#but i WILL look the other way if you wanna start laundering

[katyawriteswhump]

Closer–a stranger summer/steddie microfic

For @astrangersummer wk 4 prompts, outdoors/camping and @steddiemicrofic May prompt, ‘top.’ Thank you also to @bananahoneycomb and yesdanger for inspiration on discord :) All my stranger things fic are also here on AO3

Rating: M CW: sex Words: 510  Tags: established steddie, hurt/comfort, smut, nightmares, cute, fluff, post s4 eddie lives, top eddie, bottom steve.

...

Eddie rolled into another excruciatingly uncomfortable position on the lumpy earth.

“The great outdoors sucks,” he informed the Milky Way, which swept above him. “It's a one-way-ticket to insomnia-ville.”

In the adjacent sleeping bag, Steve snored softly.

This had been Steve’s idea: “We saved the world. It totally owes us good times.”

Nonsensically to Eddie, 'good times’ included sleeping on a hilltop under the stars.

Now, Eddie rested his chin in his hand and watched Steve sleep. Steve looked pretty, bathed in moonlight. Eddie’s heart swelled with love. Christ, if he told Steve how cute his sleepy snufflings were, Steve would chew his head off.

Wouldn’t change my bitchy darling for a sell-out gig at the Garden…

Steve gasped, began fighting his sleeping bag. “No! Robin!”

“Sssssh, Babe.” Eddie leaned over Steve, whose arm escaped his cocoon, flailing wildly.  “Ow!”

Steve sat up. “Wha—?”

“Bad dream?” Eddie rubbed his nose, not exactly stunned. The nightmares usually started when they both slept, and Steve rolled out of Eddie’s arms. “Bats or creepy vines, honey?”

“Both.” Steve blinked. “Shit, did I..?”

“You’re no demo-bat. See? No blood.”

Steve buried his fingers in his messy hair. “Jesus, I’m sorry. This idea was dumb. Thank Christ the kids ditched us, Robin cycled home, and—"

“Shhh.” Eddie pressed his forefinger to Steve’s lips. “I got to watch your ass go as you raced to the summit. Totally worth it.” Steve’s mouth quirked toward a smile. “Besides, it’s my turn to look after you. In hospital, you sat with me so long, Wayne complained he couldn’t get a front-row seat. Cuddle?”

Steve nodded, squeezed into Eddie’s sleeping bag. Spooning Steve from behind, Eddie rubbed circles on Steve’s belly, till Steve stopped trembling.

Eddie might’ve dozed off then. However, his dick nestled against Steve’s ass…

“Seriously?” Steve scrubbed against Eddie’s semi.

“Up for it, honey?”

“Totally. But the kids—"

“—lit a campfire miles away.”

“Fine. I wanna feel something other than my skin crawling with horror.”

Eddie wrapped his hand around Steve’s dick.

“Not that,” Steve mumbled. “Want to feel you in me, dipshit.”

“Your wish is my command, Princess.”

“Shut the fu—Gnng!”

Eddie hand-jobbed Steve into a frenzy anyhow, then worked his fingers into Steve, slicked with lube and mingled juices. When Eddie finally eased inside, Steve clenched super-hard about him, which was super-sweet.

Nearly pushed Eddie over the edge waaaaay too soon. He paused, relishing Steve’s growling gasps.

“You finally snoozing, Munson?”

“Nope. Finally waking up.”

He fucked Steve hard. Steve finally quit complaining: “Yes. Th-there. Pleeease… Christ!”

They both came hard—Steve yelling and messily—before snuggling in Steve’s fresh sleeping bag.

Seven hours later, Steve flipped over in the circle of Eddie’s arms.

“Good sleep, Stevie?”

“Best in forever. Love being so close. You?”

“Pretty shitty. I crave my soft mattress. Buuuut… I've a theory what might stop the nightmares.” Steve started apologising. Eddie kissed Steve’s nose: “I reckon we should try sharing my sleeping-bag every night, home-sweet-home in bed.”

“Okay,” mumbled Steve. “Jesus, I came all over the thing! Let’s launder it first, right?”

[devirnis]

WIP Wednesday

tagged yesterday by the lovelies @disasterbuckdiaz @wildlife4life @jeeyuns @try-set-me-on-fire @honestlydarkprincess @loserdiaz 💜💜💜

here are some of the many sentences I owe for money laundering au. the math problem itself and conversation surrounding it is borrowed from this moment on the off topic podcast

Chris groans. “I know mostly how to do it. I times 230 by 9 and then divide by 25 to get 82.8. Then if I take that away from the starting area, that’s 147.2 square feet.” He takes the paper back from Hen and scowls down at the question. “But… which of those numbers am I supposed to use? And then how do I find the dimensions? Do I have to keep the patio the same ratio?” Buck scoffs in his booth, shaking his head. Chimney winces as Eddie bristles and straightens up. While Chimney is reasonably sure that Buck is just amused that five adults couldn’t figure out what should be a relatively simple math problem, Eddie has always been a bit overprotective when it comes to Christopher. Eddie takes a few steps towards Buck. “Something funny about my kid’s math homework?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. Buck blinks a couple times at Eddie, like he can’t believe Eddie is actually addressing him directly. (Chimney doesn’t blame him; other than when he’s playing waiter, Eddie seemingly goes out of his way to avoid talking to Buck.) “Sorry, no, I’m not laughing at him. It’s just… that question is so frustrating, and it’s stuff like that that made me want to become a teacher.” Eddie falters, all his tough don’t-fuck-with-my-kid energy gone. “What do you mean?” “Why is the question worded so ambiguously?” Buck asks, looking genuinely annoyed. “Reducing by nine twenty-fifths could mean that you want your final result to be nine twenty-fifths of the original size, or are you supposed to take away nine twenty-fifths of the original size, or you could even argue the question is asking you to take away nine twenty-fifths of a square foot!” Buck’s on a roll now, waving his arms as he works himself up into a rant he’s clearly passionate about. “Like, why make a question that’s designed to trip him up instead of testing to see if he understands something? He clearly understands the concept of what he’s supposed to do, but not what weird answer the question is looking for!” Buck slumps back in the booth, taking a few deep breaths. He grins bashfully at Eddie. “Sorry. I can get a little carried away sometimes. It’s just stuff like that that made me hate school when I was in it.” Chimney watches, fascinated, as a blush starts creeping up the back of Eddie’s neck.

if you wanna @bigfootsmom @homerforsure @shortsighted-owl @spaceprincessem @sibylsleaves @bvckandeddie @dijkstraspath @carnivalsofthecity @giddyupbuck @housewifebuck @princessfbi @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy 💜

[gyuscoquetteribbon]

svt headcanons (crimes they'd be arrested for)

-> warnings: not anything in particular! It's pretty lighthearted <3

-> a/n: this is my first post ayyyy I've been wanting to get back into writing after my two year break and yeah :3 thought I'd just start with something light ig. my asks are open so you can send headcannon ideas !! id love to write about them !!

Seungcheol:

money laundering.

except its probably fake news and he was only suspected because people don't understand how bro is adorned in designer wear from head to toe even though he earns millions every year

Jeonghan:

online fraud.

definitely would try to sell severely damaged products online just to get rid of them and you can't even get spare parts to repair them because they're eons old

Joshua:

shoplifting.

i just know bro is SICK and TIRED of not being able to pay using card at certain stores in other countries so one day he just snaps and decides to throw whatever he needs into his bag and leave (he obviously fails at it)

Jun:

damage to public property.

he broke the bars that were meant for kids to hang onto.

Hoshi:

trespassing.

idk he just looks like he'd find a way into places even if there's barbed wires surrounding the area. its the furry in him.

also for speeding.

Wonwoo:

idk the term for it but illegal attainment of paid products from video games.

like bro definitely tried to cheat the system and sent a mail to the game services saying he paid for the weapons or whatever in whatever game he fancies even though he never paid for it just so he could have it for free (he was obviously caught)

Woozi:

cutie patootie could never do anything wrong 💗 (Physical assault except those claims were false. a passerby just happened to see him chase one of his fellow members ((mingyu)) with a guitar and thought he was gonna beat em up)

The8:

the government is scared of him.

