sit for thirty minutes,” you recalled the instructions. “Will that be long enough?”

“Plenty.”

You were a little more than halfway done with Wonbin’s hair when Sungchan finally got back.

“Wonbin? Taro? You guys here?” He called out into the apartment. “Y/N’s here too by the—”

He’d poked his head into the bathroom then, brown paper bag of food in hand. You gave him a wave with your hair dye-covered, gloved hand.

“Hi, Sungchan,” you smiled. “That was more than a few minutes.”

“Clearly,” he gestured to the scene in front of him. “I leave you for like twelve minutes and my bandmates adopt you.”

“We can eat once I finish applying Wonbin’s hair dye.”

“Sure.”

“What’d you get?” Shotaro leaned over towards the bag with interest.

“Only four extra crab rangoons. Fight over them however you want.” Sungchan pulled out a smaller bag from within the takeout bag.

Wonbin and Shotaro locked eyes.

“None for Eunseok?” Shotaro proposed.

Wonbin nodded minutely, as much as he could with some of his hair still in your hands. The front door slammed closed then, and they both groaned.

“I smell chemicals!” Eunseok yelled out. “What is it this time, Wonbin? Purple? Red? Both?”

The bassist appeared in the doorway behind Sungchan, peeking over his shoulder at everyone. “Oh hey, Y/N.”

“Hi, Eunseok.” You nodded to him, applying more dye.

“Shotaro, are those crab rangoons you’re hiding behind your back?”

A random Sunday afternoon found you at Sungchan’s apartment, as you seemed to be most days now. If you weren’t at work, at one of his gigs, or with your own friends, it was a safe bet that you could be found there.

He opened the door for you, pecking your cheek in greeting, “Hi, baby.”

“I know what we’re doing today,” you blurted out, before you could lose your nerve. “My something new.”

He tilted his head curiously. “And? What is it?”

You took a deep breath. “I’m going to get my ears pierced. Second lobe piercings, I already have the first done. I’ve been wanting to do it for like forever, but I just… haven’t. It’s allowed at my work, I checked the employee handbook, and asked someone from HR on Friday to be extra sure.”

Sungchan beamed at you. “Hell yeah. We can use Shotaro’s piercer, unless you’ve already looked someone up?”

“Whoever Shotaro goes to will be fine.”

Wonbin was taking a nap on the couch in the afternoon sunlight, and you walked past him to get to the hall where Shotaro and Eunseok’s rooms were. Shotaro’s door was ajar already, and Sungchan pushed it open the rest of the way. The frontman was laid out on his bed upside down, his feet kicked up on the wall as he lazily plucked out a melody on an acoustic guitar. Eunseok was in there too, scrawling away at a notebook at the guitarist’s desk.

“Who do you go to for your piercings?” Sungchan didn’t give either of them so much as a hello.

Shotaro craned his neck to look over at the two of you. “Huh? Oh, uh, Sid, at Black Cat in downtown. Why? What are you getting?”

“Not for me,” Sungchan informed him happily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Eunseok’s head snapped up from where he had been focused on his notebook, and Shotaro set his instrument aside to roll over and fully face you.

“Y/N?!” Shotaro’s jaw dropped in delight. “What are you getting?”

“Ah, just my second lobes…” you muttered self-consciously, hands instinctively feeling at the jewelry that you already had in your existing piercings. You pushed further into Sungchan’s side to hide your face from them, especially when the bassist muttered a ‘woah’ at this revelation.

“Sid taking walk-ins today?” Sungchan asked.

“She should be. You know what? I’ll call her right now.” Shotaro eagerly brought out his phone.

After he confirmed that Sid was, in fact, taking walk-ins, Sungchan went to get changed as Eunseok and Shotaro put shoes on as well, ushering you towards the front door. All the commotion woke Wonbin up, as he sleepily lifted his head up and rubbed one of his eyes, watching the four of you.

“Where are you guys going?” Wonbin squinted against the sun.

“Y/N’s getting pierced!” Shotaro announced brightly.

“I’m coming.”

At Black Cat, which you learned was a tattoo and piercing shop, you met with Sid, a young woman who was no older than you, and told her what you wanted. She nodded, looking at your ears for just a second.

“Easy. How old were you when you got the first ones done?” She asked, pulling out a tray of jewelry from under the counter she was standing behind.

“Thirteen maybe? I know it was done with one of those piercing guns…” You admitted sheepishly.

“We don’t use those here.” She shook her head. “Injures the tissue too much. I’ll be using a needle, should take like half a second on each side. I’ll explain everything back at the station where I can show you all the tools.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll give you a minute to pick your jewelry while I prep the station.” With that, she walked towards the back of the shop.

Everyone huddled around while you browsed through the options, seeming to have their own input. You finally settled on a pair of studs with small diamonds in them, not too outlandish; you’d be able to easily match them with the rest of your jewelry and any outfits you wore to work easily while the piercings healed.

“You nervous?” Sungchan murmured, rubbing your back as Shotaro and Wonbin wandered over towards the other end of the clear case of jewelry, looking at industrial piercings. Eunseok flipped through a book of flash tattoo options.

You shook your head. “No. Excited.”

“So you’re not gonna need to hold my hand?”

“I didn’t say that…”

As Sid walked back over, the others crowded around you excitedly again.

“Do you all really need to be here? It’s not that big of a deal…” You muttered, a bit embarrassed at how hyped they were over you just getting a couple ear piercings.

“I’m with Y/N on this one. Only you can come back.” She pointed at Sungchan. “The rest of you will have to wait up front.”

Sitting on the padded chair at Sid’s station, she walked you through each step and the tools she’d be using first, then marked where the piercings would go on your ears.

“Check the placement.” She handed you a handheld mirror.

You appraised them, then looked up at Sungchan. “What do you think? Even?”

“Sit up straight. And straighten out your shoulders, did you know you slouch?” He teased, grabbing your shoulders and straightening them out for you.

You glared up at him, but fixed your posture nevertheless.

“They look good, baby,” he approved, squeezing your arm.

Sungchan stood off to your side, holding your hand as Sid got ready on the on the first ear.

“Alright. One, two—” At the pinch, you squeezed Sungchan’s hand tighter, face screwing up in surprise.

She moved to the other side. “Next. One, two—” Pinch. “All done.”

“Wooh!” The other three cheered from up front, pumping their fists and jumping up and down.

“Fuck yeah, Y/N!” Eunseok yelled out.

“Baby’s first body mod!” Shotaro pretended to wipe a tear from under his eye. “They grow up so fast…”

“So pretty, baby,” Sungchan kissed your cheek, a wide grin on his face when he pulled back. He wiped at the single actual tear that had spilled over from your own eye. “So proud of you.”

Your face hurt from how much you were smiling, more than your ears did.

“Y/N!” Jaemin stood up from the table as soon as he saw you, pulling you in for a hug. The two of you were meeting up on your respective lunch breaks at a café equidistant from your workplaces.

“Hi Jaem—Ow!” You hissed as his head bumped into your ear.

“What? What’s wrong?” He pulled back, clearly worried.

“It’s nothing, sorry.” You cradled the wounded ear, giving him a reassuring smile. “I finally got my second lobes done the other day and they’re still tender.”

“Let me see!”

You tucked your hair behind your ears to show off the small diamonds. “Just some studs…”

“Cool. They look good.” He was still smiling as the two of you sat down. “What made you want to do that?”

“I’ve been talking about it for a while.”

“Yeah, I know. What made you finally get them?”

“Something spontaneous or new every day, remember?”

“Well, I’m happy you finally did it. Seems your little quarter life crisis is actually working, huh?”

“Sungchan’s been helping me,” you acknowledged, watching his face carefully.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “The drummer guy?”

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing him...” You sat forward, lacing your hands together in front of you on the table. “Speaking of—Dinner tomorrow, I figured I could bring him? You guys could all meet?”

Jaemin rubbed the back of his neck, tone turning remorseful. “Damn, Y/N, I wish you’d told me sooner. I already made the reservation for five people.”

“You can’t call back and change it to six?”

“Limited space.”

“There’s not a lot of five-person tables. Wouldn’t they be putting us at one that seats six anyway?”

“If I change it, we’ll be bumped to the bottom of the list again.”

“Oh. That’s alright, another time,” you acquiesced as your waiter came over, handing you menus.

“Another time,” your friend agreed.

You were in the ‘green room’ of Anton’s basement, which was actually the laundry alcove that had a few chairs set up for the acts to sit and wait before they went on. All of Roses for Eyes were back there, chatting as the time for their set to start got closer.

“You know what I’m craving?” Sungchan hummed in your ear.

“What is that?” You turned to look at him out of the corner of your vision from your current position on his lap.

“Fries from that place where your sturdy friend works.”

“He has a name,” you laughed, pinching his forearm. “Do you want to go get some after this? They’re open late.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“After the day I had at work, I’ve earned a milkshake,” you sighed, leaning back against him.

Sungchan wrapped his arms around your waist, and you could hear the frown in his voice as he asked, “What happened, baby?”

“You’re about to go on, I’ll tell you later,” you promised. “Just my boss—”

“Yo! Roses!” Anton poked his head into the room just then. “Two minutes! Let’s go!”

You got up from Sungchan’s lap as the others started grabbing their instruments. “I should go grab a spot.”

“Okay…” He cupped your cheek to bring your mouth to his. “See you in a minute, baby.”

“See you.”

You picked your way through the crowd until you found a group of familiar faces: Anton, and two more regulars and friends of Roses for Eyes, Sohee and Seunghan. When the band still hadn’t come out after a few minutes, you got on your tiptoes to look over the crowd towards the green room.

“Wonder what’s keeping them?” You mused, dropping back onto flat feet again.

“Oh, Jay and Hayoung popped in there right after you left,” Anton explained. “Said they wanted to talk to them.”

“I thought they already left,” Seunghan commented.

“No, their tour starts in a couple weeks, I think,” Sohee explained. “Or at least, the tickets I have aren’t until next month.”

“Is that for the Venue:Hell show?”

“Yeah, are you going?”

“Waiting to get paid then I’ll buy my ticket.”

“Anton and I have an extra,” Sohee offered. “He was going to bring that girl he was seeing, but we all know how that worked out.”

“No need to rub it in my face,” Anton grumbled as the other two simultaneously snickered and tried to comfort him. He then turned to you. “Where’d Sungchan find you, anyway?”

“Oh, uh, I got lost and asked him for directions at the bookstore he works at,” you answered, knowing that wasn’t going to help your friend very much.

“You’re useless to me.”

You laughed and patted his back. “I’m sorry, Anton. Maybe instead of trying to find someone the same way Sungchan and I met, you should just try meeting different people. Sungchan could tell that I wasn’t into this kind of stuff at all when we met, and still tried anyway.”

“Alright, got any pantsuit-wearing friends you can set me up with?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

It was then that Roses for Eyes finally started walking out, Sungchan at the front. They seemed to be even more energetic than usual during their set, and you could feel it radiate out through the whole room. You couldn’t stop jumping, dancing, and singing along to the songs that you had finally learned the lyrics to.

When they were done, Shotaro gave their usual thank-you and goodbye before leaving. By the time the next act was starting their first song, Roses for Eyes had joined the rest of you in the crowd.

“You guys did so good!” You praised them, squeezing Shotaro’s forearm as you wrapped your other arm around Sungchan’s waist. “Like, I think that was like the best set I’ve ever seen!”

“Thanks, baby,” Sungchan laughed breathlessly, kissing your temple and pulling you even closer with an arm around your shoulders. “You looked like you were having a good time.”

“She’s right, you guys had a lot of energy up there,” Seunghan complimented them as well.

“What did Hayoung and Jay want, by the way?” Anton asked. “They kept you guys for a while.”

The band exchanged uncertain looks, Eunseok, Wonbin, and Shotaro looking to Sungchan as if waiting for his cue.

He shrugged and squeezed your shoulder. “Just dropping by before they go on tour, you know?”

The rest of Roses for Eyes declined accompanying you and Sungchan for your midnight snack, so it was just the two of you squished into the same side of a booth, Sungchan taking sips from your milkshake as you stole fries from his plate.

“Tell me about work,” he prompted you, nudging your leg with his.

“Oh, God, it was just… long,” you groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Felt like it would never end. My boss put off starting his part of this project until literally the day before our deadline to send it to the VP, which meant I had to rush to finalize everything. Meanwhile, he was breathing down my neck the whole time about the deadline! Like! Dude, I fucking know! We wouldn’t be cutting it so close if he had done his part earlier!”

“That’s really inconsiderate.” Sungchan frowned, rubbing your back. “I’m sorry, baby, that sounds really stressful.”

“But we got it submitted, so that’s all that matters, I guess,” you sighed. “You were right, Sungchan. I hate my job.”

His hand stilled on your back, just resting there as you sat in the wake of your admission.

“You remember my friends from the food truck?” He asked, abruptly changing topics.

“Yeah, Jay and Hayoung.”

“Well, we actually got an offer to open for their band on tour,” he told you, voice pitching up with excitement. That must’ve been what they were discussing before their set tonight. “It’ll be for a couple months.”

“Oh… congrats. I know this is big for you guys. Have fun.” You smiled, trying to hide the sudden emptiness inside you as you tried to imagine what your days would look like without Sungchan or the rest of his bandmates for two whole months. “When do you leave?”

“Next Saturday. Their original opener dropped out, it was last-minute.”

“Oh. I’ll see you when you get back, then.” You then paused, your mind suddenly changing directions and racing with other thoughts of why he might want to be telling you this. He was a drummer in a band going on their first tour, maybe he’d want the full rockstar experience. “Unless this was something else…”

His eyes widened as he shook his head fervently. “I’m not—I mean, I won’t ask you to wait for me if you want to get on with your life while I’m gone, but I would wait for you.”

“Why not?” You furrowed your brow thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Why wouldn’t you ask me to wait for you? You want me to ask you to wait, but you won’t ask me.”

“Because I’m about to ask you for something even bigger than to wait two months for me to come back.” He grabbed your hand, holding it tight.

“What…?”

“Come with me.”

“What?!” You blinked, for a moment unsure that you had even heard him right.

“On tour. Come with me,” he repeated, as sincere, eager, and genuine as he was in everything.

You immediately stammered out, “Sungchan, I’d have to quit my job—”

“And then when we get back, you can find one that you actually like.”

“If I can even get one.”

“This is exactly what you’ve been trying to do, Y/N. Something new every day.” He was sandwiching your hand between both of his now. “Please, just think about it?”

“Alright, what are you moping about?” Renjun asked, pushing an already-opened beer into your hand as he walked by.

The five of you were over at Jeno and Jaemin’s place for a movie, pizza, and beer night, and the first movie hadn’t even been started yet. As usual, you were an open book to your friends.

“Sungchan’s band is going on tour. For two months,” you told them glumly before bringing the bottle to your lips. “They leave Saturday.”

“They have enough fans to do that?” Donghyuck snorted, picking up a slice of pizza.

“They’re opening for another band.”

“Aw, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Y/N,” Jaemin went to comfort you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You tapped a fingernail against the glass bottle in your hands. “He asked me to go with him.”

“Does he think you can just quit your job for two months and come back and your boss will rehire you?” Renjun retorted. “This guy lives another world, sounds like you dodged a bullet.”

“You’re considering it.” Donghyuck pointed at you knowingly. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have brought up that he asked you until after he was long gone.”

You were quiet, looking down at your slice of pizza.

“Are you?” Jeno asked.

“I mean, I’ve been trying to do something different every day—”

“Woahwoahwoah! Seriously?!” Renjun cut you off, waving his hands wildly.

“I have enough in my savings to cover my rent and stuff while I’m gone, plus a few months after I get back while I look for a new job—”

“Holy shit you’re like, serious about this,” Jeno breathed out, blinking in surprise.

Jaemin took over, “When we joked about you having a quarter life crisis, we didn’t mean for you to actually do something like quit your job and go run off to join your punk boyfriend that you barely know on his dirtbag boyband’s tour for months.”

“We kind of figured you seeing this guy was already pushing your limits…” Renjun added.

“Gee, thanks.” You rolled your eyes. “You thought I was—What? Getting it out of my system? Then I’d settle down with a guy who’s as boring as I am?”

“When you phrase it like that—”

“You guys don’t even know Sungchan.” You cut Jaemin off, getting to your feet to face them all as your skin pricked with anger.

“Do you? You’ve been seeing him for like a month.” Jaemin gestured to you pointedly.

“Three. But thanks for proving my point so well,” you snapped. “You haven’t even tried to get to know him! You don’t like his music, fine, I wouldn’t expect you to go back to a show. But you haven’t invited him anywhere and you somehow always have an excuse when I invite you guys to something with him. None of you have even really met him. Not even Jeno from that one time, so don’t try to start that.”

They all seemed to be at a loss for words, looking at each other as if waiting for someone else to say the right thing.

“Y/N, come on…” Jaemin tried again, but trailed off at your furious glare.

