#it's been done for days but I only just finished mild editing because I was tired from traveling

[fyeahnix]

Sevika Hockey AU where Sevika is the team enforcer and Reader had been traded to the team in a legendary deal as their new star player.

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The game had been close all night. Physical, too. High-sticking and cross-checks under the referee's noses drew out the nastiest insults from the crowd. You saw and heard and felt it all.

But you tuned it out. You had a job to do.

The Zaun Wolves needed an experienced star player added to the roster to help mentor their rising rookie hopeful, and in an odd turn of events, the Noxus Generals decided to part ways with you, the player they'd drafted with the number one pick only five years ago, for a draft haul in the off-season.

After a rocky rookie season and a sophomore slump, you were on the upswing in your career. You'd posted some record statistics during your time with the Generals and judging by the two goals you'd achieved tonight, you'd say the Piltover Progressors were learning that you lived up to your reputation.

It was no secret in the league that Zaun had beef with Piltover as rivals, but no one informed you just how much the Progressors hated the Generals. To them, you were the bastard child of both, and they were keen on making you feel every bruise in your first bout this season.

This team was fucking ruthless. No only were they trying to box you out from getting the puck, but when you did manage to snatch it away, another player would check you against the boards with their entire body weight and sneak in an illegal hit to go with it. And Janna bless the rookie Vi for coming to your defense. She was scrappy and never backed down from a fight, but she lacked the muscle mass to take the bigger players down completely. Still, you appreciated her effort.

Your saving grace, however, was the large woman sitting anxiously in the penalty box whose eyes locked with yours whenever you skated by. Sevika was one of the older vets on an already fairly young team, and the team's one and only enforcer. You learned over the off-season that while she didn't speak much and wasn't the best player on the Wolves, the team listened wholeheartedly to her wisdom and rallied behind her when it mattered. Much different to the militancy you experienced on the Generals.

Your defenders did their damnedest job keeping the puck away from the Progressors during the penalty. The penalty clock wound down to the last fifteen seconds just as you saw an opportunity to seize the puck and take a shot on goal.

You launched yourself across the ice to gather the puck. With quick stick work, you coiled back for a slapshot and before the end of your stick collided with the puck, a heavy body slammed into you. You lost balance and tumbled to the ice, losing the puck. They'd knocked the wind out of you, and you struggled to stand as the crowd yelled about another missed charging call.

You stood, finally, just in time for Sevika to hop out of the penalty box a second before stoppage of play. She rolled over to you and gave you a once-over.

“You good?” she asked.

You shook your head. “I'll be fine. They're startin’ to piss me off though.”

She nodded. “Gotchu.”

You skated into position behind your center for a face-off near your goal. Play resumed with your center winning the bout and passing over to Vi who took the puck to the other side of the ice. You followed. She passed it to you, and you played keep away with it before passing back to the center. The defender who tagged you grew sick of watching the clock and took it up on herself to check you into the boards when the puck came flying back to you. You lost it in the scuffle.

When you recovered, you saw Sevika sailing over to the defender, grabbing her by the jersey to pull her back.

Sevika then dropped her stick and gloves.

The defender followed suit.

The crowd hollered and screamed, went wild as the two danced around each other on skates.

The defender took a couple of feint jabs, but Sevika didn't fall for it. She kept her guard up and when the defender missed a big swing, Sevika followed up with a sharp uppercut. She grabbed the front of the defender's jersey and held her in place as she pummeled the defender with a flurry of right fists to the cheek and jaw. Her blows echoed off the ice, somehow overpowering the deafening crowd. The defender tried to no avail to fight back, but managed to sneak in a few lucky hits to make Sevika bite her own tongue.

The defender stumbled down, and finally, the referee broke up the fight for another stoppage of play.

Sevika grinned at the crowd, circling the ice with a bloody mouth. With one last glare at the defender, she yelled words that reassured your growing trust in her.

“Yeah, try that shit again and see what I do!”

On her way to the penalty box, she gave you a quick wink before slamming back inside to sit down.

Most of your team were slow to warm up to you during the off-season when you arrived in Zaun. Sevika had been the slowest. She acknowledged you, sure, but actually talking to you outside of work-related topics was like pulling teeth. It wasn't until she stumbled upon you skating around the ice in the brisk hours of the morning did she make the effort to engage. She'd always been first one in, last one out, and for once, someone had her beat.

You loved what you did—the juxtaposition of gracefully gliding across ice with the heaviness of pads protecting your person—but nothing came easy. You were smaller than the average player and faster because of it, but what you couldn't accomplish in raw strength, you made up for it in accuracy and finesse with the puck at your blade. But shooting a frozen piece of rubber into a goalie's five-hole took practice. Ten thousand hours of it. You'd told Sevika then why you were there and while the acknowledgement she gave you then was nothing but a gruff scoff and quick smile, her demeanor towards you changed from then on.

You came to learn that she valued nothing more than hard work and dedication. You weren't some gifted player with natural-born talent with access to the best resources at your disposal. You were you—an Ionian who had worked their ass off from sun up to sun down to have any hopes of being the best player in the league.

As the clock wound down to the final five minutes, you checked the scoreboard. Sevika's penalty time would take you down to the final three and you only had to endure from there.

The Progressors took their timeout. You locked eyes with Sevika for two long seconds during the team huddle, who only gave you the faintest of nods, an action that only said “I got you.”

Your opponents kept up the pressure but laid off the dirty plays for the rest of the game. The message was loud and clear to them: fuck with you and they'd answer to Sevika.

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taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat

@ash-fall7 @the-anonmaton @peanutbutterprincess @thesevi0lentdelights @kylorey25

@thegothicchangeling @slut4sevika

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

I have a request! If you’re comfortable? No one else will :(

Okay so you and Daryl are just settling in Alexandria, Daryl is very sexually frustrated but he doesn’t say anything, thinking he’s ridiculous.

Eventually one night the two of you are just relaxing or something, maybe you have your hand on his thigh or you kiss him innocently and he really tries to hide how turned on he is just from that.

There’s no sex because before you know it, you’re both kissing and Daryl is humping against the couch or your leg and he finishes way too soon.

Sorry it’s so long but pleeeeeease 🩷🩷

Wound Up

Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.

Pairing: Daryl x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Mild, non explicit smut. Light angst/tension. Humping!

A/N: Hi Anon, thanks for this request, I am sorry it's taken me SO long. I'm sure you could find another author to do it more justice than I can, but here you are! I am on a mad catch up, and this was edited quite quickly so if you notice any errors please yell at me but politely and with a tone that implies you're not mad at me because I am a millennial who already assumed you are.

-

It's been weeks. Which in the grand scheme of things is hardly any time at all, especially considering how long he has been able to go without affection in his life. But without her specifically? Without her, mere minutes feel like a lifetime. Which is all a poetic way of saying Daryl is absolutely dying to be inside her. Frustrated doesn’t begin to cover it, if they’d have had walls for the past few weeks he’d have been climbing them. He’s only avoided climbing the walls they currently have because he’s been too damn busy.

Pining isn’t the word he’d use, if he’s honest with himself, though he has been basically drooling over her since the moment they first spoke and if anyone catches him staring, longing even, at her whilst they build walls and hold meetings and settle in, well that’s just unfortunate timing and they should mind their own business. The word he’d use is…yearning, which is a synonym for pining he supposes so yes, okay if anyone absolutely needs to know it’s pining.

He hadn’t been comfortable with sex before her, sure there’d been a few trysts and one-night stands (mostly at Merel’s insistence). Those were different though, hurried and anonymous and awkward as all hell. She changed everything. She had waited patiently, but openly for him to be ready, had never made a secret of what or who she wanted, and he still finds it hard to believe, after all this time, that its him. She’d snapped a coil inside of him he didn’t realise had been tightly wound, and once he’d gotten past his shy, unsure learning, once he stopped doubting that she wanted him, he’d practically devoured her whole at every given opportunity. He’d never been so sated in his life.

But there’s so many other things to worry about now, and it’s not like they could have done it on the road even if they weren’t dehydrated and starving. Weeks.

He almost ravaged her in the kitchen when she came downstairs dressed for Deanna’s welcome party, but she’d been so excited to go that he couldn’t stand to ruin it, instead kissing her deeply and telling her how beautiful she was. He should have attended, in hindsight, maybe he could have snuck off to a closet or a room somewhere like they used to on runs. And its not that spaghetti at Aarons place is bad, really its not, the food is delicious and the company, though hard for him, is easier than it is from others, but Aaron keeps asking questions about his wife, and every time he hears her name he physically has to bite back a groan.

Has never really been one for touching himself, he always feels guilty afterwards and it’s not really the relief he’s craving so much as her. Someone should tell his dick that though, because he’s been half hard for most of the goddamn day.

It takes him ten, maybe fifteen minutes if he’d counted, to go from faux nonchalance to full blown hormone raging teenage style lust. She’s returned from the party a little after midnight, stripped off her ‘too tight’ dress and burrowed herself into one of his large t-shirts and a clean pair of underwear. It would alarm Merle that he found this sexier, for all of his older brothers interest in bimbo style clothing and makeup clad bar dwellers, Daryl finds himself the most attracted to her like this. He tells her as much as they lay intertwined on the sofa, with her thigh slotted between his as they chatter about their evenings.

He's fine, he’s totally fine and he’s definitely coming across like he’s fine. She’s definitely not concerned enough to touch her hand to his cheek, ask if he’s alright before kissing him gently. He shatters, lowering his mouth to her neck to taste her.

He can’t help himself, really he can’t, hips thrusting with every delicious scratch of her nails through his hair. He hasn’t formed a single word in minutes, entire conversation cut down to contented sighs and frustrated groans. He’s too gone to stop himself by the time he hears her sharp intake of breath, hips speeding up as he grinds the hard length of himself against her upper thigh.

He’s not just a considerate lover, he’s agonisingly thorough, has never once finished without getting her there first. But now? He’s needy, he’s desperate.

“Slow down, Honey”

Her voice is floating, far away and upstream and coming at him from somewhere with no concept of time or space; he takes in the warmth of it, the affection laced tone he’s so used to but he couldn’t recall what she’s said if he needed to under threat of death.

“Missed ya” he grumbles against her neck, voice drifting away to catch hers “missed ya s’much”

He’s loosely aware that he’s still in his jeans, they’re too tight and not tight enough and her hands are tugging the hair he’d washed earlier so he finds he doesn’t care. Hips jerking, grinding into her so he doesn’t have to pull away even an inch. Delicious friction. His whole body is on fire, lost in her. He’ll be embarrassed by this later, but now he cares for nothing beyond the tight grip he has around her body and the soft moans he can hear in his ear as his thigh grinds between her legs.

He sucks a bruising kiss against her neck, feels the wet patch against his leg grow larger, hears the moans deepen. Eyes glazed and jaw agape, letting out whines and grunts and groans he doesn’t even realise he’s making. Drowning in the smell of her, the warmth of her body and the tangy taste of dried sweat as his mouths her collarbone.

She leans in a little more, grazing the bulge in his pants as she runs a hand through his now clean hair. She’s missed this as much as he had. She hadn’t wanted to push, he’d been exhausted and anxious, eyes flitting around for signs of trouble but she opens her eyes in time to see his come undone, cock pulsing heavily as he ruts and ruts and ruts against her thigh before stilling.

“Fuck ‘m sorry” he huffs against her, hot breath fanning out over close skin. He finally opens his eyes, feels his own lopsided grin as he takes her in, pupils blown wide as he fingers grip the taut muscles of his arm.

“It’s alright” she smiles, and he’s not having that, is not going to let himself off the hook like she’s intending to, not ever but especially not when he can feel heat radiating against his leg, not when she’s looking at him like he’s dinner. He’s a considerate lover, agonisingly slow and thorough, but now? When he can see she’s needy and desperate. Now the fog in his brain is clearer?

He trails his hands down her body, smirking as she shivers. Safe, warm fingertips find their way to the waistline of her underwear.

“Le’me make it up t’ ya”

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 8

Title: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: You're just there to help JK with his final project, so why are you being doused in water, facepaint and smoke? Art. Art is why.

Warnings: T, language, fluff, angst, honestly this one's kinda wholesome and fun, some photogrpahy jargin in there, but nothing a quick google search can't fix if you really need to <3, it's mostly surface level jargin. Also the smoke machine works cuz JK has great ventilation due to the massive windows being open, so don't worry bout that XD, some light and fun name calling, some world building. Ask if you need clarification on anything. That's all I think!

Word Count: 11,684

Release Date: September 1, 2024. 4:30PM

A/N 1: Surprise! Happy JK Day.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

PJK [7:36pm]: Saturday afternoon. my place. 11am.  PJK [7:36pm]: bring an extra set of clothes, something warm. Sweats if you have them. PJK [7:37pm]: also, Im gunna need your shirt size

The first three weeks of November have flown by and dragged on at the same time.

The weather’s getting colder. You need a thick jacket if you want to be anywhere outside, and all leaves have fallen from the trees, leaving pines the only ones left with their winter coats on. Hot chocolate from greenhouse cafe has become part of your life’s blood so you don’t freeze, and gloves with pocket warmers inside them are once again a part of your everyday. 

But November skies have returned. And you frequently set up camp on the drying grass beside the greenhouse, dressing your canvas with oil paint to their likeness as it’s the only paint that doesn’t dry the second it’s out of the tube in the cold, static air.

Jungkook told you earlier in the week the shoot would most likely be this weekend, and that he just had a few final strings to pull together before being able to confirm. So with that in mind, you intentionally tried to finish all your work before this weekend, knowing the shoot will take a while to complete.

He mentioned it may leak over into Sunday depending on how much you get done on the first day, which is fine with you considering you usually spend Sunday evenings at his place anyway. You’d consider it an extended edition of your regularly scheduled broadcast.

And speaking of regularly scheduled, you haven’t missed a single movie night since Nel left. Granted, it’s only been three weeks, but even missing the two you did because of Nel had made an impact. 

You’d gotten so used to them, having that time to destress and unwind before the week starts. A nice little routine that helps reset you both mentally and physically.

Suddenly not having that was…a weird feeling you try not to remember. 

And you are more than happy to never miss another one ever again.

You aren’t sure what Jungkook tells Adaline he’s doing during movie night, but she’s never interrupted you, not even once. And it’s something you are increasingly grateful for, because she is one of the things you destress from as your unspoken rivalry always amps up the closer to exam season you get.

It’s Thursday evening, and you’re in your room finishing up a Microeconomics 3 assignment while piano music plays on a speaker in the corner. You use it to help you focus, and it’s working its magic as you’re finishing your work in record time. 

Music has always helped you work better, and you credit it largely with how you’ve been able to keep up with everything in your schooling.

Yuri’s in her room, doing homework as well you assume. Or maybe texting Tai—the dreamy, big dicked Ilcalos island Count—you swear she’s only put her phone down for sleep and showering, as she’s constantly checking to see if he’s messaged her. And you hope it turns out well for them, Yuri deserves someone who treats her well. Especially after the whole Jungkook debacle—which you’re not allowed to bring up—and then the poor rebound you aren’t allowed to talk about either. You’re just happy she’s finally found someone worth her time.

Picking up your phone, you shoot Jungkook a text back.

You [7:40pm]: okay! saturday at 11 sounds good. I’ll bring sweats and warm socks

You message him your shirt size too, curious as to what he’ll use it for, but you’re sure you’ll find out in due time. You always do.

Subject to many of his homework assignments, you’ve been posed and lit and adjusted every which way. 

Jungkook is incredibly professional when you’re with him as a model. Light touches to correct posing, always with a ‘may I’ before he does, and he fills the room with kind words, good vibes, and fun music so you never feel awkward. 

At first you were really iffy on the whole idea when he first asked in September, because it would be the prince of your nation photographing little ol’ you. You weren’t anything special��yet—and you’re still never one for being in the spotlight, or for being on camera. At all. But if it was just for homework, and you were helping out a friend…you figured why not? 

It helped that all of your worries immediately faded when you saw the results of that first shoot.

An email from a very non-princely email address found its way into your inbox. The subject was the date of the shoot, and the only message inside being:

 thanks. Hope you like them. 

Let’s do it again sometime.

-J

When you opened the attachments you made a quick dive to catch the phone that fell from your hands in shock. 

You looked…beautiful. Like you never had in pictures before. Not in school, or at graduation, not even in the ones you took of yourself. 

You didn’t know you were capable of looking like that. 

Like how he saw you. Captured you. 

And you’ll never admit you’ve held your chin a little higher with every shoot since.

They make you feel powerful, attractive. More confident, and sure of yourself, as if you were always meant to be in front of a camera. Like you’d been in front of one since before you could walk.

They do that for you.

He…does that for you—with his pictures, of course.

Jungkook is very talented. Very skilled with his camera, and you find yourself looking forward to the concepts he comes up with every time. Trusting him and whatever his vision is wholeheartedly. 

Though a small, immature piece of you is also pleased he still wants you to model, and not Adaline. That he finds you easier to work with over her.

Your competitive streak never fails to come out, even with the smallest, secretive things.

Take that Adaline.

You gladly help him out with his homework, and he does the same for you. 

If you ever need a male reference or a profile study. Anatomy practice, features practice, likeness practice. Anything and almost everything, all you have to do is ask, and he sits still or places whatever you need in front of you while you sketch.

Hands, however, have always been a personal favourite of yours.

They’re one of those things that can be drawn a hundred different ways and never look the same. Always a new position you can put them in. Consistently able to shake things up. And one set is never like the others—like eyes. There’s little differences in all of them and that’s where their magic lies.

You do these studies at the greenhouse, it has the best light to shadow ratio. When you ask him for one, he’ll switch to working with one hand, while the other does whatever you tell it. Normally either placed on your table or if there isn’t enough room, which nine times out of ten there isn’t because of all your supplies, you stick your foot on the lower metal frame of his table and he rests his arm, wrist or palm on your up bent knee. 

Due to this, you’ve unintentionally come to find out that his hands are very strong, very calloused, and very, very warm…

Also! Aside from hand studies, you love loose figure studies because they’re great warm up sketches. And what Jungkook doesn't know is that you have dozens of warm up sketches of him. Doesn’t know you sneak pictures here and there when you can, hiding them in a hidden album on your phone entitled ‘hmwk screenshots.’ And he definitely doesn’t know that when he’s sitting at the cafe, nose deep in assignments, you doodle his features or his outfit in real time.

A nose here, a jacket there. A muscular forearm covered in tattoos also tends to find its way onto your page every so often.

He’s got a good physique. And the ridges make for excellent anatomy practice. So does the intricate line work of tattoos, and fabric rippling. Especially in drastic lighting. Consistency is key in maintaining and improving your work and it’s not like any of these sketches will ever see the light of day anyways. 

They’re just, well…practice. 

A sigh escapes you, and you refocus on finishing your microecon work. You still have two more assignments to get done before Saturday at eleven.

“And why are you working with some random girl when I’m available, again?” Adaline asks. She’s currently sitting on Jungkook's couch in your spot. He’s setting up tomorrow's materials against the big white wall by the floor length windows that showcase his balcony.

It’s why he chose to live here instead of in the dorms or on campus. His place isn’t enormous, like most people would think, it has enough room for everything a regular student needs: bedroom, kitchen, workspace, living room, bathroom, even a guest room. But the one thing he keeps different is the big white wall where a dining room would normally be. 

Jungkook’s place has high ceilings, 10 feet tall, which is higher than the average but not excessive. And the wall that connects his kitchen to the balcony is a perfect mock studio. He can even keep all his equipment there; lights, gels, backgrounds, tubs full of props, camera cases, lenses, and more all stored in neat shelving against another wall. 

“Because students volunteered for extra credit, and she’s who was assigned to me,” a small lie, one he was sure that Adaline wouldn’t dig into too deeply. 

“Why didn’t you tell me I could volunteer?”

“Because you didn’t need the extra credit?”

She pouts, and goes back to her phone.

Adaline also doesn’t know it’s you he’s photographing and that is one hundred percent intentionally planned by him. 

He could sense something between you two after you made that one comment after fall break. He notices now how you stiffen slightly every time he mentions Adaline, and the one time he mentioned you in passing to test the waters, Adaline changed the conversion topic almost immediately. A look of annoyance, or maybe even insecurity in her eyes.

So he’s been lucky that Adaline has never wanted to see any of his schoolwork prior to or after the singular shoot he did with her. 

Lucky she hasn’t seen your face fill up his screen constantly. 

And extremely lucky that she doesn’t know about the hidden folder buried deep in his desktop labeled ‘eqpmt rcpts’ filled with dozens of candid shots of you.

To be fair, you don’t know about them either. They’re random, shots taken every now and then where he thought you looked happy, focused, or just existing. True candids of the most candid person he knew.

It started that day with his first assignment from Professor Hirmer. He’d taken those quick pictures of you painting, and then simply never stopped. 

He has pictures of you in the courtyard, walking and talking to Yuri, you smiling. He has some he took on his phone when you’re over for movie night, invested in the film or talking to him. And a bunch of you painting at the greenhouse. It’s hard to take secret candids when he’s right beside you, but he manages seeing as you haven't caught him yet.

He even has a few of you and Nel, love clearly written on your face in every single one of them.

Whenever he spots you before you spot him, and he has his camera on him, he takes a couple. 

They’ve amassed into a healthy sum, but he thinks of it as a harmless habit as no one will ever know. And it’s not like he’s following you around to take them or using them for anything nefarious. 

He just likes taking your picture. Capturing your spirit, your candor. 

Your realness. 

You are wholly yourself, always, no holding back, all of the time. 

And to him, it feels like coming up for a breath of fresh air.

“Hey!” you say as you let yourself into Jungkook’s apartment. You’d knocked but no one answered and it was currently 10:56am on Saturday, so you knew he was here. Plus, his door was unlocked.

“Jungkook?” you call. 

No answer.

You take your shoes off after closing the door and locking it. He should really keep his door locked. 

Very quickly become best friends with the couch, you toss your backpack of warm clothes on the floor while you wait for him to make an appearance. 

There’s shoot equipment everywhere; lights in the corner, some with soft boxes on them, gels laid out on the coffee table, and what you’ve come to learn is a lens case sits on the couch beside you in Jungkook's usual spot. 

Jungkook has also somehow managed to find some small trees in blue ceramic pots and what you’re pretty sure is a smoke machine. 

But the most peculiar thing is what looks to be a kiddie pool up against the wall with a folded tarp at its base. 

Well that's…interesting…

You hear a door open somewhere in the apartment and running water. 

“Jungkook? That you?”

“Hey! Yep. Just give me a sec, I’m almost done.”

The water sounds cease and Jungkook makes his grand entrance as he turns the corner holding a large watering can. Your eyebrow raises.

“For the trees?” you ask.

“What?” 

You point to the watering can currently making his veins pop. 

He laughs, “Oh! No. This is for later. You’ll see,” and walks to the other side of the room by the pool. 

“Aren’t we mysterious today,” you say, following him with your eyes. He’s in ripped black jeans that accentuate the muscle definition of his thighs, and a matching baggy shirt. When his back is turned you snap a quick picture. The fabric folds on his baggy shirts are some of your favourite mindless things to cool down sketch.

“Nah, just focused. We have a lot to get through today.”  He sets down the watering can and you can see the moment the switch flips from friend to photographer. “The guest room is ready for you. There’s a clothing rack inside with each look labeled. There’s also makeup and face paint, if you could bring out the make up after you're done changing, that would be great. We’re gonna start with ‘Bright and Bold’, okay?” 

You usually use the spare room as a change room when you have to switch clothes for a shoot. But they were always from your own closet. He’d tell you the concept he was going for and you’d bring a few options to choose from.

Makeup you were used to, though. Jungkook loves abusing your artistic abilities for his shoots in the way you decorate your face or body, saying they make his works a level up from the rest of his classmates. 

They also usually make for some of the coolest pictures you have of yourself.

This is the first time he’s ever bought clothing, though.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, this being his final assignment for an important class, and him being as serious as he is about his work and the final product. But you can't help it, you’re excited to see everything he’s chosen for the shoot. 

For you.

For the shoot.

“Yep, sounds good. Be out in a few,” you reply. He nods in acknowledgement before moving to set something up and you don’t stick around to find out, grabbing your bag and heading towards the door lined hall. 

The guest room is modest and clean. White sheets and gray comforter with, surprisingly, two throw pillows to spruce it up. The walls are white too, but you’re pretty sure that’s because Jungkook’s not allowed to paint the apartment per his landlord's wishes—a thought that still makes you laugh.

He could buy any place he wanted, but chose to rent. ‘To get the real university experience,’ he explained when you asked him the first time you went over.

Black furniture accents the room. A comfortable looking leather chair sits in the corner by a glass door that leads to the balcony. It has a small table beside it. There’s a dresser with a mirror in the other corner and of course, in the center of the room, is the bed. It’s a nice room. However, the newest edition is what’s keeping your eye.

Four shirts hang from the rack at the foot of the bed. The first is vibrant and colourful, the second a light neutral short sleeved V neck, third is strapless and skin coloured, and the last is made from thin black fabric you assume will be skin tight by the looks of it. 