Mingyu:

for not carrying his driver's license.

bro's luck is saur bad sometimes i just know he'd get pulled over on a day where he DOESNT have his driver's license with him.

Dk:

accidental tax evasion 😭

this applies for hoshi too. i can just picture them both seeing woozi filling out important documents and they ask him about it and woozi just mumbles 'paying my taxes' and these 2 adorable fools go 'WAIT OH MY GOD ITS TIME TO PAY TAXES ALREADY?????' and they're panicking and running around bc they do NOT wanna be shakira-fied

Seungkwan:

public nuisance 💔

all he did was argue with the bus driver for driving past his stop without even waiting long enough for him to get out of the bus (i'll personally get him out of jail)

Vernon:

i think he'd somehow manage to be a prime suspect for a crime that he did not even commit.

or illegal possession of weed in his car idk

Dino:

for being a part of a cult.

i just know he'd accidentally find himself in a cult and doesn't know how to get out of it without being their next sacrifice

[bitchin-witchin]

Was recently reminded of a fatuichi wip I had from may that's like underground crime syndicate fatui modern au or something and childe is a dancer.

The tsaritsa owns a club where they launder shit and the fatui can hang, maybe the dancers there are under her protection. Childe was taken in as an agent and moved up the ranks, but before he became a harbinger he saw the good money the dancers were making and wanted to take a shot at it, since he got into the criminal scene to get money for his family anyways. Then it turns out to be kind of fun and the fatui are always respectful bc the tsaritsa has them on a short leash and disrespect isn't tolerated. He enjoys the feeling, a different thrill from battle, but similar.

The man of the night is a gunner I named dalimil. It is his birthday! And he is at the club with his homies. He thinks they're just drinking and chillin, as most fatui in the club do tbh, but his friends (a vanguard and some sort of smalll skirmisher) get him a lap dance and it is with... childe!! WHO MAYBE IS ALSO THEIR BOSS? I haven't decided.

Now Dalimil is a fat guy. He's a gunner. And he's p chill but we all have insecurities ykno. So he's not super confident. Hes kind of body shy. But childe is like very comfortable in his body (it's a weapon, a tool that he has trained hard to be at its best so ofc he is proud. It's not even a like "I'm so attractive" it's literally just from how useful he's made himself) and he's not perfect either, like yes every playable character in genshin is pretty but flaws are fun so idk attach whatever flaws u want to childe. I like to give him discolored teeth and maybe they're crooked, has a gap. Basically I give him my teeth LOL. Some other stuff. Scars, etc.

So anyways they're in their private room and childe starts dancing for him, climbs onto his lap and he really has to like CLIMB bc this man is tall and one of his thighs is like the width of childe (pretending that the big skirmisher builds are not augmented and they're just actually that big. Some eremite enemies are v big and they don't have any visual hints of being augmented so let's say the body variety in teyvat just has an insane range LOL). Dalimil is very flustered by how small he makes the harbinger look on his leg man's is discovering his size kink. Even sitting on him childe still has to look up. And childe is tall! He's not tiny. But dalimil is also very conscious of his stomach touching the harbinger bc it comes out pretty far and he's like ahh man ykno like my friends put me up to this, does childe even like this, he's probably just acting, etc.

Childe plays eith the buttons of his top and sees dalimil kind of clamming up so he's like "wanna get comfortable and lose some layers?" And dalimil is like ahh hmm noo it's okay... and childe is like catching on now so he's like "you don't have to hide from me. I want to see. I'm here to make you feel good." But he doesn't like pressure him ykno if dalimil said no he'd be like sure its fine, but if he's open to talking about it then maybe they can work something out.

So maybe childe just opens his shirt slowly. Dancing and stuff while he does it, rubbing his hands over dalimils chest and through his hair. And honestly?? Now dalimil is getting worked up feeling childes body rub over his stomach sometimes while he dances like fucckkkk, the skinnier guys don't get that privilege you know? Ethically bypassing no touching rule. LOL. Anyways they both end up super into it and dalimil comes out of that room more assured that he is desirable now that he's gotten some proof :3.

Ofc u don't need proof to feel desirable but if you're insecure about it it is definitely helpful when it feels positive for you. Also yes, not every fat person is insecure, and not every fat character has to be written that way, but it's what I want for my fic as a fat person myself.

I also I have a playlist for this fic that I occasionally still add song to

If u don't have Spotify and want to listen let me know in replies or reblogs or tags and I will post a other source.

[the-firebird69]

Duran Duran - "Ordinary World" Global Citizen Performance

His singing his singing it's his world and it's not his world at all the features on the planet were not made by him this disaster was not thought up by him and he is not doing anything for the most part it's meaningful and the landscape was made by us and he doesn't get how and he's seen a little bit of it and he's gonna be horrified and much worse very soon nobody sticks it to us using their goons we're going to stick it to them and use them these two metamorphosizing beauties to create whatever we need we have begun but only in a minor way but it did start it off fairly soon it's going to go into hyperdrive and the fool is going to make races of demons and we'll put them where we want and we'll do it in what we want and the landscape of the planet is molded by us the mountains you're on the land you stand on is all molded by us and everything underneath is heinously evil to you because of your we because of your weak bodies and your brains are much worse you're sitting here topside trying to figure out what the **** you were doing to each other and there's stuff possessing your bodies this monster is eating you down there there's a huge bunch of mac proper beating the living **** out of you and you wanna figure out what's up your **** and it's a stupid **** **** trump was young you're stupid and he's gonna lose the whole game for you 'cause I'm at proper demand and be the jammed to me and they won't stop and I have a temper and I have goals and I have a motif nice buddy I have a way of getting it done and a way of sated those are not regular bullets happy **** time so we're listening my husband says that and he's saying it to them on the the Chicago PD show is and then sort of not getting it no they got it and they said this is a disaster we got our fingers in her **** and hands arms going on declaring victory because we're kill going on declaring victory because we're killing each other and it's stupid to them and it's gross and you say it again this smoke this fire this cover we need the max for information down below you guys don't grab it what else is going on that I can be critical about. So he says oh there's a dollar I can use a dollar I don't want that one it's kind of blood all over it you'd have to launder it even a dollar does the max does the max go nuts about this money. So they're afraid to get it to him for real kinda and I don't like him for it he's just gonna sit there and do nothing and they admit it these other things they can do though. Right now we're listening to them fine and Billy Z says what do you know and it's dinero and Trump is there he's saying This guy knows something and Chris O'donnell is in disguise and he's a mac proper and the ladies we usually don't talk to them and they usually don't get what's going on now they do and they have no position it's true so they started to look into it and my husband said that going backwards and it could be the clan ships upside down you know in to go out like that band big old jet liner steve Miller Band there it is he still remembers and De Niro is saying You've killed us all and I said I've done the job then and what do you think I would be assigned to do look at you and say please could you stop when you make all these stupid **** noises all day long and I'm a child I can't stand any of it at all I said who the **** cares who the **** cares **** **** so he's saying I sorta get this without giving you a chance to be quiet he doesn't care and he's angry he's saying other **** and said You're old you're used up and you're dead you get shot all the time shooting your **** old **** mouth off so that was Robert De Niro and he's gonna get hit we're tired of these people all threats and all gusto they're screwing everybody up they're not really gaining anything either they have a long range plan that goes with it but yeah you're gonna lose a lot of land it's going to be a bunch and they're seeing the song to me in the past and they don't know what it's about typical and it is about what's going on now and it is about things that they're talking about and they don't understand and they're singing it in the song this life is not ordinary and they're threatening my husband and she is too and they're trying to figure out what to do and what the answers are and they're sad and remorseful with things to change and blame us and not doing much again so he says to them maybe they go down to go up and the people is starting to laugh we can't figure that out

Hera

Zues 

Olympus

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Do you think artists should lower their prices to make commissions more accessible, or is it important to value their work appropriately?

How do you think artists can better educate their audience about the costs involved in creating art and why commissions are priced the way they are?

…I‘ve seen people give out commissions for pretty good looking full body illustrations for as little as 10 bucks. Not sure how much lower you can even go from there.