“I’m going,” you declared, grabbing your phone from the coffee table. “Unless any of you plan on getting your heads out of your asses in the next five seconds.”

They were quiet again, and you took that as your answer, storming out of the apartment.

“Oh hey.” Eunseok’s face held mild surprise when he opened the door for you. “Sungchan said you weren’t coming over today.”

“Is he here?” You were still agitated from what just happened with your friends.

“In his room.” The bassist stepped back to let you in.

You passed by Wonbin and Shotaro in the living room, a game paused on their TV. They gave you greetings as you walked by, and you tossed a hello back over your shoulder. Sungchan’s door opened before you even got to it, confusion on his features when he saw you there.

“Hey, I thought I heard your voice.” He watched you as you stomped past him into his room. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, baby, but I thought you were hanging out with your friends tonight. What are you doing here?”

“I’m pissed at them.”

“What happened?” He sat down on his bed as you paced angrily in front of him.

“I was trying to tell them about the tour.” You gestured between the two of you. “You know, bouncing ideas off them or whatever. My mind was pretty much made up, I just needed to talk it through. And they couldn’t even be happy for you, or actually listen to me! They just called you a dirtbag and patronized me like a dumb child. Apparently, they’ve just been waiting for me to dump you and settle down with some boring guy that’s better for someone boring like me! They’ve been refusing to meet you, I mean, I can’t believe they think they somehow know anything about if you’re good for me or not.”

Sungchan had been listening patiently while you ranted, and when it seemed like you had come to a stopping point, he asked, “They really said all that?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Pretty much?” He repeated knowingly.

You put your hands on your hips. “They called you guys a dirtbag boyband. And said I was ‘pushing my limits’ by seeing you.”

“‘Dirtbag boyband,’” Sungchan repeated with a laugh. “Yeah, I like that.”

“Of course you think it’s funny.”

“That part? Yeah, I do,” he snickered, holding a hand out towards you. When you had reluctantly put yours in it, he pulled you closer, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “The part where they’re being super judgmental and treating you like you can’t make your own decisions? No, I don’t think that’s funny.”

You took a deep breath, already beginning to calm down a little as he continued working soothing circles into your skin.

“You said your mind was made up? Mostly?” Sungchan asked tentatively, eyes focused on your intertwined hands.

“I want to go with you,” you said, watching his head snap up to look at you, his face hopeful. “On the tour. I fucking hate my job and I love you.”

Sungchan’s eyes went wide as he gazed up at you. Then he was yanking you down into his arms, and you let out an embarrassing ‘eep!’ as you threw your arms around his shoulders, trying to find some stability in your sudden change in orientation. He held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You could feel his smile against your skin.

“I love you too,” he murmured, pulling back to cup your cheek. He was grinning. “I love you.”

Your skin got warmer as you realized exactly what you’d said, but you couldn’t take it back now. You’d said it, you meant it, it was true, and you wanted to say it again.

“I love you.” You repeated, feeling a smile creep across your face.

Sungchan leaned up to kiss you, cradling the back of your head as he pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pressed even closer to him.

Your phone started buzzing relentlessly in your back pocket then, and you let out an annoyed groan into Sungchan’s mouth. You broke apart just enough to pull out your phone and look at the screen, fully intending on declining the call. Then you saw the caller ID and paused.

“Who is it?” Sungchan asked, kissing along your jaw.

“Jeno.” You continued staring at the screen.

He drew back. “You should answer it.”

“Sungchan—”

“Just see what he wants. Might be important.”

You sighed, and hit the accept button. “What?”

“You picked up! Great!” Jeno sounded genuinely shocked. “Uhm, will you come back?”

“So you guys can continue belittling my life choices? Pass.”

“No, no, so we can all talk. Actually talk this time.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you sized up your options: staying here with Sungchan, or going back to that unpleasant atmosphere. Seemed like a pretty obvious choice to you.

“Jaemin will apologize,” Jeno added. “He wants to apologize, uh, to you.”

“Why didn’t he call me then?” You asked dryly.

“He didn’t think you’d pick up if he called.”

“I wasn’t going to pick up your call either,” you informed him. “Sungchan said I should hear you out.”

“Oh. You’re with him right now.”

“I’ll come back,” you stated. “But I’m bringing Sungchan.”

You would be feeling awkward right now if you weren’t so pissed off. As soon as Jaemin had opened the door and you saw his face, you just got pissed off all over again. The only thing keeping you here and mostly civil was Sungchan.

“This is Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, and Jaemin,” you blandly pointed out all your friends for Sungchan’s sake.

“Hi, Sungchan, dirtbag boyfriend,” Sungchan introduced himself with a broad smile, making the first move to shake all their hands.

Jaemin looked at you incredulously. “Y/N, you told him—”

“They’re your words, Jaemin. Now eat. them.” You said through gritted teeth, arms crossed over your chest firmly.

“I didn’t call you a dirtbag,” Jaemin tried to explain himself to Sungchan.

“Just his band,” Renjun pointed out helpfully.

“I thought it was funny,” Sungchan told him with a chuckle, stepping back to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Y/N, not so much.”

“Well, she has no sense of humor, as I’m sure you know,” Donghyuck teased.

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t introduce you guys for you to all pick on me.”

“I think you’ve got a great sense of humor, baby,” your boyfriend reassured you, squeezing your arm.

“So do you have like, a tour bus or something?” Jaemin asked.

“We’ve got a van,” Sungchan told them proudly. “We won’t be sleeping in it or anything, we’ll get hotels.”

“How many tattoos do you have?” Donghyuck flopped back into his armchair.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jaemin rounded on him.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just curious.”

“I’ve lost count,” Sungchan answered candidly.

“Cool.”

“Y/N mentioned you worked at a bookstore and a tea shop as well,” Jeno said. “Are they cool with you uh, going so suddenly?”

“I’m a part-timer. My bosses at both places knew what I actually wanted to do when I started,” he explained. “If they still have a spot for me when we get back, that’d be nice, but I don’t expect it.”

“So, are you going to be quitting tomorrow, Y/N?” Renjun’s voice held no judgment, just curiosity.

You nodded. “Yeah. I fucking hate that place.”

“Good. I could tell.”

“When do you guys leave? This week?” Jeno asked.

“Saturday,” Sungchan confirmed. “We’ll be popping back over here in a few weeks for a show at Venue:Hell, though.”

“Are there tickets… left?” Jaemin rubbed the back of his neck. “To the show in town?”

“You want to go?” You blurted out, a little dumbfounded.

“Totally, man.” Sungchan was absolutely beaming. “I’ll get you guys some.”

Donghyuck raised his beer to him before tipping it back. “Hell yeah.”

Later that night, tucked under Sungchan’s covers and curled up in his arms, your fingertips traced the lines of his tattoos as you were slowly lulled closer and closer to sleep.

“Thank you, Sungchan,” you said aloud into the darkness.

“Mm? For what, baby?” He questioned sleepily, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“For not giving up on me. Even if you were just tagging along for the ride at the beginning, I would’ve just given up on my stupid little idea to cure my quarter life crisis if I didn’t have someone else doing it with me,” you admitted.

“Thank you for not telling me to fuck off when you had every right to,” he chuckled, tangling his legs with yours. “I love you, baby.”

You turned your head to kiss his hair. “I love you too, Sungchan.”

⏯ sequel

⤷ masterlist

[reiderwriter]

Hii~ First of all I love your writing!

Now about the request... I really wanted one where Spencer is dating a painter who has the personality of a black cat (we all know that our Reid is a total golden retriever type) and everyone thinks that she is the dominant one of the couple since she has this more punk/alternative style, but the team couldn't be more wrong! A soft!Dom Spencer makes her obey and yield every time! ~thank u

A/N: Thanks so much for the request! I can definitely see myself making a part two for this if enough people are interested!! For now though, enjoy! ~✨

Warnings: mentions of public sex, BDSM roles, mentions of using dog collars in a sexual way, mentions of creampie.

Here's my masterlist and requests are open!~

“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting your mystery girl tonight, Reid. You’ve been so quiet about her, we’d have never even known if Penelope hadn’t hacked your phone on a hunch.” Emily laughed at the man from her perch at the bar, raising her glass in a cheers with her fellow agents. 

“I’m not too sure she really exists, you know. I know what my baby girl said but the kid graduated from MIT, and we know texts can be doctored,” Morgan teased from the other side of the younger man. 

In response, he simply rolled his eyes and let them continue their fun and games. He’d known the two agents for long enough to know that their teasing was loving, if not entirely warranted. He’d only kept you a secret because you’d asked him to, having wanted to make a good first impression on them. He’d have gladly shouted your name from the rooftops, but you were on the shy side sometimes. 

“Oh you’re just jealous. You want me to help you take a little honey home tonight, Derek?” Emily turned on the other man this time and Reid breathed a sigh of relief that the attention was finally off of him.

“I am perfectly capable of collecting all by myself, thank you very much.” He turned an amused eye out to the rest of the bar, surveying the women in the bar like a predator looking or it’s next victim. 

“What about that one? She good enough for the Derek Morgan?” Spencer glanced up at where she was pointing at the same time as the aforementioned male did and did his best to repress his smile. Emily had glanced to the door, where you stood, outfitted in a tight black dress, chunky thigh high boots and a stoic expression. You’d carefully washed all the paint that usually adorned your hair and face away, armouring yourself in red lipstick and dog collar choker, letting the look speak for itself. 

“Now that is a nice piece of work, but not exactly what I’m into, sweet cheeks. I prefer my ladies a little bit less wild. A little more compliant if you pick up what I’m putting down.” 

“Coward. Dominant women are more fun, right Reid?” Emily smiled back at the other man, but he was looking past the two of them waving to you. 

“Oh great, you’re here. Emily, Derek I want you to meet my girlfriend, Y/N.” He grabs your hand and leads you the rest of the way to where they were standing, the grin on his face widening exponentially as the two splutter, praying to god that you didn’t just hear the tail end of their conversation about you. 

“Hi, great to meet you. And yes, Emily, I agree. Dominant women do seem to have a lot of fun,” you winked at the woman a little bit and let your boyfriend excitedly drag you over to the bar to buy you a drink. 

Recovering first, Emily pulled herself back into the barstool she’d recently vacated, and started asking you questions. 

“So, how did you guys meet?” 

“At the library actually. I was there installing a mural, and I saw him and decided I had to have him.” You smiled fondly up at your boyfriend, as he rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink. You’d perched yourself between his legs, leaning your entire bodyweight back into his chest possessively, as he trailed a light hand over your waist. 

“You’re a painter? Wow, that’s so wonderful.” 

“Yeah, that’s the dream anyway. I also work part time at an art gallery downtown to help pay the bills. It’s where he tracked me down, so it worked out pretty well, I guess.” 

“Tracked you down?” Morgan asked. 

“Yeah, after our first… run in, I forgot to give him my number.” 

“Run in? You said you met at the library, what else did you do if you forgot to swap numbers?” Emily laughed, half-heartedly, then stopped as soon as she saw the smug grin on your face paired with the awkward panicked expression on Reid’s. 

“Shut up. No way, wait I don’t even want to hear this.” 

You smiled up at the man, knowing that the way his two coworkers were imagining that first meeting was probably the exact opposite of how it had gone. Sure, you’d told the truth about approaching him first, but that was the extent of your control of the situation. You’d gone over to ask for his number, find out his name and ask if he was single. You’d returned to work an hour later with sore knees, no panties and a load of his cum dripping down your inner thighs. 

He hadn’t even allowed you to give him his number, just promised that he’d find you again, and vanished from the library bathroom stalls you’d christened in sin with a lingering kiss on your lips and a whisper of “good girl.” You’d fallen for him hard, and you never wanted to get back up. 

“Wow. And he was so desperate to find you again that he followed you to work. We taught you better than that, Reid, come on. You’re going to freak out the ladies if you come on that strong.” Morgan began teasing the man, ruffling his hair, and you bit your tongue to stop the laughter from exploding from your mouth. 

You knew from your appearances that people often came to the wrong conclusions about how you and Reid were as a couple. Your style was more alternative, though not as intense as you’d been in high school, and his was more preppy nerd, but you balanced each other out well. You knew that it irked him sometimes though. And whenever he was pissed, he took it out on you in the best way. 

After a few hours in the bar getting to know Morgan and Prentiss, and the two other lovely ladies who had arrived later, JJ and Penelope, Reid’s grip on your waist tightening made it clear that it was time for you to go home together. 

“I think we’re going to head out now, guys. I’ll see you in the office on monday.” He said and moved off, but you wanted to see how far you could push it tonight, wanting to see the lengths he would take to not show his teammates that they had vastly misunderstood your relationship. 

“But Spence, I just met them. I wanna talk some more,” you smirked up at him now, and saw his jaw clench. You were thankful you’d work the dog collar choker tonight, the thought of him grabbing it to yank you away making you squeeze your thighs together for some much needed friction. 

“We’re going now, baby. Come here.” You ignored the order for another second, and you could feel the heat in his gaze, and the curiosity in his friends as they watched this struggle between you. 

“Sweetie, did you hear me, I said we’re going now?” This time, you knew he wasn’t playing anymore, so with a quick “yes, sir,” you pushed yourself out of your seat and practically skipped over to him, a delighted grin on your face. He cupped you neck, wanting desperately to pull you in by the neck but choosing restraint instead, and brushed his lips to yours. Whenever he kissed you like that, it meant you’d caused trouble, and you knew you were going to spend the night paying for it. 

“Bye-bye, everyone, it was so nice to meet you,” you called as he led you out of the doors and into the carpark. 

“What the hell was that?” Penelope was the first one to crack, the others jaws still dropped to the floor. 

“Did she just call him sir?” JJ laughed in incredulity. 

“But-but I could’ve sworn they were…” Emily blubbered and the four of them sat there staring at the door, realising that they had underestimated their resident genius a little bit too much. 

[marriiemeii]

little hands

genre: fluff, playful banter, butterflies (digest them), drabble, unviersity au, one mention of mingyu, skewed perceptions of height, reader is 5'4 but you can make them any height tbh, reader hate bugs

“so are you actually afraid of bugs?” wonwoo asked from across the table.

“i don’t like bugs that are big or creepy looking. there’s a difference,” you told him.

the two of you were eating in your guys’ university cafeteria, waiting for time to pass before you head over to your next class. you both weren’t necessarily friends but you had a lot of classes together and you had mutual friends. because of this, the two of you started getting to know each other since you saw each other everyday.

“but those are the best kind,” he says. you look at him with your nose scrunched in disgust.

“oh, are you the type that likes bugs?” you ask him, wondering if he was offended by your blatant dislike for insects.

“i mean, i don’t like them but they’re cool, i guess,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“well big bugs are gross, there was literally a spider as big as my hand and i couldn’t even look at it after the first time,” you shiver from your memory. he smiles at you finding your dislike for bugs amusing.

“you probably have little hands anyways,” he dismisses your experience. you look at him in shock.

“excuse me? i like to think i have average sized hands,” you argued, looking slightly offended at your attacker.

“yeah, for a girl,” he chuckles. your eyes narrow at him.

“your hands shouldn’t even be much bigger than mine,” you retort. “aren’t you only a little taller than me?”

he looks at you as if you had grown another head. “how tall are you?”

“5’4, what about you?” you ask him confused.

“6 feet.”

“you’re lyingg,” you accused him. he looks at you in shock.

“i swear,” he promises. you stare at him as you look from his eyes to the top of his head.

“you look like you’d be 5’8 or something,” you say. “proof or i won’t believe you.”

“i am not that short and what proof?” he asks.

“bring a tape measure.”

“who brings a tape measure to school?” he complains, offended that you thought he was that short.

“5’8 isn’t even short. isn’t that the average male height?” you argue. he sighed with disgruntled look on his face. “also, you would bring a tape measure if you wanted to prove your TRUE height. i need proof or else you’ll forever be 5’8 in my mind.”

“i actually hate that.”

“sounds like a personal problem?” you shrugged off his troubles.

“you’re a punk.”

he continues to stare at you with a blank look on his face. you look away from the unconscious staring match. you look back over to him when you hear him get up.

“what do you think 6 feet looks like?” he asks, standing at his full height. even as you looked at him now he didn’t really seem that tall, especially compared to your mutual friend, mingyu.

you get up from your seat on your side of the table and hold your hand up about 8ish inches above your head.

”i feel like if you were 6 feet i would need to tilt my head to look at you.” you tell him. he continues to stare at you. “and look i’m not tilting my head, am i?”

he stays quiet, before walking over to your side of the table. as he got closer you noticed the top of his head actually was reaching where you had put your hand. he stopped right before your hand, which was held just a little bit in front of you. your hand almost brushing against his fluffy hair that was tousled from the wind and him brushing his hand through his hair so much.

there were three things you realized at this point.

1. he actually could be 6 feet and your perception of 6 feet was, more likely than not, skewed.

2. he was really close to you.