As promised, they’re all labeled with a sticker. 

You throw your bag on the bed and grab the colourful one first. Its sticker says ‘bright and bold,’ and you put it on after removing the shirt you came in, then zip it up. The material feels heavy, durable and expensive. You check the tag on the inside seam and see it’s from Ilkaya, one of the biggest and most expensive fashion designers on this side of the realm. 

Your eyes bug out of your head, and you try not to breathe too hard for fear of ruining it. Your routine of thrifting all your clothes makes you pretty damn sure you can’t even imagine how much this cost. 

It feels good though, comfortable, not itchy. Really freaking expensive.

You look at yourself in the mirror, and you have to admit you look amazing. It fits perfectly in all the right places, compliments your skin tone, and even brings out your eyes. Begrudgingly, you admit to yourself that maybe there’s some sense in what the price tag could be. But it would still be a ridiculous sum for a jacket.

With one last look in the mirror, you grab the palettes, brushes and other tools off the dresser, and leave your designated dressing room for the day in favour of returning to the living room. 

Jungkook’s got music going from your shared playlist. Insisting on making one after your second shoot together, when he decided you both agreed to the arrangement becoming a regular thing. It’s a good mix of both of your musical tastes, even though you guys figured out quickly that you liked pretty similar stuff anyway. 

“What do you think? Does it work?” You ask as you turn the corner. 

Jungkook fiddles with this camera before looking and pausing for a moment to take you in. You hope you look okay, but the weird look he has on his face makes you backtrack a bit. 

“Is this not the one you wanted? It had the label on it. But I can go back and double che- ”

“You look amazing,” is all he says, and your worry slides off you instantly. He smiles wide, the one you’ve come to recognize as genuine. 

“Thanks. But the colour’s doing most of the work for me,” you say, smiling back shyly.

He has a white background set up, and two differently coloured gel’d lights sit on opposite one another, a third, smaller floor light faces the background. A backlight, he’d call it. 

Bright and Bold indeed, though there is the matter of-

“What do you want me to do for my make up?”

“Actually,” he sets down his camera gently on a table, “Is it okay if I do it? I want it to be a little more on the amateur side and I don’t think your years of refined talent would let you get the exact look I want.” 

That’s new. But you're here to stand and look however he wants you too, so you allow him with a nod. 

“Sure, where do you want me to sit?”

“Here’s fine,” he says as he pulls a stool that was off to one side close to one of the windows. “As long as you don’t mind holding the make up. I don’t have a table to set them down on.  Should’ve thought of that, sorry.” 

You can tell he’s mentally scolding himself for forgetting something.

“No no, it’s fine,” you say, taking your seat, “I don’t mind, really.” 

Placing the balls of your feet on the bar that holds the chair legs together, you make your lap even enough to set the palettes out, and use a hand to hold all the brushes. 

Jungkook laughs, noticing your feet as you sit, “Cute socks.”

They’re light blue with a fox face on them, and little ears stick up from the elastic around the ankle. 

“Thanks,” you laugh too, they’re your favourite pair. “I call them my fox socks. They’re lucky.”

“Let’s hope so. Wish me luck fox socks,” he calls to your toes, and you wiggle them in response.

He picks a brush and chooses a colour. “Close your eyes and let me know if I’m pressing too hard. If it isn’t obvious, I’ve never done this before.”

You close your eyes and whisper, “Will do.”

It's a uniquely intimate experience having your makeup done. Willingly letting someone get up close and personal with you, allowing them to see every potential scar, blemish and pore in the name of beauty and for the sake of creativity. 

In this case, it’s also a little questionable considering where you feel the brush putting down colour: cheeks, lids, temple, nose. However, you’re simply a pawn in a well thought out plan, so you sit and wait for him to finish.

“Annnd done,” he says, making a final swipe with the brush on your cheek. “You look great! I didn’t hurt you, right?” he asks, showing you the makeup in a palettes mirror. Your face looks like it’s been attacked by a rainbow in the best way. You smile, taking the mirror from him and looking at all the little details. 

For a first timer, Jungkook did a really good job. 

“Nope, I’m good. How do you want me?”

Jungkook leads you to the backdrop, placing you in front. 

“One second,” he says, grabbing a remote and clicking a button to lower the black out curtains on the windows, and then another that turns off the apartment lights. He also clicks on all the lights he’s set up and you’re quickly illuminated by a bright red and purple as well as the back light.

“I’m good to pose?” he asks. 

“Yep.” 

You love that he always asks first. It makes you feel safe and considered, consenting to every touch prior to its occurrence. 

Jungkook instructs the first pose to have your hands on the sides of your face, making slight adjustments so that you don’t cover any of the makeup. And for the first time, his touches leave little sparks where they land. 

You’re sure it’s just because of the lights or that the shirt is thick and makes you warm. 

Or maybe you’re just nervous and need to get the first photo jitters out of your system.

Soon enough, the camera’s pointing at you and you smile the brightest you can. He’s given you the prompt of ‘you’re so excited and happy you can’t hold it in,’ and you work with it the best you can, taking the first few with the pose he gave before being given full reign. 

It’s a decent way into the first shoot when Jungkook says, “Hmm…we’re not quite there yet, I need a bit more,” and follows up with, “How about ‘you’ve just been commissioned by the Modern Art Museum to have the leading showcase for next year’.” 

You smile the biggest you think you ever have at the thought. Because that’s the dream, that is the biggest goal you could achieve. An entire gallery of your work as the primary exhibition in the Western Shores Modern Art Museum? You couldn’t go any higher. It’s every artist's dream.

“There you go! That’s it!” The camera’s capturing quickly as you imagine what it would be like to have your own showcase at the WS-MAM. Incredible is the first word that comes to mind, your work in the biggest museum on the continent? You can’t even imagine, but you want to. 

One day, you promise yourself. You’ll do it one day.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, breaking your daydream, “Let me switch out the gels for new colours and go again. These are great so far though, you're doing amazing.” 

You hold your hand out for a high five and he smacks it. “Go team!” you say, and he laughs.

An hour and a half, a makeup fix and three lighting changes later, the first shoot finishes. You collapse on the couch and rub the muscles on your thighs. 

Jungkook plops down beside you, nose deep in the pictures he’s just taken, double checking everythings good.

“This is a fantastic start, I hope we can keep it up all day and finish before tomorrow.”

“Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Shoots with him are always fun, but inevitably tiring. “I’m gonna to grab a water, want one?” 

“Yes please,” he replies without looking up.

In the kitchen, you open the fridge to grab the two bottles and notice a box, stamped with a coffee mug that has a greenhouse inside of it, on top. The greenhouse cafe’s logo. 

“Can I ask what’s inside the cafe box?” you ask as you sit back on the couch and pass him a bottle.

“Ah, caught red handed,” he says, setting his camera on the table and taking a swig. “I may have asked Vivan earlier this week to make sure there was an overstock of tarts so I could grab them for you as a thank you for today.”

...Oh

That’s so sweet. He’s never gotten you a thank you gift before, especially not in the form of the most delicious pastry to ever exist. Maybe you should get him something for all the times he’s helped you with homework? A solstice gift maybe?

There’s heat forming in your chest and you really hope it’s not the beginning stages of heartburn. Maybe Jungkook has antacids. 

“You didn’t have to do that, I’m happy to help.”

“So you don’t want them then?” his shit eating grin making a glorious comeback because he knows what your answer’s going to be.

“No! I want them. I most definitely want them.”

He chuckles and puts his water down.

“Okay Donatello, glad you accept. Let's move on to the next set up. There’s makeup remover and cotton pads in the room, and some moisturizer too if you need it.”

The next shoot is called ‘Regality,’ and it has you in the strapless shirt. You find out it’s quite a low cut when you put it on. There’s enough to cover you, but there’s definitely a lot of your chest showing. However, under the shirt on the hanger is a scarf to cover yourself with, which you think is very considerate.

“Makeup?” you ask as you come out again, scarf covering you.

“Neutral, but strong. Kind of like how my mother does,” the background is still white, but you have a hunch that it will remain white in this picture, unlike the last one. “This one is going to be black and white, so try to emphasize your natural beauty.”

You ignore that he essentially just said you're beautiful, surely he’s just being kind and professional. Making sure his model feels good about herself. 

Right?

Right.

You put on a coat of mascara and go light on the shadow so it won't be too dramatic on film. You also use a shade of lipstick that adds just a tint to your lips and a blush that makes your eyes pop.

Jungkook has you sit on the stool from earlier and faces your body three quarters of the way towards the camera, but keeps your head turned in profile. 

“Oh! Almost forgot, one second,” Jungkook jogs to his room, coming back with a palm sized velvet box. “I had my mother send these over for this shoot. She has better taste than me, so I let her pick them out.”

Your stomach plummets to the floor when he opens the box. 

Inside are two dangling diamond earrings, and quite possibly the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

And now you’re terrified. 

“Jungkook, I can't wear those. They look like they’re worth more than my house, my car and my tuition combined.”

He takes one out and places it in your hand for you to put in, it’s the length of your index finger. And all you can think about is the potential houses you’re holding as you look at it. 

It’s a semi-rectangular earring, encrusted with four columns of diamonds that cascade down, each column longer than the previous. Like a sparkling waterfall you can attach to your ear.

“Don’t worry about it, mum said she never wears them anyway because they’re part of a set that the necklace was lost to years ago. Please,” his face is nothing but reassurance and small smiles, “You’re giving them a chance to live again.”

You couldn't say no to those eyes even if you wanted to.

So you reply, almost breathless and still against your better judgment, “Okay.”

Placing them in one after the other, they have a significant, understandable weight to them. You take a couple deep breaths so you don't freak out, and then you return to your previously designated pose, profile set, body facing the camera.

“Can I adjust?” Jungkook asks, after taking a step back and getting a wider view. 

You nod gently, still terrified of the earrings.

He makes sure the earring is visible and untangled first, before a finger gently comes beneath your chin, and lifts it a bit higher. 

The feeling they leave behind is all you can think about as you stare at your place on the wall, Jungkook snapping away. Not even the soft light illuminating your profile is enough to make you blink.

This shoot goes by quickly, and you’re relieved to get the earrings back safely inside their box.

“It’s like 2:45, wanna break for a late lunch?” Jungkook asks. 

“Please, I’m starved,” you say, returning from the guest room after tossing on the sweater you brought. “What's on the menu?”

“Well, we have two options,” he says, looking very faux serious, “1. We order out from wherever you want and awkwardly wait for it to arrive because the next shoot is not one we can’t prep for, then eat, then shoot.  Or 2. I make use of the ingredients I bought to make Bulgogi Kimchi Fried Rice and you get lunch and a show.”

You're shocked. 

Jungkook…cooks? Oh this you absolutely must see.

“Hmm….” you say, pretending to really mull it over in the same ‘serious’ tone, “I’m thinking I’ll have to go with option two, Chef. But I’ll lend a hand where I can, no use in standing around doing nothing.”

“Every chef needs a sous.”

With both of you on task, lunch is getting made quickly. Jungkook has all the ingredients to make ‘my buddy’s famous family recipe,’ a man who you assume is a chef back at the palace. The island countertop is currently covered in them; onion, kimchi, marinated bulgogi, gochujang, cooked rice, eggs and more. 

You’re surprised at how skilled Jungkook is in the kitchen. He’s cutting the ingredients like he’s been doing it his whole life and working the pan over the stove like the proper technique has been drilled into him since birth. 

Thirty minutes pass, and after both of you shed a tear at the cut onions and evenly split the remaining tasks, you’re sitting on the couch about to take your first bite. It smells delicious. Your mouth is watering and you can’t wait to dig in, stomach painfully empty by this point.

Finally taking that first bite, you nearly die of euphoria.

“Ouhmahgaud,” you say, mouth half full. Jungkooks on the other side of the couch, trying not to cough out his own food from laughing at your reaction. His eyes are nearly shut with how wide he’s smiling.

“Good?” he asks after swallowing his food first, like a civilized person.

You’re vigorously nodding as you swallow your own helping in hopes you’re understood.

“You’re giving me this recipe. I need it. I don’t think I will survive if this is the only time I ever get to eat it.” Your bowl is almost half gone already. Thank god there’s leftovers, you will be having more.

Plus, you want to make it for your mom when you go home, she’ll love it. 

“I’ll text it to you later, don’t worry.”

You’re very sure the look on your face conveys the gratitude you feel and the rest of the meal passes in a very comfortable and satisfied silence. 

Twenty-ish minutes later, after letting your seconds settle for a couple minutes, Jungkook gets back to business. 

“Next look is the most adventurous, it uses the facepaint. Are you okay with contacts?”

“I think so, never tried them before though. Just give me a few before we start so I don’t explode when I stand up.”

“All good,” he says, before quirking a lip and adding, “I really don’t feel like explaining why there’s kimchi and bits of you all over my walls to either of our parents, so take all the time you need.”

You laugh, firstly at the visual, then at the idea of Jungkook meeting your mother. That would be something you needed on record, paper and film.

After a minute, you get up, the guest room making your acquaintance once more. 

“This one is called Enigmatic,” Jungkook calls.

“Got it!”

You take longer than normal to change, maybe eating before putting on the skin tight shirt wasn’t a great idea. But at least it was stretchy. 

It has long sleeves, a high neck, and is a very dark midnight black. There’s a matching black scarf for this one too, and a safety pin attached to the corner.

“Okay, what's the plan for this one? I hear facepaint is involved,” you say, back for round three, scarf in hand.

The background of the set is black now, a close match to your shirt. Jungkook is by the smoke machine, currently set up on the stool and plugged into a nearby outlet. 

You hold up the scarf, questioningly.

“That’s to go over your head after the paint, but let’s see if you can do contacts first, they’re in the washroom. Need help?”

“No, I'm good.”

You don’t succeed at first, but after a couple attempts you look in the mirror and see purple eyes staring back at you. You love them.

“I look like a badass,” you say, returning. The smoke machine’s been turned on and it’s created a completely different atmosphere. At your reemergence, Jungkook shuts it off and comes close to give you a look. You freeze a little at the eye contact, his browns meeting your currently violets for a prolonged moment.

“They look better than I’d hoped, this is going to be great.” 

He reaches under the gels on the table for a piece of paper. It’s a makeup model face with the look he wants drawn on. “Are you able to do something like this?”

The diagram shows the cheeks, bottom half of the nose and down all the way to the neck as black, and the eyes and up as white, bleeding down into the black like smoke. You’re going to need eyeshadow for that part. If you did that with the face paint it would just become a gray mess.

“Yep, but it’s going to take some time to get it right.”

“That’s okay, I’ll use it to get the smoke machine properly set up.”

You use one of the palette mirrors and start with the white, covering the top of your face and making a good base layer for the eyeshadow. Then fill the bottom of your face and neck with the black. Carefully, so as to not make gray, you use a large brush to cover both sides with their respective eyeshadow shades, before blending them together like the reference. Your skin starts to feel like it’s on fire by the time you're satisfied and you check your phone for the time when you finally finish. 

4:37pm. 

Not bad. You put the scarf over your head and cover your ears with it, using the safety pin to hold it in place. 

“Done.”

Jungkook takes one look at you and lights up. 

“Have I ever mentioned how talented you are, and that you make my schoolwork so much more fun? Because I feel like I should again even if I already have.” Your cheeks heat, glad he’s excited you’re able to help. “How did you manage to make it look even better?”

“I do vaguely remember mentioning something about a deal with a semi-suspicious genie,” you joke. And both of you break out in giggle fits after a second, recalling the conversation from forever ago. 

Running through the same steps of lighting, posing, and adjustments, Jungkook then flips on the smoke machine and lets it fill the room heavily before starting to take pictures. 

You’re sitting on a small box this time, so that you’re slightly lower than the camera. Jungkook tells you to keep your hands at your sides and look up, just above the rim of the camera lens. It creates a very interesting look, and you're excited to see the results. 

He has you do a couple more poses before allowing you to do your own thing once more, trying to think of what would look mysterious and enigmatic.

You try to let the music inspire you. This is a look you’ve never done before, so you’re finding it a bit difficult to get into it despite Jungkook's helpful prompts and suggestions. But you flow a bit better with it as time goes on and you become more comfortable.

An idea pops up out of nowhere and you have him do a close up from the middle of your chin to the middle of your forehead. You stare straight into the lens to really showcase the purple contacts and makeup.

“This’s the one for sure,” he says, taking a few more. “Great idea, why didn’t I think of a close up in the first place?” You know he's talking to himself at this point. 

It’s close to 6:15pm when Jungkook decides he has enough pictures for this look. You don’t mind the longer shoot seeing as you set aside the day for this, and you can’t wait to see how these ones turn out in particular.  

You’re halfway through getting the face paint off, a mountain of gray stained cotton pads beside you, when Jungkook turns the music down.

“Let’s do a light, early dinner and then shoot the last one?” he asks. “I kept this one at the end because it’s going to create the most mess and it’ll be nice to have dinner out of the way for when I have to clean up.”

“More mess than this?” you point to the cotton pad mountain.

“Much more.”

“Light, early dinner it is,” you confirm, not wanting to have to wait till late to eat. “But can we order out so I have time to get the rest of this off?”

“Sure, what’ll it be?”

Clean faced, moisturized and ramyeon filled, you and Jungkook are preparing for the last shoot. Or well, lightly arguing.

“Water?”

“Mhm.”

“On me?”

“Yep.”

“From that thing,” you point to the contraption he calls a c-stand that will be holding the very full, very large watering can over your head for an extended amount of time, “And into there?” you point again to the kitty pool on top of the tarp that’s underneath the watering can c-stand. 

“That is the plan,” he looks amused at your slight distress.

“Are you nuts? What if it falls on me? How do I know it won’t unhinge and I’ll have a nicely cracked open skull to explain to my mother on Solstice break?”

“It won’t fall and you know it won't because you trust me and trust I wouldn’t put you in unnecessary danger. But if it does, tell your mom I say hi and sorry.”

You scoff at him, unbelievable. “So you admit there’s a bit of danger!”

Jungkook sighs, and looks to the ceiling. “Yes, YN. There is a touch of danger. But that’s only if, somehow, the c-stand I have triple safety checked, duct taped twice, and quadruple secured with four fifteen pound sandbags, decides that you deserve a watering can to the head.”

You side eye his tone. This wasn’t an unrealistic worry. But you do trust him. And trust he would never intentionally put you in any danger.

The trees are set up near the backdrop that looks like a row of brick houses. The shot is supposed to be ‘The Calm after Before the Storm,’ where you look relieved and happy in an ‘outside’ setting while ‘rain’ falls over you, also in black and white.

“Fine, but if I hear one peep from that thing,” c-stand staring down the tip of your finger once more, “I’m tuck and rolling and taking you out while I do it.”

“Very fair!” he says relieved, and goes to set up the stand with the watering can. 

You’d changed into the neutral V neck after dinner, and he’s asked for no makeup. So all you have to do now is stand and pose while trying not to die from foreign objects falling from the sky while you get wet.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

It is incredibly difficult, and you’re glad he made this one last because you’re at best; slightly miserable. Only the promise of a hot shower, hot chocolate with whip cream and marshmallows and your pick of whatever you watch afterward is keeping you going.

You started this one just shy of 8pm after waiting 45 minutes for the food. And it’s nearing 9:30 now. Jungkook has had to refill the watering can four times, dump the kiddie pool twice,  and you swear if you don’t finish within the next twenty minutes, you’re going to collapse from shivering.

To be fair, he does fill the watering can with warm water, but it only stays warm for so long before freezing water is pouring on you for the millionth time tonight. 

“I have one last idea, and by the way, I’m never doing this concept again so don’t worry about that, but also… don’t shut down the idea immediately okay?” Jungkook says. 

The watering can is almost empty again and you’re relieved that your time is almost up. That in itself should make for a good picture. He snaps it.

But his tone makes you a little wary, “Okay… what is it?”

“Pretend I’m Nel and you’re seeing me for the first time in six months, like you do at the end of April.”

Well, you didn’t have that down on your photo shoot prompt bingo card. 

Are you okay with the idea? You aren’t sure, but aren’t not sure either.

“I mean, I’ll try. Maybe you could give vocal cues to try and help? But don’t make it weird.”

“I won’t, promise,” Jungkook pauses for a second before adding, “Does he call you baby?”

You nod, and you distantly hear and ‘okay’ as you slowly allow yourself to get into that headspace.

You start, and the camera starts going.

You’re in the airport, waiting for Nel, ‘smoosh’ paper in hand. The gate opens, and through all the other passengers you see him, see that he’s in one piece, see that he’s safe. 

Your face illuminates with relief at that so much so that you don’t even notice the water that starts running down your face. 

You hear a ‘hi baby’ and in your head, it’s coming from Nel’s mouth as he nears you. You smile impossibly wider at the thought of seeing him, feeling him. Having him here with you. 

You look happy to see me, ‘Nel’ says.

“I am,” you reply. 

There’s repetitive clicking in the distance, but you ignore it. It’s probably just a flight attendant's heels on the floor.

“I missed you.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Nel speaks again.

I missed you too, baby.

You’re shivering hard now, lost in thought, unaware of reality. 

YN, Nel calls.

“Yes, love?”

“YN.”

“Babe, what is it?”

“YN, hey,” you're being shaken gently.

“Hmm? What?” you slowly arrive back to the present. Strong hands grip your shoulders. They feel nice. Solid. Deliciously warm. 

A very concerned looking Jungkook comes into focus, camera dangling around his neck and reaching for you.

Oh.

He’s the one holding your shoulders, trying to get you to come back to reality.

“There she is, welcome back,” he lets go and grabs a blanket from somewhere and wraps it around you. “We got the shot, go take a shower and warm up okay?”

“Okay,” you say, still a little dazed, but present enough to function.

You step out of the pool, holding on to the hand Jungkook offers to balance—Warm. Solid. Strong—and head straight for the bathroom, making a pit stop in the guest room to grab your bag with fresh clothes. 

The hot water cements your place back in reality, letting it warm you up and cleanse you of the day. 

You have no idea what just happened with that whole Nel thing, but it was a new feeling and a new headspace and you really aren’t in the mood to analyze or acknowledge, so it’s shoved onto a top shelf in the back of your mind for a later date.  

Once you're able to return to the directory of your mind, you don’t know how long you’ve been in the shower. But you know you’re clean, no longer cold, and in the mood for hot chocolate, so you step out and dry yourself with the towels Jungkook laid out for you on the toilet seat.

They’re soft. So soft in fact you consider only for a second shoving one in your now less full bag to take home with you. However, you do rather enjoy your friendship with the prince, so you think better of it upon second thought. 

Dressing in your sweats, you exit, tossing the towels in the hamper and your bag of the clothes you arrived in back into the spare room.

“Better?” Jungkook asks as you sit down in your spot on the couch for the last time tonight, wrapping up in the blanket he left for you. He’s in the kitchen but heard you coming.

“Much, thanks,” you sniff, “Is that hot chocolate I smell?”

Jungkook returns from the kitchen, two mugs in hand. “With extra whip cream and marshmallows, as ordered.”

You carefully take it from him, giving your thanks and happily slurping away the second it’s in your grasp. 

“Alright Caravaggio, what are we watching?” he asks, sitting down on his side, sipping away on his own. 

Sometime between you leaving for the shower and coming back out Jungkook changed into his own comfy attire, and tidied up the studio space as the pool and tarp are nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve thought really hard about this, all of however long I was in the shower,” Jungkook mutters something about 35 minutes; you ignore him, “And have settled on ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

He whines just a little when he says, “But it’s November.”

“So?”

“So, Solstice isn’t until the third week of December,” he’s saying this like his point is the most obvious thing in the world. 

It’s not.

“Your point?”

“That it’s November, and you want to watch a Solstice movie.”

You’re mockingly outraged.

“Who made you town grinch? I didn’t realize we had a holiday hater in our midst.” 

You loved the holidays, all the big ones, and the small ones, but Solstice was special. 

“I’m not a grinch, I’m just not there yet, mentally.”

“Then get ready to dive in head first, because you said I could pick the movie for risking my life for you and I pick ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

Jungkook doesn’t argue further, but he does roll his eyes as he puts on your movie with a small smile hidden behind his drink.

It’s sometime during the first act, you’re lying back against your corner of the couch, feet up and under the blanket when you ask, “What are your solstice break plans?” 

Jungkook takes a moment to part from the TV, very invested for someone who was so against it half an hour ago. “I have a lot of ‘princely duties’ to do for Solstice, like standing and looking thoughtful while my dad gives his annual Solstice speech,” you snort. “Then there’s the palace dinner, the parade through the capital, and the live televised event,” he says in a tv announcer's voice, “Where my family and I light the Solstice Star. And then there’s the new year and that in itself has another long list of things I have to do. Besides things like that though? Not much, and then it’s back here.”

Right.

You often forget who he is. 