Though generally speaking, I‘d say keep it a bit lower if possible at the start to gain an audience and then when there‘s a good amount of people there make them a bit higher to what would actually be regular pricing so it can balance out. Gotta reel the fish in somehow, as weird as it may sound. (actually kinda sure that‘s standard business practice as far as I‘. aware)

Since a lot of artists have a pinned post listing their commission rules + prices, it could help to have a section explaining the pricing - like, listing what goes into making a drawing and the time it takes. I feel a lot of the…entitlement of people towards art commissions (and requests too tbh) comes from not realizing (or bothering to think about) how much effort and time it really takes, thinking it can just be magicked in a few minutes if you learn the special hidden skills that those pesky little artists don‘t wanna teach you >:( (/sarcasm).

Problem is there‘s also the brainrot for prices created by fast consumerist culture.

Last time I was at ikea they sold a solid wood table for 6 bucks. Pillows for 2 €. Shirts for 1. All of that‘s still made by people and there’s still an entire chain of workers behind that product that all gotta share those few cents even while their boss takes most of it, but no one ever thinks about it except that one time Primark got trendy for a while because of its prices and some people found that a bit shady. But the 10€ shirts sold by everyone else are still made for 1€. The other 9 just go to some exec. Living wage? What‘s that?

I think that‘s also a mindset problem- when people hear "artist“, they think of the fancy million dollar banana on the wall of a museum or the drawings commissioned by the über-rich to launder money, and not the regular people drawing the art you see everyday. Most artists and artisans are workers, its a working class. (and so are those million dollar art-used by rich people for money laundering artists, they just manage to get commissioned by someone who pays a lot.)

So uhh. TLDR educating as best as possible and hoping at least some people’s brain cells haven‘t been fried by society yet.

[yourmomsandy]

Pointing at things as I see them:

The art market diss track part 1

-nobody is safe.

💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰

Let me paint you a picture. You are an arts student:

Hahahahah what a dumbass 🤡. This was your first mistake 🤣. You should have done something else with your life like your dad told you to.

What do we do now that we are already here, though? Will all of us be broke? I know many struggling artists, but I also see many rich ones in gallery openings and online. Which of us will be which? Today we are talking about money moves.

*sniff* *sniff*...what's that smell? Do I smell a POOR?????

Let's start with the simple stuff:

Are you a painter?

Do you work with sculpture?

Potery?

Printing?

Drawing?

(Any other traditional medium ?)

If you said all of the above or any one of them, then congradulations!! You are very easy to SELL. Your work will forever be stuck to sales because the very medium you use was birthed via some sort of exchange. Maybe you could connect back to neolithic cave paintings, but let's be real. Painting/ sculpture/ other traditions as we know them today began with commission work. Face the music 🙈.

If you do anything else, then don't worry. You can also SELL. Capitalism is very clever, and we have found ways to sell even the most untraditional mediums! EVERYONE CAN BE A SELL OUT!!! You, me , your mom, your uncle Steve, talkative bus Jen.

That's right! Performance people, "new media" people, ""digital"" hommies, land art lovers, conceptual hotties. Don't you dare think you have escaped the pits of money laundering just because you decided to be different halfway through your degree.

RELAX

Your art, too, will be part of a tax evasion tactic.

I know some of you may be shocked or distraught by this realisation but it is fundamental you strip these flawed self notions of highness before we continue.

Leave it in the clothing hanger by the door please.

...

So much lighter right?

Ok.

Let's dig in >:)

If there is one thing art does well, it is selling. It is the key concern nowadays. Before even fully defining itself, art is quick to sell. Why is that?

If surviving off of selling my art alone means chaining the work to the market (whichever one you pick), then should I choose not to be successful? -Assuming I have the choise. HA. I'm really whipping out the comedy show today.

QUICK, google if it's too late to turn back now and become a painter whose work doesn't address anything but pleases the eye . Call it "painting about painting" or the term I coined "visual pornography." I WANNA SELL. I TAKE IT ALL BACK.

Just kidding.............

Lately, I have paid CLOSE attention to this trend. A lot of art is looking to sell. Previous dissociations of art from the market have been undone, if they ever existed to begin with. All art is in the market no matter what Marina Abramovic may tell you. Artists with a "career" or looking to get one may not be selling in the same places, but they sell nonetheless.

Some sell paintings,

Some get grants,

Some auctions,

Some have private investors (this is very real just go to london for a weekend)

Some apply to residencies, competitions, etc

Join any art group, and you will see that this will be the hot topic. Going through ways of income. "Opportunities."

Is there really any difference between selling out to a commercial gallery or selling out in the art market or selling out for an arts grant application? OR selling out to a museum??

Do you remember when NFTS happened and people shat on them. The same artists that did were selling at Sotheby's. They were just trying to pull focus, you dummie 😜. Don't get me wrong, they were horrible, but it's FUNNY, to say the least. Hearing oil painters talking about the ecological impact of NFTS. QUICK, where does your oil rEAlLy go ????

Are you showing at (insert big gallery)? Oh, ok...........

Right.

The NFT moment only revealed how much people were focused on them dolla billz.

*Megan Thee Stallion* Ah 👅

🤑🤑🤑 Artists who never touched the digital because they fetishized the analogue (and feared anything that didn't allign with historically defined mediums) were suddenly morphing into middle-aged reddit tech bros. The Marina nfts were... something. Not necessarily within this category of profiles, but I am writing it down so you know I have not forgotten.

I always looked at the academic scene as the contrasting force to this issue. See? I am bad, too. Booboo, the fool.

The more I progress in life, the more I realise it all works in similar ways. Just different fonts to the same sentiment.

M

O

N

E

Y

And they copy each other's structures. Employing exactly the same methods of "employment." Briefs in open calls reflect what the market is looking for, BIG institutional shows do the same. Content loses meaning, as artists jump from viral term to viral term.

Example:

I never thought about the antropocene much, but I guess, for this application, I could connect my art to it by drawing loose comparisons over the overarching impact of human society.

LOL

Note: I'm not saying the work would be bad or good. Nor am I commenting on the antropocene. It's the thought process that seems poor. If one is passionate about something, let that be out of a need to dissect, deconstruct, or maybe look at, or simply enjoy. NOT to snag the next big opportunity. Where is the critical lens, anyways? If you only looked at the antropocene or any other contemporary train of thought AFTER a brief then what? What are you really doing?

The amount of AI usage in catalogues/ shows I have seen from people who could care less about tech is WILD. WE GET IT, you wanna feel new... just go to the club bestie and order a tequila shot. I saw a show that, granted, was a massive slay, but it didn't address AI (with all due respect). It used it in one of the pieces, but it dialogued very little with technology. Why then would the artist feel inclined to frame the work within that discourse. It couldn't possibly be discourse because nobody was talking 😶🫥. The artist had nothing to say about this. Addressing something on mute 🔇. Maybe using AI as a work/conceptual accessory at most. This was done for__________(I'll let you fill in the blank)

You know what especially IRKS ME??

Not only is art an atm machine, but it is ALSO a best friends race?? Curators, art dealers, facilitators, or the recent it girl term "cultural producer" (LMAO). Call yourself what you wish but often times you are

SOCIALITES.

It has little to do with the work. Just selective v.i.p 4th grade birthday party invites. Survival of the friendliest? Not even. Perhaps of the most passive. Probably.

Anyways... I'll put that on hold. We'll talk about corruption in another post.

Back to money talk.

I thought perhaps I could do the classic fine art career tangent. Anyone into starting a micro buiseness and using our transferable skills ? 🤓

Inspo bellow:

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[oorevitcejda]

im going to trick my city (nearest,largest, off-rez city) into supporting an LGBTQIA+ furry restaurant disguised as a college friendly arcade

[hogwartsfirebolt]

boomerang

Harry stares at the column of Draco’s neck as he throws back a shot of mezcal. He asked for three as soon as they got to the bar, with a clipped voice and his leg bouncing beneath the table. Harry opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but Draco holds a finger up, silencing him, and throws back a second shot. Only then does he meet Harry’s eye for the first time since they ran into each other at the town square a few hours before.