3. he was REALLY close to your face.

out of the whole time you knew him for this semester, this was the closest you two have ever been. it definitely made you feel butterflies in your stomach from the proximity. it doesn’t help that your playful banter has been happening more.

“seems like i am 6 feet based off what you think 6 feet looks like,” he smiles at you. you snap out of the trance you were in and pout at him.

“fine, i guess you are 6 feet, probably,” you accepted your defeat. you were happy that he didn’t take notice of you zoning out. “that probably means i do have little hands then.”

“that’s fine, you have nice little hands,” he states nonchalantly.

[reysdriver]

One Call | E.M.

Eddie calls you to pick him up from the police station — eddie x fem!hopper!reader fluff

warnings: eddie gets taken to the police station for peeing in the lake lol

words: 0.8k

“Alright, you know the drill. Someone’s gotta pick you up; you get one call.” Your dad told Eddie, even though they had been through this routine before. “Your uncle again?”

Eddie shook his head. “Nah, Wayne’s out of town. Fishing trip with his buddies. He told me not to bother him unless it’s an emergency.”

“This doesn’t qualify as important enough to call?” One of the officers piped up. 

Eddie turned his neck to look at the cop. “Nope. This is just a normal Tuesday for me.”

Your dad held the phone out for your boyfriend. “Well, you got anyone else you can call?”

Eddie held back a mischievous grin, taking the phone. “I have one person I can call, but I don’t think you’re gonna be happy about it.”

✦✧✦✧✦

You rushed down to the station as quickly as possible, only making one stop along the way to grab a peace offering from Benny’s. Before going inside, you looked through the window to scan the tone of the building, making sure it was okay to go inside. 

You opened the door and saw Eddie in handcuffs at one of the officers’ desks, twirling a pen with his fingers. Before he got the chance to look up at you, your dad came out from his office looking surprised to see you. 

“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing here?” He asked. 

You held out the take-out bag for him. “I, uh, I brought you lunch.”

“She’s got ulterior motives, Hopper!” Eddie piped up from across the room. You turned and shot him a glare, along with a whispered 'shut up'. 

Your dad looked confused, now starting to understand the food you brought. "What's he talking about?"

There was an awkward silence as you tried to figure out how to word the reason you were really here. 

"Well, Dad, I'm also here to pick Eddie up." 

He dropped the takeout bag on the nearest desk and pointed an accusatory finger at Eddie, who sported a smirk. 

“This punk?” Your dad asked, raising his voice. “You’re friends with this punk?”

Much to your dismay, Eddie spoke up again. “Dating, actually. But I can’t believe it either, Hopper, honestly.”

Even in the tensest of moments, your Eddie still finds a way to flatter you. You wanted to smile and thank him, but then you remembered he was just brought into the police station and hadn’t told you why, so you stopped yourself. 

“Yeah, Dad, I am. And I know that you can’t stop me from bailing him out, so give me the form to sign.”

The officer whose desk Eddie was sitting at handed you a clipboard and a pen so you could sign and say that you would bail him out and keep him out of trouble for the time being. You flashed a cocky smile to your dad and started filling out the blanks. 

Your dad rubbed his forehead like he was tired of everyone around him—which he was. “Don’t give her the clipboard until I’m done scolding her.” He mumbled. 

“You know I brought him in for pissing in Lover’s Lake with his punk friends, right?”

You did not know that. But you weren’t going to let him win this round. 

“Oh, like Lover’s Lake isn’t already full of piss!” You countered.

“Is that really the hill you want to die on?” 

You forcefully handed the completed clipboard to the officer while rolling your eyes. 

“I don’t want to die on any hill, I just want to pick up my boyfriend!”

Eddie gasped happily as the man took off his handcuffs. “She called me her boyfriend.”

You had to admit, it made you happy too. Even though you were mad at everyone in the room, your angry expression morphed into a smile. “I know, it felt good to say.” You then turned back to your dad. “I’m going now. If you have more to say to me, we can talk tonight.”

With that, you and your boyfriend started walking towards the door. He opened it for you and motioned for you to go first. You started to walk out, but shot a glare at Eddie as you walked by. He messed up and he knew it. 

Before Eddie closed the door behind you, your dad shouted one last thing at you. “You know, kid, just ‘cause he’s out of trouble, doesn’t mean you are!”

You looked back at him through the doorway. “Oh, believe me, Dad, he’s not out of trouble yet!”

[quinloki]

Elevator Music

Fem Reader x Eustass Kid

One Shot - 2,956 words

CW: Language, sexual themes and situations, semi-public sex, elevator sex, rough sex, consensual, modern au, Kid has both arms. 18+ only

-:- Table of Consent -:-

Inspired by this tumblr post about being trapped in an elevator with the person on your lockscreen.

“Floor?” You ask as the tall, broad shouldered young man stepped into the elevator. He looked like he could be the poster boy for punk rock. Wild red hair, golden brown eyes, scars that did nothing to detract from his looks, and a confidence in his step you had to appreciate.

“Eleven.” He answers. His voice is a little like gravel but not unpleasant.

You press the button and return to your phone, stealing a few sideways glances as politely as you could. Shame you didn’t have business with him, but the elevator ride was improved at least.

Around the 8th floor there was a jolt, not a hard one, but it was unnerving in the otherwise smooth ride. You both flinched a little and exchanged glances, and you nearly said something when another harder jolt shook the elevator carriage. You can’t help the surprised squeak that escapes you, and you grab onto the bar.

The elevator doesn’t move. Smooth, jerkily, or otherwise.

You and the punk exchange glances before looking around the compartment. There’s an emergency box he pulls open and an old style phone with no buttons. He picks it up and you can hear it ringing even after he puts it by his ear. You’re still looking around for the little red button, or anything that might be useful if no one picks up the phone.

But after a few rings there’s a voice. It’s too muffled to make out, but you can hear your fellow trapped passenger.

“Yeah, the elevator’s stuck.” There’s muffled talking and he looks around and looks at you. “See anything that says what car this is?”

“Six?” You prompt, pointing to a number just under the floor button.

“Probably. Yeah, we think it’s car 6… yeah, ‘we’, there’s a lady in here too.” There’s a long silence, and he rolls his eyes. “Am I staying on the line for this, or can you call us?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sure, sure. Here.”

He hands you the phone and you make a face before taking it. “Yell-o?” You say, unsure what was going on.

“Ma’am, we need to know if you feel threatened.” The voice on the other end of the line says.

“Huh?”

“If you feel unsafe we can probably get authorization to break the doors open and getting you out before the fire department arrives.”

“Hang on.” You put the phone to your chest and look at the big guy with you. “If I tell them you’re making me feel scared they’re willing to break the rules and get us out of here faster.”

“… You’re not afraid of me?”

You tilt your head. “No, why would I be?”

He grunts. “It’s fine then, you can lie, it won’t bother me.”

You speak back into the phone. “Hello? Yes, uh, yes, I am so if you could-.”

“For insurance reasons you’ll have to officially press charges ma’am.” The man on the other end of the line explains. “My supervisor just informed me.”

“Oh. Well, no then. Just get us out of here as fast as you can. I was on my way to an interview.” You reply. “I’d rather not miss it. Did you need to speak to him again?”

“No ma’am. We’ll call once we have an ETA for you. You can hang up for now.”

“Alright, thank you!” You say cheerfully and hang the phone up. “Sorry, we’ll probably be here for a while. They wanted me to file actual charges.” You grouse, clicking your tongue. “How useless.”

He shrugs and sits down in the corner by the phone. “What’s your name, doll?”

“Anything but that,” you say with a smile, sitting down across from him, being mindful of your interview outfit. “(Y/N). What’s yours, red?”

He grunts. “Anything but that.” He echoes. “Eustass Kid.”

“Well, Mr. Eustass, my apologies for not pressing charges on you.” You say with a grin.

He grunts a laugh, and leans his head back. “Hope you make your interview.”

“Ha! Thanks.” You sigh. “I’m kind of glad to be missing it, but it won’t matter. I’ll just have to try again tomorrow.” You admit with a sigh.

“Oh?”

“Yeeeeeah, it’s my dad’s company. I could give two shits less about it, quite frankly, but I’ve been black listed.”

“Huh?” Eustass looked at you with actual interest for the first time since he got into the elevator. “Are you saying your old man kept other companies from hiring you?”

You nod. “Dad doesn’t have a son. Someone’s gotta take over, and if I don’t then I don’t get to work at all. I spent the last two years job hunting, and he pulled the plug on everything. I can’t even get a job as a newspaper boy, and I don’t have enough personal funds to get out of the range of his reach.

“Ahhh, sorry, a bunch of rich kid drama, isn’t it? I have it so hard.” You try to laugh, but frustration makes it hard to be flippant. “If I play along for a couple years I can bounce. That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“… You don’t have to have it hard for something to suck ass.” He says after a moment. “Your dad’s a real bastard.”

You grin. “Thanks.”

A few more minutes pass and the elevator phone rings. Eustas picks it up and listens for a few moments before replying. “Sure, we’ll be fine. If anything changes we’ll call.”

He hangs up the phone and settles against the wall more. “Get comfortable, it’s gonna be an hour at least. Says the fire fighters are busy, and once the emergency calls are cleared they’ll send someone over.”

You lean back with a bit of a sigh. You weren’t sad to be missing the interview, but you also weren’t thrilled to spend an hour or more in a box, eight floors off the ground.

You take out your phone and putz around on it for a while. After a few minutes you find yourself stealing glances at Eustass Kid. Punk rock r-shirt, work boots, dusty jeans. He smells of grease and oil and metal and chocolate. In the enclosed space it doesn’t take much to notice it all.

He’s thick and muscular. Probably could do all manner of unspeakable things to you without breaking a sweat, but something about him left you feeling safe around him. Safe enough to fantasize a little, even if you felt a bit guilty. You two barely knew each other’s names, but it was easy to imagine what was under that well-fitted shirt.

It was easy to imagine the things you’d let him do to you, too, and not just because you were wholeheartedly rebelling against dear old dad, but also because he was just hot.  From the sound of his voice, to how he was relaxing right now, to - what you were sure - was a fiery personality he’d been suppressing for your benefit.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” He asks, not even looking up from his phone.

“Yes.” You reply with a smile, watching a grin cross his face before he looks up at you.

“Not what I expected.”

“I get in trouble for that a lot,” you admit, letting your eyes shift down before looking back at him. “I’m reminded repeatedly that my behavior is terribly unladylike. Honestly though, who should care?”

“You sound like you’re looking to get into trouble.” He says, sitting up a little and giving you more of his attention.

“Are you offering to help, Eustass Kid?”

His grin turns toothy, you’d almost call it a smile except it was just so wolfish. “Planning on setting a date, or are you going to walk into the trap right now, mouse?” He asks, opening his arms and motioning you over.

You glance around the elevator again, checking to be sure there weren’t any cameras in the car with the two of you, and then stand up. He adjusts a little more, legs closed, slouched just a little, hands out on either side of his waist, at the perfect height to help you steady yourself as you step over him, foot on either side of his hips.

You pull your skirt up a little as you sit in his lap, a small approving hum from him as the tops of your thigh-high stockings come into view for a moment. Settling into position in his lap you shift and let out and involuntary gasp. The bulge in his pants is already pushing the zipper of his jeans into you.

“You really want this, huh?” He muses, shifting his hips into you and nearly pulling another sound out of you. Your face is hot and red, and you’re not having second thoughts or anything, but you’re surprised at your own arousal.

“Seems so,” you admit. “I’d blame you, but I’m worried your ego would fill to bursting.” You rock your hips against him and feel his straining under the denim. “Though it seems to be mutual.”

“Whatcha looking to get out of this?” He asks, hands gripping your ass and squeezing it.

“An orgasm comparable to that cocky look on your face.” You muse, causing his grin to twist perfectly.

“Ha! Alright,” he grabs your hair and pulls you close, but not quite enough to kiss. “I meant past those doors opening, but I can work with that.”

“Ask me something like that after those doors open,” you answer, biting your lower lip and pulling against his grip on your hair. You shift against the erection straining in his pants and rut your clit against the coarse fabric more than you meant to.

The sweet mewling gasp that escapes you is devoured by Eustass as he pulls you into a deep kiss. There’s no tenderness in the passionate kiss, no ode of love or promise of tomorrow, but it’s as greedy and needy as you are and you sink into it.

Your fingers fumble with his belt as heat builds between you, a pleased hum is all the consent you need as you begin to undo his jeans.

“Normally I’d say something about dinner and a movie first,” Kid teases, lifting his hips and helping to put the waistband of the jeans down a little. “I ain’t got any condoms on me though.”

“Honor system then,” you practically pant the words. “You clean?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too, and I’ve had IUDs since I was sixteen, so no worries.” Your fingers run along the length of his cock, still under the fabric of his boxer, and you’re already impressed. Licking your lips involuntarily you reach in through the front opening of the boxers and wrap your fingers around the hard, thick flesh and pull if free.

Eustass’ hips buck and he hissed against the sensation of it, but he doesn’t move to stop you. Your eyes go wide at the sight of the beast at this man’s disposal, and you wonder if it’s going to fit. It’s thick and long and a little intimidating, just like the punk it’s attached to.

“Jesus.” You mutter.

“Having second thoughts?” He seems pleased instead of concerned.

“Minor logistical concerns.” You say, but your voice isn’t nearly as confident as your words. You pull your skirt up and hear him swear under his breath. “Ha, thing for thigh highs, Mr. Eustass?”

“Fuck yeah,” he answers, hands sliding up your thighs, snapping the garter straps playfully. “Goddamn. What were you interviewing for with this on?” He asks, his fingers hooking around the front of the thong and tugging it up a little.

You gasp and arch your back a bit at the sensation, chuckling in a mix of pleasure and nerves. “Just rebelling where I can.” You admit as he tugs the thong aside and you push your soaking slit against his rock hard erection.

You’re so wet you slide against him easily. You both take a moment to enjoy the pleasure from the contact and you can feel him twitching against you.

“Hells you are soaked.” He licks his lips and leans you back a little, lining himself up with your entrance. “You can go at your own pace, but I want to see this.”

Your whole body twitches and your face heats up. Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed, and those golden brown eyes seem to look into your soul. You steady yourself with your hands on his thighs, slowly lowering your hips onto him. If you weren’t practically dripping with desire you don’t think you could take him without a lot more prep, but you slowly work him in and out, stretching yourself against his thick cock and reveling in how full you feel.

You don’t hold back the airy moans and needy whimpers that escape you as you work him in deeper and deeper. The elevator phone rings, and the only look you give him is one filled with lust. You shift your hips and moan as he reaches for the phone.

His right hand goes over your mouth as he picks up the phone with his left. “Yeah?” He prompts, voice steady. His eyes are still on you, and a slight shift of his hips is all the motivation you need to continue taking him in.

He smirks as your tongue slips along his middle finger. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for the update.” He replies to the voice on the other end of the phone. His middle finger is slipping against the tip of your tongue as he hangs up the phone.

You lean forward, pushing his finger into your open mouth as you take the rest of his cock into your pussy. You kiss the base of his finger lightly, before leaning back, running your tongue along his finger playfully. You put your hands on his shoulders, struggling a little to get the leverage you need to move. He’s so broad your knees don’t reach the elevator floor, so instead you hook your feet over his legs and begin to ride him.

“Got about twenty minutes.” He says, hands on your hips, helping you move once you set your pace.

“Ah, damn,” you gasp, grinning at him salaciously. “A quickie then, eh?”

He nearly barks a laugh, before giving you an amused grin. “If twenty minutes is quick in your book, I’m curious what a proper amount of time is?”

“Mm,” you grind into him a little. “An hour at least.” You muse, riding him as you talk. “Foreplay, teasing, as many toe-curling, throat-shattering orgasms you can rip from one another, aftercare. A good proper fuck in the morning should wreck your whole day.”

You can hear him growl in approval, hands tightening against your hips, dick twitching inside of you. His hips move to meet yours as you come down, pushing him into you deeper and faster. You moan for him to do as he pleases and the restraints he’d put on himself snap.

You went from being on top of him, to being under him, to being up against the elevator wall in just a few minutes. Every time you got close he’d shift to a different position. The grin on his face let you know he knew exactly what he was doing, the bratty bastard.

Pushed up against the elevator wall, legs hooked over his arms as he brings you close again. Something in his demeanor promises release at the end of this, and you’re holding onto him in need and desperation. Moans and grunts mixing with the shiver and creak of the elevator car.

The elevator phone begins to ring.

“Ah-aan-answer that – hnggh! – and I w-will kill you!” You gasp as you can feel yourself nearly there.

“Cum for me little mouse,” he growls, tongue teasing your neck.

Pleasure rushes into you, tensing your body and causing your fingers to dig into him through his shirt. He speeds up a little and the pleasurable mewling sounds coming from you turn into gasping pleas as you clench against him sending you both over the edge.

There’s a quiet moment, a couple rings from the phone the only thing marking the passage of time, shared between you both before he pulls out and sets you onto shaky legs. He’s reaching for the phone before he’s even tucked himself back into pants, practically snarling.