That behind those kind eyes, and small smiles, behind the greenhouse study dates, and movie nights, and photoshoots, Jungkook has an enormous responsibility constantly looming over his head, counting down the days until he finishes his schooling. One that’s just waiting to drop onto his shoulders forever. 

You often forget that Jungkook is the Prince, first in line to the biggest throne in the realm. That you spend your time with not only Jeon Jungkook, friend and photography student, but also, His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook, Heir Apparent and Future King of The Western Shores.

He just makes it so damn easy to forget.

You only asked because you thought maybe he had plans with friends or family, completely forgetting about all of the things the royal family does during the holiday season to celebrate with the nation, their people, and now you feel like an ass for even bringing it up.

But there’s something in his answer, or lack thereof, that snags your attention. 

“What about celebrating with your family and friends in private?”

“No time,” Jungkook’s stare goes distant as he brings his knees up and puts his arms around them, resting his chin. “Friends are always busy with palace preparations and dad’s not really the sentimental type. We celebrated when I was younger; big family breakfast, presents, tree decorating, whole thing. But after I turned about 13 or so, it started dwindling pretty quickly. Now it’s just me and my mom exchanging a gift with each other at midnight under the palace tree.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard something so heartbreaking yet beautiful in your life. 

“Your mum sounds wonderful, I’m really happy you two get that time together.” 

He looks at you, and you can tell by the look in his eyes he loves that time with her more than anything else. 

Solstice is supposed to be the time you spend with your family, blood or chosen. The time where you all gather to cook and bake, and exchange thoughtful gifts with the ones you love. The time where you truly cherish one another and count yourself lucky for all that you have. 

Solstice is your favourite time of the year.

To not spend it like that just seems…wrong. Horribly, painfully, awfully wrong.

“What about you?” he asks.

You don’t want to make him feel bad, so you tone down your answer, taking away the meat and giving the bones.

“My mum and I cut down our own tree and decorate it with the ornaments we’ve collected over the years,” you have them from every place you’ve ever visited, and your mum kept all the ones you ever made as a kid. You even get a new one every solstice to take a picture for and label with the year.  

“Then we bake solstice cookies until our hands cramp and survive off only them until solstice dinner; a turkey, honey glazed carrots, mashed potatoes with gravy, essentially if it waters your mouth, it’s there,” he chuckles at that. “We do gifts for each other too, opening them on solstice morning before making hot drinks and reading in the breakfast nook until the sun sets or till we get hungry, whichever comes first.”

Jungkook's eyes glow, radiating warmth, a lazy smile on his face as he listens to you. 

“That sounds really nice, YN.”

“It is,” you reply, looking him in those radiant eyes as you do. He looks… happy. Happy for you, that you get to have something like this that’s so special. It breaks your heart a little…maybe you can help.

“You wanna make some solstice cookies with me before break?”

His look of happy shifts to one of slight panic.

“What?” you question, and comically ask, “Have you never made solstice cookies before?”

He hesitates before answering a very quiet, “Uh…N-no.”

Your shock must be incredibly evident in the way he almost flinches at your reaction.

So you try your best to keep your voice level when you ask, “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. I’ve never made solstice cookies.”

That’s it. You can’t hold back any more, you’ve never heard anything so blasphemous in all your life.

“You’ve never what?  How is that even possible?”

He shrinks into himself a little more.

“The palace pastry chef always makes them because that’s kind of his job,” you stare at him in disbelief. “Is this really that big a deal?”

You swear there’s cog’s and smoke flying out of your ears. Solstice cookies are a religion in your household. You know dozens of recipes by heart, always finding a new one each year to try and up your game. You cannot imagine a solstice without making them. Wait no, actually you can, but it would be because you’re dead.

You held back in your answer earlier, for his sake, but you and your mom’s hands cramp up because you make enough cookies to give a box to everyone in the neighborhood. It’s one of your favourite traditions, and your neighbours even look forward to it every year, going so far as sending you both recipes to try out.

“Big dea—you’ve never fucking mad—not even when you were little? No one brought you to the kitchen and let you help? Aren't all your friends back home the pastry chefs' kids or something?” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but your tone is a little more passionate than you were intending. 

But Jungkook knows you, knows you occasionally get that passionate about things, and takes your outburst in stride. 

“Yeah, one of them is, but we don't sit around the oven and make cookies all break long. And his dad is always too busy to teach us even if we wanted to.”

You decide something. Right then and there.

“This year you are.”

“What?”

“Mark your last Saturday off because I'm going to show up here, ingredients-a-plenty and teach you how to make solstice cookies. I have a million recipes up here,” you tap your head with a finger, “But I'll choose the easiest ones. And I’ll come over early so we can spend the day making all of them. I can’t in good conscience leave for the break knowing you’ve never made them.”

He sighs. “Do I have any say in the matter?”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook stares at you and you can’t figure out what he’s thinking. You’re worried he’s going to say no anyway. To say you’re crazy and that they’re just cookies and that he has more important things he has to do on his Saturday before leaving for home.

But he doesn’t. And you should’ve known he wouldn’t, not after all the time you’ve spent together. 

You know better. Know him better.

“Alright Picasso. Sounds like a plan. I’m looking forward to it,” he decides, and goes back to watching the movie. 

It’s the first time he’s ever repeated a nickname.

“Wait! The wind guy wants to replace who?!” Jungkook shouts. 

You laugh at his confusion, and rewind the movie.

Jungkook wakes up sore.

His back is killing him, which makes sense since he’s half lying on the couch, half on the ground. 

The TV’s silently playing some slideshow of movie recommendations based on recent watches. 

He checks his phone, reaching for it on the coffee tale. 

14% battery. 

4:07am. 

Shit, he fell asleep. 

After the solstice movie he wanted to watch its predecessor. You had no qualms and so on it went, but he doesn’t remember much after the brothers started fighting.

Hearing soft, even breathing next to him he turns to see you, hunched over in your spot asleep, no doubt in the process of ruining your own back.

He should go to bed.

You should go to bed. 

But you’ve never stayed the night.

What should he do? Should he wake you? 

But you look so peaceful. And it’s nearing exams. You barely sleep when it’s exams season. 

Instead, Jungkook goes to check the guest room, but it’s a mess with yesterday's comings and goings. Make-up and clothes and hangers strewn everywhere.

Quietly, making a decision he hopes you won’t kill him for in the morning, he pads back to your sleeping form. 

It’s for your back, he tells himself. No other reason.

Deja vu sets in as he scoops you up from the couch, blanket and all. Just like last time, you gain enough consciousness to know to wrap your arms around his neck, but not enough to wake up. Your head rests on his shoulder and he selfishly savours the feeling as he walks down the short hallway to his room.  

Jungkook sets you down gently on one side of the bed, and your arms release, slumber undisturbed as he tucks you in.

He goes back to the living room to retrieve your phones. Yours is still at 56%, and he places it on the table beside you when he returns.

Climbing into his side of the bed, he’s careful not to touch you.

Though he wants to. 

Desperately. 

His sleep deprived brain is too slow to block out the thoughts that start to race. Thoughts of how he wants to turn around and pull you into his chest, slide an arm around your waist, and kiss you goodnight. How he wants to wake up in the same position, you still in his arms. 

But he’s also awake enough to know that will never happen. That you’re with Nel, and happy with him. That he’s drawn that nice, big line.

He’s awake enough to know you being in his bed is a fluke, unintentional.

A one time thing.

Plugging his phone into its charger, he sets it down on his own bedside table and pulls the covers up, falling back asleep.

His back facing you. 

An exhale wakes you.

Warm and cozy, you take a deep breath and roll to your left side, stretching on the way over. The scents of clean linen and something familiar find you. It’s comforting, that smell, but you can’t place it.

Another exhale, but this time you feel it as well as hear it.

You open your eyes to see a sleeping Jungkook face not a foot from your own and you jolt in shock, falling off the bed in the process. 

You look up from your new seat on the floor, ignoring the pain in your side from landing, and peer over the covers to check on Jungkook, who, miraculously, hasn’t woken up from your tumble. 

Relieved, your mind focuses on more pressing questions like ‘how did you get here?’ And ‘why were you in his bed?’ 

The last thing you remember was being halfway through the prequel to A Miser Brothers Solstice on the couch, watching Jungkook more than the movie because of how invested he’d become in the story. 

But you aren’t on the couch now. You were in his bed. 

The bed of the Prince of the Western Shores. 

The Prince who has a girlfriend, and you, who has a very long term, very serious boyfriend.

You hear a vibration, and following the sound, you find your phone on the bedside table. 

You quickly grab it quickly and go to the living room as quietly as you can manage. 

There’s a large number of unread texts. 

SlurryYuri [11:08pm]: hey, just checking in. You didn’t get home when you said you’d try for SlurryYuri [11:31pm]: Helloooooooo? YN? You there? SlurryYuri [12:14am]: it’s getting late YN, when are you coming home? Are you on your way?

Missed Calls: (3)

SlurryYuri [2:43am]: it’s been hours, so you better be dead or have crashed in the school somewhere. Either way I’m kicking your ass when you get home

Missed Calls: (2)

(Recent)

SlurryYuri [9:36am]: you’re still not home?? YN seriously, where are you SlurryYuri [10:23am]: If you don’t message me back in an hour I’m calling the police and filing a missing persons

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. You crashed hard, the shoot must have taken more out of you than you thought, so you never texted Yuri you were going to crash in a sleep pod at school like you’d planned too. 

You make quick work of messaging her back, glad she unintentionally gave you just the excuse you needed. 

YN [10:25am]: ohmygod I’m soooooo sorry, it was the school one. I fell asleep in the school. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll be home soon, promise. I’m just going to grab breakfast first. Again im sorry

SlurryYuri [10:27am]: thank the gods youre okay!! Don’t ever do that to me again YN! I don’t wanna be the one who has to break news to your mom!! She’s too nice.  SlurryYuri [10:27am]: and take your time getting back if your rushing for me, I’m not at the dorm SlurryYuri [10:27am]: Tai showed up yesterday out of the blue and took me dancing. We’re out getting brunch right now, and he has plans for the rest of the day SlurryYuri [10:28am]: Im just glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere

YN [10:29am]: me too, and okay I will. Thanks for checking up on me and making sure im safe, youre my favourite

SlurryYuri [10:30am]: damn right I am, see you tn <3

YN [10:30am]: see you <3

You exhale deeply, that was fucking close. 

Your stomach rumbles and it reminds you that you actually need to get breakfast. 

What could you have? You could order in again, but that means a wait time and you are hungry now. You could raid Jungkook's pantry, or see if he has any fruit, but then you think that’s a gross invasion of privacy when it’s not movie night and you haven’t asked if it’s okay. 

Wait.

The egg tarts!

You dash to the fridge, the marvellous sight of a greenhouse inside a coffee mug comes into view. Stuffing one down before you even get the box from the fridge, you exit the kitchen, sit down on the couch, setting the box on the coffee table. Once opened in front of you, you realize there is a healthy amount of tarts inside. 

How many did Jungkook ask for?

Speaking of, a bed-headed, yawning Jungkook makes his morning debut, still in last night's clothes.

“Hey,” he says groggily, walking over and stealing a tart.

“Hey!” you say back, not nearly as friendly. 

“Overnight tax, Picasso. Room isn’t free.” He chuckles at your faux outrage, popping half the tart in his mouth as he walks to the kitchen and grabs something from the fridge. Returning, you see it’s a morning protein shake. 

Gross. 

“So is that name the one you’re sticking to now?” you ask, picking up another tart. At this rate they won’t last until lunch.

“Yeah, that okay with you? It’s your name in my phone after all.”

“It is?” You didn’t know that.

“Yeah, has been since the start.” 

You’re quickly learning that sleepy morning Jungkook is very different from morning post work-out Jungkook, friend Jungkook and photographer Jungkook. His voice is deeper, he’s a lot more relaxed, and maybe even harmlessly borderline flirty, like he’s not all there yet. Softer. 

“Picasso’s just fine. A compliment really.”

“Oh? And what am I in your’s then? Hopefully something just as nice?”

You tell him like it is.

“PJK.”

“PJK?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah? It’s obscure enough to not be recognizable if someone were to see it, but enough for me to know who it is.”

“Nah, you need something better, PJK is boring.”

“It’s your initials.”

“And boring,” he’s really not letting up on this. 

“Well...what would you save yourself as?”

He mulls it over for a minute before deflating. “Okay, fair point, but I seriously want a new one. Something that can rival Picasso.”

“Do you have any nicknames? Something not completely obvious?”

For a morning person, Jungkook sure is taking his time. Maybe he was only a morning person before 8am, and then if he got up anytime after that he became a normal person who despised mornings like everyone else.

“Uhh…Vivian calls me JK, but that’s essentially the same thing as PJK. My buddies back home sometimes call me Kook, but I don’t think that works either. My mum has one for me that I will not disclose to anyone so long as I am breathing. So I guess not.”

A lightbulb dings over your head. “What about your security? Don’t they have special code names for you when they detail you? Like bear or eagle?” 

“Yeah, but it’s not nearly as badass as either of those.”

“Fess up,” you say. Now you have to know.

“Hare.”

“Hare?” Now it’s your turn to be incredulous. “Like a rabbit?”

“Yep.”

An idea pops into your head and an evil grin spreads across your face, one you know is already setting worry into Jungkook’s still awakening brain as you change his name.

“I don’t like that look,” he confirms. “What’d you change it to?”

You flip your phone around and hold it up to him.

“Bunny?” he says incredulously once again.

“Yes.”

“I give you Picasso, one of the greatest painters of all time, and you think giving me bunny is anywhere near on par with that?”

Teasing him is far too fun, especially when he makes it this easy for you.

“Oh absolutely. In fact, I think it’s the best name I could possibly set it as.”

Jungkook disagrees, vehemently. “No, change it back. PJK is fine.”

“Too late. You dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Jungkook brings a hand to his face, pinching the crease between his brows and takes a very long, deep breath, exhaling just as dramatically. 

You take that as your victory. But you’re sorely mistaken.

He launches at you, reaching for your phone and you scream, reaching your arm to keep it away from him. You have a fox socked foot on his chest to try and keep him back. His right arm is holding him up near your hip on the couches edge and he’s reaching with his left as far as he can without breaking his sternum on your heel. 

“Give it!”

“Never!”

You try to bring up your other foot to push him away, but Jungkook is strong, and forces both it and the one on his chest down with the arm that was supporting him, temporarily keeping himself up with his left hand on the back of the couch. 

With your legs out of the way he can almost reach his phone. But in his distracted state, misses the couch when he goes to put his supporting arm down again, and flips onto the ground, taking you with him. You scream, but his arms wrap around you as he makes sure to take the brunt of the impact, landing on his back, you safely secured to his chest. 

There’s a moment of pure stunned silence, you resting your forhead on his chest while you process, him not letting go of your waist as he gets a breath into his winded self, before you’re both laughing as you take in what happened.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, you?”

He takes a second to respond. “I’m great.” 

You push to sit up, and he releases you from his hold, but that was a mistake. Because now you’re sitting on his lap. 

It takes an entire three seconds of you staring at him and him staring right back before you jump and scramble off him as fast as you can. 

“Sorry.” you say in unison, you standing and him from the ground. It’s a painfully awkward 8 seconds before you break, cackling at the whole situation, and he joins in with you again. 

Jungkook brushes off his pants as he gets up too. “Got any plans before tonight,” he asks, business as usual.

“Nope, cleared my schedule in case this went long, I’ve got the whole day.”

You swear his smile grows two sizes.

“Well in that case,” he looks to the TV, then back to you, “Wanna start movie night early?”

An entire day to relax and chill out before the hell that is exams season takes your every free second? 

Yes please.

“Solstice movie marathon?” you propose slyly, near devious.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” he confirms, already halfway to the kitchen.

You spend the day like that, on the couch watching movie after movie, both pretending the little incident never even happened. 

But you make sure to go home after movie night this time. 

Chapter Nine: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

A/N 2: This chapter kicked my ass but it's here and I couldn't be more thrilled. I really like how it's ended so I hope you guys do too.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[leeny-leens]

Dead-Line | Slytherins skittles

Pairing: established Rosekiller, some mild Jegulus

Summary: When this project was assigned three months ago, the five of them had not paid it much mind, for it was oh so easy to handle. Now, 7 hours before the submission closes, they are faced with the consequences of their own actions. Will they be able to abide to the deadline, or would it turn into their personal dead line?

WC: 5k

Warnings: not proof read or edited, mentions of drinking, smoking, dark humour, Walburga’s A+ parenting, swearing, panic attack, mentions of a robbery and explosions

Content: James is a cop, Regulus needs sleep and a hug (both which he gets), comedy, the stress of an all-nighter, Reg contemplates murder, Barty argues with a robber who’s holding him at gun point, Reg gay panics over cop!James, Dorcas and Pandora are amazing friends, lmk if there’s anything i missed!

AN: i started writing this forever ago and finally finished it lmao @bradleysass <3 this shall be my valentines contribution so happy Valentine’s Day yall

Regulus still remembered the blissful ignorance he’d harboured three months ago when professor McGonagall had handed out this project. Oh how young and naive he was, all of them really, when they decided to group up and work on it together.

Three months are plenty of time, Evan had said.

We’ll get it done in no time, Barty had affirmed.

It’s not that hard, Dorcas had mused.

Honestly we probably will finish it next week, Pandora had giggled.

That’s going to be the easiest A ever, Regulus himself had added.

Oh how foolish and pathetic they all had been.

Somehow, all of them had forgotten about this project, despite it being worth three quarters of their grade, and now here they were, littered around in the living room of Regulus’ apartment the night before due date, grim expressions on their faces.

“So,” Regulus began, pointing to the white board behind him. The words ‘PROJECT GONNIE’ were written in big letters, circled and underlined multiple times. “The project is to be submitted by 7 am tomorrow.” His friends nodded in acknowledgement, their eyes simultaneously turning to the digital clock Evan had perched atop a nearby counter.

11:46 pm.

Approximately 7 hours.

They could do it, right?

COUNTDOWN: 7 HOURS LEFT | 12:00 AM

Regulus grabbed one of the whiteboard markers, the project structure file open on his phone as he jotted down the important parts. His attention turned to his friends, all of them staring at him it’s a determined gaze. “Who’s doing the introduction?” He asked into the round and Dorcas’ arm immediately shot up, earning herself a halfhearted glare from Barty. The introduction usually was the easiest part, hence why Dorcas was vying for it from the beginning. And while Barty would’ve loved to get away with doing barely anything for this project, all of them knew he was too much of a perfectionistic overachiever to settle for doing something as easy as the introduction.

Regulus only hummed in approval, scribbling Dorcas name behind the introduction in his loopy and sharp handwriting. “Write the abstract too, and the discussion,” he added, skilfully ignoring her mumbled complaints about ‘discrimination’ and ‘misogyny’.

“I’ll do the Literature review because none of you can focus long enough for that,” he said, once more ignoring everyone’s insulted objections. Really, he should thank his mother for allowing him to hone his selective hearing so well, years spent listening to her screaming tirades were finally proving fruitful.

The next 15 minutes were spent dividing the tasks between the five of them so that they would hopefully finish this absolute monstrosity in time. McGonagall was known for many things, but certainly not leniency when it came to late submissions. Regulus couldn’t imagine her accepting their submission even if it was late by just a minute, not when they had three whole months to work on the damn thing.

By the end of their little strategy meeting, they decided that Barty and Evan would work on the methodology and data collection. Pandora would work on the analysis and the results, while Regulus would write the conclusion and compile all their references because god knows the rest of his group absolutely sucked at formatting references properly.

It sounded like an easy plan, manageable enough and perhaps they could do this after all.

COUNTDOWN: 6 HOURS 32 MINUTES LEFT | 12:28 AM

It started out great, amazing even. Everyone had dispersed around the room, each of them claiming a seat on the couch and chairs or some place on the floor. Barty, ever the efficient worker, had added everyone into three shared documents; one for their notes and in order to make the reference compilation easier later on, one that served as an official draft and one where they could write their sections in a jumbled, unrevised mess before polishing it up.

For the first 20 minutes everyone worked with laser focus, an occasional hum or murmur resounding in the quiet room and Regulus felt optimistic. But that optimism quickly vanished when he noticed Dorcas growing more and more restless by the minute. “Fuck,” her cursing caught the attention of the others, all of them turning to see what the girl had t complain about. “No matter how I phrase this shit, it sounds like a ripoff of the other references online,” she complained.

“Maybe use something else then?” Pandora offered, though her suggestion was shot down by a sharp glare fromDorcas. “I cant! That’s the issue,” she turned the screen of her laptop around, clicking through various open tabs. “Everything we’re working on and saying is basically repurposed from the other material, no matter how hard we try to change it or rephrase it it’ll sound like we copied someone else’s research.”

Regulus had the distinct feeling that tonight would be incredibly long, and dread pooled in the back of his throat.

COUNTDOWN: 5 HOURS 57 MINUTES LEFT | 01:03 AM

The calm before the storm had come to an end when Barty stretched his long legs on the couch, a dramatic whine falling from his lips. “I need an energy drink,” he declared “Ya still got some Reg?” The younger boy paused, his focus broken and he tried to remember when he stocked up on drinks and snacks for the last time. Too long ago, he realized and shook his head. Barty threw his head onto Evan’s shoulder scandalised and pouting. “Rosie ‘mgonna die if i don’t get an energy drink,” he whined, yet Evan didn’t spare him a single glance. “Then perish in silence,” he countered, his gaze never once leaving his laptop screen. Barty stared at him, his expression one between lovesickness and mock offence. “My boyfriend everyone,” he glanced at the clock on the country his brows knitted before he abruptly jumped up from the floor. “Alright tossers, who wants snacks and drinks?” He was already reaching for his jacket, the one he’d haphazardly thrown on the back of a chair when he arrived. The promise of food and drinks was a welcome change to the stagnant and tense atmosphere, and before anyone could object, Dorcas had slammed her laptop shut and gotten on her feet as well, crossing the room in quick strides to gather her leather jacket from the wall hook panel. “I’m going too, I need some fresh air,” the notion of Dorcas joining Barty on his little expedition to the store down the street wasn’t as reassuring as Regulus would’ve hoped it to be, but it was still better than sending Barty off alone.

“I’ll text you what I want,” Pandora quipped, her fingers typing across the screen and in an instant, a list with various drinks and sweets appeared in their shared chat. “Blood hell Dora, d’ya think ‘m made of money?” Barty exclaimed upon reading the list, at least 10 items on it. Her eyes flickered with amusement as she tilted her head. “Well? Are you?” She asked, and was immediately greeted with a toothy grin. “I might not be,” he drawled, his hands disappearing into the pockets of his jackets before he pulled a black card out of his left one. “But Senior sure is, keep the requests coming people!”

As Dorcas pulled him out of the door, Regulus couldn’t help the ominous feeling that settled over him. It was just a trip to the store, not much could go wrong, right?

COUNTDOWN: 4 HOURS 23 MINUTES LEFT | 02:37 AM

Regulus really needed to stop jinxing himself, it was more concerning than funny at this point. Dorcas and Barty had left to the store over an hour and a half ago. Yes, the same store that was a ten minute walk away. They hadn’t even asked for much, aside for Pandora that is, and the entire trip should’ve taken them an hour tops. And that’s with Regulus being generous in his calculations. “Where is Barty?” He asked Evan, the latter had shifted from his position on the floor up on the green velvet couch by the window in the absence of his menacing other half.

“Why are you asking me?” Evan questioned, one of his silver bleached eyebrows raised, “You think I have him air-tagged or something?”

“Well, do you?”

The short silence was interrupted by Pandora’s soft giggle, drawing an eye roll from her twin brother before he fished for his phone on the coffee table. “Yeah I do, hang on” he muttered, his eyes scanning the screen of his phone. “Well, it says he’s in the building so maybe he’s wal-“ just as he was about to make a reasonable excuse for the boy, the universe decided divine intervention was of need. The sound of the front door slamming open resounded through the entirety of the apartment, followed by the distinct sound of maniacal laughter and stomping. Dorcas and Barty emerged into view, hair standing up in every direction, huffing and puffing as they stumbled through the door before collapsing on the ground in a fit of giggles. Their clothes were in a state of concerning disarray; Barty’s sweater half singed off while Dorcas’ pants sported splotches of a dark liquid that looked suspiciously close to blood along side various holes that Regulus was sure didn’t exist prior to this trip.

“What the fuck did you two do?” He shouldn’t have asked, he really shouldn't have opened his mouth in the first place. He knew better than to jinx himself, yet he did it anyway and suffered the consequences almost immediately. A knock against the door caught everyone’s attention, prompting Barty and Dorcas to exchange wide eyed stares. “Shit, the cops,” they didn’t give anyone time to react, they scrambled up on spot and fled into Regulus’ bedroom down the hall, shutting the door behind them.