Harry wants to mention it, the silence, the evasiveness, but the cool gaze floors him in a way he’s entirely unprepared for, and he remains quiet.

“So…” Draco starts after a minute, pale eyebrows scrunched up, “how… have you been?”

Harry wonders if they look uncomfortable, to the outside viewer. He’s not even sure what to say. It’s weird, seeing Draco here, in their hometown. He can’t pretend it’s not weird. It was at this very bar, some ten summers ago, that they fell into each other, it was that very booth in the corner the one they frequented and lost themselves kissing in too many times to keep count.

It’s weird. The years have passed by Draco and made him somehow even taller and somehow even sharper and he wonders how he must look different to Draco too, with his facial hair and his sturdier constitution. How has he been? What a question.

“Well. I didn’t go to uni,” Harry figures that’s as good a place to start as any, “I planned to, as you… knew. Applied to a few, even got accepted to a couple, but finances didn’t add up and my dad was getting too tired to look after the ‘shop. So I stayed.”

“The,” Draco’s eyes are as striking as always, and he fixes them right on Harry, apparently searching his own memory. “The barber’s shop.”

Harry swallows, looks down at his untouched beer. “Yes. My mom and dad helped me with anything they could the first few years, and we had it rough, but we found ways to manage. Then, my grandpa finished the … he calls it the —,”

“The potion,” Draco says with a smile, then seems startled by his own reaction and sits a little straighter. “Yes. I remember he tried his first experiments on us that summer. My hair took weeks to recover, and even then it looked a bit blue for my entire first term of uni.”

Harry swallows again. “Ah. So… you did go to uni.” He doesn’t sound surprised, he knows. He’s not surprised. He always knew Draco would go to a brilliant university and carve a brilliant future for himself.

“Yes. I’ll tell you in a minute, what happened with the potion?”

“Right. Around… I wanna say January ‘04, grandpa got the formula right. He sold it to a French cosmetics company, and things have been brighter since then. Grandma and grandpa moved to London, but my parents and I stayed at the barber shop. Royalties are good.”

Draco nods, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips that makes Harry’s heart beat a little painfully, his brain supplying hundreds of stills of that very same smile across the ocean of time.

Draco hums, “Grandpa Monty’s special hair potion. Unforgettable.”

Harry forces a smile. “So it is.”

Then he clears his throat and asks, “College?”

“Right, of course. I went to King’s College. Law. I’m a criminal defense attorney.“

Harry vaguely recalls a newspaper article, years ago, of a big case, a man who had been accused of laundering millions of pounds. He remembers Draco’s name attached to the case.

He sees Draco now, in a button-up and trousers on a Tuesday night, and nods, swallowing the knot in his throat.

“You look the part.”

Draco doesn’t seem what to know what to say to that, and they are silent for a couple of seconds. Harry reaches forward for Draco’s last shot and downs it. The liquor is crisp and burns his throat. He takes a deep breath.

“What are you doing here, Draco? You’ve not been back in ten years.”

Draco looks down at the table, and his leg starts bouncing again, lightly.

“Just felt like a change of scenery.”

It’s been a long time, but Harry knew him, once, and no person can change that much. He recognizes it when Draco lies, knows the flicker of his fingers and the drop of his voice.

It fills Harry with rage, that Draco would come find him after so long only to spout this, and he can’t stop himself from saying, “Bullshit.”

Draco huffs, apparently not offended, and takes a deep breath. He says, “Look, this isn’t easy. We didn’t exactly part on the best terms.”

And that’s an understatement. Memories flash through Harry’s mind, unbidden. Tears, arguments, the pain of being a secret and the grief of being denied when Draco had been confronted by his family.

“You let them take you away,” Harry tries hard not to sound accusing, but he can tell he fails. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again once he’s gotten his heart back in check. “I don’t blame you for not being ready to tell them. And it’s been a long time.”

That, more than anything, seems to strike Draco, and he appears to deflate a little, his proud pose wavering and his gaze falling back to the table. “It has.”

“Are you… on better terms… ?” There’s no simple way to ask, so Harry cuts himself off and sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be, I —” Draco trails off. He seems to steel himself up for something, closes his eyes and opens his mouth. “I never forgave myself, I thought about you everyday. I — I was terrible. To both of us. I wasn’t ready, and I knew it, and I dragged us both into it anyway. But Harry,” he opens his eyes, pleading. “If you can find it in yourself to want… I know it’s been a long time. But I’m here now. I’m here.”

Harry feels as though time has frozen, crawled back a decade, left him exposed and open.

“You’re here, because of…?”

“You.”

“Oh.”

“If you want to, we can — we don’t have to. We can just. Talk, get to know each other again. I don’t know,” Draco sounds unsure, small. Harry’s heart has taken residence somewhere near his throat.

He looks at the man in front of him and remembers the boy he loved, who hurt him, who’s come back to try to … win him back, it seems. Harry swallows and reaches forward, tentatively runs the tips of his fingers along the back of Draco’s hand.

“So… tell me. About uni. About your job. About your friends.”

Draco’s eyes widen. Then, he gifts Harry the widest, most hopeful smile he’s ever seen. And he tells him.

[endeaavorr]

[18.23]

the third vibrate from your phone successfully prodded your eyes to wake. your left arm numb from the way you accidentally slept on it hurriedly reaches out to put your phone on silent, not wanting to wake him up. ah yes, him. you look at the dimmed screen of your phone, 5.00 am 8th of August.

your heart warms at the sight. you lean back to the mattress facing up, trying to stretch your body properly before starting up the day. you turn your head to the left and see his sleeping figure. the slow rise of his chest, the slight part of his lips, and the nasty scar, as shoto calls it, settling happily across the side of his face.

you don’t usually get to see this side of him, either because he doesn’t come home that night from work, or you’re too tired to pay attention, or the two of you passed out right after doing it. so you hit the snooze button once more and studies his face, your right hand now softly leaning on his broad chest, neat fingers tracing the outlines of his never aging face.

but the morning haze soon is replaced by your default mode. pulling enji’s cover to his chin to keep him warm, you get up to start preparing breakfast, you wanted to make it extra special for today.

for the last month the two of you has been, how do you say it, distant. you were taking extra shifts at your agency to afford this watch you wanted to give him on his birthday. even so, since you can’t tell him why he’s starting to come home to a cold empty house, it’s been quiet and rather uncomfortably awkward. you kinda feel bad in a way, so you’re determined to make today work.

you were so drowned in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize enji already woke up and finished his morning run.

“good morning, papa.” you greet him with your usual kind eyes.

“morning,”

he’s fresh out of the shower, wearing a sleeveless shirt and a lounge short, a small towel sitting on his damp hair. he sits on the tatami while you plate breakfast for the two of you. the air is dry and suddenly even the tatami is not that comfortable.

breakfast was quiet, it has always been quiet. but not like this, it’s normally filled with you clinging to his arm and playfully sneak your head under his arms right above his folded feet, facing him with a half closed sleepy smile.

you steal glances at him but he’s always looking down. just when you have the courage to break the silence, he says i enjoyed the food, and puts his dish in the sink.

“i’m staying out tonight, don’t wait up for me.”

you were only able to muster a ‘good luck at work, papa!’ before he’s gone again.

it’s 5pm. you just got home from enji’s agency, dropping of a set of suit you picked up from the launderer. reservation is at 8pm, you have three hours to call him about it and get ready yourself.

“hello,”

“ah papa ! are you busy now ?”

“yeah, i thought i told you this morning.”

it’s a lie, you asked his assistant and his schedule is empty from 5pm above.

“well, not according to your assistant apparently.”

it’s silent.

“well, i just dropped off something for you at the receptionist ! make sure to wear them, dinner’s at ___ at 8pm under my name, i’ll see you there papa ! i love you!”

“wait—“

you leaned to the wall behind you and press your phone to your chest in a relieved sigh. really, you’ve been living together literally your whole life, how are you still nervous like a preteen talking to their first crush ?

you shake your head mentally and start to get ready. in the mean time.. enji is dumbfounded. he’s just confused and the receptionists are grinning knowingly, which makes him even more, confused. good thing his office has a shower and a spare room though.

it’s 7pm. you apply some final touches of light make up. the two light honks from outside signals that your driver is here, ready to take you. the restaurant is pretty close from enji’s office, but it takes a good 25 min walk from the todoroki residence and you don’t wanna ruin your hair.

you get up and look at yourself in the mirror, you’re wearing a black designer dress that exposes your shoulders with a small purse on the right of your hand. you’re ready to go.