“What?”

There’s a moment of silence before you can hear the voice on the other side start talking. You’re adjusting your clothes, and trying to tidy yourself up a little when you feel something leaking down your thighs. Your hands go between your legs as your face turns red.

“Yeah yeah, thanks. Look just get us out of here, it’s getting hot in this box.” He grumbles into the phone before hanging it up. Zipping up his jeans he pulls a rag from his back pocket. “It’s clean.”

You take it and clean up the leak. “Thanks.” Your attention is turned away as you clean yourself up. “Want me to dry clean it before I return it?”

Eustass laughs. “Nah, keep it.”

“A memento then?” You muse with a chuckle. “Oh, hey, I never did ask - what’re you here for today?”

“Finalizing the paperwork on the shop.” He says. “Starting my own business.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Oh? Congratulations.” You offer a smile. “I’m sure it’ll succeed.”

“Mm, thanks.” He replies absently.

There’s a moment of silence between you and you hear people outside the doors working on getting you out. You and Eustass take turns tidying one another up, since there’s no mirror to use, and make yourselves as presentable as possible.

As the doors open, Eustass turns to you with a grin. “So, I hear you’re looking for a job?”

[zoro-chwaan]

So this was something I started last year, but never finished (cause I forgor) buy here ya go.

Ooc Hobie probably, but boo hoo, I don’t care

» [ Hobie (Spider-Punk) x trans!reader ] «

─── ☾

You and Hobie always had a weird friendship. Where whenever one of you saw the other, you would scream at each other about how great the other is. The other spider-folks would either find it adorable or annoying. Miguel thought of it as annoying since the both of you are ‘too loud’ for his taste. But why does it matter to him? Maybe he’s still sour due to the fact that he lost his daughter, personal issue if you ask me.

Though Hobie and you are close friends. You still neglected to mention to him some things about you, but you didn’t have the need to tell him anything any time soon. You’d know he’d be fine with the fact of who you are.

Oddly enough, today you decided to install Pokémon Go. Just for the heck of it (and because you really wanted a specific Pokémon). You spent roughly a couple minutes on it, starting to question if it was the right choice. You opened the portal to where all the spider-folks are at and walked in. You looked around to see if you can spot a certain punk.

“You looking for someone?”

Startled and turned to see it was just Lyla with a smirk on her face. You chuckled and nodded, “Do you know if Hobie is in here or if he’s in his dimension?” Lyla just laughed and told you that he was here. “He’s on top of one of the buildings” She said as she disappeared. You smiled and went on your way. After a while you found him where Lyla said he would be. He seemed to just be relaxing, you smiled and looked at him for a bit before you decided to ruin his day. “HOBIE!!” Hobie turned around and saw you and smiled. “Yeah Y/N, it’s me. What’s up?”

“I THINK I MADE A MISTAKE!”

He looked at you with a confused expression “WHAT kind of mistake?!” You paused for a moment and muttered, “So I decided to reinstall Pokémon Go..”

“Y/N, DON’T PLAY THAT GAME FOR YOUR OWN SAKE!!”

“BUT I NEED (Favorite Pokémon)!!”

“THEY ARE FICTIONAL CREATURES! YOU DON’T NEED THEM!” You gasped at his statement and gave him a look of betrayal. “YES I DO!!” You responded. “WHY ON EARTH DO YOU NEED THEM?!”

“BECAUSE I RELATE TO (Favorite Pokémon)!!” You yelled back.

“WHY DO YOU RELATE TO (Favorite Pokémon)?!”

“NO COMMENT”

“DON’T YOU HAVE FRIENDS?!” He blurted out. You paused once again giving him a look that said ‘Ayo chill’ He saw that and chuckled awkwardly, “I was just asking..” He scratched the back of his neck.

“This is why I need (Favorite Pokémon)”

“YOU DON’T NEED (Favorite Pokémon)!!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHATS GOOD FOR ME!!”

“I ACTUALLY DO KNOW WHATS GOOD FOR YOU!!”

“NUH UH!!”

“YUH HUH!!” He retorted

“SAYS WHO??” You fought back

“SAYS ME” He countered

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE DOES” He stood up and walked towards you. He’s not wrong, he really does know you better than anyone else in here does. You two were close, and it shows. “I KNOW” you screamed.

“YOU DON’T KNOW!! IF YOU KNEW, YOU WOULDN’T BE PLAYING POKÉMON GO!!” Damnit he’s got a point.

“BUT I NEED IT”

“YOU DON’T NEED IT!!”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE ITS BAD FOR YOU!” (NUH uh)

“Damn..” you said, acting a bit dramatic for the affect. He sighed and shook his head, “What am I going to do with you?” He questioned, mostly to himself while smiling. “Honestly, I don’t even know myself” you replied. You both stayed silent for a bit, till he thought of something. “Hey Y/N… I think I know why you relate to (Favorite Pokémon) now..” You gave him a puzzled look and quirked up an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“You just need a friend”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Okay we’re done with this conversation” you said as you facepalmed. No need to call you out like that.. geez..

“BUT I WANNA HELP!”

“NO!!”

“I’M GONNA HELP YOU WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!!!”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE I’M YOUR FRIEND AND YOU NEED ME TO HELP!!”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT I NEED??”

“A FRIEND??!” “Damn I get it… no need to remind me that I’m lonely..” You mentally said to yourself

“NO!! A CHEST BINDER” You replied without thinking. Shit.. did you just really put yourself?

“A CHEST BINDER??!!” Now it was his turn to look puzzled.. Fuck

“YEAH!”

“WHY???!!!” “Well it’s now or never..”

“CAUSE I’M TRANS!!”

“YOUR TRANS?!”

“YEAH!! WHAT OF IT?!!” You would be lying to yourself if you said that your kinda scared shitless

“I’M JUST SURPRISED!!”

“REALLY?” “Dumb reply”

“YEAH, I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE TRANS!!!” Even if you never told him, he still would’ve called you a guy since you passed really well. You were happy.

“WELL SURPRISE!!” You were scared shitless, yet you knew he would still be supportive of you. That’s just how he is, but it was your turn to be surprised by what came out his mouth.

“I HAVE TO GET YOU A CHEST BINDER NOW!!”

“THAT’S SO SWEET OF YOU!!” Your heart beat a happy tune.. man he made you feel such love and happiness

“ANYTHING FOR YOU!!” Yeah.. he really made your heart skip a beat

“WHY ARE WE STILL YELLING?!”

“BECAUSE WE’RE LOUD PEOPLE!!” You paused once again and nodded. “Fair enough”, again silence came over you two again.

“…So, about the chest binder..” Hobie started up. You turned to him, “What about it?”

“I REALLY NEED TO GET YOU ONE!!” Man, he really is sweet. But sometimes, you just want to buy something’s for yourself. As a reward.

“I CAN GET IT MYSELF, BUCKO”

“NO YOU CAN’T!! IT’S MY JOB TO GET YOU ONE!!” He’s more than aware that you are more than capable of getting yourself one, but he really cares about you and wants to give you one as a gift. How sweet

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE YOU NEED IT!!”

“YEAH I DO!! I CAN GET ONE MYSELF!!”

“I’LL BUY YOU ONE!!!!” And when you thought he couldn’t get any sweeter..

“YOU DON’T NEED TO”

“I’LL BUY IT AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME!!” Times like these, you’re really thankful that you’re on top of a building. Sure, if some folks are close enough, they would hear your guy’s scream fight. But would they understand what the two do you are talking about.. probably not.

“LET ME BUY IT FOR MYSELF!!”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ ————

Will I finish this? Probably not, but hey, you just gotta do what you gotta do

[floofysmallbob]

Oh yeah this is my redesi- *gets brainwashed*

Yes this is a day late, I know no one keeps schedule of these redesigns, but I like to have an upload schedule to challenge myself, but it has gotten harder to adhere to said schedule lately because I’ve been cleaning my dad’s apartment(he’s still alive and everything it’s just a mess)

I added him in between class A and B because while it has been revealed which class he’s in, I figured it would be a nice transition and either way I’m going to stop talking now here’s the redesign

Compulsion Hero: Mindjack

sorry if the text is hard to read or headache inducing

yes the name is a giveaway of his quirk, but I don’t think his hero name would be public knowledge, he’s likely be an underground hero due to the lack of flashiness

honestly his canon costume is the best one out of all of them

it’s practical and it looks great

vest would have been the same but I sure as hell can’t draw that so it’s just a regular looking vest

thin undershirt covered by a fishnet mesh

which is also in turn covered by the vest

and the sleeves in canon look like a separate garment

i told myself when I did the Kirishima design that I wouldn’t give anyone shirtless sleeves.

i have now given two people shirtless sleeves.

i was supposed to give him cargo pants but I forgot to draw the pockets :|

leg strap pouch

dagger, would be useful if the capture weapon got tangled or for close combat fighting. also it looks sick and I really like swords and tbh this costume is something I would want to wear and at this point I’m not even trying to hide the fact that I am Shinsou Hitoshi

i have very prominent purple hair and eyebags too

also there are a fuck ton of layers because I can’t think of a single person this edgy who doesn’t layer like hell

i would rather burn up than not layer and that’s saying a lot considering my incredibly low heat tolerance

but back on topic

combat boots

steel toed

kneepads, shoulder pads, and forearm guards

gloves are the same as canon

so is his mask but I was not going to draw that

it’s legitimately just his canon costume in my art style

COLD WEATHER VERSION:

darker fabrics

slightly longer gloves on the thumb and index fingers

thicker fabric

capture weapon is temperature regulated

can function as an actual scarf

turtleneck(not visible)

undershirt is thicker

WARM WEATHER

yeah he’s still gonna overheat lmao

undershirt has mesh sleeves

gloves are now completely fingerless

also I forgot to mention earlier yes he has black nail polish, just be glad I didn’t give him a full face of alternative style makeup, too

I don’t care if he canonically just wears jean jackets as his casual wear he’s alt now and there’s nothing you can do about it

hell, Jirou is supposedly ‘punk rock’ and the only vaguely alt outfit she had was the time she was wearing an ‘end of villainy’ tshirt with fishnets and boots in one of the openings

no more shirtless sleeves

slightly thinner, looser fabrics

WITHOUT CAPTURE WEAPON:

not really any notes lmao

COLD WEATHER WITHOUT CAPTURE WEAPON:

you can see the turtleneck now

HOT WEATHER VERSION WITHOUT CAPTURE WEAPON:

neckline is slightly lower

as always, tips and advice are appreciated!

[konigenblobbity]

i had this idea stuck in my mind, all i can think about is the trio that Hobie, Pavitr and reader (platonic) would make.

And i listen to pop AND I WOULD TOTALLY ARGUE WITH HOBIE TO SEE WHICH ONE IS BETTER BETWEEN PUNK AND POP LOL

And like reader would tease Pavtir that their are more taller even if just an inch (than there is hobie who is more taller than both of them💀)

And yeah just a platonic trio with them :D

Headcannons or anything is good I JUST NEED THIS

Request: Triple Threat

Hobie x Spidey!F!Reader x Pavitr

A/n: Made it more headcannony but yes I love this idea! I can just imagine them as a totally chaotic but amazing trio. I managed to answer this request so quickly because I was just able to put my thoughts on here and not worry too much about structure or spelling

General Headcannon

A chaotic and just overall silly trio

Always up for a spontaneous bit of fun

Often the culprits for pranks played on Miguel

Affection shown through playful insults and jabs but also physical touch

The tightest hugs from Pavitr while ofc Hobie throws his arms over your shoulders when you’re walking

Somehow never get on each others nerves

Countless sleepovers! Just all in pajamas making s’mores and watching horror movies together!

Constantly cracking jokes behind Miguel’s back during meetings

“Man’s hands are glued to his hips” Hobie jokes

“Wonder if you can crush a watermelon from how tight his ass is” you say

“Shhh! Don’t make me laugh” Pavitr pleads, almost losing his composure

Miguel would turn around to the three of you fighting back laughter, turning red in the face to the point he can see it through the mask

You and Pavitr have gotten caught - multiple times - trying on Hobie’s clothes when at his place, doing your best impressions of him

“Oi Bruv! That’s messed, not at all my cuppa tea innit! I hate the PM and all that shite, inconsistency blah blah blah that’s me!”

You and Hobie saying ‘Chai Tea’ whenever someone asks about a drink, just knowing it’ll infuriate Pavitr for a good laugh

You three make fun of each other endlessly, but if anyone else dares to insult one of you, the other two get immediately protective and ready to fuck shit up

“What’d you just say?” You’d say

“You watch your mouth.” Hobie would warn

“I dare you to say it again” Pavitr immediately remarks

When it came down to it, no one could complain. You three made a great team and on missions worked like a goddamn masterpiece

Height related Headcannon

“You’re not!” Pavitr’s voice got higher, which only made you smirk and tease him more

“I totally am! You just won’t admit I’m right” you bring a hand up, placing it on the top of your head and then moving it forward to float above Pavitr’s “you’re totally shorter than me!”

“Only because you wear those insane platform boots!” Pavitr retorts back and points at the three inches of platform attached to the sole of your boot

You shrug and put your hands in your pockets “still taller than you” you go to walk off but Pavitr uses a web to pull you back, you look at him with feigned shock

“This conversation isn’t over” Pavitr said, hands on his hips and eyes narrowed at you. You then send a web to hit him directly in his face, making him let out a soft yelp “don’t. web me” you say with a smirk watching as he struggles to pull it over his mask

“Why you!” He mumbles and finally gets off the web, his eyes glaring at you. You narrow your eyes back at him and wait for him to attack again

It then that Hobie’s voice draws both your attentions “What are you pipsqueaks fighting about?” Once he reaches you he rests his arm on your head making you scowl

“She thinks she’s taller than me!” Pavitr says pointing a finger at you and you let out a soft scoff “snitch” Hobie just chuckles

“You’re both short. There. Argument settled” as he walks over to Pavitr patting his head with a hand and you can hear how Pavitr mumbles under his breath

As Hobie walks further into HQ, past both of you, you and Pavitr make eye contact. Giving each other a small nod. Both of you sending a web at Hobie’s feet causing him to trip and fall

You and Pavitr break out into hysterical laughter, grabbing your stomach as you watch Hobie try to unwrap the web around his ankles

“My god! Watch your step next time ‘pipsqueak’” your words only make Pavitr laugh harder, you smile as you watch how he takes off his mask to wipe away his tears from his laughter

As you laugh your eyes no longer focus on Hobie, the next thing you know Pavitr is pointing behind you, trying to say something but still laughing too hard to speak

You suddenly feel Hobie place his hand on your shoulder “Did you have a good laugh? My turn” and you feel yourself be pulled up into the air by your feet, hanging upside down from the ceiling by a web around your ankles

Before you can undo it Hobie uses another web to wrap you up as if in a cocoon, leaving your face showing but the rest of your body is wrapped up “Hey! Let me out! It wasn’t my idea!” You say

Hobie just laughs and shrugs “well, sucks for you I guess” and then steps back, putting his hands in his pockets. He takes his mask off and you see the wide smirk on his lips, he then peels yours off looking at your unamused expression as you hung from the ceiling

For the next few minutes Hobie and Pavitr just take photos of the whole thing, doing obnoxious poses as one of them takes a selfie

Everyone else at HQ just sighed, knowing this was an everyday thing.

Miles leans towards Peter “so they’re friends?” He asks and Peter nods “Sure are. The closest friends too.” Miles just nods his head once “huh. Alright”

Pop vs Punk Headcannon

Even though the three of you were friends, you had your differences.