A second knock echoed in the sudden silence, this time more persistent and urgent and despite dread pulling on his limbs, Regulus made his way to the door and opened it. In the haze of late night stress, he forgot to check the peephole first, and thus was not prepared whatsoever for the sight of the most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes on. The man, clad in a police uniform that hugged his muscular frame in just the right places, peered down on him with a slight frown that looked entirely out of place on his handsome features. “Good evening sir,” he spoke, his voice soothingly deep and calm. Under the intense gaze of his hazel eyes, Regulus felt his brain shutting down and leaving him stranded in this dire time of need. “Erm, good evening to you too,” he replied once he realised the other man had been waiting for an answer. Regulus cursed inwardly at the unsteadiness of his voice, though that thought quickly evaporated when the man in front of him graced him with a small dimpled smile. “My name’s officer James Potter, my partner and I received a report of two potential robbery suspects fleeing into this building.” Regulus heart sank, catapulted out of his reveries as he recalled Dorcas’ and Barty’s reaction. Something twisted in his stomach at the thought of his friends being apprehended by the police tonight of all nights, and so he did what any sane, law abiding citizen would do in his situation.

He lied straight through his teeth.

With practised ease, he tilted his head to the side, a frown of confusion taking over his features while he pretended to recall anything relevant that might help the police officer in front of him. “Really?” He asked, “I haven’t heard anything in the past three hours officer.” Something shifted in James’ gaze, almost imperceptible, but it was enough for Regulus to put his guard up. “You answered the door quite quickly sir, have you been awake for a while?” The question caught him off guard, and it took everything in Regulus to not become defensive on spot. He couldn’t afford raising suspicions, not when his entire academic career as waiting for him to save it in the living room. “A project submission due in a few hours officer,” he replied, “I sort of really need to get back to it, is this all?” James opened his mouth, potentially to ask another question that would keep Regulus from closing the door in his face, but salvation came to him in the form of a tall, muscular blonde woman jogging down the hall. That seemed to be the partner James mentioned, for she wore the same police uniform, her eyes locked onto James. “C’mon Potter,” she called out, “The suspects were sighted three blocks down , get a move on.”

James glanced at Regulus one last time, a loopsided grin on his face as he nodded at him. “Sorry for the disruption then,” perhaps the light was playing tricks on Regulus eyes, but he could swear James’ expression bore not a hint of apology. “Good luck with your project and have a great night sir.”

“Potter!”

“Coming, McKinnon!” James’ form disappeared down the hallway, and for a moment Regulus felt a pang of disappointment, but he quickly shoved it down and closed the door to return to the living room. When he walked back in, Barty and Dorcas had settled back into their spots, each of them sipping on a can of energy drinks and wearing something Regulus recognised from his closet. The headache that had been building steadily across the night returned with full force, and all Regulus could do was sight and slump back into his spot, catching the drink Barty hurled at him with precise reflexes. “Again: What the fuck did you both two?” He grumble once more, trying to reason with himself that two dead group mates probably wouldn’t fly as an excuse for a late submission with McGonagall. “We got caught up in a robbery,” Barty explained unhelpful, as if that statement was self explanatory enough to answer any and all questions someone could have. Dorcas, ever the empath, sensed Regulus' self restraint on the brink of snapping and jumped to save them all from having to call the two police officers back to report a murder. “While we were picking stuff, two armed robbers walked up to the register and asked the clerk to empty everything out. They locked the store down and rounded up all customers to rob them too, and when they got to us, Barty started arguing with them,” Pandora snorted at that, leaning over to give Barty a high five, “he pissed them off, they threatened to shoot him and he just started moaning and making sex faces at them. They were grossed out and distracted enough for me to hit them over the head with a chair and things got intense, the store ended up on fire and we made a run for it when the cops arrived.”

Regulus stared at them, eyes unblinking before he abruptly stood up and went into the kitchen. Curious eyes followed him, and Evan whistled when the dark haired boy returned with two bottles of Vodka and a glass that he set on the coffee table . Almost mechanically, he filled half the glass with the alcoholic drink, the other half full of his energy drink. “I need to be decently drunk to survive tonight,” he muttered under his breath and returned to the task at hand, laser focus restored once more. Either tonight would kill him, or he would kill someone, and in either case he did not want to be of sound mind to witness it.

COUNTDOWN: 2 HOURS 13 MINUTES LEFT | 04:47 AM

The last two hours had gone by quietly, only interrupted by the occasional groan of frustration or question thrown into the room. That is, if you don’t count Barty’s hyperactive spells, for which he excused himself into Regulus’ training room to run on the treadmill for ten minutes before returning tired out, but with renewed focus. Things began to go smoothly, and three drinks in, everyone’s hopes began to soar once more. The end of this project was on the horizon, they could see it, almost tangible as they sailed towards, and perhaps that should’ve been their warning sign. The calm before the storm was deceiving, and when the storm hit? Boy oh boy, it hit hard.

“Um, guys?” Pandora suddenly spoke, her soft voice breaking the focus that has settled over the group. With a hum of unison, all of them turned to look at her, her dreadful expression immediately ringing bells of alarm. “Am I the only one whose draft and note document is blank?” Silence enveloped the room, as if she had just declared the apocalypse commenced and they were all about to die. Evan was the first to move, strings of russian curses falling from his mouth as he frantically clicked on his keyboard. “It’s gone for me too,” Regulus immediately closed the tab he had open to check on the document tabs, and to his absolute horror, the draft and notes were completely empty. He checked the history, his drive and every single place he could possibly access it again, but to no avail. The project was gone, and everything they worked on for the past five hours had disappeared without a trace. Barty stood up, throwing the pillow on his lap angrily against the wall. “I’m going for a smoke,” he declared, not waiting for a response as he stomped off. The apartment door slammed close, and in a matter of seconds, Evan had gathered his things to go after Barty. “We’ll be back in a few minutes,” he didn’t wait for a response either, storming out the apartment to follow his boyfriend.

Uncomfortable silence stretched between the three members left, and all energy seeped out of Regulus body as he closed his eyes; a pitiful attempt to fight off tears. He should’ve started this damn thing earlier, he shouldn’t have gotten so distracted, he should’ve known better, he should’ve saved it multiple times. In the recesses of his mind, he knew it wasn’t really his fault, but the storm of guilt, fear and exhaustion raged violently and consumed every thought he conjured. The pressure in the room ate away at his sanity, and each breath he tried to take came out ragged and short.

He would fail this course-all of them would- and that notion was incredibly daunting. What if this got back to his parents somehow? They would surely come after him, taunting and haunting him until there was nothing left of the convenience and life he built himself away from their venomous claws. He could almost hear his mother sneer at him, berating him for foolishly thinking he could excel in such a major. The memories of his last days before coming to campus returned with the force of a tidal wave, each fight echoing loudly in his mind. It was almost like he was back in that wretched house, begging his parents to see him instead of whatever idolised version of him they put up on a pedestal. They would walk through the door any second now, he was sure, and yell at him again. His mother would drag him by the arm and strike him for his defiance, and there was nothing he could do against it. And his father would-

“It’s okay, breathe Reg,” a soft voice spoke, sounding so far away yet so warm and familiar. Distantly, he could feel warmth on either side of himself, soothing hands working through his hair and rubbing circles into his back. “You’re safe, no one can hurt you,” a second voice said, prompting a sound of choked confusion and protest. “But, they’re going to be here any second,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes still tightly screwed shut. “No they aren’t,” the first voice replied, “You’re safe in your own apartment darling, no one can hurt you here.” The voices continued to speak to him in soft murmurs, each spilling reassurances and reminders until the waves of anxiety and fear gave away, and the waters of his mind returned into peaceful, calm waves, only occasionally interrupted by a ripple of pain. When he opened his eyes, Dorcas and Pandora were sitting beside him, each of them on one side as they worked to help him return back to them. Dorcas’ fingers carded through his dark locks, her manicured nails occasionally scratching at his scalp. Pandora continued to rub soothing circles across his back, writing words and drawing patterns that anchored him into the present.

Soon, his breathing evened out and he felt the tension fall from his muscles, left with a hallow emptiness that weighed him down instead. His head fell against Pandora’s shoulder, taking a deep breath of her calming scent. “Sorry,” he mumbled “got bit much- hey ouch!” He looked up, staring at Dorcas accusatory who just hummed satisfied as if she didn’t just pull on his hair. “Stop apologising for things that aren’t your fault,” she quipped in response, yet Regulus only dignified her with an eye roll and a grumbled, knowing that she was right.

Moments later, Evan entered the room, Barty trailing not far after him. They took one glance at their friends on the couch before joining in on what Barty had dubbed a ‘cuddle pile’. They stayed huddled on the ouch for a few more minutes, letting the happenings of the night sink in, before Regulus decided that giving up was not an option, not when they were so close to the finish line. “Alright everyone, back to work,” the determination in his voice left no room for arguments, and so everyone got up and went back to their places, rejuvenated and on high alert by the growing pressure of time.

“The references are still intact,” Barty remarked, “And so is the data because I wrote it down on my iPad.” Relief coursed through Regulus veins. Perhaps they could restart the project and get it done in the next two hours. “I still remember most of what I wrote because I worked on the wording so much,” Dorcas added, her hands swiping across the keyboard with memorised movements. The once empty draft document began to fill with words as she typed her sections from memory, and with each word that graced the pages, Regulus could feel a tiny piece of hope returning.

With quiet resolve, each of them picked up their her of work, the clicking and clacking of keys accompanied only by the occasional hum of approval or a question for clarification.

They could do this.

They had to do it, because failure was and never will be an option for this project.

COUNTDOWN: 9 MINUTES LEFT | 06:51 AM

Perhaps there was a God out there that listened to his prayers, or perhaps the mixture of coffee, vodka, energy drinks and an unholy amount of sugar was the secret to maxing out human potential. Regulus didn't know, and quite frankly, he had better things to do at the moment than to wonder about that. Through some miracle, he still didn’t know which one exactly, they had managed to get everything done within the last two hours or so. There were only a few things left for them to do, such as proofreading and adding references, sources and credits as is appropriate. Barty, like the walking lexicon that he is, had volunteered to proofread the entirety of the project, all 47 pages of it. Time was running out, and Regulus was desperately trying to find the last of their sources so he could add them to the register. Dorcas and Pandora adjusted the formatting of the work, while Evan polished up some of the sections in terms of context and reading flow. Nerves were frayed beyond repair by now, but they still pushed through with so little time left. They had to submit it on time, lest the submission page closed. It would be a close call, but they needed to get it done.

COUNTDOWN: 6 MINUTES LEFT | 06:54 AM

“Fuck fuck fuck my laptop died.”

“Oh bloody hell,” there was only a few minutes left, so of course Barty’s laptop had to die on him now. there wasn’t much time to panic though; Evan immediately swapped their devices, rushing across the room to plug the drained laptop into the charger. Resuming focus, Barty scrolled down, his eyes gliding across the screen in search of any factual or grammatical mistakes.

There were 20 pages left.

The references were incomplete.

The formatting wasn’t cooperating.

Maybe they wouldn’t make it after all.

COUNTDOWN: 3 MINUTES LEFT | 06:57 AM

With a decidedly too loud clack, Regulus slumped against the backrest, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth. “References are in place,” he announced to no one in particular, but the relief was collective.

“I’m almost done,” Barty mumbled, “Just a few pages, the last bit is written weirdly.”

“I’m loading up the submission portal,” loading the document up would take a few seconds, and Regulus prayed with every fibre of his being there wouldn’t be any more technical issues. They were so close, it had to work out now.

COUNTDOWN: 1 MINUTE LEFT | 06:59 AM

“Done,” Barty shouted, the cue Dorcas needed to begin downloading the file and uploading it into the assignment tab. The five of them had moved into Regulus’ bedroom at some point, the need for a change in scenery brought on by the nerves and surges of panic that took ahold of them. As they crowded around Dorcas and her laptop, they watched the file downloading agonisingly slow, their eyes flicking between the clock and the progress bar.

“Come on,” Evan whispered, “Just fucking work already.” Under other circumstances, Regulus might have remarked on his friend’s tendency to talk to inanimate objects as if they were people, but he couldn’t quite find it in him to do that now. Particularly because he found himself chanting the same thing in his mind like a mantra, urging the stupid document to finally finish downloading.

A window popped up on the screen, filling the room with dread.

‘Download unsuccessful, try again’

They were fucked.

COUNTDOWN: 47 SECONDS LEFT | 06:59:13 AM

They quickly scrambled to try downloading the file on someone else’s laptop, and by the sound of Pandora’s squeal, it had worked for her.

“Damit my login isn’t working,” she cursed, gasping when Evan pulled the device from her hands to input his own login data.

“Less than a minute left Rosier,” Regulus mumbled, his eyes glued to the clock on his bedside. He watched the seconds trickling by, agonisingly slow and torturously fast at the same time.

He no longer believed they would make it, but the desperation hurled him forward anyway as he bit his lower lip, mentally counting the seconds until the submission closed.

Would they make it?

COUNTDOWN: 23 SECONDS LEFT | 06:59:37 AM

After what felt like an eternity, Evan had finally managed to navigate through the complicated submission platform interface, clicking on the one for their project before he sifted through the files on Pandora’s laptop to find the right one. There wasn’t much time left, and there were too many files and her laptop was slowly giving out, much too slow to withstand the pressure.

They wouldn’t make it.

COUNTDOWN: 10 SECONDS LEFT | 06:59:50 AM

“There, it’s uploading,” there was nothing they could do but watch the numbers climb up, indicating the progress of the upload.

At the same time, a timer on top of the page appeared, signalling that this submission site would close in 10 seconds.

Regulus watched the timer run out, the upload progress steadily climbing.

There was nothing they could do; they wouldn't't make it.

COUNTDOWN: 3 SECONDS LEFT | 06:59:57 AM

The file had somehow uploaded before the timer ran out, and almost in slow motion, Regulus watched Evan hit the submit button. The entire page froze, loading to process the action. Desperation and hope clawed at him, and part of him expected the page to crash any moment.

Then, it happened.

A notification displayed on the screen.

His heart stuttered against his ribs and for a dizzying moment, he felt himself on the brink of passing out, darkness taking over his vision as he fell to the floor.

This was it.

It was over.

All their efforts, all the mishaps and stress led to this, with no way back. They had done this to themselves now and there was no one to blame but themselves.

“We did it,” Dorcas broke the silence. A scream pierced the silence, though Regulus couldn’t tell who it belonged too. They had managed to submit their project on time and they wouldn’t fail this class after all. When it registered in his brain that it was finally over, his limbs collapsed on him, his body as heavy as led. He couldn’t have joined the festive cheers and celebrations of his friends even if he wanted too, his body and mind much too drained from the sheer stress of the past seven hours. He mind was already shutting down, the caffeine, sugar and alcohol finally wearing off to leave nothing but a complete crash of energy behind. He felt arms wrapping around him, ones that hoisted him up into his bed and under his blankets. The last thing he registered was the incoherent murmurs of his friends, and the warmth that surround him from every side as they all laid to rest.

They made it after all, and it was worth every second spent on it.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Parentalbond Cross

We are back on my BS and selfindulding drabble series, today we are finishing up how all the guys adopted Nightmare!

Last but not least, Cross :D

First Drabble (and original prompt by @spotaus ) Prev Drabble Next Drabble

Okay! No edits and no beta because we don't roll that way 😎😎

But more serious. slight content warning. Cross helps Nightmare bath, wash and clean his wounds and injuries. Poor baby can't take care of his own wounds that well and needs assistance from one of his four dads.

*----------------*

Cross isn't feeling good. Nothing is actually wrong with him but he is nervous.

Why is he even watching Nightmare today?!

It isn't that Cross... it isn't that he doesn't like...

Cross just doesn't feel sure about this.

He just doesn't have that instinct with childcare that the others seem to have. He tried! But he can't help but keep seeing Nightmare as an adult, or old adult? Ex adult?

Even when Dust and he spoke about it. How Dust just compared it with a natural change. Cross just... can't see him as a child.

He knows it is bad. Cross tries very hard to treat him as a child and do it right but Nightmare seems to notice Cross' nervous around it.

Which helps because if Ngihtmare needs anything he just asks Dust or Killer or Horror! Which works perfectly for Cross! How bad of a caretaker is he? That even the child notices that Cross can't handle it.

Cross checks the list again, the list beign something that Dust (and Killer) had put together. Cross would feel bad about needing a list but seeing as the last time he had to babysit he skipped a step or two he knows he deserves this.

Cross nods to himself. Breakfast and lunch were both done. Nightmare had his personal reading time. Nightmare had completed the few assignments Dust had put together for him. They had gone outside for fresh air and sunlight.

Now, the point he had been dreading. Bathtime.

Cross just doesn't get why Nightmare can't do it himself. But Cross had tried that last time only to get Dust to be furious at him, at the time it had also surprised and confused both of Killer and Horror much like Cross.

Since then Dust had refused to let Cross watch over Nightmare. A few days later Killer fully accepted his role as babysitter and caretaker. Which meant that Cross just didn't need to solo babysit Nightmare again.

Which had been fine! Perfect even!

But... well... You always have days were it just doen'st go according to plan. Which leaves Cross today to do all the duties.

Cross sighs and takes out the second list. It is a long list of rules for bathtime.

You need to follow all of these steps! And I mean all of them Cross. No skipping.

Cross rolls his eye lights and reads.

Step 1. Use WARM water. And I mean WARM! If you put your hand under the faucet it should be close to burning you.

Cross turns on the faucet and holds his hand under it to measure the warmth as he continues reading.

Step 2. Fill the bath as Nightmare gets ready himself. He doesn't need help undressed unless he specifically asks. And only then! >:( Tiny boss is specific about when he wants help!

Cross nods before snorting at the extra text. Seems like that Killer also got his hands on this list.

Step 3. Use the soap in the pink bottle and put enough in it to get a few bubbles to appear. NO! USE A LOT! MORE BUBBLES! >:3 No. I am serious. Just a bit is enough.

Cross finds the pink bottle in the small basket of bath stuff that Dust had left for him. Cross knows this because there was a note on it saying 'CROSS USE THESE.'. He can't help but ready the bottle and frowns. mild soap for sensitive skin with some antibacterial effects. Cross puts in a little at first and waits. No bubbles so he puts in a little more. a few tiny bubbles appear and Cross puts the bottle back in the basket.

Step 4. Just let the bath fill up until about the midheight. Safety reasons. Yeah we know we don't need air but Nightmare's magic is fragile and if he gets under water and panicks he may not be able to make his magic shape in the way to enable him to handle no air!

Cross hums and keeps an eye on the height fo the water. Turning it off at the right time.

Step 5. Just wait until Nightmare knocks on the door that he is ready. Once he is make sure you stand with your back to the door and bathtub. Nightmare can get in himself and if he needs help he will let you know. <- This.

Cross nods and just waits. He eyes the door and knocks on it, knowing the large master bedroom is behind it. "You okay Nightmare?"

Silence before a huff "I am fine." he sounds slightly out of breath. But Cross doesn't bother to point it out. He sits next to the bathtub and looks through the basket. A pink soap bar and Cross sniffs it. It smells like citrus, the same scent that the other soap had. Mmh. He grabs some of the brushes and feels them. Very soft and hardly any resistence. Weird choise as the harder and stiffer brushes work better with cleanign between bones. Cross spots some of those brushes in the basket as well and organises those as he waits.

A knock on the door "Cross? I am ready... Is the bath okay?"

Cross gets up and takes his list as he stands with his back to the door as ordered "It is ready!" he takes the list out in front of him again as he reads the next step.

Step 6. Whatever you do. Be normal. Please be normal. Don't freak out and remain calm. No sudden movements as you go near and announce your movement and what you do. Try to make some noise as you move! I have notices that that helps!

Cross feels nervous about that but waits. He hears Nightmare shuffle in and the door close behind him. No movement for a while before light steps move towards the water. Some splashes as Nightmare gets into the tub.

More silence before "okay. I am in... I can do this myself you know..." he sounds nervous.

Cross takes a deep breath and reads the text again before he turns, making sure his feet make noise as he moves around on the tiles. A familiar clicking of bones against it. Cross sighs "I know Nightmare. But last time they got annoyed I let you do it yourself and I don't want to risk that." he slowly gets closer.

Nightmare hums as he moves the water around with his hand "Fair enough."

Cross gets to the side and feels himself freeze. His back is a mess. Open wounds nad chips of bones missing. large cracks and bones barely holding together.

Cross gulps and finds his voice "I am going to sit down now, behind you..." fuck. fuck.. This is why Dust was furious. Because these need cleaning. fuck fuck fuck.

Ngihtmare hums that he heard him and keeps playing with the water.

Cross sits on his knees behind Ngihtmare and glances at the list.

Step 7. Once you are behind Nightmare you will start with his ribs. Use the shower body scrub thing for that. I always called it the poof. I am very sure that isn't the name Killer. Well what is the name? .... That is what i thought. Use the shower body scrub and some of the soap bar. Soap it up and move slowly rib by rib. It takes time. As you do this you need to pay close attention to Nightmare. If you reach his limit he will tense up. When this happens you need to pause and give him a moment. Use this time to just clean the scrub and reapply some new soap before continuing. Ha! You sure that isn't a new step? and what call it 7B? no thanks.

Cross glanes around and sees the shower wash thing that they must have meant and were talking about. Cross isn't even sure about the name for those sponge floof things himself. He nods and speaks "I am going to get the scrub ready. You okay? water okay?"

Ngihtmare hums and shrugs. The shrug causes Cross's attention to shift from the back and mess of ribs and the horrific view of the spine to the large bruises and sores all along the clavicle. Who would do this to a child? Why would they hurt a child this badly?! He is just a babybones!

Cross has the shower floof all nice and wet and soapy and moves slowly closer "I am going to start on your ribs now... okay?" A nod is his answer and Cross gets to work. He applies almost no pressure but Nightmare still shivers. Cross moves slowly to clean some of the ribs. He keeps a close eye to make sure nothing gets stuck on the broken and wounded bones.

They are silent as Cross works as Cross is hyperaware of Nightmare and his breathing. it is slow and even. One by one the ribs get cleaned and Cross makes sure to take two breaks to enable Ngihtmare to calm down.

Cross washes out the floof as Nightmare tries to relax, poking bubbles. Cross looks back at his list.

Step 8. Once you managed to finish washing his ribs he will need a moment. Give the scrub to him, soaped up, so he can wash his own legs and pelvis. As he washes this you need to wash his skull and neck with one of the washcloths. There are no wounds there but it is easier if you do it.

No extra comments form Killer this time. Cross does as told and gives Nightmare the shower floof and Nightmare gets to work on cleaning himself without even needing instructions. Clearly already part of the routine.

Cross still gets the right washcloth wet and soaped up as he speaks "I am going to wash your neck and skull in the meantime okay?" a small nod and Cross gets to work. His hands and fingers easily finding the curves and dips as he carefully cleans the babybones. Nightmare actively relaxes as Cross takes care to clean everything.

Cross leans back and grins "There. those are done." he looks at the list.

Step 9. Now the hardest part. the spine. Nightmare knows he needs this but won't like it. But he won't fight you on it. Again, he understands this is needed. So don't even bother to tell him it will be over quickly or not suck. He hates that. For the spine and the many tiny wounds nad the larger cracks you will need to soft soft brushes, you will quickly understand what i mean. It are the softest i could find and we keep them clean and disinfected. Still, one of the two will have the soap as always. the other is to apply disinfectent at the very end. Make sure one of those two stays dry.

Cross puts one of the two soft brushes to the side and grabs the other one. He starts getting it soaped up as the speaks "I am going to start on your spine now." Nightmare immediantly grows tense and hugs himself. floof forgotten in the water. Cross feels terrible "I am sorry. I will do my best to be careful okay? Just slow and steady?"

Ngihtmare hums and nods "okay..."

Cross has the brush ready and sits nearby "Okay. I am going to put one hand on your side to help keep you steady as i do this." Another nod and Cross helps support Nightmare as he nears the spine with the brush. "I am going to start cleaning the wounds now." a very soft brush but Nightmare still shudders and whimpers in pain.

He hates this. How fucking dare they hurt a child like this? To do this and hurt him this badly? And why?! because they are idiots to think he was bad?! That a child was evil??! That a babybones was evil?!

Cross is seething but his hands are steady as he cleans the wounds and deep slashes. No wonder that they need to do this for Nightmare. Ngihtmare is shaking in pain as he cleans the wounds. Nightmare would not have the ability to do this for himself.

Eventually he manages to clean the spine and Cross puts the brush away "there! All done with that!" Nightmare still sits shaking but leans a bit deeper into the water. calming himself.

Cross grabs his list and searches quickly.

Step 10. If you get to this spot you are almost done. We are in the home stretch! Now. Next is to give him a moment to relax. JUst let him sit in the water. In the meantime you can get the scrub soaped up again for the last step.

Step 11. next is the arms and shoulders. And while sensitive they won't hurt too badly in this. Just wash it off with the soaped up scrub once Ngihtmare sits up striaghter again.

Okay. easy enough. Cross starts preparing the floof as he keeps an eye on Nightmare. Nightmare sits back up after a while and mutters "okay... arms next?"