8 pm.

“ah, endeavor-san, how can i help you tonight ?”

the hostess welcomes enji with a polite smile.

“i have a reservation under my daughter’s name, todoroki y/n.”

“right this way, sir.”

enji follows the hostess to a more secluded table from the others, he notices it’s way quieter than the main dining hall, the view next to both of the seats are the wide view of city lights. the waiter serving them tonight introduces himself and hands him the menu, while pouring water from a sealed glass bottle to enji’s glass. he looks through some pages but then decided to just wait for you to order.

you arrive no later than five minutes after he did, welcomed by the same hostess, and immediately taken to your table.

“you look good, papa.”

“you too,”

he takes his time to scan over you, your neatly styled hair, your set of greenish ocean eyes that matches his, the scar on your left cheek that you wear proudly, and lastly the way he realizes again just how breathtaking you are.

on the other side, you feel your heart flutter. he looks really good. the slightly opened white shirt, the perfectly tailored navy suit, emphasizing his strong arms that has saved way too many lives, too many times.

enji was too busy staring at you he didn’t even bother taking a look at his menu. and by the time the waiter was ready to take his order, he just went with the classic i’ll have one of what she’s having.

“how’s your day, papa?” you started the conversation.

“it’s normal, busy.”

you place your right hand on top of his, thumb gently rubbing comforting strokes on his palm.

“i missed you, you know.”

“well, you’re the one who’s been away so much.”

you’re honestly a bit startled at his bluntness, he usually won’t do things like this. you get a bit shy and shifts your gaze from his to where your palms are lightly entangled.

“i’m sorry papa, i can’t help it, i needed extra shifts.”

“for what ? is it about money ? you know you can always ask me, right ? i don’t mind providing for you for the rest of my life as long as i get to come home to you, and not just a cold dead hall.”

you’re out of words, his brows is contorted, and the glint in his eyes shows something you guessed to be dissapointment ? guilt ?

“i’m sorry,” you say again, hands shyly squeezing his and the other toying with the ends of your skirt. your heart still goes on a marathon when it comes to him.

the dinner was nice, it’s slow paced and calm, just like how he likes it. the little tense you two had is now slowly melting away. opting to take a walk home instead, you walk hand in hand under the generous light of the moon.

enji took off his suit halfway and put it around you, keeping his right hand in his pocket while his other is entangled with your much smaller one. his shirt has now one more button open, sleeves rolled neatly three times as they rest proper on half of his arm.

you can’t stop smiling, butterflies going crazy in your stomach like a lovesick fool, that you maybe are. you don’t know if it’s from the wine, but he’s way more talkative right now, you’re making jokes here and there, laughing to yourself while gripping his hand tighter and hugging his arms with your other hand. he’s laughing a little too, not that he doesn’t appreciate it, that’s just how he is.

you’re waiting to cross the road at the last junction before you reach your home, the road is clean empty but the light is still red. the both of you don’t mind, he takes this chance to pull you tighter against him and breathe the always comforting natural scent of your hair.

your solace is interrupted by the ding of the crossing light turning green, but enji doesn’t let go, so you start walking slowly like that, pressed against each other, steps getting tangled making it hard to walk. the things you do for love.

it’s 11 pm.

he goes in first while you lock the front door and make sure all the lamps in the yard are on. he sits down and starts to take off his shoe, you quickly slipped of your heels and crouched between his legs to do it for him instead. your short dress riding up, displaying your already exposed milky thighs in its glory.

you can tell where he’s looking and feel the twitch of your insides from the yearning you’ve been holding back. he reaches out his right hand to caress your cheek. you lean to his rough hands and give him a faint smile before you push your body towards his in attempt of pinning him down, disguised by an innocent hug. your head resting on his chest while he supports himself with one arm and holds you back with the other. he face touches the bare skin of your neck and finds comfort there. pressing kisses that quickly turned wet.

you lift up your head and pulled his supporting hand towards you, making sure he’s fully laid on the wooden floor, arms caging his head, hazy eyes looking down on his meaningful orbs. it’s not long before you crash your lips together in a desperate kiss, your spit drooling down his chin, his stubble grazing the smooth well cared surface of your face.

you sit down on his crotch and he abruptly breaks the kiss with a groan, but you’re quick to grab his face and pull him in an even more passionate open mouthed kiss, his hands find the swell of your ass and guide them so you’re now grinding on his growing bulge too.

the mutual need to breathe forces both of you to break the kiss. foreheads now touching together, heavy ragged breath mixing, the intimacy making you dizzy. but the high wears off sooner than you thought and you can’t help but hide your reddened face to his neck, not wanting him to see you blush, hands clutching him tight as he sits back up holding you properly.

“let’s go take a bath, i’m sweaty.”

you can only offer a weak nod, still too embarrassed of what you just did. he hoists you up to his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom.

it’s so warm. you’re sitting between his legs leaning to him, his strong arms on your stomach protectively, body radiating comforting warmth to yours, making the both of you completely relaxed.

you almost let yourself fall asleep if not that you remember about his gift. so you get up first, telling him to enjoy the bath a little longer and go sprint to your room.

you quickly dried your hair and put on a set of babydoll you’ve been keeping for this day. it’s a simple white see through babydoll with soft lace that hangs prettily on your supple thighs. you put on your sleep robe and go to his room with a deep green paperbag on your right hand.

it’s 11.30 pm.

the futon is laid and you’re sitting above it on your knees, your gift hidden behind your figure.

enji comes out of the bathroom already in his sleepwear, a black set of loose shirt and a matching pants. his hands are still busy trying to dry his own hair until he looks up at the sight of you and pauses.

you pat the spot next to you, signaling him to sit there. he walks up to you and sit crossed legged in front of you. he can see the rather big paperbag behind you but decided not to say anything.

“what is it ?”

you opened your mouth in attempt to answer him but was left with nothing, so you just shoved the paperbag and places it in on the little space between the two of you, encouraging him to open it. he’s still not getting it and looks at you with genuinely asking eyes, but you’re too stubborn to meet his eyes and just keep looking at the walls to your right, peach blush already forming again.

“it’s for you,” you brave yourself to look at him in the eyes and finally say it, “happy birthday, papa.”

enji felt like his brain short circuited. but you ushered him to open your gift before he could say anything. you watch as his big hands fully envelop the big green box inside, the one your clumsy hands almost dropped.

he opend the box and stares at it for a while. it’s a platinum rolex day-date 40 from it’s 2021 men collection.

“this is expensive,” was the first respond he let out.

“we-well, that’s why i’d been taking extra shifts,” you sheepishly rub the back of your head. enji’s strong gaze didn’t waver.

“you didn’t have to—“

“but i want to !” you cut him,

“it’s just—“

you grab the pillow behind you and hide your face in it, finding it hard to speak to him eye to eye like this. “i love you, and sometimes i can’t help my feelings, i just thought, this is what people do to their loved ones.. you know,” you explain in a voice growing smaller than before, almost completely muffled by the pillow.

he lets out a sigh before repacking his gift, putting it back inside the paperbag and placing it on his side. you’re getting nervous.. is he mad ? did he not like it ? were you pushing it ?

all your silent doubt dies down as he pulled you close to his chest.

“i love you too, thank you.”

his voice runs beautifully through your ear, the sensation going straight to your heart. you ease up and holds him back.

“um, papa,”

“hn”

“i still have another gift,”

he pulls back and looks at you with a raised brow. you better not have unnecessarily give up you rest just to buy him a ‘gift’, it translates. both your hands come out in front of you in a waving motion to dismiss his half true accusation, but you struggled so much trying to pull out the right words.. you just let out a bashful sigh and unties the knot in front of your outer, before letting the dense fabric hit the floor, revealing the pretty babydoll sitting pretty and proper accentuating your pretty pretty curves.

he stills.