Even though you could swing where ever the hell you wanted, the three of you loved car trips together, usually asking one of the adults to drive you places seeing as you’re all not able to drive

The car rides are fun, even if every time you and Hobie fight for who gets the aux

“Not fair Hobie! You got it last time!” You say as you watch him plug in his phone “Too bad! We’re not listening to any of your basic studio plant pop music!” And you just groan out

“Well I’m sick and tired of your punk, I need some more light in my life!” You complain but Hobie just turns on the music, sitting in the passengers seat rocking his head to the music

“PAVI! You agree with me don’t you?! Help me tell him to turn it off!” You try to speak over the music to Pavitr who was sitting next to you

“Sorry! I cant focus on that right now. You’re both mature enough to figure it out!” He looks down at his phone, too busy texting Gayatri

But he glances your way and shrugs as he spots your unimpressed grimace

You sit back in your seat crossing your arms “and he gets shotgun again?! So much for ‘I don’t believe in consistency’” You murmur to yourself

“I heard that!” Hobie says and looks over the chair at you, and you look at him with a snarky expression

“Good! I wanted you to!” You say and lean forward, glaring into Hobie’s eyes, his squinting as he does the same

There’s silence as you both engage in an unspoken eye staring contest

Pavitr let’s out a sigh, leaning forward and turning down the blaring music before sitting down again “finally. Some silence”

Neither you or Hobie say anything in fear of losing the contest. Neither of you aware of the stakes… but yet you knew you couldn’t lose

Finally he blinks and you cheer in victory, he just groans in annoyance “Cheater.” He says and you scoff, punching his shoulder jokingly

“Prick. Now hand me the aux” you demand and he begrudgingly abides, unplugging his phone and letting you plug yours in

As much as Hobie pretended to despised your pop, whenever you played your playlist in the car all three of you would be singing

Much to the dismay of the driver of the car… usually Miguel or Jess

If it was Peter he couldn’t help but sing along, and those were the best car rides

After the first time Miguel or Jess drove you, they always ask Peter to do it, haunted by the absolute chaos the three of you managed to make in just an hour

[bumbleklee]

something happens and im head over heels (diluc x reader)

hi hello hi! havent posted in a while so please be gentle with me (i am fragile). feel free to leave a comment, would love to chat with you guys about this little piece

pairing: diluc x gn!reader

characters: diluc, baby!klee, reader, unnamed neighbor

synopsis: diluc is stuck babysitting his neighbor’s baby–the only problem? he isn’t really the babysitting type. good thing you are!

key tags: minor cursing, babyfic, first kiss, clueless diluc, modern!au (technically college era but no mention of college), lowkey punk!diluc

word count: 4109

“I tried calling Jean but she isn’t around and then I phoned Eula but I think I sent her into overdrive at just the thought of babysitting.” You hear Diluc shushing the baby in between words. “What if I just drop her off at the fire station and her mom can pick her up after her shift?” 

“Okay–don’t do that.” You shake your head in bewilderment, imagining the absolute shit-show that would be. “You just need to calm down. She’s probably freaking out because you’re freaking out.” 

There’s shuffling in the background and Diluc curses when he knocks something over. “She gave me a bag, right?” He continues, his voice laced with pure disconcertment, “And I don’t even know what half of this stuff is. There’s like a bunch of plastic thingies and a bag of powder that kind of looks like meth–” 

“Not meth.” You interrupt him. “I mean, probably not meth.” 

“That’s not the point,” Diluc emphasizes, “The point is that I’m a fucking loss and really need your help.” 

(full story underneath cut)

Diluc Ragnvindr doesn’t know much about his neighbor. He knows that she’s young, probably in her late 20s or early 30s, and that she’s a single mom to a little baby girl (who has a tendency to wake up in the middle of the night and cry so loudly that it nearly wakes up everybody in their apartment building). He also knows that she works at the local hospital–specifically in the emergency room–and that her mom usually comes around every evening to watch the baby. But other than a simple wave to each other when they simultaneously take the trash out, Diluc doesn’t really know her. 

So when she shows up on his doorstep at eight thirty at night with a bundle of pink blankets in her arms and a panicked look across her face, Diluc was, to say the least, surprised. 

“Um, you’re Diluc, right?” She stammers nervously, bouncing the baby in her arms. “Crepus’ son?” 

Diluc blinks once. Then twice. “Yeah,” He says, “That’s me.” 

The woman stares at Diluc for a moment, like she was contemplating everything in her life that had led up to this point, before heaving a desolate sigh. “Is your dad home by any chance?” Her tone suggests she already knows the answers and Diluc catches her anxious eyes darting from him to the vague view of his living room.

“He’s away this weekend. Sorry.” 

“Dammit.” His neighbor thinks for a while longer, clicking her tongue against the inside of her mouth a few times before asking, “Have you ever babysat before?” 

Diluc holds back a laugh. Babysit? Him? This must have been a life-or-death situation if his sweet neighbor was asking him to watch her daughter. Because, sure, they didn’t know each other but Diluc doesn’t doubt for a moment that she has some assumptions based on his appearance alone. 

“Err…isn’t there anyone else you can ask?” Diluc asks awkwardly, his eyes drifting down the apartment hallway as if someone much more suitable for the role is going to pop out. 

“Believe me, you’re the last person I would have thought about asking.” His neighbor says nonchalantly and Diluc tries not to take offense. “But there was a bad accident on Route 46 and I was called in to the hospital. My mom is out of town too, otherwise I would have asked her. And–” She gestures to the closed doors lining the long hallway, “–I don’t even think anyone lives in those apartments. At least I know your place is habitable.” She pauses again and her eyes shift down, gazing sadly at the quiet baby in her arms. "It's so hard being a single parent...I barely have any help and just..."

Her voice wavers more and more with each word and it looks like she’s about to start crying. But before she could crack, Diluc huffs quietly and crosses his arms across his chest. 

“Okay, okay,” He says exasperatedly. “I’ll watch her. Go save lives. Or whatever.” 

His neighbor’s face lights up at his agreement and before Diluc can fully comprehend what's happening, the baby is being shoved in his arms and a black bag full of many things is dropped at his feet. She whirls around, straightening her scrubs, and looks over her shoulder one last time. 

“Call the front desk if you need anything!” She calls, blowing a kiss to her daughter. 

“Wait!” Diluc yells, a sudden wave of dread washing over him. “Does she need to eat? How do you change a diaper? Does she have a name?” 

Ignoring his more-important questions, his neighbor yells back, “Her name is Klee! Thanks again!” 

Diluc watches as his neighbor races towards the elevator at the end of the hall, presses a button, and disappears from view. He stares at the empty hallway for a second before the baby in his arms makes a noise–reminding him that, oh yeah, he’s in charge of a baby now. 

He turns to look at the baby, his arms tightening around his tiny frame, and mumbles to no one in particular. “What did I get myself into?” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Your phone rings four times before you manage to grab it. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” You say to the ringtone before grabbing your cell phone off your bedside table and swiping across the screen without bothering to look at who was calling you. “Hello?”

“Hey. I need your help.” 

“Diluc?” You zone in on his voice and immediately pick out exhaustion, agitation, and even a little fear. And the more you listen, the more you notice…a crying baby? “I swear to God, Ragnvindr, if you kidnapped a baby and want me to be your getaway–” 

“I didn’t kidnap anything!” Diluc abruptly snaps. “Shit, shit, it’s okay, Klee…” You rub your forehead in confusion as Diluc explains that he’s babysitting for his neighbor. “Fuck–everything was fine for, like, twenty minutes and then she started crying and she hasn’t stopped since! I don’t know what to do!” 

You hold back a giggle. Of course notorious ‘bad boy’ Diluc Ragnvindr doesn't know what to do with a crying baby. You aren’t surprised–in fact, you’d be more surprised if he did know what to do. 

“I tried calling Jean but she isn’t around and then I phoned Eula but I think I sent her into overdrive at just the thought of babysitting.” You hear Diluc shushing the baby in between words. “What if I just drop her off at the fire station and her mom can pick her up after her shift?” 

“Okay–don’t do that.” You shake your head in bewilderment, imagining the absolute shit-show that would be. “You just need to calm down. She’s probably freaking out because you’re freaking out.” 

There’s shuffling in the background and Diluc curses when he knocks something over. “She gave me a bag, right?” He continues, his voice laced with pure disconcertment, “And I don’t even know what half of this stuff is. There’s like a bunch of plastic thingies and a bag of powder that kind of looks like meth–” 

“Not meth.” You interrupt him. “I mean, probably not meth.” 

“That’s not the point,” Diluc emphasizes, “The point is that I’m a fucking loss and really need your help.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

When you finally get to Diluc’s apartment, his front door is unlocked so you let yourself inside. You assume your friend has his hands full with the baby anyways. 

“Luc?” You ask, wandering into the disaster-zone Diluc calls his living room. Dish rags and bathroom towels are thrown everywhere, there were random baby items all over the floor, and the yellow powder that Diluc thought was meth was spilled on a couch cushion (and upon closer investigation, you realize it’s just baby formula). You snake down the apartment halls until you spot Diluc in the kitchen. 

He already looks so spent. His hair is loose from its usual ponytail, locks frizzy and tangled, and his eyes are tired and pleading. He leans against the fridge, bouncing a wailing baby in his arms robotically. 

“Hey.” You greet with a teasing smirk. “Nice baby. Where’d you get it?” 

“Shut up.” Diluc murmurs, a frown etched deep into his face. Your smirk morphs into a sympathetic smile and you hold your arms expectedly. Diluc doesn’t hesitate to transfer Klee into your embrace and while her cries don't cease entirely, they quiet to a whiny whimper as she tries to process who you are. 

“What’s the matter?” You coo sweetly, rubbing Klee’s back with a gentle hand. “Is Diluc being mean and scary?” 

“Hey!” 

“I'm just kidding.” You laugh briefly and turn your attention back to the baby in your arms, looking for any physical signs of distress–not that you thought Diluc would have ignored them, but he was so frazzled that maybe he missed something. When you adjust Klee against your hip, her face scrunches up in discomfort and she pushes against your chest. You hum in recognition and move her onesie aside to see if there’s a blue stripe on her diaper. And sure enough, there is. “She just needs her diaper changed.” 

Diluc pales visibly. “How do I do that?” He fumbles with the hem of his Pearl Jam t-shirt. “Are there instructions on the diaper or something?” 

You laugh again and roll your eyes playfully, “I’ll show you.” 

Diluc takes Klee from you so you can rummage through the black bag on the floor and pull out a package of wipes and a clean diaper. Diluc watches you in amazement and wonders how someone could be so calm and collected about something that made him want to crawl up the wall. You grab a nearby towel–the cleanest one, to be honest–and lay it on the ground before taking Klee back from Diluc and setting her down on top of it. Your quick fingers unsnap the metal buttons on her onesie and discard the dirty diaper, cleaning Klee up and sliding a fresh diaper underneath her wiggling body. 

“See?” You beam, pressing down the sticky sides of the diaper. “Super easy!” 

“For you,” Diluc mumbles. He sits on the edge of the couch and watches you interact with Klee like you’ve known her forever. You tap her belly occasionally, enticing a giggle, and the baby kicks her legs excitedly. She was attentive, reaching out towards you and babbling incoherent sentences loudly. She was loud, and a little annoying, but if Diluc was being honest, he was just glad that she wasn’t crying anymore. “When’d you become a baby whisperer?” 

You clean up and drag Klee into your lap, letting her play with your sweatshirt strings. “My mom used to watch my cousins,” You explain, “And I guess I picked up on a thing or two.” 

Diluc hums in response. Watching you play with Klee made him feel warm. Not a bad warm, but a good warm that filled his stomach with butterflies and made his chest feel weightless. Part of him was totally impressed by you and your ability to swoon over everyone and anyone–including little babies like Klee–unlike himself, who became a quivering mess during the unknown. You kept your cool no matter what. You owned every situation life threw at you so yeah, Diluc was totally impressed. 

But even more than that, Diluc is glad that you gave him the time of day. You could have brushed him off, could have told him to figure it out, but you went out of your way to drive across town and hold a baby–a stranger’s baby, even–just because he asked. 

“You know…” You voice grabs Diluc’s attention again and he gazes down at the floor where you’re sitting. “I was supposed to go out with Itto Arataki tonight. But I canceled our date to come here.” 

Diluc holds back the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah?” He says instead. 

He knows Itto Arataki back from high school–though they were never particularly friends. He was captain of the football team and had a 2.3 GPA and drove the most obnoxious and ugly muscle car in town. Diluc didn’t care for him then, doesn’t care for him now, and the more he thinks about your potential date with him, the more a feeling of irritation grows in the pit of his stomach. 

“Yeah,” You say casually. You face Diluc and silently mimic packing and rolling a joint in the air. “He was going to give me a free eighth.” 

Diluc stifles a laugh, “What a steal.” He doesn’t particularly care to hear about how you were going to smoke with Itto (because–you could smoke with him instead). “You could have gone if you wanted to.”

You shrug, “And miss out on hanging with my best friend, Klee?” You tickle her feet and blow on the top of her head before looking at Diluc again. “This is ten times more fun than hanging out with Itto Arataki, anyways.” 

Diluc raises an eyebrow, “You’re kidding.” 

You shake your head adamantly. “Nope. I’d much rather spend time with you than the idiot who only graduated because his daddy threatened to press legal action against every single teacher at that school.” For a moment, Diluc wonders if you even know what you’re saying, wonders if you realize that you just prioritized Diluc Ragnvindr–the same Diluc Ragnvindr who pierced his own ears at fourteen and sells his extra Adderall to college freshman–over Itto Arataki–the hero of your hometown. He’s about to ask if you have your head screwed on right but before he could open his mouth, Klee starts fussing again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

As the night progresses, you and Diluc come to four conclusions about one another: 

Diluc is absolutely terrible with children. 

You are absolutely amazing with children. 

Diluc can’t stop imagining you with a different baby, maybe one with fiery red hair that kind of resembles you, and keeps shaking his head violently to disperse the invasive thought. 

And you think Diluc is acting really weird because he won’t stop shaking his head. You just hope he doesn’t have lice or something. Ew.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

“She cries a lot.” Diluc comments when Klee curls her head into the crook of your neck, angry whines leaving her mouth. You frown slightly, swaying back and forth. “Do you think she’s hungry?”

“Maybe,” You shrug, moving over to the black bag and sorting through it with one hand. “Does she just take a bottle? Or does she eat solids? Do you even know how old she is?” Diluc blinks at you, not having an answer to any of your questions. “Right. Okay. One night off her routine won’t hurt.” 

You carry the bag of formula–at least whatever was left in the bag–and an empty carafe to the kitchen and somehow manage to put together a bottle for Klee with one hand, all while Diluc stands back and watches. He wants to help, really, but feels like he’ll just be in the way more than anything. Klee cries more until you push the rubber tip into her mouth, but she only bothers to drink half of the bottle before she lets it slip from her mouth and pushes it away with her little hands. 

Sighing, you pass Diluc the half-empty bottle. You bounce Klee in your arms for a few minutes, pat her on the back, and try to make her laugh, but to no avail–she won’t stop crying. “Maybe…she’ll calm down with some music?” 

“How would I know?” 

“I don’t know! Just put something on.” 

Diluc grumbles something and heads into the living room, connecting his phone to the speaker. He scrolls through his Spotify playlists and clicks on a random one and hits shuffle. Heavy rock music fills the apartment and the opening chords to Enter Sandman start. You’re about to yell at Diluc for putting on such rowdy music for a baby but Klee only hiccups and turns towards the living room, her eyes wide and curious. 

“No way.” You laugh breathlessly, carrying Klee to the living room. Diluc’s eyes glimmer with elation and he jumps up, grabbing Klee’s tiny hands in his big ones and singing the words to her, finally eliciting a smile from the baby. 

Enter Sandman fades into Shout It Out Loud. “Well, the night’s begun and you want some fun.” Diluc taps Klee’s nose. “Did you think you’re gonna find it?” He taps her cheeks. “You gotta treat yourself like number one.” He taps her forehead. And next thing you know, Diluc has Klee in his arms and is bouncing around the living room, whirling her around in circles and dipping her up and down. “Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud!” 

It was your turn to sit back and watch–as warmth spread throughout your chest.  

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

After an hour of dancing around the living room, Klee yawns. 

It’s then that Diluc realizes his apartment isn’t really set-up for a baby. Fortunately, Klee isn’t walking yet but she is crawling, which means you and Diluc are constantly pulling chargers or wires out of her mouth. It also means that Diluc doesn’t have a crib, or anything remotely close to a crib.  Maybe you could just hold her all night. Or maybe Diluc could put a blanket down in the kitchen sink and lay Klee in there or maybe…

“How many pillows do you have?” 

Diluc cocks his head to the side. “What?” 

“I said,” You repeat, drawing out the vowels, “How many pillows do you have? On second thought, just grab all of them and meet me in your room.” 

Diluc cocks his head again, to the other side this time, and watches as you saunter down the hallway and kick open the door to his bedroom, carrying Klee inside. If it was any other night, Diluc might even throw a fit about you barging into his sacred space–but he was too exhausted to put up a fight tonight. Instead, he gathers all of the pillows from the living room, hall closet, and bedrooms. 

By the time Diluc gets to you, you’re already busy doing whatever you had planned. You fluff the pillows on Diluc’s bed and lay them on either side of Klee, making sure they’re tight and secure. You take the other pillows from Diluc and finish up your makeshift barricade around the baby. 

“There!” You beam proudly. “She won’t be able to roll over with all the pillows.” 

Shit. You were really good at this. And here Diluc was, ready to put her in the sink. 

Diluc stands stiffly in the middle of his bedroom as you run around like a headless chicken. You shut the blinds so the moonlight won’t seep through the window and turn off the floor lamp in the corner. The bedroom is veiled in darkness until you turn on a nightlight (which, in all fairness, Diluc totally forgot he owned) and a warm glow embraces the space. 

Klee is fighting sleep. She wants to sleep, desperately, but her body doesn’t, and she whines uncomfortably. You sit on the edge of the bed and pat the empty spot next to you, urging Diluc to fill it. “What’s wrong?” Diluc asks–the question directed at Klee and you. 