Cross nods as his soul fills wiht pride and... and... he isnt'sure what... instead he ignores it as he speaks "indeed." Nightmare hums but holds one of his arms out, still not looking at Cross. Cross cleans it efficiently but makes sure his touch is gentle. They switch arms and this one gets the same treatment.

Nightmare uses the water in the bath to get the soap off of him and Cross refers back to the list.

Step 11. This one and the next go together. After you got a towel, pick Nightmare out of the tub and just wrap him up. I like to fully burrito him, You know you did it right when he starts to purr.

Step 12. Use a soft towel to get off all the water. Just softly dab- LMAO! DAB! :D okay. My bad. Just softly tap the towel to the areas near the wounds instead of scrubbing it dry. It takes longer but hurts him less.

Cross searches the bathroom and finds some towels that meet his standard of softness. He takes it to Nightmare. Next he carefully picks Ngihtmare out of the tub, Nightmare still isn't looking at him and Cross can spot a small blush on his face. No doubt embarressed. Cross wraps Nightmare in the towel and hugs him close.

Affection. The other thing he had felt was affection and pride. Becuase Nightmare had been such a brave babybones and had been so well behaved. How could he not be proud?

Cross follows the instructions to the letter as he finishes drying Nightmare. He keeps him in the towel and reads the steps explaining how to desinfect the wounds and how to wrap those. pretty basic stuff. He grabs the other soft brush and explains to Nightmare what he is about to do.

It still stings as that is the nature of the desinfectent but Cross finishes up bathtime with wrapping the ribs and wounds all in soft bandages. In the end Cross puts on the hoody and holds their babybones close to him.

Nightmare, still purring softly as he leans against Cross, relaxes further and further and Cross nuzzles the tiny skull "There we go. you did amazing! We will just sit downa dn waits for the others okay?" a glance back at the bathroom but Cross leaves it be for now. He can clean up their tools and stuff when someone else is back to watch Nightmare.

Nightmare hums and snuggles clsoer to him under his chin and Cross starts to purr himself.

Maybe he does know how this whole parent thing works.

*----------------*

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[evelhak]

I felt implicitly tagged by @lilypheria. Here's the template too.

It may seem like I only write KnB these days but I don't consider myself to be done with my SPOP comics yet.

Tagging all my writer friends but I'm going to mention @active-mind-15 because you're kind of new to me. But I really want to hear about all my writer mutuals and followers. By the way if you've written one unfinished fic or tried to start to write your ideas but can't, or haven't written for years, or have any other struggle that makes you feel invalid, you count as a writer.

Going to elaborate under the cut because I felt like it.

My old account was FinFanFun, a Finnish site I used mostly for reading Facebook wall fics about that which should not be named.

AO3 is where I publish my KnB fics though I've considered branching out to see if there's still some fandom corners I haven't reached.

I'm slowly introducing myself to writing smut but the only story I've published has been called mild and soft smut or smut-ish, and I doubt the rest will be much different.

I frequently beta-read for friends, though fanfiction is the minority.

I used to have two beta-readers but they're unable to do it anymore so all my fics rely solely on me for now, which makes me really anxious sometimes. I am pretty desperate for a new beta-reader so if KagaKuro and a million words of "homework" doesn't frighten you, please jump into an adventure with me!

All my fics are self-indulgent in that they're what I want to see play out in the story. They are not personal fantasies, or necessarily what I want to see in real life, but it's what I envision for these characters.

I'm always reading old favourite fics again and I need to branch out actually.

If I'm in need of a short fic to read I will probably pick fluff.

Have written m/m and f/f (and m/? and m/f) but honestly it's weird to put them in the same category when m/m is so overrepresented.

I'm not actually sure if I consider fanfiction as a genre or rather a medium, because all genres exist inside fanfiction. Medium is probably more true but I seem to have checked it anyway because I feel like the point here is whether fanfiction is valid literature and that it is.

I don't know if two fandoms with one being dormant would be considered multifandom so maybe no.

I do anxiously wait for feedback since I'm very community oriented but I'm also very introverted and internally motivated so the lack of it doesn't discourage me. I have patience and I can wait for connection for years and years. Not that lack of connection doesn't affect me, of course it does, but giving up is just a very antithetical concept to my beliefs and life.

I have one on-going long KnB story and one unfinished She-Ra fic that is waiting for a better time. Which is an exception since I tend to finish what I start before moving on.

Editing fanfiction is actually not as bad as editing original fiction because I put much less pressure on myself, partially because you can always edit your fic again.

Always listening to hours long conversations in my head between characters when I'm trying to sleep. They're really bad at shutting up and I'm supposed to remember this stuff in the morning?

I was mildly drunk for ten days straight to write Anything Can Happen. Haven't done that since but it was really fun.

My main KnB storyline gets most of my attention. It's just my thing, I pour everything into it.

I didn't check 'wants to be a professional writer' because after three traditionally published books I consider myself to be that already. I actually went the other way around than seems to be the norm: I was an original fiction writer first and then branched out to fanfiction in my twenties. I can see it greatly affects how I write fic, and it's probably the main reason I feel like a bit of an outsider.

[kitkatt0430]

not quite an assumption but i am terrified of you how do you find the motivation (and TIME) to write as much as you do + with the quality you do???

I admit... sometime i write during work hours, something made easier because I can just work from home with my home laptop setup on one side of my L-shaped desk setup and my work laptop on the other.

While code is compiling or during a tea break I can write a few sentences or a few paragraphs or do a little editing. I don't write during work often, but on a slow day I can sometimes get a lot done on a fic. (I'm more likely to read or play music off my plex server, but writing is an option I enjoy having available.)

But overall I'm just a fast touch-typist. Slowed a bit recently by my switch to one of those split design ergonomic keyboards for my home office setup. Because, uh... I gave myself some very mild carpal tunnel symptoms this year presumably primarily from my typing. Though I think a few other things contributed. (Thankfully my wrist brace for sleeping in has largely cleared up the worst of my symptoms. No surgery needed!!!) So perhaps I should be viewing my own amount of output fic-wise to be a bit scary too. 😳

I'm not totally sure where my motivation to write comes from, exactly. Sometimes a fic idea comes to me and my imagination spins it like a microwaved plate enough times that I just have to write it. Because it's funny and I want to share or it's serious and it feels like I need to tell it or because my fingers just have to type it out so that it'll stop spinning in my brain. I think some of that is potentially ADHD related, tbh.

Honestly, every year I look back on how much fic I've written and go no??? I didn't write that much. Did I? Obviously I did but... wow. O_O Sometimes I focus so much on the fics that I haven't written, like series continuations, that I forget just how much I have actually completed and posted and that i should be proud of that work. I've really liked things such as the Ao3 Wrapped and other finished fic ask games here on Tumblr that remind me to look back and be happy about everything I've accomplished.

As for the fic quality... I have been writing fanfic since I was very young. The first fanfics I wrote were entirely for my own enjoyment when Star Trek Voyager was first airing. I still regret those fics were lost when the computer crashed. Though I also wrote a lot of plot ideas and story intros to those ideas in various notebooks at that age too, with homages to Snoopy's 'A dark and stormy night' type intros and influence from whatever I was reading at the time. Those are lost too, but all of it taught me things along the way about what worked for me and what didn't and how to improve my spelling and grammar. (Though re-reading my own fics is, to this day, an exercise in patience every time I find a minor error.)

So I owe my writing style and fic quality today to eight-year-old me who saw herself a bit in Naomi Wildman while playing imagination games. To my eleven(twelve???)-year-old self who identified with feeling like the odd one out the way Seven of Nine did and started writing my own stories about her as result and who didn't give up writing when my hand-me-down computer crashed only a few months after it was moved into my room, taking with it all the writing I'd saved. To my fourteen-year-old self who fell in love with reading fanfic and my sixteen-year-old self who tried to break out of the internalized misogyny and queerphobia with my writing despite not even realizing I had those things inside of me. To my college age self who didn't let busy schedules and calculus (ew) stop me from making time for my writing.... to every version of me I've been along the way who kept writing and improving my technique, often without even realizing that's what i was doing.

I'm thirty-five now, so my writing ability has had a lot of time to grow. But really, that's all my fic quality comes down to. All the time I've spent over the years telling lots of stories.

[weirdshapeddog]

Obey Me! ramblings, mild spoilers for OG, some spoilers for NB early lessons

Okay so I FINALLY basically finished OG (got to lesson like 69 but I know what happens story-wise approximately so I’m not pressed to truly finish in a rush. I will finish! Just… when I can) - I had taken a pause to try and level cards, and then at one point saw an upcoming lesson in NB was related to a lesson in OG I hadn’t done, so wanted to finish OG before going too far in NB. And frankly, I’m glad that I did.

I know folks say you can play NB without playing OG, but I have to strongly disagree. Playing OG first gives you the buildup of affection for the characters, yes, but it also gives SUPER important context for the NB lessons. And! It also makes some options for your actions in even early NB lessons make more sense.

F’ex, when I played the lesson with Dia’s trial in early NB, we get the option to kiss him… and unless you’ve played to like lesson 60-something in OG, that makes NO sense because he doesn’t even get to fully confess his feelings to you until lesson like 50-60something. LIKEWISE, we don’t get Solomon’s confession in OG until lesson 50-60something (it’s been a few days, I forgot the exact lessons). But still! Playing through OG with the idea that NB happens probably very shortly after OG makes the MOST sense.

In that order - finishing OG then starting NB - we’ve JUST gotten our relationships with Sol, Dia, Simeon, and Barbatos started since the latter doesn’t confess til 70-something smh so Solomon’s attentive husband-y personality makes sense, as does our ability to be familiar and affectionate with people in ways you wouldn’t really be unless you knew them. I had more thoughts on that but in the seconds I’ve been typing they’ve flown out the window lmao

Relatedly though, while I’m only on chapter 18 for NB, I’m calling it now; Nightbringer is Barbatos. There was a sneaky little chapter (one of those “get A rank for all the battles and you can unlock this” things) where we see a convo between Solomon and Nightbringer. We don’t SEE Nightbringer, but Solomon is clearly familiar with them, joking with them… and then, after Nightbringer comments on how Solomon is, Solomon basically says (paraphrasing) “I’m like this because of you!” - and I know from spoilers I’ve seen that Barbatos helped to teach and basically raise Solomon… PLUS one of Solomon’s homescreen dialogues (not special guest just the homescreen) says he has “a strange feeling about Barbatos”… AND Nightbringer is said in early-ish lessons too to be a demon in control of time. Like… that’s literally just Barbatos. Idk if we’ve had it confirmed in later chapters yet WHO Nightbringer is, but I’m calling it as Barbatos because they basically have all but said it already in game. The big question is WHY did Barbatos, if he is Nightbringer, decide to throw us back in time? And given the idea that he had just barely acknowledged his feelings for MC relatively recently (in the context that NB happens shortly after the end of OG)… AND potentially that his anger towards Solomon in NB is a “ripple effect” as I’ve seen it phrased… was Barbatos looking to gain something personal in sending MC back? Does past Barbatos KNOW who MC is and just pretends he doesn’t? I could see it, with what we know about him. Barbatos my beloved eldritch horror

*Editing to add: in lesson 20-11, Barbatos thanks us for ensuring everything turned out “as it should”… 🧐 yeah, I’m definitely banking on Barbatos being Nightbringer.

On Obey Me! as a whole - re: the news of no updates - with some of the stuff we’ve gotten as part of the “farewell”, I can’t help but to wonder if the series may take a more adult turn. We get calls from each of the dateables wherein we are either invited or can invite ourselves to bathe with the characters/otherwise engage in adult stuff that is hinted at (ie in Lucifer’s call)… not to mention, at least one of the special pics we get - specifically Belphie’s - has some adult vibes to it! Like, he LOOKS like he’s stripping. Like…

That is in his bed. That is in the room he and Beel share, on Belphie’s half, in his bed. Tell me it doesn’t look like he’s got the viewer pinned down and is getting undressed? I’m not the only one who sees it, this was something I saw others discussing too.

Maybe this is just me being the Adult Guy™ that I am, but frankly, I would be delighted if Obey Me! went for something more adult going forward. I’ve been also playing What in Hell is Bad? lately and enjoying it, and would be thrilled to see the Obey Me! boys in a similar game. *Note: if you’re someone who is unsettled by dark content, do NOT play What in Hell is Bad?, as they are NOT shy about kinks/fetishes/paraphilias. It is not for kids, and it is NOT for people sensitive to dark content, especially dark content in a sexual setting. Again, many characters have paraphilias in the game that are used to interact with MC, so if you were considering playing but don’t like dark sexual content, don’t play.

ANYWAY I don’t know that Obey Me! would ever go straight up 18+ content route but I wouldn’t be upset about it personally if they did. They were super vague in their announcement, and seemed to be hinting that there would be new content coming out at some point, just not for the current games, so I’m hoping they either come out with a third app or maybe go with a cross-platform format. Whether that content will be what we’ve always gotten or if they’ll shift gears, idk, but… yes. That’s my ramblings on it all. I’m glad to have finished OG and am looking forward to playing through NB now! ^^

[xmystophalesx]

Best New Heavy Metal Releases Week of April 14th, 2023

Not sure the slower weeks are a trend or more than a few bands do not want to release an album the same week as Metallica, as let’s be honest, getting any sort of attention during that time will be exceedingly difficult. I guess I should probably say something about that album as it did not make my “Best of the Week” section and I’m sure there are a great number of people that would disagree with that assessment. I actually think it is a very GOOD album, but certainly not great. It is too long for its own good and has moments that seem to drag it down. I believe a lot of the legacy bands all have problems with self editing. There really isn’t anyone around to tell them no or argue whether this or that makes the album stronger. My favorite band of all time (Iron Maiden) has had this problem for the last 20 years at least. Just because you can put 74 minutes of music on a CD, that doesn’t mean you should. At the end of the day, the album is fine for what it is and probably the best thing that Metallica has done in quite some time but there is simply a LOT of music coming out that is simply more interesting and in my humble opinion simply better. Metallica will remain in my personal top 10 greatest metal bands ever but I think they are past the point of moving the bar in the Heavy music genre at this point in their career.

Well enough of the slight detour into mild negativity as anyone that reads this blog knows I always try to keep things positive as there are plenty of things in the world to feel negative about and music really should not be one of them. So let’s get to some highlights.

Overkill-Scorched (Thrash)**

Overkill has always been one of those bands that I feel has never truly gotten the respect they deserve. I will freely admit, they are one of those bands that is either love them or hate them. I contend, however, all you need to do is see them live to truly “get” them. These guys absolutely CRUSH live. This album is, in my opinion, one of the best and complete albums they have delivered in at least a decade. Aggressive Thrash Metal from start to finish with absolutely razor sharp riffs and leads that fee like they are trying to make a statement all on their own. Add top notch production to this and you have a complete banger from start to finish.

Ashrain-Requiem Reloaded (Heavy/Power)**

Top quality Melodic Heavy Metal that leans into the Power Metal genre occasionally is what this band is all about. The primary draw here is guitar virtuoso Nozomu Wakai, who some people may know from his other bend Destinia. Exceedingly catchy songs with guitar work that is simply face meltingly good. If you are into Power or straight Heavy Metal, this will easily be stuck in your playlist for quite some time. Listen to track 5 “Break Through the Fire” and tell me it didn’t get stuck in your head.

Edoma-Buried By Permafrost (Melodic Black)**

This is one of those albums that on first listen, you realize is pretty good. On your second listen, you realize it is DAMN good. On your third listen, you realize it is fucking brilliant and you feel like an idiot not realizing it in the beginning. From there, it just keeps getting better. The Black Metal genre has been having quite the renaissance over the last few years and this continues that trend. Riffs that are right on point while still letting the song itself breathe. Drums that hit like a damn a semi with failing breaks heading downhill. None of this would matter if the songs themselves were not great but of course they are. I only hope that this somehow, at some point, this gets a vinyl release.

Lucifer Star Machine-Satanic Age (Punk/Hard Rock)**

This album is just a straight up blast to listen to. I’m a sucker for Punk music and this album definitely has plenty of Punk attitude, but added to this a very strong dirty Rock and Metal feel to it. Easiest way for me to describe this would be to think of a mix of The Casualties, Rancid, NOFX with a light dose of Motorhead and you will be close. In any case if you like Punk and need something easy and fun to listen to, this will work great.

That will do it for this week and another great week for the Heavy music genre. Until next week, and as always,

BANG THY HEAD!!!

All worthy of a listen if you like the genre

*= standout in that genre

**=best of the week regardless of genre

BEST OF THE WEEK

Overkill-Scorched (Thrash)**

Magnus Karlsson’s Freefall-Hunt the Flame (Heavy/Hard Rock/Power)**

Perdition Winds-Burning Spiritual Crypts (Black)**

Ashrain-Requiem Reloaded (Heavy/Power)**

Eridu-Enuma Elish (Melodic Black/Death)**

Edoma-Buried By Permafrost (Melodic Black)**

Lucifer Star Machine-Satanic Age (Punk/Hard Rock)**

STANDOUTS IN THEIR GENRE

Metallica-72 Seasons (Heavy/Hard Rock)*

Blazon Rite-Wild Rites and Ancient Songs (Heavy/Traditional/Epic)*

Czakan-Unreal (Heavy/Hard Rock)*

Zio-Truewaves (Rock/Progressive)*

Void Ceremony-Threads of Unknowing (Death/Black/Progressive)*

Beyond the Grave-Let There Be Destruction(Black)*

Holy Moses-Invisible Queen (Thrash)*

Archon Angel-II (Heavy Progressive)*

Thou Shall Not-I Am the Presence (Heavy)*

Soliton-Cyclical Denial (Melodic Death/Technical)*

Koritni-Long Overdue (Hard Rock)*

New World Depression-Interment of Sind (Death)*

Vesuvian-Emergence (Melodic Death/Symphonic)*

MuN-Nhemis (Sludge/Post)*

Rebelstar-The Black Widow Anthems (Hard Rock/Heavy)*

Axeheart-Sword of the Gods (Heavy)*

Despite the Reverence-Stress of Evolution (Heavy/Progressive/Groove)*

Acromizer-Reborn (Thrash)*

Truie-Menophilie (Death)*

Towards Hellfire-Death Upon the Holy Throne (Black/Death)*

WORTH A LISTEN

Teke-Beginning of the End (Black)

Rosslyn-Totentanz (Heavy/Traditional)

De La Tierra-De La Tierra III (Groove-Thrash)

Sanity Obscure-Through (Gothic/Doom)

Deimos Day-Anthem of the Lost (Thrash)

L.A. Guns-Black Diamonds (Hard Rock)

Ernte-Albsegen (Black)

Askheimr-Askheimr (Melodic Black)

Deathgrave-It’s Only Midnight (Death/Symphonic)

Frostseele-Damon (Atmospheric Black/Post/Experimental)

Pick of the week was pretty close between Edoma and Overkill but Scorched takes the top spot with an album that could arguably be the Thrash Metal album of the year so far. Like a ray of sunshine on the Metal Bulldog herself, this album just felt great!

Red Rum-Book of Legends (Folk)

[wishing-on-a-staranise]

Living for the Hope of it all (s.h. x desi!fem!reader)

part 2

Summary: your cousin was getting married to a guy in Hawkins, Indiana. While the idea of searching for Bollywood movies in a mostly white town seemed like a fruitless endeavor, you were bored— so, you set foot in family video where you meet Steve Harrington. The cute boy and you quickly become friends. Steve realises that he was falling for you but he also realises that you were only going to be in Hawkins for a few weeks. 

Warnings: Hard of hearing steve Harrington (so true); lots of staring; lots of yearning; lots of confused steve; reader talks to her family members in Hindi (i tried to edit it to not include hindi cuz not every desi person speaks hindi but i didn’t know how to deal with one particular place in the story sorry); reader has an older brother; two pining idiots; steve Harrington is a spaced out king; an almost kiss😳

A/n: a somewhat of a bollywood reference in there somewhere. Took some inspo from this post. Also this is gonna have a part two and it'll be on here sooooooon. No fucking promises tho

Word count: 8.6k 

Mixtape

It was a rather slow day in Family Video. There had been a grand total of one person since opening and they too were a person on a road trip, only there to use the phone. Steve could might as well be swatting flies for a living. Mondays were always slow, but on this particular one, the entirety of Hawkins had decided to not rent movies; and that added with Robin taking the day off that day because she had to finish a project, was really doing a number on him. Even Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Mike were busy with their own stuff. He was so bored that he could even take Keith's company over this. Steve let out a dejected sigh as he looked over at his wrist watch. He still had an hour of his shift left. 

He had nothing to do, he had done the inventory, stacking, restocking and rewinding the tapes within the first two hours of the shift— he realised he worked quite fast without the constant banter with Robin. But that banter and Robin's constant ramblings are what made the job fun and lively. The only sounds that echoed through the store were the whirring of the table fan, the buzz of the neon sign that read 'Family video', and Steve's fingers tapping a random tune against the counter.

A glance back at the watch, only two minutes had passed. Steve wondered what he was going to do when he got off. Robin and the kids would still be busy. Perhaps he could call Stacy, the girl he hooked up with, a week or two ago. She was great, but God, did he not feel any sparks when they went on the date.

Maybe he could just watch a movie. His eyes moved through the sections of the store, looking to decide on an option. Horror? Dear God, no. He'd had enough of the genre in real life. He threw the action and thrillers in that metaphorical pile too. Romance? Last thing he wanted was to see a movie of doomed love, or worse actually successful love especially without a Robin to make fun of the characters with. The only option viable enough was comedy.

Before Steve could decide on the movie, the bell above the door rang. He turned to face the customer and he was met with a face he'd never seen before.

"Um, hi?", You said with a soft and amused smile. 

"H-hello," Steve cleared his throat, "what can I help you with?" He flashed you a grin, you returned it.

The boy finally took you in. You were wearing jeans and an unbuttoned maroon sweater that looked hand knitted and was probably a bit too much for the mild autumn weather. You had a red top with little intricate designs made in white threads peeking through the open buttons, your ears adorned by earrings that looked a little too heavy to Steve. Your hair was tied up in a ponytail, however little strands framed your face perfectly— flowing in the autumn breeze. Your eyes were lined with dark kohl, he was sure he was looking at a siren, ready to lure him to his death. His breath was hitched, eyes wide, lips parted but he could not say a word. Forget sparks, he felt like there was the entire fourth of July going on in his chest.

"....wondering if you guys had that?", Had you been saying something? Oh shit, he was too busy taking you in to really pay attention to your words.

"Um- I'm sorry, what was that?", He voiced after a few seconds long pause, "i wasn't paying attention to your lips– didn't quite catch that"

"Why would you need to pay attention to my lips?" The corner of your mouth curled, head tilting.

"I- I'm hard of hearing so I kinda need to look at people's lips to understand them", he said with a dry chuckle. The Russians had really done a number on him last year. Besides giving Steve years worth of trauma, they'd also given him extra stuff like lessened hearing ability, constant ringing of the ears, migraines, and bad eyesight— a buy one get four free sort of thing.

"Oh", you blinked, "sorry", an apologetic expression flashed over your features.

"No need, it honestly helps in some weird way 'cause people always think I'm flirting with them, staring at their lips"

you let out a small embarrassed laugh. Now that was a sound he could get used to. Steve wished he could replace the ringing in his head with your laugh. Was he moving too fast? Probably– considering you'd only met two minutes ago.

"Maybe I was", he mumbled softly. If it wasn't for the quiet of the store, you'd have never heard it, but you did. You did and now your cheeks were a little warm, maybe you should come here all the time to tolerate the cold. You tucked the free strands of hair behind your ear and licked your slightly dry lips. 

"So… what can I help you with?" He asked again with raised bushy eyebrows. 

"Uh– this is a long shot, really, but I was wondering if you guys had Bollywood movies?" Your fingers absentmindedly played with the fraying yarn of your sweater. You already knew the answer. Bollywood movies in Hawkins, Indiana was like trying to look for the colour brown in the rainbow. You were more likely to find out that interdimensional monsters or superheroes were real.

"Bollywood, you say", the boy turned to the computer, typing something. His brows were scrunched and you wished you could smoothen the lines on his forehead with the pads of your thumbs. The brown hair looked perfect save for a few strands falling on his temple. The tip of his nose and cheeks were brushed with a pink hue to them, perhaps due to the cold breeze. His cheeks and neck were peppered with moles and faint freckles. He was wearing a navy blue sweatshirt that almost looked black, the sleeves pulled up to reveal his arms. He wore a watch around his wrist, his skin and arm muscles rippling as he typed away. He had a green vest on, a tag pinned to it that probably read his name. You were just about to read the name on the tag when you realised— you were staring. Full on staring. His voice pulled you out of your daze.

"I'm afraid we don't have that", he said while finally looking back at you, frowning at the news.

"Oh, well that's a shame", you said.

"I'm sorry, no one's asked for them before", he got up from the chair and leaned on the counter. Your chest fluttered at the sudden proximity, and now you were getting too warm. "But I assure you, when you're here next time, I'll make sure we have them"

Next time.