“do-does it look weird..?”

he scans over you for a while but your embarrassment made you thought he was looking at you in a weird way.

your cheeks are heating up, eyes glued to your thighs before you hear a rustle and suddenly your back is against the futon with one arm pinned above your head by his weight, and your other one is in his, you look at you favorite set of eyes that matches yours and the blue sky, he presses your hand to the side of is face and land a deep kiss on the innerside of your wrist, leaning against it while staring back at you.

it was a good birthday.

happy birthday todoroki enji, 8.8.21

[tteokggukk]

waiting game → jjk | ✏️ eighteen: back to square one

masterlist | prev | next

It’s been over a year since you last visited his place.

The last time you were here, Jungkook was just minutes away from turning of age. Both of you were equally nervous at the time—him being tense about the hint for the soulmate mark that was supposed to appear, and you feeling frantic over finally confessing your feelings for him. By the end of the night though, neither ended well: Jungkook found no mark and you were later on rejected by him, and since that incident you swore you’d never come back to this place, that you wanted nothing to do with him, and that you’d stop all contact and cut him out of your life.

And yet here you were, back at Jungkook’s apartment.

It’s funny, you thought for sure being back here would bring back that miserable and embarrassing night, but instead you were hit with a wave of nostalgia and a certain warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a while. Before anything else, this place has always been your safe space, and the stronger memories of you being happy here definitely outweighed that one horrible night.

Looking around, you found yourself amused with how little has changed— the collection of speakers he had were still kept on the same shelves, his collection of blank canvases that were stacked up on one side of the room, and the old frames of your pictures together were still hung up on his wall. A smile crept up on your lips as you walked slowly, staring at each frame carefully and recalling each event preserved in those shots.

Somehow, although he was only footsteps away in his kitchen cooking up ramen for you two to share, you missed him.

Even though you and Jungkook were slowly patching things up and going back to the way things used to be, it still doesn’t change the fact that a long time has passed since you two had been left alone together in close quarters. Sure, you two were talking a lot more now and you both have gone out together, but conversations held through texts and hangouts held in public were far more different than spending time indoors with just the two of you.

Minutes later, Jungkook came back holding a tray with two bowls and a potful of ramen. As he sets the tray down in front of you for you two to share, you felt your phone buzzing endlessly in your pocket. Not even seconds later, Jungkook’s own phone starts buzzing continuously.

For the vast majority of the time, you both spent the hours talking about your plans for the showcase with only minor attempts at small talk and jokes. As expected, your conversations were filled with nervous laughter and a few awkward silences, but at least you two had more progress with your plans. You tried practicing a few songs together, but eventually you both agreed that none of the songs you had done so far made enough impact. When you ran out of ideas, Jungkook proceeded to make more lists of song suggestions for your performance, and when he ran out of ideas, you went ahead and made your own lists.

Two hours later, you had about twenty lists—all of which were made to avoid more small talk.

Jungkook stared at the lists scattered all over his coffee table without blinking. You were sprawled out on his couch while he was slumping on the floor, his back against the couch. You were both clearly burnt out with twenty lists but still zero choices. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, catching your attention.

“Are you hungry?” Jungkook shifts his gaze from the papers to you, his bright, doe-eyes meeting your tired ones.

“Kind of,” You sat up straight and hugged your knees, “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook stands up from the floor, dusting off the back of his pants as he got up, a joking smile on his face, “Do you wanna eat some ramen?”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. You just had ramen with him two hours ago, and he had six cups of ramen while he stayed up with you last night. How much ramen could this boy actually eat? “I’m sorry, Hoseok told me to say no when a guy asks me that,” You joked, faking a sad expression on your face.

Jungkook raises a brow and flops himself on the couch to sit across from you, crossing his arms, “You didn’t say no to me last night.”

“Well now I am.”

“That’s not fair,” Jungkook’s let’s out a laugh, causing his body to lean forward as before turning himself to face you, “Ramen’s all I have.”

“Why am I not surprised?” You shook your head, your eyes crinkling as you laughed. You couldn’t see it, but the sight of your laughter brought out Jungkook’s adoring stare. Feeling proud of himself, it felt like a big achievement getting you to laugh like that for the first time tonight, as if he had just broken an invisible barrier between you two. He missed all of it—he missed the sound of your laugh, being able to get close to you, hanging out with you like this. Just like the old times.

Jungkook smiles and looks away, afraid you’d catch him staring at you before getting off the couch, “I’m kidding. Of course I’ve got other food.”

“You do?” You asked tauntingly.

“Of course I do, I’m friends with Jin. Come on, let’s go have dinner.”

Without a moment’s thought, Jungkook holds his hand out to take yours. The moment your hands meet, a heavy beat begins drumming in your ears, taking you a second to realize that it was the sound of your own heart that you could hear as it did several leaps in your chest. While Jungkook led you to his kitchen where you two decided to cook something up together, you tried your best not to seem at all fazed as you kept a neutral face. When he eventually had to let go of your hand, a part of you wanted to hold onto that warmth, but you tried to push the thought away.

Although you initially came over to talk about what your plans were for the showcase, it now seems as if you two had no further plans to discuss anything. It was already eleven at night, but neither of you appeared to be aware of it as you were cuddled up underneath the sheets while watching old reruns of a TV show you and Jungkook both loved. You had no idea how you ended up lying this close next to him—there must’ve been something in the food he had cooked up that somehow made you two lose any form of awkwardness between each other. Jungkook had to thank Jin later for the recipe.

“Look, it’s the part where they’re trying to pivot the couch,” Jungkook laughs as he points to the screen, his hand squeezing on your shoulder to get your attention while your head rested on his arm.

You didn’t bother to look. It was a scene you’d already watched countless times to cheer you up months ago. Instead, you looked up to see Jungkook, his face illuminated by the light coming from the television and a table lamp. You could feel his chest vibrating while he laughed, your temple resting on him made it easy for his deep chuckle to send vibrations through you. From where you were, his lashes looked much longer. His eyes were all crinkled from laughing and his mouth was curled up, showcasing the mole underneath his lips. The proximity between you two was so close, the scent of his freshly laundered clothes was enough to embrace you.

He’s so pretty.

He was all you wanted to stare at, but your eyes were beginning to betray you as you felt your own lids getting heavier and heavier. Staying up last night was a terrible idea after all, and though you wanted to stay up longer to be here with him, your body couldn’t help but melt into the soft mattress. Jungkook’s arm around you wasn’t helping you to fight the urge to stay up, either.

It took a while for Jungkook to hear it, but later on he began to notice the sound of soft snores next to him, only for him to find you all dozed off on his arm. Nervously, he debated whether or not he should get his arm off and wake you up to bring you home. But, as he mentally went back and forth trying to decide on what he should do, he instead found himself studying your features and smiling to himself at the sight of how peaceful you looked.

It would be a crime to disrupt your sleep, he thought.

Tucking strands of your hair behind your ear, he let himself have a few moments to cherish the little details on your face before turning the television off and slowly covering you two with a blanket.

-

You were having such a good night’s rest, until you tried shifting your position as you slept—on your waist was a slight weight that held you close and left you unable to move.

As your eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, all you could see was Jungkook sleeping soundly in front of you. Trying to ignore the dangerously erratic beating in your chest, you attempted to level your breathing so as to not wake him up. All the tiredness you had felt earlier were all gone now, you were fully aware of Jungkook’s face just being several inches from yours while his arms kept you close in front of him.

You couldn’t lie, there was a small urge to caress his cheek until you heard the sound of your phone buzzing from behind you. Carefully, you reached out for your phone which thankfully was only inches away from your head.

Was it actually 3am?

“Who is it?”

The sound of Jungkook’s sleep-filled voice causes you to freeze, making you drop your phone on your face.

“Oh shoot, sorry,” He apologizes, bringing his palm to your cheek in an attempt to soothe the minor pain caused by the drop of your phone screen, “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“I’m okay, did I wake you?” You asked softly, noticing how his eyes were still squinted as he tried to open them fully.

“No, don’t worry,” Jungkook grins sleepily, “What time is it?”

“It’s 3am,” You told him.

“Oh.”