You smile softly, “She just needs some help falling asleep.” 

“Um…” Diluc says, his awkwardness coming back. “Like a blanket or something?” 

Without much thought, you say, “Why don’t you sing to her again?” 

This catches Diluc off guard. Sure, he took choir in high school and never turned down a drunken karaoke session but singing underneath a loud metal song was very different from singing a lullaby in a silent bedroom. He didn’t want to traumatize the poor child.

“Come on,” You plead sweetly. “She loved your voice so much before…I’m sure it would lull her right to sleep.” Diluc feels his face grow warm and he looks away, not sure how to handle the compliment. He’s extremely thankful for the darkness of the bedroom that conceals his cherry-red cheeks from you. 

Diluc composes himself enough to look back at you. He’s about to protest again but his voice jams in his throat when he realizes how close he is to you. Your faces are only inches apart and all Diluc had to do was lean forward and–

Klee cries out again, this time louder, and Diluc clears his throat. “Yeah, um, fine,” He manages, “But you can’t tell anyone. Especially my brother.” You make a ‘zipped and locked’ motion and Diluc twists his body so he’s facing Klee. She kicks her legs angrily, her tiny fists hands curl into fists and before Diluc really knows what’s doing, his voice leaves his mouth delicately. “I wanted to be with you alone and talk about the weather…but traditions I can trace against the child in your face.”

You can’t hide the smile that grows across your face. Diluc hates Tears for Fears, thought they were sellouts who made music for teenage girls who wanted to be different, yet here he was–singing their most popular song to an innocent little baby. 

“Something happens and I’m head over heels. I never find out ‘till I'm head over heels.” 

You sit back and listen. Klee is quiet now, an occasional coo leaves her lips, and you’re positive that she’s going to fall asleep any minute. So Diluc keeps singing, perfecting the song word-for-word until there’s no more lyrics to say and a sleeping baby. And secretly you’re a little bummed out–you could listen to Diluc sing forever. 

But, alas, the bedroom is filled with a gentle silence and you reach across the bed to make sure the pillows are still secure before standing up and stretching your arms. And when the realization finally hits Diluc that he had just sung a baby to sleep, he wants to jump up and fistbump the air as hard as he could. He wasn’t as bad with babies as he thought and this was living proof. 

“I did that!” Diluc exclaims in a hushed-whisper. He grins at you, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and wrinkles his nose. “I got that baby to fucking sleep all by myself! God, I feel like I can do anything right now–” 

Diluc doesn’t get to finish his sentence. In fact, he doesn’t even get to finish his thought. Because, in a matter of mere seconds, you’re dipping down towards Diluc on the bed and holding his face oh-so gently and crashing your lips together. And as cliche as it sounds, Diluc swears time stops. 

You pull away first, your eyes big and wide. “Oh my god,” You whispered. “Luc, I just–” 

“Oh.” Diluc says in a breath of air. He sits back on his hands and stares at you. He feels like his entire body is on fire. 

“I’m sorry,” You continue. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

“It’s fine,” Diluc nods. “Just…” 

He reaches a slender finger up and runs it across his bottom lip. You keep staring at him with utter shock written across your face and Diluc partially wants to remind you that you’re the one that kissed him. But his mouth refuses to move, refuses to speak, so he sits there in silence.  

“Did you hate it? 

Diluc hesitates before shaking his head, “No.” 

“Good,” You say quietly. “Good.” 

Diluc feels the bed dip again and you sit next to him. Your knees knock against his and when he doesn’t pull away, you take that as an invitation to lean in again. Diluc’s hand cups your jaw and everything feels fuzzy. You kiss like a champion, as expected, and Diluc kisses like each one is his last. Your mouths fit together like puzzle pieces and it’s enough to course electricity through your veins. 

When he needs air, Diluc pulls back enough to press his forehead against yours. “What are you doing?” He asks solemnly. 

“Kissing you,” You say–like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

Obviously it goes deeper than that. Because you kissed Ayato and you kissed Thoma and Childe and Itto Arataki and, well, not Diluc. Except you were. You were kissing Diluc in his dark bedroom while his neighbor’s baby slept on his bed surrounded by pillows. And it was fucking mental. 

And confusing. And overwhelming. And Diluc doesn’t really know how to have a single coherent thought about it. 

“Hey,” You urged, “What’s the matter?”

Diluc closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at yours staring into his soul. “I don’t know,” He admits. “Everything and nothing.” And this was true. His mind feels like a jumbled mess of broken records and no matter how hard he tries to put them together, nothing would play. He eventually equates it to getting hooked on a book he thought he would hate, and how surprised he is that he’s really into the book, but it’s too late to put it down and really needs to see how it ends. “Kiss me again.” 

You do. 

“Again.” 

You keep kissing Diluc experimentally, like you’re trying to work your way up towards something. You kiss him until your lips are swollen and your jaws hurt and then some. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” You finally tell him. 

“Really?” Diluc asks and you nod. 

In the darkness of his bedroom, Diluc smiles. Kissing you doesn't necessarily mean anything. But it doesn’t not mean anything, either. Though he hopes it evolves past the darkness. At least one day. 

And, knowing you, Diluc has a good feeling that it would. And hopefully without a baby in the room. 

a/n: no promises i won't delete this but for now--enjoy <3

[ofdarkestdesires]

Alright! So, now that we have the full line-up of the Level 10 Bell’s Hells artwork, I think it’s about time I sat down and gave my personal opinions that nobody asked for about everyone’s styles.

Chetney Pock'o'pea

While I appreciate the more active pose and visible armor as opposed to his more unassuming original design, I am very off-put that he completely abandoned his original color scheme and all shreds of his original aesthetic. I also think the tracksuit is a bit much—listen, I’m a fan of toeing the line of what fashion belongs in a fantasy setting, but I’m pretty sure this fully vaulted over the it and did a full backflip and three-point landing into ridiculous. 3/10

And unfortunately, the same must be said for his Lycan form. This artwork feels like a serious downgrade from the original Chetwolf, which honestly filled me with a shock of horror each time he popped up. The only reason it is higher than base-Chet is that Chetwolf is still a werewolf, and werewolves are badass. 4/10

Laudna

Laudna, on the otherhand, is a total glow-up from her original design. Everything about her design ties together and brings in perfectly her aesthetic and backstory, from the haunting tree embroidery on her dress (akin to the Sun Tree she was hung from) to the little Pate birdhouse backpack (an homage to the Baba Yaga forest witch imagery she picked up), all the while looking so much like the elegant and imposing Delilah Briarwood. Easy 10/10 for me.

Fresh Cut Grass (F.C.G.)

F.C.G.'s new art...isn't bad, but I'm not as wowed by it as some others on this list. Something has clearly changed here in the choice to include his new blue jacket, and I approve! I'm also a fan of the wires having more definition and appearing more purposefully stylized, as if he's taking better care of himself...but the pose and the style just feel a bit lacking to me. 5/10

Fearne Calloway

Honestly, my only gripe with this outfit is the upper-half of her bustier. It feels very cluttered and like there is a lot of fine detail that just ends up being all meshed together. That would be my other only other gripe, too—there's a lot of small, fine details here that makes her feel cluttered. Which, honestly, fits her as the sneaky little hoarder that she is! But yeah, I would've done something else, something cleaner, with the upper half of her bodice. Also, while I know she is a Druid, I don't think she needs the plant growth on her legs... 8/10

Imogen Temult

I would just like to point out that this outfit was unveiled to us as Imogen's choice for winter-wear while traveling through the Crystal Sands Tundra. Is it sexy? Definitely. Is it my personal taste? Mm, not really, but I can see the appeal. Am I upset that even after the semi-canonization of her needing glasses, this bitch is still not a sexy glasses-wearing nerd? Absolutely—but the biggest sin this outfit does is fail to be climate-accurate. -1/10 for improper environment protection, and 7/10 for the outfit itself.

Orym, Savior Blade of the Tempest

I am incredibly torn here. Because, when it comes down to the armor itself, this is a clear winner. Orym's new uniform is a perfect upgrade from his original more humble and simple apparel, becoming much more about function and protection, while still retaining his svelte and limber appearance. The noted upgrade to Seedling is also nice, though I wish it was a bit more pronounced. What pulls me back from really loving this design, though, is his proportions—I feel like his head is way too big, or his limbs are way too skinny. Over all, I have to give this an 8/10.

Ashton Greymoore

Remember at the start how I said I'm all for toeing the line of what fashion belongs in fantasy settings? Yeah, this fucks! From the first episode, we knew that Ashton was a punk, and this just picks that up and runs with it in such a cool, fun way. I legitimately want this entire outfit—fuck cosplay, I'd just wear this irl! It leans enough on his old design to be recognizable, but pops out as truly his own. And the hammer looks wild—I can't wait to see that thing really pop off like crazy in the next fight. Definitely a 10/10 from me!

[polyamorouspunk]

Punkdate 9/19/24

Here’s my hot mess of a life rn let’s fucking go.

To recap: ⚡️ and I started seeing each other/in a situationship/whatever you want to call it in August. September rolls around, things happen on both our ends, we agree to mutually put it on hold until a later date, but agree we still like each other. Still seeing each other at events, still giving each other those looks. So I tell her I miss her and she tells me she missed me too. So I start trying to initiate us hanging out and she either blows me off or gets weird about it. Same way like when we had our last talk about ending things she looked scared, like someone was gonna “see” us, so I’m like okay I need to know what’s going on cause this shit don’t fly with me, but once again I’m not able to like talk to her. Then Sunday night she gets real drunk at a party and starts talking about how she looooooves situationships and being complicated/messy with people while also saying that someone who won’t outright date someone but wants to be exclusive with them is “having their cake and eating it too” so I’m like woah woah woah hypocrite, also she “likes” being messy and complicated and not outright dating people? That’s funny because to my face she’s telling me that we’re just on the back burner to go out “officially”.

So by this point I’m obviously pissed off. I’m talking shit (shocking) and a mutual friend of ours who we’ll call 🍓 checks in on me since I had already been venting to her in her room for hours the other week.

🍓 asks what’s going on and when I tell her she says “you and ⚡️ need to talk” and I’m like “I’ve been trying to!” And 🍓 says “then you need to put your foot down about it” and I’m like. Okay. Because if 🍓 is saying that as like the ONLY person who wants this to work out, and as someone who is really close to ⚡️, I am trusting her on it. If it was anyone else I would hesitate but I trust 🍓 implicitly.

🍓 said herself that she has a crush on ⚡️ but is currently polysaturated with her partner 🪄. 🪄 asked me out maybe a week or so ago and I put them off because I’m in love with ⚡️. However, 🪄 and I have still been spending more time together, sometimes in conjunction with 🍓 sometimes just the two of us, and I mean like yeah there’s something there, but I’m polysaturated with ⚡️ right now. 🍓 wants things to work out between me and ⚡️ even though 🍓 likes ⚡️ she’s just not looking for more partners. I think 🍓 is cute and I would be down for being like polyaffectionate with her in a cutesy way. 🪄, who is dating 🍓, does NOT want things to work out between ⚡️ and me, and wants me to move on from ⚡️ and date them instead.

So TOMORROW when I see ⚡️ I’m taking 🍓’s advice and being more forceful about having a conversation with ⚡️. Whatever happens from there, I already agreed to take a road trip with 🪄 over the weekend. There are things as someone who has BPD that I see ⚡️ do that make me think that ⚡️ might be jealous of me and 🪄, which 🍓 told me both her and ⚡️ also have. When I was at the party ⚡️’s cat was cuddling with me and it made her upset enough to literally come over to me and take her cat away, to which 🪄, who was sitting next to me, was like “that was a dick move. See, you should drop it” to which I just said “thinking about it” to. There were a good 15 of us there at the party, and when ⚡️ needed help she asked 🪄 of all people to help her, even though people she’s closer with was there, but 🪄 directly said “sorry, I’m helping Punk right now”. Also, at one point when everyone was in her room looking for a place to move the party to because we were overcrowding and 🪄 offered their dorm and I joked “I feel like I just live in your dorm at this point” and I saw ⚡️ look between 🪄 and me. And it’s like. Yeah! I hope you’re jealous! Little miss can’t-commit stringing-me-along! What are you going to do about it? It’s not like you’re giving me any attention! Suddenly one of your friends comes along and starts hitting on me and asking me out but you can’t do shit because you don’t want to get with me.

So anyway yeah that’s a lot of shit I need to sort out with ⚡️ and then see where that leaves me with 🪄. I do know that ⚡️ has a pattern of bad behavior, which she warned me about, but the fact that she warned me ahead of time doesn’t really absolve her of her behavior. I do still want things to work out with ⚡️, so like as shitty as she is being and I’m fine with people being like “damn that sucks I’m sorry to hear that” I don’t really want to hear that she’s awful/shitty etc.

[dragonslayer-5fanfiction]

Trent Lane x Reader

Okay, I've been meaning to out this out, but it's never been 100% to my liking. So I decided screw it, and I'm gonna put it out and maybe go back and fix it later. Edited, and edited, and edited.

My family had just moved to Lawndale, and I came down to spend time with them. I had just finished my Associates in Parapsychology, and got a job at a local newspaper. After finishing the associates, I decided to take a break from school, a little worn out. I am currently moving all of my stuff into my new room, and while everyone was unpacking their things, I headed out to explore our new town. In all of my wandering I made my way into a dingy basement full of punk- alt bands and people. The current band playing is called Mystik Spiral. They weren’t awful, but they weren’t necessarily good either. My eyes scanned the members of the band and I lingered on the lead singer. His hair was messy and he had tattoos dancing across his arms. He caught my eye and winked at me. The heat flushed up my body, before dancing brightly across my cheeks. I bit my lip and smiled, not being able to look away. Eventually the embarrassment won out and I looked away. Their set finished soon after, but my eyes stayed glued to my shoes.

“Hey.” A raspy voice pulled my attention from my shoes.

“Hey.” I responded rubbing my arm awkwardly.

“What did you think of our set?”

“It was good. A nice change from what I’m used to.” I smiled at the end, throwing him a wink. He chuckled.

“Trent.”

“Charlie.”

“Wanna get a bite to eat?” He asked, pointing behind him to the door.

“Sure.” I shrugged my shoulders. He smiled and I followed him out of the basement and out to where his bandmates were waiting. We made introductions on our way to a pizza place. Trent and I stayed out later than his bandmates, talking for hours. Eventually he drove me home and it was so late I had to sneak in. This is how the next few weeks went, us going out one or two nights a week, staying out late, and sneaking back in. Some nights I even just watch them practise while eating the food they ordered. Tonight though we found ourselves in his room just hanging out.

“So tell me about your family.” Trent prodded. I snorted, falling back onto his bed. He turned his head to look at me.

“Okay, so my parents are tightly wound, and somewhat distant. I'm the oldest of three. My next sister is a few years younger than me. She’s sarcastic, bleak, and sometimes a little too pessimistic. She’s honest though so…” I shrugged my shoulders, as I trailed off. “Then, I have my youngest sister. She is something else entirely. She’s popular, self-absorbed, but she’s also caring and pretty. Her priorities are just different from me and my other sister.” I sighed running my hand through my hair. “So really when it comes down to it, I’m the middle ground between the two of them.”

“Wow.” He drew out.

“Yeah.” I let out a sigh and sat up so I was closer to him. We just sat there in silence, before there was a knock on his door.

“Yeah?” he called.

“Hey, there’s this party my friend and I are invited to, and I was wondering if you would give us a ride?” A girl peeked her head in and asked.

“I don’t know Janey. I might be busy that night.” He turned from her to me. “Janey, this is Charlie. We met a little while ago, and we’ve been hanging out a lot.” I gave an awkward wave.

“Hi. Now what about the ride? Do you think you can do it?” Jane asked.

“Yeah. You’ll have to wake me up though.” She simply hummed and walked away.

I turned to Trent a wide smile stretching across my face. “That was nice of you.” I put my hand on his arm, trying to get him to look at me.

“Eh, it’s whatever. I’m gonna have to push our night back a bit though.” I lifted my hand and waved it dismissively.

I giggled a little, “It’s fine. Look at you being all..brotherly.” He groaned and pushed me away from him. But I saw a blush creep up his cheeks, when I started to laugh harder. The rest of the night we spend on his bed eating bad food, and talking about random things. By the time I checked the clock, it was one in the morning. We decided to call it a night because Trent’s eyes were starting to droop. He dropped me off outside my house. Before I climbed out of the car I turned to him, “Thanks for dropping me off.” I whispered, feeling a loud voice would shatter the atmosphere.

“No problem.” He smiled and I turned to open the door. “Charlie?” He whispered, placing his hand on my arm.

“Trent?” I turned back towards him holding my breath to see what he would do. He looked between me and my lips, before leaning closer. I froze in place, anticipating what was going to happen next.

“Your door is still locked.” He reached over me, and unlocked the door. “There.”