"And when is that?"

"Give me till next week? I'll have it by then?"

"That's pretty fast"

"Well I hate to disappoint pretty people I've never met before''. Your face was definitely getting very warm. Was it the middle of July? Because it sure as hell felt like it.

"Well, I guess I will see you next week then, mr. Video man", you declared before turning to leave the store. It was getting too hot in there, you needed the cool winds to brush against the tips of your nose— to cool you down. 

And just like that you were out the door, Steve's eyes followed your retreating figure as you walked away from the store. He looked back at his watch, thirty minutes left of his shift. He could have sworn that you were there for just a few minutes, but the clocks wouldn't lie. He stayed still for a few seconds due to the whiplash of it all. He then strolled towards the romance/comedy aisle, picking up a random one for himself. 

Steve got ready for closing. Turning the 'open' sign to 'closed', checking and double double checking the locks. And the entire time, he kept thinking about you. He couldn't wait to tell Robin about you. A girl he'd never seen before, because if he had, he would have remembered. It was when he got in his car that it dawned on him that he never got your name. 

He hoped that he would be sure to get it the next time you would come. The next time.

The next day, Robin came in fifteen minutes late for her shift– she'd pulled an all nighter for her project and just managed to barely finish it. Steve first chastised her because "messing with her sleep cycle isn't healthy"-- the dirty blonde rolled her eyes at the brunette's parent-like behaviour. 

Steve then told Robin about the girl he'd met, he was practically jumping on the balls of his feet as he did so. The roles were suddenly switched— she was the parent now.

"So let me get this straight– which is very hard for me, trust me", she let out a breathy laugh while wiping the counter, "you apparently found a girl who was so beautiful that she enraptured you in her girl magic under which you stupidly made the ludicrous promise that you'll have a collection of movies that we've never housed before only because you wanted to see her again? Sound 'bout right?"

"I mean, essentially yeah", he nodded sheepishly.

"You are insufferable, dingus", Robin groaned.

"Oh, please. Like you wouldn't have done the same thing"

"How do you plan on getting those movies anyway?"

"Keith, duh"

"And you believe that he'll listen to you?"

Steve looked at her with pleading eyes, eyebrows scrunched, fingers mindlessly playing with the paperweight on the counter. 

"Steveee" she asked like a parent would ask their child if they had eaten all the chocolate while said child had chocolate smeared all over them. She knew the answer, he wanted her to do it. She was the one who had convinced Keith to hire Steve, surely she could persuade him again.

The next Monday took forever to come. Steve and Robin– mostly Robin, had somehow managed to convince Keith to have a small Bollywood collection. Total of around seven tapes, not big by any means but would still have to do.

That morning Steve had arrived annoyingly early to the store. He was sporting his maroon sweatshirt. The colour reminded him of the sweater you were wearing, it reminded him of you. His hair was its usual self– set perfectly. He'd shaved the little scruff he had and doused himself in an overindulgent amount of his favourite cologne.

So there he was, fingers nervously tapping against the stack of Bollywood movie tapes and eyes glancing over to the clock every two minutes. Steve would frantically get up with an expectant smile every time the doorbell rang and then the smile would instantly disappear when he would see that it wasn't you. 

There was just 15 minutes of their shift left and you still hadn't come. Maybe you weren't going to. Steve's hope was starting to wither away.

"Y'know dingus, I'm starting to think that your mystery girl isn't coming", Robin muttered while rewinding some tapes. 

"Yeah, maybe you're right", he let out a dismal sigh. His hair wasn't sitting perfectly anymore, it was floppy and sticking up in places maybe due to the excessive amount of times he had run his fingers through the thick strands. He had accidentally spilled ketchup on his pants during lunch and his cologne was no longer as "overwhelming", as Robin had put it. His overall demeanour was that of a sullen little child, who was offered with immeasurable treasure and then given a class about taxes and mortgages.

The brown haired boy turned his back towards the door, his amber eyes fixating on the dirt clung to the sole of his shoes. The ringing in his head acted as white noise as he zoned out subconsciously, he realised he was doing that a lot lately— especially since the starcourt mall "fire".

Robin got up to get ready for closing up, putting all the tapes in their designated places. While doing so her eyes glanced over to the sunset outside, the clouds swirling with the oranges, pinks and lilacs and that's when she noticed a girl marching quickly towards the store. A very pretty girl.

"I retract that statement. I think your magic girl is here steve", she said while making her way towards Steve whose back was turned to her and the door. Robin groaned realising that Steve probably didn't hear her. She tapped his shoulder lightly and he turned around, "I think your mystery girl is here and you were right I'd do the same", she smirked.

Steve turned to the door and you were entering the store. Your hair wasn't tied today, the wisps of hair flowed as you walked quickly towards the counter. You were still wearing the maroon sweater, this time paired with what looked to be a hand knitted scarf around your neck. Once again a bit too much for the weather. Your earnings were different, still looked heavy to Steve though. 

"Hi, I was scared you guys had closed up. I just got caught up in something"

"We– we were just about to close up actually", Robin said.

"Did I keep you waiting?", You asked, eyes locking with Steve's while tucking your hair behind your ear, fingers hitting the silver jewellery adorned on your ears. The action gives rise to a jingle in the heavy earrings and a heavy thumping in Steve's chest.

"W-what? no–"

"Yeah, he was,'' Robin interrupted. Steve gave the short haired girl a glare to which she muttered a "ok, sorry", held her hands up in surrender and went to the backroom to give you and Steve privacy. 

"Sorry for being late–", you tried. 

"No- no it's fine. Completely fine", Steve protested while ushering you and himself to the aisle with the small newly added section.

"Ok. Did you get the movies?"

"Yes, ma'am", he said, holding up a random tape, triumphantly.

"Impressive that you could get your hands on these so quickly", you picked up the tapes looking at the titles, trying to pick a few.

"I feel like, I had to if I wanted to see your face again"

you took out the movies you wanted, the words from the boys mouth not fully registering at first. After a moment, what Steve had said finally got through— the implication of it, apparent, your heartbeat a little faster and your cheeks a little warmer. However you didn't address the statement and instead stuttered, "I'll uh– I'll take these two"

"All righty!" He clapped his hands, taking the tapes from you.

"I– um, I'm gonna need your name?"

"(Y/n)", the boy repeated it out loud to etch it to his memory– his accent warping the pronunciation. You bit your lip to contain your laugh, however the boy caught you and laughed with you.

"Aren't you gonna ask for my name? I got those tapes for you after all", he said, crossing arms in front of his chest.

"Oh, so tell me", you started, leaning against a wall, "What is your name steve?"

"Well, it's st–", the boy with honey eyes stopped, gears turning in his head, "oh. how'd you know?"

"I have my sources. Those being your name tag"

Promptly you heard an audible and hearty laugh of Steve's co-worker, all the way from the backroom. Steve groaned at the realisation that Robin had been eavesdropping on both of you. His palm rested between your shoulder blades as he took you further down the romance aisle, away from Robin's prying eyes and ears. His touch was light, soft and barely there but its warmth still managed to seep through the layers of your clothing. He quickly retracted his hand back to his side, leaving your skin almost burning. You weren't sure why he was leading you away but you followed his lead nonetheless, not saying a single word.

"So, what's it mean?" He broke the silence, "Your name?" He added.

"What does Steve mean?" You retorted immediately.

"Honestly, I have no clue", he said with a chuckle,

"So, you new in hawkins?"

"Sort of. My cousin is getting married to a guy from here. So I'm just here for that"

"Oh cool, so I guess….. I'll see you around?"

"Maybe" you smiled.

He smiled back, "uh, I'm gonna need your number"

"Why do you need my number, Steve?"

"So, if you don't return the tapes within the rent period. We can call you and extort the money out of you", he said, crossing his arms– the muscles flexing that made you feel a little too hot.

"You think I won't return the tapes?", You reached to rest your hand atop his exposed arm, "Don't you trust me?", You weren't sure where the sudden confidence was coming from— perhaps you were being possessed by a ghost or something.

Steve's breath hitched, he was sure he had short circuited. Your one action of just touching his arm, equivalent to pouring a glass of water over the wiring of a computer.  The sparks came in the form of stutters, words spurting out too fast to be coherent. "I uh— I do, but it's– it's company policy", he cleared his throat, "We're supposed to do it with everyone"

"Forget about everyone else, this is between you and me, Steve", the boy's heart skipped a beat. Steve was sure that you saying his name was his new favourite sound. He still hadn't let out his breath, your hand still touching his skin.

"Maybe, we can deal with this in other ways…", you said in a sultry tone as your hand went putting your hair up while making direct eye contact. The flustered boy admonished himself for the image his mind conjured up, he gulped. He should probably look away, he thought, yet his eyes were transfixed onto your Kohl lined ones. He was no longer paying attention to your words to register them or lips to read them. Maybe it was lack of oxygen, he still hadn't let that breath out.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Mr video man", you said with a chuckle. You took the movie tapes from his hands and headed to the counter where Robin now was, leaving behind a frozen and blushing Steve Harrington.

By the time Steve comes back to senses, you were already out the door. Robin had rung you up. He finally let out a long heavy breath, walking up to the counter, mind reeling.

"Jesus, you've got it bad. And here I thought you had game, but you truly forgot how to function"

"I do have game", the boy objected.

"Yeah, dingus, that's why you stood there like a mannequin and you still managed to get the girl", the short haired girl scoffed.

"... What?"

"Oh yeah, you were blanked out– she left you this", Robin said while handing Steve what seemed like an invitation card. It was a thick cream coloured envelope, embossed with gold letters and red accents. The envelope was addressed to a 'mr. Video man' written with a marker, which crossed out and now read 'Steve'.

"Mr. Video man?" Robin spoke with amusement. Steve let out a chuckle and turned the envelope where you'd written something.

Hello mr. video man, (I prefer it over steve) you better come in your best clothes or I'll have you know that desi people are really good at judging. – (Y/n)

Steve opened the envelope, looking for the venue. Hawkins was small, so much so that everyone knew about everyone. So, word about an international marriage should've caught wind, yet Steve had managed to not hear a word about it up until now. 

He then saw the name of the groom and bride. 

Ravi and Kajal.

Ravi. Oh shit.

Steve knew Ravi from back in middle school, not in the best way. Steve cringed at his past and how much of an asshole he used to be to people. By the end of Steve's middle school he'd heard that the older boy had shifted to his grandparents house. He and his friends had put the poor boy through hell— so much that his parents thought the only way to keep him safe was to send him back home and away from America.

"What's wrong, dingus?"

"I'm in deep shit."

The next day, Steve picked out his most expensive  suit— adamant on impressing you. His mom had got it for him for an event he never ended up attending, the fabric a deep and dark blue. He set his hair, making sure not a single hair stuck out except for a few rogue strands that fell on his forehead— very much intentionally. 

He wondered what you would be wearing, whether you'd end up accidentally matching or completely different. He knew you'd look absolutely stunning no matter what. 

He locked the empty Harrington house behind and drove his maroon BMW through the mostly empty streets of Hawkins; the sidewalks had an orange hue to them due to the autumn leaves. It was almost dark out now, the sun having set half an hour ago. The chilly air that flowed in through the cracked window brushed the tip of his nose and the apple of his cheeks— sending a wave of goosebumps across his skin.

His mind wandered to Ravi, a pang of guilt and repentance hit his chest at the man's thought. He hoped that he did not cross roads with Ravi. On one hand he wanted to apologise but on the other he didn't want to show his face to him and ruin his day. No one wanted to see their school bully in their wedding with their wife's cousin.

When he arrived at the venue, it was swarmed with way too many people. The booming and toe-tapping music hit his ear, so did the bright lights and colours of the decoration. The people were dressed in what he assumed were traditional clothing. It was then that it hit steve that he had no idea on what to do in a desi wedding so he just walked over to the food stalls, filled with delicacies that he'd never seen before. He had no idea what to pick. His eyes flicked through the crowd looking for you. The music, the lights, the crowd, it was almost overwhelming and Steve could already feel the predecessor of a migraine arising. 

There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned around to see your face. Your beautiful face. Your dark eyes, lined with Kohl, ears adorned with shiny and silver earrings. Hands in rows of matching silver bangles, jingling with every move of your arms. You were wearing a baby blue top that flowed to your knees,it had white intricate designs, the fabric looked a little too sheer to protect you from the cold. He wanted to hug you to help with that, but restrained himself. He was still quite frankly clueless about your culture and its boundaries of what's considered okay to do, the last thing he wanted to do was cross a line.

"Are those your fanciest clothes?", You mused, smiling.

"Not good?" He said looking down at his own clothes and laughing a little.

"Little tacky, I'd say"

"Tacky? This was the most expensive shit i have "

"Look around, video man", you gestured with hands, "your expensive shit sticks out like a sore thumb "

The boy's shoulder sunk just a tad bit, his eyebrows furrowed slightly– surely trying to concentrate on your voice over the rest of the loud sounds.

"Don't worry though, nobody cares", you insisted– waving your hand in the air.

"I thought you said that–" Steve started but you finished for him.

"Oh, people judge no matter what", you turned your gaze to a group of ladies, most of which looked to be above forty, "I bet some aunties back there are judging me because I'm talking to a guy or my choice of clothing", you shrugged, turning back to him.

"Are you kidding me?! You look amazing! And this top looks great" he complimented, you muttered a little "thanks" trying not to profusely blush at his flattering remark. "but like– don't you get cold in it?" He added.

"A bit but i can handle it", you were lying through your teeth, your chittering-by-freezing-weather teeth. You already hated the cold hawkins weather but having to dress up and look pretty was challenging in such a weather without freezing your nipples off was a challenge to say the least. But you'd always been a stubborn one for challenges. And steve, had been helpful enough in keeping you warm anyway. 

"Are you sure?" Steve asked again. Ever the gentleman, the boy wanted to give you his blazer but once again restrained himself.

"I am, I'll be fine", you confirmed, "You still look good, by the way", your voice almost close to a mutter.

Steve wouldn't have heard you if he wasn't so zoned in into to you, though focusing so much was starting to hurt his head a bit. "Thanks", he muttered back.

You realised, his eyes were on your lips. You berated yourself internally, reminding yourself that he was just doing that because he couldn't hear you. But your brain was a funny little fella, who loved to live in delusions. A part of you pretended that he was staring at your lips for the sake of staring at them. You wondered what the aunties would be whispering among themselves at noticing it. Butterflies arose in your chest at the thought. 

"So, where are the groom and bride?" His voice broke through your thoughts.

"Probably back at home", you answered as you chastised yourself, catching yourself staring at his lips. His pink and slightly chapped lips. His very incredibly kissable lips— wait what? Where did that come from?

"At home? Why?" He asked with a tilt of his head and furrowed brows.

"Why would they be here?" You interrogated, not understanding his confusion.

"Um– it's their marriage?"

"Yeah, but not today", you chuckled.

"What?"

"Steve, this is just a welcoming dinner thing for everyone. Desi marriages have several events that go on for weeks", you explained, laughing.

"Oh", he mumbled with knitted brows.

"Are you okay? Did I just shatter your worldview?"

"I think I'm kinda having a migraine.. The the noise and lights are a bit too much", he said, palm going up to his forehead before muttering a little,"sorry"

"Okay, let's get to somewhere quieter", you said with authority before grabbing his arm that tensed under your touch but he didn't pull away. You lead him away from the crowd. You led him through the house, up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway, and finally let him into a room. The bed was messy, a mix of clothes and blankets on it. There was a table with a clutter of jewellery and makeup. Steve felt compelled to clean up the mess but the boy stopped himself. you sat him on the edge of the bed.

"Your room?'

"Me and a few cousins", you went to try to clean up the chaotic mess that you and your cousins had conjured up earlier to get ready, "feel better?"

"A little… thanks"

"No problem, how long have you had this migraine problem?"

"I don't know, like– a year or two"

"Your hearing problem probably makes it worse. Why don't you wear your hearing aid?"

"I don't have one", he said, hand flying to the back of his neck, "I'm also not that hard of hearing"

"It's enough that it interferes in your daily functioning, Steve", you shot him a disapproving look, finally shoving the last piece of clothing in the closet.

"Then how will people think that I'm flirting with them?" He joked, however you didn't return the amusement. 

You turned towards the door. Steve's smile quickly disappeared as he stuttered out, "W–where you going?"

"Getting you some food to fix that migraine of yours"

You came back a few minutes later with a tray full of your favourites for Steve and yourself. Steve, although quite clueless, was very interested. You made him try everything that you could fit onto that plate of yours. From kadai paneer to kebabs to pakoras to samosas and ras malai to gulab jamun to jalebis to kulfi, Steve was adamant on trying it all. And the boy loved it, maybe the heat was a bit too much for him and maybe he shouldn't have had all that so quickly but he'd be lying if he said that he wouldn't love to eat all that again, perhaps separately next time. 

With you telling him all about the food, their names and Steve attempting to pronounce them, Steve's headache had subsided– almost like it was never there. 

You were a good distraction, he thought. With your cute accent, the way you express yourself through moving your hands around in the air, the way the hair framing your face bounced when you bobbed your head while talking, the way your earrings jiggle and shined, the way you smelled, the way you sounded, the way you laughed, and the way your soft lips moved. The movement, mesmerising.

You were just about to tell him about the difference between kulfi and ice cream when the door flung open, revealing your brother with a plate and two cola bottles in hand. He looked at you and then the brunette boy on your bed, brows arching as if to ask, 'girl, why the hell is there a white boy in your bedroom?'

"heard of knocking?", you muttered in an annoyed tone.

"who?", He said, jutting his chin towards steve.

"Friend.'

"Oh. Of course," he said with a sly tilt of his head, "a friend"

"Shut up and get out", you got up to push your older brother out and close the door behind him but then you noticed the contents of his plate. 

"They had biryani?" You had looked through all the food stalls looking for the biryani but weren't able to find it as it was out within half an hour. Your brother had probably saved a plate for you. 

You weighed your options; kick your brother out of the room and probably face embarrassment and mock for days on end from said brother, or let your brother in, introduce him to Steve, face embarrassment and mock for days on end but also get to have that biryani. You pondered, biryani was worth it, you thought.

You let out a long breath, "ok fine, you can come in", you muttered, opening the door wider so he could let himself in.

"Thank you", he sing-songed as he put the plate on the bed and handed you both the cola bottles, "hello, white-guy-i-do-not-know"

"Uh, hi, I'm steve", the boy stammered while holding his hand out to shake.

"Hello Steve, myself Rohan", he gave him a firm handshake.

"Rohan", he echoed as if to glue it to his memory, "thanks", he said while holding up the bottle.

"Don't mention it, man. So tell me Steve, why are you in here with my sister when you could be out there having an actual good time?"

You rolled your eyes and started, "He wasn't feeling good–"

"I asked your friend"

"I– uh I have–  my migraine was really acting up so she bought me here"

"Migraine?"

"Yeah, I don't know, I guess the music and everything was a bit too much"

"Are you calling us loud and noisy?"

"U– no– of course— I'm not– I just–", the boy stuttered.

"Don't worry dude, I'm messing with you", Rohan chuckled, waving his hand before asking, "Is your head okay now?"

"Uh, yeah", steve let out a breath, "Yeah it's better, the food helped"

"Delicious, isn't it?" The white boy nodded, "Be free to have the biryani, but I'm sure my sister would offer it to you", your brother said, flashing you a smirk. You let out a annoyed sigh, one that Steve didn't notice. 

Steve goes to eat the biryani but his bite ends up having an elaichi. The boy let out a pained groan as he hung his jaw open so the food could fall out, immediately going for the cola.

You hissed, "oh that's bad, don't worry it happens to the best of us"

"Maybe to you", your brother muttered while taking a swig of the fizzy drink from your bottle, "it doesn't happen to me. I mean, my first love always was chicken"

"That sounds way too weird. I'm considering disowning you as my brother", you huffed out, annoyed. 

"So steve..", Rohan started as the boy went back in for another spoonful, "Are you going to be there tomorrow?"

"W– what is tomorrow?" He asked through a mouthful of rice. 

Rohan scoffs, "you haven't told him?", He asked you, shocked as he tutted.

"Told me what?"

"There's the haldi tomorrow" The brunette boy waited for you to elaborate. "It's like an event that we do with the groom and the bride separately, it's hard to describe to be honest– I guess you'll just see it tomorrow"

"Not in those clothes"

"Rohan–"

"Oh, no offence man but that suit is bad. Like doesn't fit the vibe at all"

The light bulb lit above your head. "Then let's get you something else"

"Um– what–","What–", both the boys said together.

"You", You pointed at your brother, "do you have an extra suit?"

"Why the hell would I have an extra suit?"

"I know you do", you did infact not know.

"No I don't"

"Yes, you do"

"No, i–"

"Listen, Rohan if you run along right now and find a nice suit for steve, things will be a lot easier for you"

"Or what? What're you going to do?"

"Guys, it's fine–", Steve tried to speak up. 

"No steve, it's isn't fine","No steve, it is not fine", you both said simultaneously.

"Go and get the suit, Rohan", you ordered.

"Why don't you shut up, (y/n)?"

"Guys–", the boy started again.

"Shut up, steve ", "Were trying to have a civil conversation here Steve"

"It's better that you get going now, bhaiyya", you gave a sickly sweet mock smile.

"I don't think so, mummy, papa ko bata doon tere iss chakkar ke barey main?"

"Go ahead, bata de. But main bhi tumhari girlfriend ke kisse mummy-papa ko pesh karungi, it's only fair" Rohan paused, a mix of fear and annoyance flashed through his features— you'd got him good.

Steve had no idea what you were saying, you two could be making fun of him for all he knew. But there was something about the mischievous glint in your eyes that said that you knew that this would end with you winning.

Your brother rolled his eyes, let out a sigh and marched towards his room.

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing, I just asked him to get me the suit or I'll tell our parents about his girlfriend", you went to take a gulp of the fizzy drink, "Still hard to believe that he even has one but she comes useful with getting something out of him". Perks of being a younger sibling, you'd say.

Soon your brother stepped back in your room, and a yellow suit with embroidery hung over his arm.

"I seriously don't have yellow suits. I have the one I'll wear but I found this chikan kurta– don't know if it'll fit him"

"Um– chicken?" Steve questioned quietly.

"Yes, a chikan suit"

"Chicken suit?"

"Yes…? Oh, Steve, you idiot. Chikan is an special type of embroidered cloth"

"So, it's not made of chicken right?"

"No?!", "What? No dude"

You put the suit against his chest to see if the suit will fit him. his breath hitched at your proximity to him, he chided himself, reminding himself that your brother was still in the goddamn room.

"I think it'll fit fine enough", you mumbled to Steve before telling your brother, "Okay, fine. You're fine,i won't tell them"

Rohan shut the door behind him, muttering something along the lines of, "Fall for it every single time"

The next day, Steve came clad in the suit you'd given him. The fabric was a little too loose in some places and a little too tight in others, it wasn't a perfect fit but you'd be lying if you said that he didn't look amazing. Something about seeing him in traditionals just made your chest flutter and stomach flips. 

A smile etched itself onto his face when he noticed you in the crowd as he weaved through the people to get to you.

"Hi, you look great! And we're matching!"

"Steve everyone is wearing yellow", the boy looked around and indeed– every single person was wearing something yellow.

"Why yellow?"

"It'll make sense soon"

Confusion settled on his features as he saw the people putting a yellow paste on the bride's face and arms.

"That's a turmeric paste, we call it haldi. The groom and brides family do it separately to them"

"...why?"

"Steve it's a tradition, I'm sure it probably symbolises something but I don't really know, to be honest– it's just fun"

Soon enough, you led him back to your room before Steves migraine started acting up again and you talked the entire time. He told you a bit about traditions that they did in their weddings.

The next day, at work, Steve felt like he was starting to lose it– Robin was right there with him. He wouldn't shut up about you, 

"..and did I tell you that she got me a suit?"

"Yeah, Steve. Like seven times already"

You hadn't told him anything about any events that day and neither had you called the workplace. He was starting to get ansty.

Although he wanted to, he couldn't leave Robin alone at the video store as it was one of the busier days of the week. So, he helped Robin close the store up.

After dropping the dirty blonde girl at her house, the boy grit his teeth and drove to the house you were staying at.

The clock read 10:30. You were putting oil in your grandmother's hair and braiding it. The radio played a random cassette of Indian songs that Ravi had given you for the night. The buzz of the heater placed by the bed filled the air along with singers voice.

Through the song, you thought you heard a knock at the door but when you turned around, there was no one. So you turned back to braiding your grandmother's hair. Another knock, still nothing. Your motions stilled, trying to ascertain whether it was coming from the player. That when you heard it again. Another series of rapid knocks …. Coming from.. the window?

Your head snapped towards the window, the curtains were drawn but there was a sliver of an opening to be able to see outside. Your eyes met with a certain Steve Harrington. He waved his fingers at you awkwardly, your eyes widened as you looked back at your grandmother who was apparently still oblivious to the unwanted presence in her vicinity. You quickly gestured to Steve to be quiet, finished your grandmother's braid and led her to her room.