Reality began sinking in as you realized you were still here and it was this late. You knew he was too nice to wake you up, which is probably why you were still at his place. You began to mentally prepare yourself saying goodbye to him at this hour. Expecting Jungkook to get up, he moves the arm resting on top of you, setting you free from his being held into his arms. You tried to shift to the other side of the bed to get off, but Jungkook reaches for the lamp instead of getting up.

“Want me to turn this lamp off?” He asks, “I didn’t turn it off earlier in case you woke up and needed it.”

“What?” Your eyes narrow as you look back at him over your shoulder.

“What are you doing? Come back,” He almost pouts. His voice was too raspy for your own good, you knew you would do about anything he asked you to right now. He could even ask you to clean his bathroom at this hour and you’d probably do it.

Jungkook, probably half-awake, places his hand on your waist. This prompts you to move closer to him and back to your old position where you were facing him. He hums to himself when he’s got his arms wrapped around you again, but you tried to knock some sense into him.

“Jungkook, it’s late,” You whispered.

“I know,” he hums, his eyes almost shut.

“I should leave.”

Now his eyes were wide open. He lets out a small sigh as he finally meets your gaze, “Do you actually think I’m going to let you leave at this hour?”

“I don’t wanna inconvenience you or anything—“

“You never do. what would inconvenience me is you losing sleep when you could be resting right now,” He tells you softly as he closes his eyes. You don’t say anything, only staring at him as you were at a loss for words. When he doesn’t hear anything from you or feel your body relax so you could go back to rest, he extends his arms towards you to bring you closer to him.

“Just go to sleep. I’ll drive you home first thing in the morning if you really wanna go home,” he says, finally shutting his eyes. It takes you a second before you finally give in and bring your arms around him. Smiling to yourself, you snuggle your face into his chest and silently pray he doesn’t feel the heat building up on your cheeks. Once he was sure you’ve relaxed, Jungkook turns off the lamp and brings his hand to gently stroke your hair, only going back to sleep once he hears your soft and peaceful snores again.

masterlist | prev | next

– fic type: social media au, soulmates au

– pairing: jungkook x reader

– genre: ex-friends to lovers, humor, crack, fluff, angst, slow burn

– warnings: explicit language

SYNOPSIS: in a world where everyone finds a unique connection to their soulmate once they turn of age, y/n can’t seem to figure out her clue. after desperately staying up all night to find one, y/n decides to rest and write down her list of groceries on her arm, ultimately giving up on finding a clue along with the whole idea of soulmates. that is, until jungkook wakes up to a whole list of poorly written ingredients scribbled all over his own arm.

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[neonponders]

I’ve never written Murder Boyfriends before, but @cuepickle ‘s art is just so lovely and powerful.

Based on this and this 💗 💜 🖤 (impending smut ahoy)

• • • • • • •

I just want to help, he’d said.

I just want to make things right, he’d said.

Steve said a lot of things. But he moaned incoherent words and exclaimed sounds he didn’t want anyone else to hear when Billy Hargrove steamrolled into his life, his feelings, and his goddamn morals.

Billy Hargrove wasn’t...right. He was twelve different shades of wrong, punctuated by Caribbean blue eyes and decorated with bronzed waves and curls. Steve knew he had a superiority complex, but he hadn’t known it was this bad.

Thing is, if he’d known, Steve couldn’t guarantee whether he’d change anything. Because knowing Billy Hargrove is a murderer would also mean Steve knew what his lips tasted like, and their softness against his neck.

All Steve had known was that Sheriff Hopper was missing, and his parents, being the upstanding white people that they are, deferred nearly every inconvenience to the police. And the police answered, because fat wallets keep their lights on, like everyone else.

But the Sheriff’s phones kept ringing. And maybe Steve had his own complex after so much time with Nancy, because he parked out front and strolled right into the Sheriff’s office.

The secretary wasn’t there.

Neither were the two deputies.

Steve tucked himself between the desks to pry apart the window blinds. Their cars were still here -

Steve’s head rotated at a sound he knew. He knew it in the way a memory piqued but he couldn’t place where or why. He followed it into the chief’s office...where Billy Hargrove sat at the desk - Hopper’s own chair - and ate a crisp apple from the strange pile in the waste paper basket.

“Billy?”

“Hi, Steve,” he smiled. Ankles crossed on the desk. A perfect, violet crescent framed the side of his eye. An indigo shadow rested in the inner corner of the other one. Either way, Steve’s first red flag was that he ached with concern more than itched for the nailed bat in his trunk.

“What happened to you?”

Steve thought the guy might choke, the way he tipped his head back to laugh while chunks of apple sat in his mouth. Naturally, it took him some time to chew and swallow before he said, “I finally stopped being afraid. And I started being responsible. Not the way he planned, though.”

“Hopper?” Steve frowned.

Billy did not answer immediately. He licked the apple like it might drip juice and beckoned, “Why don’t you sit down? I want to see you.”

The only lights on were in the main room where Steve stood. Ghoulish, fluorescent bulbs while Billy sat in shadow and vague, evening light hatching through the Chief’s window blinds. There was some kind of irony there: Steve in the fake, green-tinged light, and Billy in the natural...honest darkness.

Steve peeked behind him, surveying the room but finding no warnings apart from the negative space where people should be.

He stepped into the office -

“I’ve always liked looking at you.”

Steve paused on the carpet. Billy had said it loud enough to hear, but with enough air in it that Steve couldn’t tell if he was drunk or hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Then he tried to sit in one of the chairs -

“Over here. Sit on the desk.”

“What?” Steve blinked at him, suddenly very aware that the light gave Billy full view of his face but Steve only got the glow in that dark blond hair.

A strong leg pushed Billy away from the desk. The apple tumbled onto its pile of brothers, discarded as he pat the desk. “Sit right here.”

Steve shook his head all at once, beginning to backpedal out of the room. “This is weird.”

“No shit. This whole town’s weird. I’ve been reading some personal files in this room. I guess the Chief thought he was being smart, but...I’ve been hiding my whole life. I know where people hide things. A lot of things make sense in this place, now. The rat pack Max hangs out with. And you. A lot of things makes sense about you, Steve.”

Steve shrugged and his hands clapped against his thighs. “Okay? You’re not special for seeing my report cards.”

Billy’s features froze, but only for a moment, and then laughter burst out of him. “Steve, please sit down. God, I wanna touch you.”

Steve Harrington is a simple person. He’d officially been single for far too long, struck out every time he faced a woman - and a couple guys who were too scared or oblivious to do anything - and he just...

He wanted.

He wanted to be touched and if Billy was offering - Hot Stuff Hargrove, Baby Doll Eyes Billy - then Steve couldn’t help but take. He’d been so patient with everyone. He waited for Nancy to be ready. He accepted defeat when everyone walked away from him with rolling eyes or obligatory smiles.

Billy...talked. He talked and talked. He’d always been a talker; on the basketball court, barking orders as a lifeguard. Always talking, or letting his radio talk for him.

But Steve sat on Hopper’s desk and felt the warmth of Billy’s palms seep through his jeans. He held onto Steve’s calves as he talked. Talked about terrible things. Broken plates and abandoned things. Being the abandoned thing. Being the broken thing. He talked for hours before finally fucking Steve on that desk.

He’d started slow. Just unbuttoning the jeans and then leaving them alone. It would be another half hour before he took off Steve’s shoes. Every time Steve looked behind him - as if asking for someone to come in, to interrupt, to break this dark dream Billy wove around him - Billy said, “Look at me.”

“I’ve been looking at you, Billy.”

A small smile twitched on his lips. “Good.”

It would be another hour before he said, “I think my dad killed my mom.”

Less than a minute before he added, “He had it coming. Feel bad for my step-mom, though. But she was a screamer. So was the tall deputy. Things can finally be quiet now.”

Steve sat very still as arms circled around his pelvis and Billy just...hugged him. Pressed his face against Steve’s soft belly and inhaled his scent. Warm laundry and Steve Steve Steve.

He couldn’t be sure how things evolved into sex. Steve was already trapped in Billy’s web, so all he had to do was decide, to give the web a pluck and Steve felt the vibrations.