I let out a huff. “Thanks Trent.” My voice was monotone, and I climbed out of the car. “Bye.” I closed the door and waved as he drove off. When I got into the house, I went straight to my room only wanting to be there. I closed the door and almost punched the wall. I fell face first onto my bed, and screamed into my pillow. “AHHHHHHHHH! WHY????” I rolled over and stared at the ceiling until I found the energy to change into my pajamas. I replayed the moment over and over until I finally fell asleep. The next few days dragged on with no surprises, and lots of distractions for me.

Friday finally rolled around and because of the party I didn’t have to rush to get ready for my night with Trent. Daria said that she was hanging out with her friend tonight so I was left alone with Mom and Dad for a bit. It wasn’t too bad spending time with them, but Mom was trying to pry into my life, without outright asking the questions she wanted answers to. Finally there was a HONK from out front. I smiled and got up.

“That’s my ride. I’ll see you later.” I called out over my shoulder as I headed out the door. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He responded as I climbed into the car.

“How was the ride?” I asked, waiting to see if he would bring up what happened the other day.

“It was fine. They seemed excited about the party. I thought it looked lame.” He laughed at the end, but ended up coughing.

“Well that was very nice of you. Almost…” I brought my hand up to my chin thoughtfully stroking my fake beard, “...like a protective brother.” I smiled and turned towards him, he turned and smiled back at me. “Hey, eyes on the road.” I pointed out the windshield, and he turned his head. We just spent the night driving around town, and just talking about nothing. We ended up playing and singing our favourite songs terribly. It was nice to just let go. When he dropped me off, I sat there waiting to see what he would do tonight. As predicted, he did nothing. “Well this was a fun night. Thanks.” I leaned into the car, to say bye.

He smiled at me. “Me too.”

[noellie-writes217]

Peer Tutor

Peter goes to get his records and ends up meeting an indie punk genius instead.

WC:717

By some miracle, Peter managed to see his records from Midtown School of Science and Technology. He even had to go in, see his principal, who forgot he existed— that wasn’t awkward at all— and asked for his records transferred to an online school. He showed the same sympathy towards Peter that he shows all the new ninth graders at initiation. “Well Peter, I can’t say I’m happy you’re leaving us. Why did you miss so much school to begin with?”

Peter does his best to hide his emotions, never making eye contact seems to be the best he can do. “My aunt died.”

The principal sucked in a breath, “Do you have anyone else who could take care of you?”

“No,” he sighs, “my parents died in a plane crash when I was ten. My grandparents died before I was born, and my uncle was in a car accident.”

The principal nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” he starts. Peter finally looks up. “Instead of transferring you, just try to make up your missing work and I won’t dock you points for it.”

Peter felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time— hope.

“I’ll even talk to another student about tutoring you in the concepts you missed.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah!” The principal sits back in his chair before getting serious and leaning into the desk, “You seem like a good kid, and you’ve been through a lot. But dropping out of high school or transferring to some no-name online school won’t help you get into college. I saw your GPA before you went MIA. You’re way too smart to not get to a good college. So I’m here if you need anything— so is Ms. Kafka.” Peter nods and exits his office feeling better than when he first went in.

___

“Peter?” A voice called from the office lobby. Peter nearly jumped before realizing it was MJ.

“That’s your name right?” She asks. “Peter Piper?”

And the delusion leaves Peter as he gives the most natural fake smile he can muster. “It’s Peter Parker.”

She straightens her posture, something Peter has realized it’s something she does when she’s embarrassed.

“Uh, how do you know my name?” He asks.

“You came to where I work one day…” She starts “— I’m not a stalker! I just have a good memory.”

Peter chuckles at the irony. “So I’ve never seen you here before— I actually thought you were thought you graduated.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck and chuckles in his nervous fashion, “Yeah, no, I- I actually um… I’m a senior.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” MJ waves goodbye to him.

———

The day after, Peter goes to his classes and sees a blond girl waiting for him at his locker with a very thick two-inch binder after his third-period AP Physics.

“So, you’re Peter?” She asks.

Before he answers he tugs on his backpack strap. “Who are you?”

“Gwen.”

Peter tries to place where he’s heard that name before.

She pushes the binder to his chest, “This is yours.” She ‘explains’. “Principal Morita asked me to get it to you. It’s all of your missing work. I’m your new peer advisor. If it sounds made up… it’s because it definitely is.”

Peter can’t even get a word in.

“So here’s how it’s gonna work: you and I are gonna study three days a week and every Sunday, you’re gonna text me every time you get a new assignment— I’ve already put together my information in that binder. Everything in there is color-coded and I put resources for studying in the back. We have the same homeroom since now and we will be spending study hall together. If you have an emergency, I’d recommend you handle it until our joined study days because I’m almost always busy with my internship, dance, and electives. So solve your own problems on those days. On Sundays, you’re eating dinner at my house so we can prep for Mondays. Am I clear?”

Peter opens up the binder to see her name and information scribbled in cursive. He nods.

“Great.” She fastens her backpack strap. “I have AP music theory next, so just get your classes done then meet me back here after school.”

With that, she walks away.

Peter’s phone buzzes from inside his pocket. It's Felicia.

‘He just robbed some penthouse in Manhattan. Cops can't do anything because someone paid them off. This is why I need you to help. Please Peter.’

Peter softly bangs his head against his locker after reading that text. “I hate everything.”

[aldeanotes]

the art of cooking

aemond / modern!reader, 16+, fluff / comedy / mild angst in later plot points. inspiration taken from kdrama mr. queen. reader is very bi and loves girls so much.  

summary: in which you are a famous young chef whose soul was transported into the body of some way too pretty and privilege noble woman. oh, and you’re supposed to marry a prince or whatever. anyway, can you test this to see if it's ready ? 

warnings: reader is batshit wild and doesn't have time for westerosi norms : )

preview

  So there you were, sitting slumped in a chair in “your” chambers, having been so effortlessly stopped in your attempted escape through the gardens by a man with silver hair and an eyepatch. With dirt caked on your dress, flower petals scattered around your unruly hair, and gods know how many scratches on your exposed arms from your clumsy maneuvering through the greenery trying to escape. The man in question sits across from you, his finger tapping on the wood of his chair, waiting and looking at the fire. You don’t even give the flames a glance as you keep glaring at him. What a punk – is all you can think. 

  For stopping you from running away from the servants who were dead set on dragging you back into these chambers, for handing you off to them without even thinking about your pleas. How dare he? And all things considered, after being told you’re engaged to a prince of all people, you’d think he’d have more consideration of that fact too. Maybe he doesn’t know who “you” are. Yeah, that’s probably it. 

  Even if you hated the new life you’d woken up to, you could flex some of your status a bit, right? Just this once. 

  “You’ve really got a lot of nerve,” you say, and the man finally gives you the time of day. 

  Even the way his single eye stares at you pisses you off. He looks at you like you’ve just exhausted all his energy for the day, and it spurns you oon to throw your weight around a bit more. 

  “I had somewhere to be –” Which was not here. “And you just handed me off like I was a sack of trash. Do you have any idea who I–”

  “I know who you are,” he cuts you off with a quick response. His voice has a certain coldness to it, but it doesn’t deter you. 

  “Oh, yeah? Then you must know I’m betrothed -” You emphasize the last word. “To a prince.” 

  You see the corner of his mouth twitch as if he found that funny. Like it was a joke to him. He cocks his head to the side slightly like he’s observing you. Alicent did that during the first initial visit to “you” after “you” woke up. 

  “It seems the Maesters were telling the truth, you are out of sorts,” he says before standing up and taking a small step closer to you. 

  Now, you were intimidated by him as he towers above you. You’re suddenly very aware of his stature – taller than you, much more muscular than you. The purple iris that peers down at you through his lashes is an eerily beautiful sight, even you must admit to it. Your fingers dig into the wooden arm chairs. You take a deep breath and your chest sticks out involuntarily. It’s a pathetic display of bravery (foolishness, more like it), and the man pays it no special attention. 

  “My lady–” You hate the way anyone calls you that. “I am your betrothed.”

  Silence settles between you two. Your eyes stare up at him, widened to their fullest. You take a slow, obnoxious, audible breath in and then–

  You proceed to laugh in his face.

[cecilysass]

Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 1999

An epilogue to The Boy on the Beach. Read The Boy on the Beach on AO3 or on Tumblr. Read this epilogue on AO3. Tagging @today-in-fic

In the other multiverse.

Baltimore, Maryland February 23, 1983

“Sweetie.” Her mother’s face appeared in the crack of the door. “Do you think you’re almost ready? You’ve made Marcus sit down there with your father and Charlie for twenty minutes now. And our reservation is at seven, so we really can’t be too much longer.”

“Yes,” Dana said. “Almost finished.” In the mirror she peered into her own eyes, which were smudged with black. Her eyeliner was as heavy as she dared for dinner with her family, which truthfully wasn’t very heavy at all.

In Dana’s imagination her entire wardrobe was going to have been transformed in college. She would have been edgier, harder, swathed in black, jagged corners. A semester and a month in, and that hadn’t really happened. Her forays into rebellion had been modest and disappointing. A few band T-shirts, leather bracelets, scarcely noticeable.

Tonight she wore a new dress. Dark detailed lace, a dramatic ruffled neckline. She purchased it at a shop near campus because she thought it had a drastic, punk rock feel. She’d expected a few raised eyebrows when she arrived at her parents’ house tonight. Instead, her mother had smiled and told her she looked lovely. Looking at herself now in the mirror, pale face, dark dress, gold cross at her neck, she realized why. She looked like she could be taking holy vows.

“You know, you’re just sitting there,” her sister observed with amusement. She was lounging on Dana’s bed, already dressed. She had a torn denim jacket, feathery hair, makeup as dark as night. Missy’s forays into rebellion had always been fearless. “You’re not getting ready. You are ready.”

“I’m checking over my make-up.”

“No, you’re stalling. You’re making us late to your own birthday dinner on purpose.”

“What are you talking about?” Dana sighed wearily, examining the jawline of her uninteresting baby face again.

Missy sprung to her feet and leaned over Dana’s shoulder, looking at her reflection in the mirror, whispering playfully in her ear. “You’re waiting for something.”

“Oh yeah? What am I waiting for?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, with Marcus down there making conversation with Dad,” Missy said. “Boring little Marcus.”

“Marcus isn’t boring.”

“Oh, Dana,” Missy laughed. “You’re such a faker. I see right through you.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Dana said, rolling her eyes.

“You want to wait around here just in case you get your birthday phone call.”

Dana moved to blot her red lipstick without betraying any real expression.

“From your childhood soulmate,” Missy added knowingly. “Your personal Kennedy.”

“He’s not my childhood soulmate,” Dana said primly. “He’s not a Kennedy.”

“Your dark prince of Massachusetts.”

“He’s not in Massachusetts,” Dana said in a contrary tone. “He’s in college in England.”

Missy folded her arms. “I suppose you haven’t thought about his call at all today.”

Dana sighed again. “Fox does normally call on my birthday, but I’m not exactly sitting around waiting for that.”

“No?”

“Actually, I doubt he will call now—it’s late there. I’m honestly just trying to finish getting ready.”

“Okay.” Missy seemed to be biting back a smile.

Dana pursed her lips and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, but met her sister’s amused eyes in the mirror.

“You make everything so over dramatic, Missy.”

Missy just raised an eyebrow.

“Fox and I shared a strange childhood experience,” Dana said. “We’re friends. Pen pals. He’s an interesting person.”

“Very interesting,” nodded Missy.

“His sister writes to me, too, you know,” Dana pointed out. “And I haven’t seen them in ages. Not even since we moved back to the East Coast.”

Missy reached over Dana’s shoulder and over the vanity table, fishing out the snapshot of Fox on a beach that Dana had discreetly slid underneath her jewelry box. She held it up in front of Dana’s face like it was damning evidence.

Dana kept her expression disinterested. “What? He sent a photo from college.”

“Mmmm, I see that,” Missy said, looking it over. “You’re keeping it pretty close at hand.”

“What’s your point?”

“Look, Dana,” Missy said, sounding exasperated, “he saves you as a kid, he tells you you and he are bound together by fate, he writes you letters, he calls you every year. It’s romantic. You’d have to be made of stone not to see that. I don’t blame you. Nobody in the world would blame you. You don’t have to hide it.”

Dana didn’t say anything, her eyes on the photo in Missy’s fingers. He actually didn’t save her from anything, at least not according to him. According to him, the hero of the story was someone else.

Her. Her, but not her. An unrecognizable version of Dana Scully. Some superhuman, unattainable adult version.

Dana herself doesn’t remember what happened that week in 1973. She only remembers finding herself on a fairy tale beach with two fairy tale children who insisted she had a special destiny and gave her a letter from herself that seemed to confirm it.

The story has always been convoluted, and she’s always been partially sworn to secrecy.

“And holy fucking fuck.” Missy was looking hard at the photo, shaking her head. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed your little soulmate turned out smoking hot. That’s a nice favor for fate to do for you.”

Dana had noticed, actually. She still hated Missy’s characterization of her relationship with Fox, hated it for so many reasons.

“Enough, Missy.” She reached behind her and snatched the photo out of her sister’s fingers. “Let’s go downstairs now.”

“I could stall them downstairs for a few more minutes,” offered Missy, her tone softer. “I could say I feel sick?”

“Really,” Dana said. “You’re misreading the situation.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” Dana set her lips in a line.

“Okay,” Missy shrugged.

“Okay.”

“Then let’s go put our game faces on,” Missy said. “Prepare to eat large steaks and avoid talking politics with Bill.” She put her hands on Dana’s shoulders. “You look amazing, by the way. I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” Dana said, her face warming into a small smile in the mirror. “I don’t look like a nun?”

“Maybe a little. Like a hot nun,” Melissa assured her. Dana slapped her hand in jest.

On the way downstairs, the phone didn’t ring. But that was okay. That was fine. She wasn’t waiting for it. Not really.

*** Later, after they arrived back from dinner, after Dana had opened her presents, after they had eaten angel food cake topped with chocolate whipped cream icing and nineteen candles, after she had kissed Marcus a sweet but surprisingly chaste good-bye outside at his car, promising to call him soon (once she was back in her dorm, maybe on the weekend), the phone did ring.

She was standing at the bathroom mirror brushing her teeth, wearing an oversized tee of Bill’s from high school. Everyone else had already gone to bed, although she suspected Charlie was still awake because she could hear the Clash playing faintly from his room.

The phone rang and she froze, her toothbrush in her mouth. Then she flung it down and raced down the stairs as fast as she could, trying to get there before it woke up her parents.

She made it in two and a half rings. “Hello,” she said breathlessly as she picked up the kitchen phone.

“Hello?” It’s funny how familiar his voice was, considering how relatively few times she had actually spoken to him. “Dana…?”

“Yeah,” she said, still breathing hard from her little sprint. “It’s me. Sorry. I just ran from upstairs.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” she smiled, biting her lip. “No, I’m awake.”

“I almost missed it. I’m too late.”

“You’re not late,” she assured him quickly. “It’s still my birthday. But isn’t it the middle of the night there? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He laughed a little, and she noticed for the first time he was keeping his voice down. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I probably should be.”

Dana pressed her back against the kitchen wall and slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor. She brought her knees in towards her, hugging them, winding the phone cord around a finger.

“So,” he said. “Dana Scully. Nineteen years old. How does it feel?”

“Much the same.”

“How’s college?”

“It’s…” Dana selected her words carefully, always too aware of what he thought about her. “It’s amazing. I love it. The work is so much more interesting than high school. The conversation is at a higher level.”

“So you just study, all day and night, and that’s Dana Scully’s whole life at University of Maryland?”

“I do take my work seriously,” she said, stiffening. “I know it’s not Oxford, but I take challenging classes.”

“Of course you do,” he said, his tone gentle. “I just meant to ask what you did outside of class.”

“Right,” she said. She knew she was too sensitive. He had never given her any reason to feel so, but she felt self-conscious, her modest, budget-minded state university education versus his elite international schooling. “Well, I have a job working at the library. I, uh, play intramural volleyball.” She swallowed. “I was going to try for a job in a lab for next year.”

“You’re studying science?”

“Yes.” She pressed her eyes closed, anticipating the next line of questioning.

“Do you know your major yet? Is it… do you know what you want to do?”

She knew what he was thinking—because this is what he did, Fox. He asked her a question, and he seemed deeply and intensely interested in her, but he actually was thinking about someone else. This woman, this stranger he and Samantha called Scully: a woman she had never met.

“Not really,” she said.

There was a little pause. “It’s probably too soon to worry about your major. That’s what’s good about American universities—you can explore different fields of study.”

Dana decided to change the subject. “Your sister sent me something for my birthday.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Really. It was wrapped and everything.”

“I’m offended. She didn’t send me anything for my birthday.”

“It arrived in my school mailbox the day before yesterday.” Dana was smiling, wrapping the phone cord around her wrist.

“What was it?”

“A record,” Dana said coyly. “A single. No card or note—besides her name, obviously.”