When you came back, Steve was still there, waiting patiently. You locked the door behind yourself, Your feet moved rapidly towards the window. When you finally opened the window–

"Hey–"

"What the hell are you doing here?", You interrupted him.

"Came here to return the suit", he held up a bag that had the suit.

"And 10:30 p.m. was the right time to do that?"

"Fair. Fair. I'm gonna be honest I was just bored", he raised his palms up in surrender, "Might've missed someone", he muttered the last part.

"Oh, missed me?" You questioned with a mock grin ignoring how your cheeks heated up, Steve Harrington really was your own personal heater. 

"Don't get too happy. I didn't say you– missed your brother"

"Well, then I think you climbed up the wrong room"

"Yeah, I should get going and probably climb up to his window. Y'know, woo him with my charm and uh– y'know, he'll forget about his girlfriend and I'll be what– your brother-in-law?"

"Are you implying that you're attracted to my brother?", You laughed. 

"He's a good looking guy", the boy deadpanned. 

"And here I thought you were starting to fall in love with me"

"You can dream on, princess"

"Just be glad my Nani is just like you or else you'd be in trouble"

"Like me?"

"My grandma. She's also hard of hearing and just like you refuses to wear her hearing aid"

"I don't need a hearing aid, y/n", you rolled your eyes at his words, "What were you two gals upto, anyway?"

"Uh, I was oiling her hair and she was about to do mine but someone decided to climb a window", you said, turning around to face the mirror and taking the oil in your palm and trying to put it on your scalp. 

"I wonder, who could that be?"

You rolled your eyes, then looked at the boy's reflection in front of you. His facial features moulded in an unreadable expression. And although unascertainable, your hands stilled mid action as you tried to decode what the boy was feeling. It was then when it came to you that the boy climbed up your window– you were on the second floor. The absurdity hit you like lightning. Your heart swelled, chest fluttering– the boy had scaled up a wall to meet you. Simultaneously, you tried not to think of why he would've done so, when he could've just met you during the day. Suddenly you felt self-conscious, exposed. Why was he looking at you like that?

"What?", You all but whispered. The boy didn't say a word, still staring at you through the mirror. You turned around, facing him, His gaze still unwavering. He was staring at you like that. The same way he'd looked at you when you first walked into the video store. You noticed that he was staring at your lips, again. Your brain did that thing again, where it would pretend that there was more to Steve's gaze– a labyrinthian code to decipher– rather than just a crutch to help with his hearing. 

There was something about looking at you through the mirror that made Steve's head dizzy. You weren't wearing any jewellery or makeup, skin bare– your imperfections present but they didn't feel like imperfections. You were wearing a white version of the same top which you seem to have a collection of– you'd called it a kurti the other day. There was a spot of oil on the fabric that you were perhaps unaware of. Your eyes were bare, no longer lined by dark Kohl. The pupils held a hint of confusion to them, understandably so– he reckoned people climbing in through windows isn't common. There was an intimacy to it, to seeing you without the addings of makeup and fancy clothes and under the moonlight. Something so incredibly�� close.

Your words ringed in his head, 'And here I thought you were starting to fall in love with me'. You'd said it as a joke, it was apparent. But the way his heart jumped whenever you looked at him, it had started to take the joke rather seriously.

"what?" You repeated, still a soft whisper.

I think I'm falling in love with you.

You moved closer to him, he shook his head as if to say "nothing".

its terrifying because I met you like a week ago..

"Are you okay, Steve?"

Can I please kiss you?

"Uh– you've got oil on your shirt"

Your eyes widened, and when you looked down, there was in fact a huge oil stain on your white kurti.

"Yeah, it's um– impossible to get rid of those stains"

You muttered curses that Steve didn't understand under your breath, your feet taking your embarrassed self towards the bathroom that was attached to your room, shutting the door behind you. You used all the soaps your bathroom held to rid the greasy spot on the fabric, to no avail. Minutes passed and you'd given up on the stain and now a new problem arose— you were in just your bra and sweatpants, your kurti was wet and greasy and you didn't take anything with you and Steve was right outside and–

You cracked open the door, the smallest opening to get a view of the room. Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed now, his head turning around at the creaking of the door.

"Don't turn!" You squeaked out, "not wearing anything"

The boy muttered a "sorry",closed his eyes and turned around despite how much he wanted not to. 

"Did the stain come off?"

"No. Can you get me a t-shirt or something from the closet?"

"Uh– sure", the boy moved, still making sure to keep his back turned towards the door. Honestly, even if Steve were to turn, he wouldn't see anything other than your head and maybe a bit of your shoulders. The brunette boy picked out the first t-shirt he found there and slowly walked towards the bathroom door, eye still averted. He held his hand out to give you the piece of clothing, "here". 

In order to get your hand out of the door, you had to widen the gap of the door. Steve's eyes flicked down towards the movement, unintentionally– the boy quickly averted his gaze again, a pink hue overcoming the colour of his cheeks. 

"Thanks", you muttered before slamming the door shut.

When you opened the door again, Steve's back was turned towards the door. 

"You can look now..", you said awkwardly. Suddenly it was so awkward, something lingering in the air that you dare not mention or think of. You didn't know why you felt nervous. The t-shirt steve had given you was just a simple graphic tee you'd picked from a thrift store in hawkins, the threads at the bottom fraying and the colour a little faded. You felt like you were back home in mid summer with the amount of heat radiating from your skin.

The boy cleared his throat and turned around, his cheeks still pink– eyes not entirely looking at you. Had you made him uncomfortable? 

"Um, d'you– do you want me to help you?" Steve's voice broke the silence, "With your hair?"

"Uh– sure..", you mumbled softly. The boy gestured to you to sit in the chair by the vanity. Your heartbeat loud against your chest as you tried your best to look nonchalant, you took a seat and Steve stood behind you– bottle of coconut oil in hand. 

He poured some onto his palm, unsure in his movements, nevertheless he started massaging your scalp– accidentally pulling at your hair in the process.

"Steve you're really bad at this", you joked to lighten to mood, chuckling a little.

"Sorry, I'm trying (y/n)", he joined you, letting out a little breathy laugh as he tried to untangle his fingers from the strands of your hair.

"It's okay", you whispered quietly. A comforting silence fell between the two of you, Steve's digits starting to get a hang of how to massage your scalp. Slowly, your tense shoulders started to slump down and you let out a soft sigh. You weren't sure if it was possible but your cheeks had gotten warmer. Almost a bit too hot.

"D'you want me to braid it?"

"You know how to?"

"I can try", he shrugged. 

Turns out, braiding hair is actually complicated, you tried your best to explain it vocally however it didn't really work out. So you both settled on tying your hair in a bun.

"Your turn", you commanded. He titled his head in confusion, eyebrows scrunched together, "might help with your migraines"

"I don't have one right now, (y/n)"

"Just shut up and sit down", you ordered before adding a soft, "please?"

The boy let out a breathy laugh before shrugging and running his slightly oily fingers through his hair. You put your hands on his shoulder, turned him around and pushed him down to make him sit between your knees– back facing you. His tense shoulders brushing against your knees.

You spilled the oil in your palm, warming it up a little and finally carding it through the chestnut brown strands. The boy's shoulders relaxed as you started massaging his scalp and forehead, his amber eyes fluttering close. 

"Damn, you're really good at this"

"I know", you stated. 

Steve wasn't sure when, but he fell asleep. You weren't sure when either. One moment he's joking of hiring you as his personal migraine reliever and next moment you're hearing his soft and barely audible snores– head lolling to the side. You continued to gently and delicately brush the boy's brown locks. 

There was something about him.

Something that never allowed you to pull your eyes away. Something soft and warm. Something so domestic. Something you could get used to. Something you wanted to get used to. Something you'd never felt before. Something real. Something too real. 

Too real.

No, you admonished. It isn't real.

Well, it feels real. 

You were only going to be in Hawkins for two more weeks. As soon as you would take that flight back home, it would be as real as fairies. 

You looked over at the clock, the thing read 11:47p.m. you bit your lip, looking back down at the boy deep in sleep; As much as you hated to do it you had to wake Steve up. 

"Hey, Steve", you gently nudged his shoulder, "Hey, mr. Video man", you shook him a little harder, "Steve, wake up"

The boy murmured in his sleep, further snuggling into your thigh. You leaned forward, your face beside his and you called his name again. Finally, his golden eyes fluttered open, a soft smile on his pink lips. He looked like he had been awoken from the best sleep– because he had. He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly had a good night's sleep despite only being in slumber for a few minutes. He couldn't recall being so comfortable in a really long time, and then waking up to the sight of your soft eyes and smile only added to the serenity of it all.

"You look really pretty", Steve murmured, voice deeper than normal and sleepiness still glazed over his features– mind still not conscious. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, heartbeat picking up. "I think i really want to kiss you"

You were felt like you were stuck in time, maybe you were. Your chest swelled but it also felt a little too tight, your cheeks burning up. You eyes locked into his, you noticed he was once again looking at your lips, and so now so were you. And before you realised, you slightly leaned towards him and you could've sworn the boy did the same. Your eyelids fluttered close as awaited the impending sensation. But it never came.

"Shit", your eyes flung open, catching Steve pulling away and scrambling to get up from the carpeted floor. "I'm– I'm so so sorry", the boy stammered, fingers running through his oily strands. His gaze flew over to the clock on the wall before saying, "I should get going, it's really late and I have work tomorrow and– I'm sorry." He turned to the window where he'd entered form earlier in the evening. His greasy fingers fumbling with the latch. When he finally got it to open, a gust of chilling air flew into the room– leaving shivers in their wake. Before climbing out the window, steve uttered, "I'll– bye!"

And suddenly you were cold all over again.

Taglist:

@555stargirl555 @bijleegiregi @luvsersi @lj127 @angelulls @bitch-biblioklept @1derfulzxyn @avianawrites @pl4ybhaicarti

[ezlebe]

Hanahaki disease tomgreg prompt 😊

“You’re still sick?” Greg asks, looking up when a cough is what Tom greets him with while turning the corner into the little printer cubicle. He blindly grabs the papers out of the tray, as he focuses on Tom with a shuffle closer to him. “Did you go to the doctor, yet – is it turning into, like… pneumonia?”

“It’s fine, Greg, don’t worry about it,” Tom says, shaking his head, like he has for the last three weeks of coughing; the excuses have gone from allergies, to a cold, then back to allergies, and now it’s just become solidly ‘stop asking, it’s nothing’ for two days, which is, like… not even a thing, especially since it’s only gotten worse. “It’s not fucking contagious.”

Greg feels his brow furrow tight over his eyes. “Is it cancer?”

“Greg –” Tom laughs in a bark, then immediately coughs, again, into a closed fist that he holds up against his lips. “It’s just this chronic… genetic thing. It’ll sort itself out.”

“It sounds really bad,” Greg mutters, looking down at the papers, counting out the still-warm copies with his thumb. “Like… Wet. Like tuberculosis.”

“I don’t have the consumption,” Tom says, lowering his voice into a cartoonish taunt. “Who have you ever met that has tuberculosis?”

Greg shrugs small with a glance back to Tom. “Maybe just you.”

Tom rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sweep around the entirety of the printer cubicle. “Trust me, it’s fine. I’m the one living with it. And you really got to stop with all this printing, bud.”

“Have you tried tea?” Greg asks, waving the copies in his hands with a tense jerk of his wrists. “Or a, uh – a steam bath?”

“We’ve gone over this; it won’t help, but I – ” Tom hacks and rubs at his throat with a wince, a marked tightness to his jaw where he rubs his thumb underneath it. He suddenly takes a step back, away from Greg, and his voice is hoarse, thick with something stuck at the back of his throat, when he next speaks: “I got to go, actually. Hey, uh, just email me that when you’re done. You don’t have to make the trek all the way over to my office.”

Greg furrows his brow, slightly, because Tom’s office is… on the same floor. It’s always been on the same floor, except that time he hid Greg in a mail room. “Tom, like… just go to the doctor?”

Tom just waves off the request, promptly turning on his heel without another word.

Greg hunches further over the papers when he hears loud hacking further down the hall. He swallows hard, sympathetic, and feels a heavy doubt settling uncomfortably across his shoulders. He’s just… He could be overreacting, worried for no reason, but Tom hardly ever gets sick; he barely gets hangovers. A cough lasting so long, when nothing cruddy is even going around the office… it can’t be something that’s actually mild.

He cuts and pastes, reads and rereads, editing together the project documents that Tom sent him and the ones he worked on, trying to make it all cohesive, and prints that, too, hole punching it for a folio and set up with a cover sheet. It reminds him of scrapbooking, if a lot less whimsical, but it’s pretty cool seeing his surname in the footer with Tom’s as a real contributor. He had made the not-really-a mistake of putting a hyphen the first time, more of a joke, expecting Tom to taunt and laugh and tell him to replace it with an ampersand; he’d only said his name should be first.

“Hey,” Greg says, knocking at the door to Tom’s office, as he pushes it open. He frowns a bit when he finds it empty, looking over his shoulder – he wonders if Tom is upstairs, but he also usually like texts some kind of mocking preparation for his own demise.

Greg slumps down onto the sofa, spinning the portfolio in his hand. He stares at the view for a few seconds, then sets down the bid while peeking over his shoulder at the door. He’s mostly done, now that this is finished, anyway… He can stick around until Tom gets back.

He ends up wandering around the office, tapping at Tom’s tinker toys and poking at the framed Mondale that’s replaced the old wedding photo. He looks down at his watch, as he rounds the back of the desk, smirking a little to himself while he sets his hands down flat on the surface, leaning over it, as if he’s threatening someone on the other side. It angles more at the windows now, instead of straight at the door; it really is a good view.

Greg hums a pair of beats, as he leans back, then frowns at the waste basket tucked under the desk, seeing something beneath the usual coffee cups and balled up papers – a red-pink smear in the inside of the bag. He looks toward the door, wary of Tom bursting in, then crouches down for a closer look.

“Fuck,” he mutters, lifting the trash can and putting it on the desk, pulling out all of the garbage with an ache building at the back of his throat. It’s definitely blood… it’s a lot of blood – is it tuberculosis? Shit, is that like even curable – wait…? “A flower?”

He stares at the flowers at the bottom of the bag, mayflowers, violets, and one that kind of looks like a daisy, every single one stained, mangled, and…

“Oh.”

Tom’s been hacking up flowers.

Greg slumps back into Tom’s desk chair with a shaky breath. He stares wide-eyed at the mess on the desk, then sweeps his eyes toward the window, lifting a hand up to rub hard across his mouth.

It’s not tuberculosis, at least, though it might be some kind of worse? It’s like magic, or something, which is like a total mystery on the entire like… everything of it. It could be anyone, too, like Shiv, or another ex, or a random person off the street, or in the office, or…

It could, also, maybe be the person Tom once declared he’d marry while still with his ex-wife; the person he tugged along with a scrunchy smile while ruining his and his ex-wife’s five-year-plan; the declared Sporus to his Nero, fiddling up the chain as the old Waystar buckles and folds against Lukas and his board’s ever-increasing influence. And could be that person, like… is maybe even the only option?

Fuck. Greg has just been – He thought Tom would say something when he was ready? The divorce went through, like… a while ago, but Tom had been pretty upset about it, like he still clearly cares for Shiv, even if he… sort of, really, obviously resents her, too, so Greg just – It seemed like Tom was just taking his time? He didn’t think Tom… No, he probably should have considered this kind of thing, after the way he’s seen Tom get pent up and intense with how he feels about anything else. Fuck.

He looks around and pulls open drawers, grabbing a tissue from a box, then reaches out and picks up one of the more held-together flowers, a pale pink mayflower, some symbol of Tom’s curseas much as his… any other emotion. It’s coated in drying, sticky blood, which is something the movies and books have never gotten into that Greg remembers, and it looks like… It just seems like a lot of blood to be from anywhere, let alone lungs. He turns in the chair back and forth on a swivel, glancing at the door with a swallow and another painful epiphany: it’s been a long time, but Tom still hasn’t come back.

Greg knows that death for this is – it’s on the table, but… no one ever actually dies in the like fictional accounts? But he’s never – he thought he hadn’t met anyone in real life who could even get it. He wishes Tom had – like, had an alert bracelet or something, like for diabetes; a convenient warning his ancestors were cursed by fairies, or demons, or a god, or whatever it is in his family.

He stares at the door another few seconds, then pulls out his phone, swiping at the messages, tapping the top, hand hovering at the keyboard… He taps at the name. If Tom yells at him from the bathroom, then like it’s not even the first time.

A low voice answers three rings in and too much of a relief. “Hey, there.”

“Hey, uh,” Greg says, hunching over the desk into his other hand. “I can’t find you – are you okay?”

“Not this again – I’m just fine, like I said,” Tom says, but his voice is wheezy and tight, like he’s holding something back, probably more flower buds stuck up in his lungs, or however it works; a pain easier to suffer, it seems, than ever talking to Greg about it. “It’s all good in the neighborhood. Went home.”

“You… went home?” Greg says, furrowing his brows, as his heart thuds a pair of beats against the inside of his ribs. “That doesn’t sound like okay at all.”

“Who taught you to care so much?” Tom says, then offers a laugh, only for it to break, just like earlier, into a wet cough.

Greg presses his lips tight together, reaching up and rubbing at his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I don’t know, really. I guess I just do.”

“Sure, sure,” Tom says, his next breath loud and raspy over the speaker. “Just waste those reserves of sticky sympathy on ol’ Tom.”

“Of course, Tom, I –” Greg leans back in the chair and picks at the tissue, again, casting his eyes across the mess. He never thought that he’d have to be the one to start this talk, but Tom is… literally letting it tear him up inside? “Can I – can I say something an-and you promise to not hang up? Even if you don’t like it?”

Tom sighs a more deliberate wash of static into the receiver. “Just this once.”

Greg spins a flower in his hand, stain now coming off dry on the tissue under his fingertips, and swallows hard as disgust and melancholy hit him hard all at once. “I wish you’d told me you were going home, because I would’ve gone with you. I… I always sort of want to –”

“It’s nice you want to be here, buddy, but I promise that I’m –”

“No, I – I mean I want to be wi-with you, Tom,” Greg says, swallowing when his voice threatens to break. He sort of likes mayflowers, too, and he wonders if that’s some awful part of it. “All the time. Not just when you’re sick.”

“Oh,” Tom intones, at length, voice pitching and fading to nothing.

“I – I know this is sort of out of nowhere, but – um, but maybe you don’t know someone wants to take care of you when you’re sick, you know, an-and that… it’s me?” Greg squeezes his eyes shut, slumping into his elbow on the desk and pressing his face into his forearm. “I want to help, because I, I… I sort of lo-love you a lot, but I, like – I can’t… if you sneak out without even telling me?”

Tom is utterly silent on the other end of the line, like he’s hung up and all that’s left is dead air.

“I dunno, I – ” Greg bites briefly at the inside of his lip. He doesn’t know if that’s good enough, or… if it won’t matter; the thought that how Tom looks at him is all in his head creeps along, but now with the sick panic from saying something about it. “I just – uh, just needed you to know. That.”

“Greg,” Tom says, barely any stronger than a croak of the syllable.

“And I kind of thought, maybe – I thought you felt the same? But if you don’t, I-I get it… you know, maybe it – I was…” Greg swallows, anxiety prickling up his throat, only worsening the longer Tom stays reticent. It’s just that’s the thing? Tom really could mean nothing at all by the intensity of jokes about kissing or Greg being his slave husband, except literally to razz at face value with what he’s said. Greg doesn’t know what he’ll even do if that’s what it is – except maybe find whoever Tom really does love, so he doesn’t die, then like transfer himself straight to Brightstar Antarctica. “I understood it wrong. I’m not super great at that a lot of the time.”

Tom keeps silent for a few more awful moments, then exhales another wheezy sigh into the receiver. “You understood fine, Greg, just missing the part where I got up to the line where I could step up, and I balked. I… I decided that might really scare you off, and turned gummy and limp, like a little crybaby about it. It turns out you’re a much braver man than me.”

“I’m really not, I…” Greg shakes his head, hunching further into the curve of his shoulders and pressing the flower stem flat under his fingers. He’s got relief hesitantly flooding his chest, spreading outward while a smile creeps across his face, but Tom still sounds so unwell. “I could’ve said something earlier, Tom, but – uh, but I wanted you to bring it up first, more, because… just like you being married and all, and to Shiv, and then I, uh – ” He drags his teeth against his lip, lowering his voice. “I even wondered if you’d one up yourself, a little, too?”

Tom coughs a weak laugh, but it thankfully doesn’t seem loaded. “Oh, did you?”

“Yeah, like…” Greg stares at the petals, loosening and falling, as the bloom starts to fall apart under his attention. “A grand gesture that – um, that isn’t like under some duress.”

“Everything I do is off the cuff, Sporus – how about you just say what you want, you spoiled boy?”

Greg feels heat promptly flood his cheeks. “Can I, like… just come over to make sure you’re okay? You’re really freaking me out with this cough, Tom. You don’t ever –” He jerks and sits up with a start, as the flower in his hand all of a sudden disintegrates. He stares at the empty space inside the tissue, then leans up to peek into the wastebasket, finding the bag inside empty except for stains and bits of paper. “…Get sick.”

“Gregory, I’m totally alright,” Tom insists, maybe now honestly, and his voice really does sound better. “But if you want to… I obviously want you with me, too, since we’re flaying ourselves open here.”

“Yeah? I – I can like get soup, you know, do you want hot and sour?” Greg says, scratching a hand through his hair, wondering how any of this works – does Tom, like, have permanent damage to his lungs, or did it clear up, too? Is it like smoking? Is there a bunch of little flower scars? “Ginger chicken? Or a medicine for your lungs – ”

“You only ever need to bring yourself,” Tom interrupts, in a soft tone that Greg’s not sure he’s ever heard, only for it to be broken up by a click of a tongue. “Wait, hey – email the bid, before you leave. I want to look it over.”

“I can bring it?” Greg says, as he stands, glancing over at the purple portfolio sitting at the arm of the guest sofa. “I already printed it out.”

“You’re wiping out the trees, Greg,” Tom says, groaning hard with exaggerated disappointment.

“I think maybe it’s –” Greg sweeps the trash back into the basket with a brief, eye level study of the desk to make sure he’s got all of it. He doesn’t… get magic, like how did it all just go away? Isn’t there like a – a something can’t be from nothing science law? “Recycled?”

“Oh, yeah, is it?” Tom says, voice mocking, so he’s definitely feeling better, since that particular pitch hasn’t been heard in a bit. “Could be you’re printing out our little projects on Cruises documents.”

“Tom,” Greg says, feeling his nose scrunch while he sets the trash back where it goes under the desk. He can’t help the following laugh, though, “Don’t say that.”

[https-harlow]

yes! a sneak peak!! ive seen a fwb wit both jack and urban but not one with these twists ❤️👀

Okay, here's a sneak peak, not edited yet or anything, and I still need to write the beginning so it starts kinda weird but just ignore that, pretend there's context. There will be smut in this, so it's going to be 18+, there is very mild smut, just teasing, in the sneak peak too. Let me know if I should keep writing this or if it's to cliche.

“You know that teasing me is just going to make this take longer?” Jack asked, as you rested your hands on his chest, that wasn’t your problem. “Are you going to behave?” Jack asked again and you shrugged.

“I don’t promise anything.” You said, making Jack squeeze your hip.

“One more chance. I really need to finish this, then I’ll give you all the attention you want.” Jack told you, you sighed but nodded, even though you knew you wouldn’t listen. You took one more chance as one more chance to distract him. 

You waited a couple of minutes before you started to grind your hips into Jack’s harder, letting out a small whine just loud enough for Jack to hear, Jack’s hands going to your hips to still them. 

“What did I tell you?” Jack asked and you sighed again.

“Just wanted to help you relieve stress. I know you’ve been stressed with work.” You told him, this time Jack sighed running his hand through your hair.

“I would let you if this didn’t have to be done tonight. Not telling you no because I don’t want you, because that’s far from the truth.” Jack said pushing his hips up into yours so you could feel that he had gotten even harder in the last few minutes. “Go bother Urb” Jack teased you, you laughed softly, you both knew you weren’t bothering him, he didn’t mind what you were doing at all, but that was the problem. 

“We both know you don’t mind what I’m doing.” You teased back, making Jack roll his eyes jokingly. Urban looked over once he heard his name, he hadn’t been paying attention.

“What about me?” Urban asked, as you stood up from Jack’s lap. 

“Jack says I’m distracting him.” You explained, walking over to where Urban was laying on the couch. Once you got closer Urban held out his arms for you, wrapping them around you once you laid with him.

“She is.” Jack said underneath his breath, but loud enough for you and Urban to hear, making you both laugh.

“Missed you.” Urban said and buried his head in your neck as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I missed you too.” You told Urban, laying your arm over his chest. Urban and Jack had gotten home the day before from traveling, and it was the first time in a while you didn’t go with them.