“A record? You’re kidding me. What record?”

“Prince.”

“Prince?” He paused. “Why would she—” He stopped. “1999, right?”

“Bingo.”

She could hear him laughing on the other end, trying to keep his sound muffled. “Shit. She’s … such a weirdo,” he breathed. “But that’s funny. I wish I had thought of that.”

“As it happens, I like the song.”

“Sam has great taste and a subversive sense of humor, but she’s really baffling my parents,” Fox said. “I think it’s not all sunshine and roses in the Mulder household since I left. We can’t all be well-behaved first children. But only one more semester until she’s off to college, too.”

“Does she want to go to Oxford?”

“She wants to go to Berkeley,” Fox said. “In California.” He hesitated. “According to her, there was something 99 Me and 99 You said about a scientist there who studies neurology, which somehow mysteriously leads to time travel. I hadn’t quite heard all of the details of that before, but Samantha is adamant.”

Dana took that in.

Unlike Fox, Samantha had always been slower to talk about the events of that week in November 1973. Her story had always come out in fragments, little tantalizing mentions that emerge unexpectedly, sometimes years later.

In some ways this was frustrating, as Samantha had the most information. She was the person who met both 99 Dana and 99 Fox, who actually saw them interact with one another. She spent the night in a beach house with both of them. Fox had only met 99 Dana, and Dana met neither of them, unless you counted the letter.

“So what did you do for your birthday?” he asked.

“I went to dinner with my family,” Dana said. She hesitated a half second. “And with my boyfriend, Marcus.”

“This is the same boyfriend? From high school?”

“Yes,” Dana said. “He’s—yes.”

“He goes to your college?”

“No,” she said. “He goes to UVA, but he drove over for dinner.”

“Oh,” Fox said. “That’s nice of him.” He didn’t sound insincere, but he didn’t exactly sound warm either.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“It was nice. But I think I’m going to break up with him.”

He paused. “Why?”

“I don’t—“ She didn’t know why she was telling him this. “I don’t think about him when I’m not with him.”

“Ah,” he said.

“Does that make sense to you? As a reason to break up with someone?”

“It makes perfect sense to me.”

“It seems like you should think about someone you’re with. Even if you’re not with them at that precise moment. If the relationship is important.”

“I’m not exactly an expert, but I think that’s probably right,” he said.

There was a pause.

“Are you dating someone?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Not any more. I was, until fairly recently.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was amicable.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She was smart, funny. Her name was Aine. She was—she’s really involved in the anti-nuclear movement here, protesting against Margaret Thatcher.”

“Were you involved with that, too?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Especially while I was dating Aine. She’s very … persuasive. Dedicated.”

“What does she look like?”

There was a pause.

“She’s beautiful.”

Dana found herself fairly certain Aine had red hair.

It was overwhelming, really. She didn’t know what to make of him and his early-minted taste for heroic redheads. She wished Samantha had never mentioned it.

“It feels weird to talk about it with you, Dana,” he said softly. “Even though I know it shouldn’t.”

“Why would it feel weird?”

“You know why.”

Because sixteen years from now she would supposedly be the love of his life. Sixteen years from now she supposedly would love him so much that she would go to some dire lengths to save him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I always seem to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, you don’t,” she replied. “I just sometimes worry … “

“What?”

“That I’m not the person you want me to be.”

“I want you to be yourself.”

“I think you want me to be someone you met when you were a kid.”

“You are Scully,” he said. “You can’t help but be her.”

Another little pause. She cleared her throat.

“I’ve been doing a little research on the camera,” she said. “Do you want a report?”

“Of course I want a report.”

When they left, 99 Dana and 99 Fox had left behind an intriguing artifact from the future: some kind of headset that 99 Dana told Fox and Samantha was a camera, although it no longer seemed to work. Fox and Samantha had spent years tinkering with it, but had sent it to Dana last year at her request.

“I’ve been going to some local technology clubs. Personal computing. Like at Radio Shack.”

“Oh yeah?” He sounded amused. “What’s that like?”

“Well, I’ve had many offers of help,” she said diplomatically. She didn’t want to affect his view of her, but really it was amazing what you could manifest as a college girl walking into a Radio Shack with pigtails, Jordache jeans, and your younger brother’s too-small Atari T-shirt. Offers of help from every direction, really.

“And?”

“You can learn quite a bit there, and I’m getting pretty good at it. I’m thinking of taking a programming class next semester, actually.”

“Computer programming? Wow.” He sounded perplexed.

“The camera is a type of computer, or it has computers in it,” she explained. “It’s beyond what anyone has seen now though. I’ve had a lot of help—some experts willing to look at the camera with me, analyze it closely. Right now it’s probably not working because it’s out of batteries, but its power source is totally different than what we have.”

“Huh,” Fox said. “What if you could get it to work again?”

“I think it’s possible,” she said. “Someone helping me—this man Melvin—he says he knows people in California, in Silicon Valley, who would know more. I was wondering if somehow I could take it out to show them this spring or summer, on one of my breaks.”

“That would be great!” Fox exclaimed. “If it worked, we could take pictures of our own. Messages, maybe.”

“Not right away. Maybe eventually.”

“I wonder where the pictures would go.”

“Back to 99 Dana and 99 Fox’s universe, I suppose,” Dana said. “That’s where her pictures were going, right?”

“Yeah. But it’s been ten years,” Fox said. “It must be 2009 there now, if time moves forward in the same way. I wonder if they even have a way to receive the pictures any more.”

“It could be more time until I can make the camera work,” Dana reminded him. “There’s still a lot to figure out. The power source on this camera, it’s tiny. And the part of the camera that is actually a computer? Fox, it is so impossibly small, like a whole Apple computer shrunk down. It’s fascinating.”

“Do you enjoy it?” he asked. “Trying to figure it out? Solve the puzzle? It sounds like you do.”

The question surprised her, in part because she hadn’t thought of it quite like that. She enjoyed trying to help Fox and Samantha, and she found the computers part much more interesting than she thought she would. But the answer to his question was unexpectedly clear to her.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do. I really like the challenge of it.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “That’s really good.” There was something in his tone that made her worry, like he was comparing her to Scully again, but the conversation took a different turn.

“Dana,” he began, sounding hesitant. “I, uh, got a call. From someone from the F.B.I., asking me if I would be willing to talk to someone in their recruitment office about a possible career in profiling after I graduate, or while I do graduate work in psychology.”

“Oh.” She breathed in. “That’s—“

“It seems like that’s the beginning of … how it’s supposed to happen.”

Dana let that sink in. “Profiling. As in dangerous criminals? Is that what we did in 1999?”

“I never heard the exact area of the F.B.I. we worked in. I know you were a doctor. For me, profiling does make sense, based on what I have been working on in school.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. She had weighed the idea of medical school eventually, but it wasn’t the only thing she considered. Lately, she had thought more seriously about computer science. “Do you think all of this happens no matter what we do? That it’s fated, somehow? That our choices don’t matter?”

“Do you think you wouldn’t choose the F.B.I.?”

“I don’t know,” she said sincerely. “I just think I would like to be able to make the choice.”

A pause on the line. “I guess that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

“About which part?”

“About whether it has to be set in stone.”

She was faintly surprised. She assumed Fox always wanted to chase after a future that he thought got him as close to what Scully described as he could.

“The call from the F.B.I. isn’t the only call I got,” he explained. She heard him rustling around, like he was shifting position. “I got another offer. Something badly paid and probably not very smart. My friend Miles is an old classmate who’s already graduated and has been working as a counselor in a clinic. He’s in San Francisco, doing grief work and end-of-life counseling with men dying from this new disease, this epidemic. You probably know about it.”

“AIDS,” supplied Dana. “Probably viral. No one knows for sure.”

“Yeah. Whatever it is, it’s a lot of young people dying too fast, often alone, and there’s a huge need for counselors and therapists to help them. Miles says he works sometimes 20 hours a day, but the work is really worthwhile. I was thinking that might be something I could be good at. I’m sometimes good at helping people think through bigger questions.”

“So you’re wondering if you should do that instead.”

“I guess I am,” he said. “I could do it for a while and think about whether I wanted to continue graduate studies in psychology, or go straight into the F.B.I. … or something else. Plus, if Sam is at Berkeley, it’s right there in the Bay Area. I could keep an eye on her.”

Dana was silent for a moment. “It sounds like you already know what choice you want to make.”

He made a stifled half laugh. “Of course I don’t.”

“You sound more excited about the counseling in San Francisco than about the F.B.I.,” she commented.

“That’s true,” he said really softly, like this was a realization. “I am, I guess.”

“But you’re still…?”

“Scared,” he said. “Because if I choose something different, I worry that I…” He stopped. “Well, I worry.”

She didn’t speak either.

“The relationship 99 Dana had with 99 Me—that wasn’t the kind of possibility you could see in your future … and just ignore,” he said. “I can’t see just tossing that away, Dana.”

“Can you explain to me why?” she asked in a small voice.

“I don’t know if I can, except that … here I was, this lonely kid, and the way she talked about us being partners...” He laughed quietly. “I’ll never, ever stop thinking about being her partner.”

“Yeah,” Dana whispered, feeling tears spring in her eyes.

“But I get it,” he said. “I know it might not ever work here, the way it did there. Too many variables have changed.”

“It doesn’t mean you couldn’t be happy in other futures,” Dana pointed out. She twirled the phone cord around her finger idly. “With other people.”

“I guess,” he said. He seemed to let out a long sigh. “You know, right before the holidays, I was in London with Aine.” Dana slumped against the wall a little, closing her eyes, trying to picture what he was saying. “We went out to this club with her friends. They got me all dressed up—that whole New Wave look, you know? Eyeliner and ruffly shirt and all the shit in your hair to make it poufy. It’s not my normal thing, but it was fun. People seemed to like it.”

Dana thought about the photo on her dressing table and imagined it. She thought she could guess why people might have liked it.

“So we’re in this place, and it’s crowded, and there are all these colored lights, strobes, and they’re playing that Duran Duran song, the really popular one. Hungry Like the Wolf. And Aine was talking to me about her Christmas plans, and my eyes just sort of drifted away from her, losing focus into the crowd. All these bodies, dancing. Trying to just connect with one another. Scent and a sound. Juices like wine. Hungry like the wolf. And I thought… why am I here? Why am I doing all of this? Why am I pretending to be looking for someone else, trying to make these futile, fleeting connections, when I already know my perfect other exists?”

There was a pause on the line.

“But…” Dana blinked, stunned. “I’m not your perfect other, Fox.” Her body was rigid; she gripped the phone with white knuckles. “I’m not your perfect anything. I’m just some … girl from Maryland. Some girl who likes to spend most of her time studying and has never even been to a club like you’re talking about.”

“That’s not all you are,” he replied.

“I don’t even know if I really am Scully.”

“You are. I told you. It’s not something you can—”

“No.” She was surprised at how fiercely she spoke. “No, please hear me on this. I need it to be okay with you … if I’m not. I need to be free not to be.”

A tense beat.

“Oh,” he said. “Right, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No,” he answered, his voice subdued. “I’m sorry.”

In the hollow silence that followed, Dana’s mind raced. She could practically feel the weight of his disappointment through the phone.

Would this be the end of his interest in her? Would the calls end? What possible appeal could she hold without the promise of a secret agent future? Maybe it would be better to say goodbye, she considered. Maybe this childhood fantasy had gone on long enough. Didn’t it only ever make her feel like she was a lesser Dana? Why did she need that? She could live her own life and never feel that way again.

If it weren’t for Scully’s letter, she might have heeded that impulse.

Instead, she reconsidered. And found herself taking hold of a wild idea, something she could hardly believe she was going to propose.

“Fox,” she said, “maybe you should go to San Francisco and see the clinic for yourself. Before you decide what you want to do.”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding glum.

“Maybe you should come with me when I take the camera to the Bay Area. We could go together.”

It took a moment to sink in. “Together?”

“We must have some overlapping school breaks at some point. We could fly out, investigate the camera together, visit your clinic. You could ask all the questions you need to.”

She again could hear the rustling sounds indicating his squirming. “That’s… an interesting idea.”

“I think it would be a good opportunity for you… to gather information for yourself. Firsthand.”

“Firsthand,” he repeated. “Yeah.”

“You’d probably think of other questions to ask about the camera, too. Things I wouldn’t think of.”

“I’ve never been to San Francisco,” he said. “Maybe we could … walk across the Golden Gate Bridge while we’re there.”

“Okay,” she said. “If there’s time.”

“Or go see a giant redwood.”

“The to-do list grows longer,” she said wryly.

“Or ride a streetcar. Or eat seafood. Or go see that one really crooked street. I always wanted to do that.”

Dana smiled, stretching her legs out in front of her. She couldn’t tell if he was responding entirely seriously or not, but she felt a little giddy that she had summoned enough courage to invite him, to shift the conversation in this direction.

“You know,” he said suddenly and earnestly, “it’d be fun to drive, not fly. I’ve always wanted to drive across the continent. I have this amazing old station wagon that could probably make it. I could pick you up in Maryland.”

“That’s a much longer trip,” she commented, but her face was warming with pleasure. He seemed very serious. “It would be fun though.” She imagined Bill and Maggie’s expressions, watching their daughter climb into a car for a cross country road trip all alone with the strange boy they had met ten years ago on Martha’s Vineyard.

“If we could make it work, matching up the school breaks, would you really consider it? Going with me, I mean? You’re not just saying that?”

And she was struck by the vulnerability in his voice.

“Yes,” she said crisply. “Of course.”

“I’m not as strange as I come across in these phone calls,” he promised. “If we went, you could get to know me better.” A little intake of breath. “Just me. Nothing else. No expectations of anyone being anyone else, like you said.”

She was so used to thinking of him as her mysterious fairy tale boy, someone who dropped into her life simply to check to see if she had grown into someone she was not. It surprised her to realize he was anxious for her approval, too. That he was worried about how she viewed him.

“Sure,” she managed. “And you know, I’ve always wanted to tour Stanford, too.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Let’s make it happen.”

“Do you have a calendar of your school schedule?”

“I’ll go get one,” he said.

She listened as the phone dropped and he made thumping noises to run off, presumably to his room. He sounded so… eager. Dana smiled to herself, wondering what it would be like to drive in a car with him across the country. If he would drive her crazy with his peculiar energy. If he would insist on driving off the interstate on little side trips. If he would make them camp or stay at cheap motels. She found herself insatiably curious.

*** They stayed up too late hammering out a rough plan before finally saying good-bye, and Dana padded speedily back up the stairs to her bedroom, her heart still thumping, her mind still buzzing.

She flew straight into her closet and yanked the drawstring to turn on the overhead bulb. Her eyes ran over the shelves, looking for what she wanted, until she spotted it: the old cracked leather box. She lifted it from the shelf and took it to her bed to examine.

Inside the leather box were letters, filed carefully in reverse date order starting from 1982, last year, going back to 1973. Fox and Samantha’s handwriting alternated, the penmanship getting increasingly rounder and younger as she flipped farther back in time.

She found what she was looking for. The very first letter, which wasn’t from Fox or Samantha. It was preserved in its original envelope.

Dana. said the lettering on the front.

The handwriting was adult and female. She now could see what was not apparent to her as a nine-year old—that it was, in fact, her own handwriting. Or at least that it looked enough like her handwriting at age nineteen to be recognizable.

Dana sat cross-legged on her bed and read the letter for the thousandth time: the letter that had changed her life, the letter that continued to change it.

Dear Dana,

I have never been in a situation like yours, but I imagine you’re very scared. As strange as this may sound, the person writing this is you, Dana Scully, age 35. I traveled from the year 1999 back to your year. When I arrived, you vanished. Now that I have left again, you’ve returned, and you are ready to begin to live your life again. I’m truly sorry that I had to disrupt your life in this way.

I will try to limit this letter only to what is most important. First, it’s not a good idea to believe anything a stranger tells you, so I’ll try to give you some proof we are the same person, and tell you something only you know: In Mass sometimes, you daydream that Father Joplin will one day leave the priesthood and marry you instead. I hope that is enough to convince you. I’ve never told that to anyone. He never will, I’m afraid.

Second, your family has missed you very much, and they have been very worried. Be kind to them once you see them again. Especially Melissa. Always be close to Melissa.

Third, the two children you are with—Fox and Samantha—will act like they know you because they know me, but you won’t know them. Listen to them. They can explain the full story of what happened to you. They will be able to give you most of the answers you want. I imagine they may seem like strange children. But you can trust them, always, especially the boy.

Finally, about the boy, Fox Mulder. I know him as a man very well, but I don’t know what it would be like to know him as young or for as long as you will. If I had to predict, he will be persistent in keeping in touch with you.

His friendship can be difficult at times, but it’s also been something powerful and hard to explain, something big and overwhelming and wonderful. I suppose my advice about Fox Mulder comes down to this: when it comes to him, don’t ever lose sight of yourself. But in the end, he is worth it. He is always worth it.

Yours, Dana Scully