“I told you to come with us.” Urban said, and that was true, Urban spent days trying to convince you to go with them.

“You were only gone a week.” You reminded him.

“Still to long.” Urban said.

“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were in love with me.” You teased Urban, and he forced out a small laugh. 

That’s where your relationship with Jack and Urban got complicated. Sure, Jack and Urban told you that they loved you, but you always assumed it stayed platonic, and when Jack said it, it was, but there were different feelings behind it when Urban said it to you. Just like there were different feelings behind it when you would tell Jack you loved him then when you said the same words to Urban. With the relationship you had with them, even when you were just friends and not friends with benefits it was completely normal for you to say you loved them, and for them to say it back without thinking too much about it.

 You never noticed the subtle differences in the way Urban treated you over Jack. It’s not that Jack treated you bad, that was far from the truth.

[spunky-89]

Derek Hale x Reader - Mate = Mom - Prologue

A/N: So full disclosure, when I wrote this I was still binging the series and was only in season 3. However, I had read so much fanfiction I felt like I knew pretty much everything. I have since nearly finished (I can’t make it through 6b, I just can’t) And I had had this idea rolling around in my brain since I started the show so here we are. It has been edited to fit my new knowledge about the show but lemme just say this is a happy ending AU where no one really dies and people don’t have to go through as much heartbreak. Depending on the response to this I’ll probably make it a series as I have so many ideas for this concept but we’ll see how it goes :D

Warnings: None, just fluff

WC:1.2k

------------------------------------------------------

Once things had finally calmed down again after everything with Jackson and the Kanima issue, Derek knew he needed to stop avoiding his phone which was blaring every few hours. He just knew that it wouldn't go well, and ignoring reality was easier than accepting it. So he continued to ignore his phone. 

This went on for a week.

Derek had invited all the wolves to his loft, meaning Isaac, Scott, Boyd, and Erica. And of course, Stiles had to tag along. He wanted to try and train the wolves to enhance fighting skills and their control. Scott was reluctant to join in, not wanting to be in Derek's pack, but he knew he needed to better understand and control his abilities. 

So far they were doing okay, but they still had a ways to go before they were ready to take on their normal teenage lives. He had just given them a break, he only did it because they were complaining too much for him to make them keep fighting. The younger wolves collapsed on the floor panting and bleeding a bit. Stiles went around and gave water to them all as he was chattering away.

“You know there are better ways to train than trying to kill them. I mean are you like a navy seal dropout, because I don’t even think they have this rigorous training…” he kept talking, but Derek stopped listening. He was focused on something else entirely. He could smell something, something he shouldn’t have been able to smell.

He slowly moved towards the door, perking his ears up to try and listen for any movement outside the door. Low and behold he could hear that click-clack of high-heels strutting down the hallway. He looked back at the pack in panic before schooling his features and muttering an ‘I’ll be back’ before he headed for the door.

“Does that mean we’re done for the day?” Erica called to him. He didn’t make a move like he’d heard her and just slipped out the heavy iron door. 

Once he had shut the door he looked down the hall and there you were. Seeing him step out of the loft had you freezing. Your face flickering between joy (and relief) and anger. Derek paused to see what you would do, and when you made no movement, he started to head towards you with long strides. As much as he was fearful of your reaction to his disappearance, he had missed you terribly. So his pace quickened. This seemed to snap you out of your daze and had you running as fast as you could towards him. You met in the middle as you jumped into his arms as he held you tight, lifting you off the ground for a moment before placing you back down. He didn’t release his hold on you though. He rested his forehead against yours as you leaned into him.

“I want to hate you and be mad, I really do. But gosh I’ve missed you too much to care.” You spoke softly. He let a little smile take over his face before he pulled you in for a long-overdue kiss. You melted into it immediately. You spent the next few minutes just holding each other in the hallway, stealing kisses every now and again, smiling dumbly at each other. 

“God I’ve missed you,” Derek mumbled against your lips.

“Is that why you didn’t answer my calls or texts?” You inquired, a hint of bitterness in your tone. You pulled away, but only slightly, just so you could fully see his face. He looked guilty. 

“I’m sorry, things have just been crazy here and I didn’t want you involved in this business.” He explained.

“So that means you can’t send a simple text saying ‘hey I’m okay, gonna be longer than I thought, love you’.” you snapped, your anger and hurt coming back full force. He sighed and looked down.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I guess I just wanted to keep you as far from this world as possible. And that meant far from me.” 

“What happened to ‘in this together’, huh? Did those words actually mean anything to you or was it just to make me comfortable enough to run the first chance you got?” 

He was shocked at your words. And then he realized why you were so mad. You weren’t mad at him, you were mad at yourself. Your insecurities had taken hold of you and he wasn’t there to help fight them off. Sure, he wasn’t always great with words, but somehow you found comfort in him. And then he had left.

He pulled you back into his chest, and even though you resisted slightly, in the end, you succumbed to his embrace. 

“I don’t know what your brain is telling you but I can promise you, it’s wrong. I only left because I was worried about my sister. It had nothing to do with you or us.” He promised. He felt you sag, the anger dissipating. 

“Just promise me you won’t do that again. I can’t have you just disappear on me.” You begged.

“I promise, no more leaving.” 

“Good,” You mumbled as you brought his lips back to yours. It was barely a few moments before the sound of a heavy door creaking open could be heard, even by your human ears.

Derek sighed as he could hear the young wolves behind him trying to stealthily exit the loft to see what the commotion in the hallway was about. He could hear them whisper arguing about being quieter. 

“Do I wanna know?” You asked, looking up at him and seeing his face pinched in mild exasperation. 

“There’s a reason I stuck around,” He said, still keeping his back to the loft and using his body to subtly shield yours from view. 

“Okaaay,” 

“Long story short, there’s a bunch of teenage werewolves trying to eavesdrop and are failing terribly by talking way too loud.” His voice raised at the end so that he was pretty much shouting down the hall. Even you could hear the “oh shit” that was let out as the wolves tried to scramble back inside the loft. You just laughed. Between these kids getting caught and Derek’s long-suffering look, you couldn’t help it. Derek desperately tried to keep a straight face muttering “It’s not funny, they’re a pain in my ass.” But the more you laughed, the harder it was to keep a smile from creeping onto his face. 

“Com’on grumpy pants, let’s meet these wolves that are somehow more important than me.” You teased as you took his hand and started walking towards the door you saw him come out of. He groaned and fell into step with you.

“That’s not what that was and you know it.” He grumbled. 

You giggled and said, “I know, but you know I love teasing you.” He just mumbled something under his breath and you smiled, reaching over to peck his cheek. 

You quickly reached the large iron door and Derek gave you a look before pulling it open and saying, “(Y/N), meet the pack.”

[glimmerglanger]

One more snippet prompt for Home (On the Range): What's this about a Spring Wedding? :DDDD?

:DDDDD Well, Cody had to wait more than a full year for the wedding, but they did get there! I think this wraps up the prompt fills for HotR, because I need to get down to finishing/editing everything for Codywan week, or I'll never be done in time. Thanks, everyone, for coming on this ride!

~~~~

The strawberries were all flowering by the morning of the wedding, too early in the spring for them to start putting forth fruit. It was - Cody felt distantly aware of - an odd thing to consider on his wedding day, standing under a wooden arch that he’d made with Jango’s help.

He dragged his eyes away from the rows of berry plants, looking around the area they’d set up. The chairs lined up neatly were empty, still. The guests - outside of his family, anyway - wouldn’t start arriving for hours yet.

The sun was only just creeping up over the horizon. He could have been back in bed, curled up beside Ben, but…

But he’d wanted to check everything, one last time, walking around the arch and nudging at the flowers they’d wound around it the previous evening. The morning felt cool - they’d had a mild spring - but he was sweating, wearing only an undershirt and jeans.

Soon, he’d need to go back inside, pull on the fancy clothes they’d picked out, straighten the shirt with the embroidered blue and gold roses over his shoulders… Ben had suggested, months ago, when they seriously got down to planning the wedding, that he wear his lucky jeans and he was still considering it, but…

But maybe he’d been lucky enough, in his life, and didn’t need to taunt the universe by asking for more luck on his wedding day.

“Getting cold feet?” Ben asked, quietly, from behind him, and Cody jerked to look at him. He found Ben wearing one of his shirts and loose sweatpants, standing by the first row of seats, holding a steaming cup of tea, hair disheveled from sleep.

“Hardly,” Cody said, exhaling and releasing some of the anxious energy twisting it’s way through his chest. He walked over, tucking two fingers into the waistband of Ben’s pants to pull him in for a kiss. “You know I’d have married you last spring.”

Ben hummed against his mouth, curling an arm over his shoulders, leaning their foreheads together. “Well, I appreciate your patience, then,” he said, and Cody hummed. He understood why Ben had wanted to wait, wanted them to get to know one another more, wanted to no longer be Boba’s teacher when they got married.

He understood all the good and logical reasons for waiting.

But he still would have married Ben on the day after proposing, if Ben had been ready.

“I love you, you know,” Ben said, quietly, in the place where they’d be married in only a few hours, voice infinitely soft, and Cody slid an arm around him, careful not to pull him too close, not to spill the tea he was still holding.

“I know,” he said, and stole a kiss, chest full to bursting with joy and sweet anticipation for everything they had yet to come.

[gins-potter]

365 Days of Romitri

Day 15: Fire

holy crap, two updates in three days? who is this productive bitch? couldn't be me. truthfully this update would have been out last night but uh i was drinking and did not trust myself to finish editing and post it.

Every single muscle in Dimitri’s body locks up tight when the alarm starts to blare, loud and insistent, through St Vad’s. It takes him a long moment, but he realises that it isn’t a breachment alarm but a garden variety fire alarm. Not that that’s any less worry-inducing, but he is at least able to breathe again.

Yuri, with whom Dimitri is in the middle of sharing a coffee, turns to him, eyebrow raised in something between genuine concern and exasperation. They know it’s not a drill - they would have been alerted beforehand if it was - and it’s likely due to a minor incident in one of the Moroi’s magic classes. Regardless, they both set their coffee aside and are on their feet in an instant, heading towards the door.

“I swear if it ends up being one of those punk fire-users pulling a prank…” Yuri mutters under his breath before trailing off.

Dimitri forces himself to huff a breath of laughter. He knows logically that it probably is, just a joke or a classroom exercise that got a little out of hand, and yet he still can’t find it in himself to unclench.

They emerge from the building and Alberta falls into step beside them, her quick pace meaning that she easily keeps up with Dimitri and Yuri both despite being nearly a foot shorter than them.

“Know what it is yet?” Dimitri asks, glancing sidelong at her.

“One of the magic classrooms?” Yuri interjects, but Alberta shakes her head grimly.

“Home ec.”

Dimitri’s blood instantly runs cold and he stumbles, mind running over Rose and Christian’s schedule because of course even with her limited duty she’s on today, and of course Christian has home ec class right now. He lengthens his stride, forcing Alberta and Yuri to practically jog to keep up and even that doesn’t feel fast enough, not when every instinct he possesses is screaming at him to run.

When they finally make it up the stairs to the classroom they find the fire out and the room in a state of organised chaos, having been beaten there by half a dozen guardians as well as Dr. Olendzki. One guardian is standing at the front of the room with the teacher who is shaking her head, hand over her mouth, as though she can’t quite comprehend what has just happened. The other guardians are checking the damage which seems contained to a large scorch mark on a wall near one of the stations. Most of the students are gathered in the back corner amusing themselves, but two are sitting apart with one being tended to by Dr. Olendzki.

When Dimitri sees who it is, he crosses the room in a handful of long strides, Alberta and Yuri on his heels.

“Roza,” he says, the loving moniker coming out without even thinking as he touches her shoulder. “What happened?”

Rose glances up at him, seemingly unperturbed by both his worried expression and the fact that her arm is currently being examined by the doctor. She rolls her eyes half-heartedly, flicking a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Nothing, just the idiot behind us stopped paying attention to what he was doing and his damn station nearly exploded.”

“Rose reacted so fast,” Christian puts in, uncharacteristically impressed. “The flames were coming right at us and she shoved me out of the way.”

Rose grins up at them, hiding a wince as Dr. Olendzki prods at her arm. “If only one of you guys had been around, you would have given me full marks for my response time.”

“Is she alright?” Dimitri asks Dr. Olendzki, ignoring Rose’s wisecracking.

“I’m fine-”

“Is she alright?” he asks again, a little more forcefully.

“Just a first degree burn, and a rather mild one at that,” the doctor says, looking faintly amused.

She indicates a slightly red area on Rose’s forearm, and, unable to help himself, Dimitri takes Rose’s arm in his own hands, forcing himself to be gentle despite his haste, and looks for himself.

“I’ll prescribe some burn cream to put on it, but that’s more for her own comfort than anything else.” Dr. Olendzki turns back to Rose. “I’ll send some to your dorm later, okay? But come see me if the pain continues after three days.”

Dr. Olendzki touches Rose’s shoulder reassuringly and snaps her bag closed, nodding to Alberta before making her leave.

“You’re done for today,” Dimitri says instantly to Rose, who, predictably, opens her mouth to argue.

“No, come on, I’m fine.”

“I said you’re done.”

“I’m on limited duty already, I need to be on today”

Alberta raises an eyebrow, glancing between them with a hint of surprise at their vehemence. Yuri coughs uncomfortably and excuses himself, while Christian, looking perplexed, also glances between them.

“You heard Guardian Belikov,” Alberta says finally, putting an end to the argument. “He’s responsible for you and he said you’re done, so you’re done. Go back to your room, Rose,” she continues, voice softening a fraction. “Take the rest of the afternoon off and put some cream on that burn.”

Rose still looks ready to argue but Alberta simply walks away, protests falling on deaf ears.

Christian clucks his tongue in vague sympathy. “Sucks, Rosie.”

Rose directs a vulgar gesture towards him and Dimitri doesn’t even have it in him to sigh at their bickering or reprimand her. “Come on,” he says, touching the back of her shoulder to usher her out of the classroom.

“I really am fine, Comrade. You didn’t need to do that,” she sas as they walk down the hallway, frowning when she doesn’t respond. “Hey, what’s up?”

Dimitri merely shakes his head, unable to describe the level of panic that had swept over him when he’d realised she might be in trouble. The panic that seems only inches away lately with everything that’s been going on and the constant reminders of how easily she could be taken away from him.

“Seriously,” she says, stopping and grabbing his arm to force him to do the same. “You’re worrying me now.”

Dimitri takes her by the elbow, gentle and mindful of her burn and pulls her into a forgotten alcove, where he brackets her against the wall, hands on either side of her head. “Tell me the truth,” he says, staring intently into her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice sure, all lingering traces of amusement vanishing. “I’m okay.”

The air leaves Dimitri in a rush and his eyes slide shut as he leans forward to rest his forehead against hers.

“Hey,” she whispers, hand coming up to rest lightly against his cheek, fingers tapping out a nervous, staccato rhythm, the only sign that he’s still worrying her. “What’s wrong? I’m okay.”

I know, he wants to say. He wants to say but can’t because he doesn’t know if she really is these days. He doesn’t know if she’s okay because she seems to have all these hurts that he can’t do anything to fix. These hurts that he would do anything to fix but doesn’t know how.

And so, because it’s the only thing he can do, instead of answering his hand comes up to cover hers still against his face and he turns his head to press a kiss against her burn, lips so achingly gentle that it makes Rose sigh. Because he might not be able to fix all her hurts, but he can kiss this one and make it a little better.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

💫✨💕send this to ten bloggers you think are wonderful. keep the game going 💕✨

Have a nice day/night/dance battle with the peacocks! :D

Alright, since you are a) very cool and fun and b) you took the time to send such a lovely message, I’m going to give you a part of a fic series I started many moons ago and abandoned for other things

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Hatter Has Definitely Kissed Every Executive At Least Once And This Is How It Went:  Ann Edition 

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Rating: PG-13

Tags: Alcohol, shenanigans, everyone’s cutting loose, mild reluctance (but these people don’t turn down dares so y’know)

Summary: As a “team building” exercise, all of the Executives have met for a little get-together; and with alcohol and a rousing game of “truth or dare” involved, what could possibly go wrong?

“Ann,” Chisiya says, “truth or dare?”

Ann sighs.  Her red-lacquered fingernails tap rhythmically against the green of a beer bottle, the glassy sound barely audible above the chatting of the half-drunk executives.

“I already told you, I’m not playing.”

“The fuck you aren’t,” Niragi snaps, grip on his rifle tightening as he downs another shot of vodka, “no skips, that’s the rule.”

“If I had to do it, you have to do it,” Keiichi offers mournfully, taking a sad sip of bourbon from a crystal-cut glass, “it’s only fair.”

Ann turns her attention towards Hatter.  He’s taking a healthy swig from—ew, is that a bottle of peppermint schnapps?  She wrinkles her nose in disgust as he raises his eyebrows in a suggestive arch.

“This is a terrible idea,” she tells him for the fourth time in the last hour, “and you should feel bad for making us do this.”

“Ann.  Sweet, darling,” Hatter takes note of her unimpressed grimace, “angry Ann.  This is all an exercise in trust.  A way for all of us executives to bond.”

“And because he loves the drama,” Aguni adds.

“I really do,” Hatter says wistfully, “So, come on.  One round and then you can go back to summoning demons or whatever you do in your little basement crypt.”

Ann sighs.  Everyone is looking at her with expectant eyes.  She finishes the rest of her beer and puts the empty bottle on the table.

“Fine,” she says, “One round, and then I’m leaving.”

“The ice queen giveth in,” Chisiya says, the corners of his mouth turning up onto a mischievous grin, “So, pick your poison.  Truth...or dare?”

“Dare,” Ann says coolly, and the room erupts.  Even Last Boss, who had been lurking in the corner until now, gasps.  In a rare show of camaraderie, Niragi slaps Chisiya on the back and tells him to ‘give that bitch a good one.’

Imbeciles.  All of them.

“Everyone gather ‘round the table,” Chisiya purrs—yes, purrs—as he looks her with a twinkle in his eye, “because this particular date involves each and every one of you.”

“Even me?” asks Last Boss.

“But of course,” Chisiya says, “we need everyone if we’re going to play...spin the bottle.”

Ann feels the blood drain from her face.  Oh, this little blond twerp is despicable.  He is evil and terrible and—

“No re-spins.  No backing out.  The kiss must last a minimum of five seconds, but it can go longer if you feel so inclined.”

“I won’t,” Ann answers curtly.  There is not a person in this room she could ever want to kiss.  (Except for Mira, but.  Well.  That’s a thought for another day.)

“I don’t know,” Niragi says with an exaggerated flick of his tongue, the silver piercing winking at her in a supposedly seductive manner, “once you get a taste of a real man, you might find yourself hooked.”

“Perhaps Niragi wouldn’t be so bad,” Mira muses with a serene smile, “his oral fixation is off-putting on the best of days, but it might translate well to a more intimate experience.  That is, until he starts talking again.  Then it’ll be terrible.”

Niragi’s face twists into a sharp scowl as he tries to sputter a comeback; drunkenness and embarrassment have apparently robbed him of his mental faculties, so he crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Ann says with a huff.  

She places her empty beer bottle, label-side down, on the long wooden table.  For the first time this evening, everyone is silent.  Honestly, it’s kind of nice—it would be better if she didn’t have to end up kissing one of them, but, beggars can’t be choosers.

“You know,” Ann says, “there is a possibility it could land on me.  Does that mean I don’t have to kiss anyone?”

“That means you get to choose,” Chisiya says, “which...well, that will most certainly add some spice to the night, wouldn’t it?”

“Very evil,” Aguni concludes with a nod, “I like it.”

Hm.  Well, it was worth a shot.  

With one final, annoyed sigh, Ann places her hand on the bottle and gives it a powerful spin.  Maybe it’ll spin right off the table and shatter on the floor.  She wouldn’t have to do anything weird, and then she could just go back to her room and take a long bath.  Alone.  The way the universe intended.

It’s impossible not to watch the bottle spin, light refracting off the glass and casting flickering spots of light around the room.  It’s just a kiss.  She’s kissed people before.  Many people.  At least two.  

Friends kiss each other all the time.  Not her friends, but other people and their friends.  And these people aren’t really ‘friends,’ but they’re...acquaintances.  Colleagues.  Does that make it better or worse?

It’s slowing down now.  With each passing second, her fate is being decided by the neck of the bottle.  Mira, Last Boss, Keiichi—oh, God, please don’t let it be Keiichi, they have a meeting in the morning, that would be so awkward...

But, luckily, the bottle does not land on Keiichi.  It does not land on Niragi, nor does it land on Chisiya.  Last Boss has also been spared, as have Aguni and Mira.  That leaves only one candidate...

“Oh, Ann,” Hatter says, clapping his hands together and looking entirely too pleased with this very strange turn of events, “I always knew there was something between us!”

The thing he’s talking about is tolerance—she tolerates him because it is both sensible and beneficial to be on his good side.  He also, surprisingly enough, defers to her expertise on certain matters, which is more than can be said for her previous employers.  They are friendly, certainly, but most certainly not friends.  

And...lovers?  

Out of the question.

But Fate (and a smug little blonde) have decided that they share a moment of passion. Could she have spun worse?  Yes.  Could she have spun better?  Absolutely.  100%.  Without a doubt.

But Ann is a woman of integrity.  When she commits, she commits.  And so, as she walks to the other side of the table, she keeps her spine straight and her head held high.  She refuses to let these people see her falter.

“In addition to the parameters already given, I’d like to establish some rules of my own,” she says coolly, barely resisting the temptation to roll her eyes when he takes another gulp of alcohol.  Yep, that’s definitely peppermint schnapps he has—she can tell by the stench of it, the way it’s sharpness burns at her eyes.

She’s always hated peppermint schnapps.

“Fine, fine,” Hatter says with a wave of his hand, “as long as you promise not to fall completely in love with me in the process.”

That gets a laugh from everyone—and even Ann considers cracking a smile at the thought of someone like her ever feeling something for someone like him.  

“No tongue.  No teeth.  And,” Ann tell him firmly, “if you want to leave this room with your balls intact, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

The group ooh’s at that.  Ann doesn’t look at them.  She keeps her gaze focused on the man in front of her, watching him intently for any signs of weakness.

All she gets is a smirk.

“I would expect nothing less of you, Ann,” he replies, “however, you’re more than welcome to put your hands anywhere on my person.”

He leans in slightly, almost as if he’s letting her in on a secret.

“I could even give you a few suggestions, if you like.”

What a perfectly hideous thing for him to say.  It doesn’t help that he’s fluttering his eyelashes at her like some kind of lovestruck cartoon character.  

It’s annoying.

He’s annoying.

With a roll of her eyes, Ann grabs Takeru by the silk of his obnoxious robe and crashes her mouth against his-- because she’ll be damned if he’s the one kissing her.  

Five...

The group gasps-- Takeru included, the noise muffled by the seal of their lips as she kisses him fully and firmly.

Four...

And it’s...not as gross as it could be, but it’s still a very odd experience.  His lips are soft enough, and his beard-moustache-whatever-the-fuck is scratchy in a way that is.  Well, it’s interesting.  Not good, but...interesting.

Three...

“This is fucking weird,” Niragi shouts, sounding very disgusted.

Two...

“It’s like watching my parents,” Last Boss adds, “when they were still trying to convince my sister and I they were still in love and weren’t going to get a divorce.”

One...

And done.

“Okay,” Ann says flatly as she pulls away and swallows a grimace at the sight of her favorite shade of lipstick on Takeru’s lips (and is actually a very nice compliment to his skin tone, frustratingly enough) “Can I go now.” 

For good measure, she releases his robe with a disdainful flick of her fingers and subtly brushes her hands off on her shorts.  It’s not enough to get the scent of peppermint schnapps and awkwardness off of her skin, but it can’t hurt.

“A deal’s a deal,” Chisiya concedes, his eternally mischievous smirk stretched across his cheeks, “And I must say, I didn’t expect you to fulfill your end of the bargain so...enthusiastically.”

“That’s because nobody can resist me,” Takeru gloats, bottle of alcohol back in his grip as if it had never truly left, “It’s not her fault I’m so delectable--”

“Detestable,” Ann corrects under her breath.

“--And, even though you’ll try to deny it,” Takeru continues, disregarding her comment, “both of us know that there’s a part of you that liked kissing me.”

“I liked the part when she stopped,” Mira chirps cheerfully, “In fact, I think we all did!”

“You have no idea,” Aguni murmurs solemnly into his drink, his eyes darting towards Takeru with an unimpressed look.  That’s...hm, there’s clearly some kind of story there, although Ann isn’t sure she wants to know about it. 

Everyone begins talking amongst themselves once again-- Niragi has offered to spin the bottle next, and there’s a small argument breaking out over whether or not the group should continue with their original game of ‘truth or dare’ or pivot to this new one. 

And, Ann?

Ann doesn’t stick around to find out.