He planted his hands on the desk, lifting his ass for Billy to wrench the jeans and underwear off in one go. They got stuck on Steve’s feet, bunched up so Steve had to figure it out himself as Billy pressed himself over top of him.

The green desk lamp fell with an ominous clank.

Steve finally got a leg free and wrapped it around Billy’s ass the same time teeth found his neck. The warning bells that had been ringing since he got here felt far away; church bells too high over the town to actually make a difference in the goings-on.

Billy marked him up like he had paperwork to sign. Steve’s deed was his, and Billy moaned and grunted with every sigh he wrung out of Steve. Every squeeze to his waist made him moan, and he outright whimpered when Billy licked up his neck. For how much Billy gripped, bit, and sucked, he moved surprisingly gently below the belt.

“Gonna get lube later,” he said in that way again, traveling down Steve’s body as his thoughts escaped into the air. “I’m going to have your ass every which way, Harrington.”

Steve could only gasp as his tongue shoved inside him with no preamble. “I-I-I didn’t shower - ”

A guttural, breathy hum ricocheted from Billy’s throat and into Steve’s chest, knocking Steve’s head back like a rock on the way there. Billy’s stubble and gross wetness made Steve feel filthy in the best way. His cock lay heavily on his abdomen, spurting precum every time Billy’s hands squeezed the backs of his thighs.

Steve came like he’d never been touched in his life. His breathing picked up and he rutted against Billy’s face twice before making a mess of his shirt.

Billy took his slowly fading erection into his mouth, jerking himself off almost violently in a matter of seconds.

When Steve stepped outside, the air smelled like the sunrise even though only the faintest bit of blue had begun to dilute the darkness. And as the sun rose, Steve had never felt worse. It was like seeing a demogorgon for the first time, but instead of minutes, it stretched into hours.

People were dead.

Presumably Chief Hopper too.

Billy, he...he...

He showed up to Steve’s house with a smile and freshly laundered clothes. Steve had showered but looked like he hadn’t slept in a month. Billy only tipped his head back toward his car. “I’ve got two bank accounts freshly inherited. Let me buy you lunch.”

Steve wondered if Dustin’s comic book villains drove Camaros.

Billy bought him lunch. Bought him a chocolate milkshake too. Steve didn’t want to think about his ability to swallow those down so easily. Or how he interacted with the waitress like he wasn’t covered in red and brown love bites delivered directly atop Chief Hopper’s desk. He didn’t want to think what having all of Billy Hargrove’s attention on him did to his squirming...pleased...insides.

He didn’t want to think as Billy fingered him in the backseat.

They didn’t even fit back there but Billy moved with what felt like the strength of three men. It was arousing, being manhandled like that; any fear Steve ought to have held in his gut tapped its disapproving toe outside of the vehicle. The way Billy sucked behind his ear, gripped his hips so he could slot himself right in between Steve’s legs and rut his dark pink erection against Steve’s...

The way he bought Steve more milkshakes.

And a fresh tire rotation because his car veered to the left.

And filled him up in the darkness of Steve’s bedroom, making Steve bounce on his cock as he licked the taste of him off his lubed up fingers - 

“You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

It just...came out.

The husky lust cleared from Billy’s eyes when Steve said that. Terror must have filled Steve’s eyes because Billy gently cradled the side of his head.

This is it. This is how I die. Wanting a freaking kiss from a psycho -

“I thought you’d be the one to do that.”

Steve blinked vacantly at him. He could feel Billy’s heartbeat inside his ass and the guy just smiled -

“King Steve. Never thought you were shy - mmph.”

Billy’s bravado melted against Steve’s mouth. He hummed as he felt Steve’s precum on his belly, soaking them both with what he did to him, did to Steve and all of his flawed moral systems.

Steve pushed Billy onto his back with his kiss, tongue desperately tasting and exploring his mouth as his fingers laced behind Billy’s neck.

Until Billy reached up and pulled Steve’s hands apart, just enough for the bases of his palms to sit on both pulse points.

Billy did it himself: made his cheeks go pink and his chest flush red. But Steve made his ass slap against Billy’s thighs. Made Billy’s jaw go slack and his orgasm slow. Made his eyes water and his chest heave when he could breathe again.

Maybe that was his chance. His chance to make things right.

But with an empty Sheriff’s office down the road, and still no one the wiser, Hawkins wasn’t living by any sort of right anymore. The only right that Steve knew, was Billy’s hands making him feel powerful and precious.

[kyun-toast]

[ATEEZ] Mafia!Hongjoong - Fateful

word count: 2.2k warnings: explicit language, gun use, death, mentions of alcohol summary: a feisty baby for a feisty scorpio a/n: I started writing this so loyal to mafia!ateez but now that I’ve watched kingdom, I’ve changed my mind - I wanna be a pirate hoe.

“You forgot your toothbrush.” You said, sat by the desk, arms crossed. “Good thing I didn’t finish unpacking right, you can take your shit just the way it came in the boxes, hmm?” You didn’t get angry very often due to the pure fact that your expectations for your boyfriend were so low at this point. The way that your words, let alone your face, held no emotion terrified the boy. He shuffled around your apartment, gathering his things with eyes to the ground in guilt.

“Can you hurry up? I have places to be.” You said, fingers massaging your temple.

Stopping in his tracks, the boy turned to you with pleading eyes for the nth time today, “Baby, I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t mean to hurt you like tha-”

“I’m sorry, what? You disrespected me, not hurt me, there’s a difference-”

“Why are you doing this to me? You know I love you.” He pleaded.

“Is that a serious question right now? You cheated with my assistant in your first week as intern at my firm, then tried and miserably failed to gaslight and manipulate me into believing your lies which I find pretty bold considering that I’m literally a lawyer. I respect the attempt though.”

“Baby, it was an acci-”

“No, shut up, I’m not done speaking. And you did this while I bought out this apartment for you because I felt bad for your sorry ass having to live with your dumb friends. I had to spoon feed you through law school and now through life too? You should be grateful that I’m letting you leave with all your things considering I bought them all too.”

He stood there with his hands gathered, staring back at the floor again.

“What. You got nothing to say? I thought so. You gonna leave now or what?” You questioned. He took his boxes, feet dragging across the floor to the door. You rolled your eyes as you closed the door on him. Before needing to look for a new intern and a new assistant, you needed a drink more than anything.

-

It was a regular Friday evening at the bar for Hongjoong and the boys. In celebration of Ateez’s successful expansion of their ‘business ventures’, Hongjoong had decided to spend the rest of the day at their usual spot. Despite having been set up for the sole purpose of laundering their dirty money, Bar 1117 was doing ironically well. Due to the nightlife business booming, Hongjoong had gained another alibi to keep him under the radar and he couldn’t be more comfortable with where his life was at.

“No, I reckon it’s Yeosang” San said, bringing the glass of whisky to his lips.

“I back that, he’s not got the emotional capacity for it.” Woo agreed, laughing.

“Yeah, just because I don’t take any of your shit doesn’t mean I’ll do the same to my wife. I bet Mingi. He’s definitely getting married last.” Yeo rebutted.

“What wh-”

Before Mingi could finish, Seonghwa cut through, “Considering our line of work, no one’s gonna be getting married any time soon. Right Joong?”

Turning to the leader of the boys, Seonghwa saw that Hongjoong had his head turned away from the conversation, eyes scanning up and down a figure at the bar. Hongjoong was never a man to be distracted by anything or anyone, always focused on his business so it was a rare occurrence for him to be looking so intently at a person. The boys catching onto this, they followed his gaze to a man sat so close to the lucky person’s face, his facial expressions showing his desperation for a way to break down their walls.

“This might be interesting…” Wooyoung smirked.

-

“I genuinely couldn’t care less.” You said, head cocked to the side in your hand, staring dead straight into the man’s eyes. However, the man had no intention of ever stopping his speech as he sat next to you at the bar.

“Come on, you really don’t know my father? He was in today’s paper?” He carried on as you zoned out of the conversation and occasionally cringed at the man’s stale breath, wondering how many more men were going to be responsible for the deepening wrinkles between your brows. As you took a sip from your drink, you locked eyes with a blonde-haired man across the room. His features were delicate yet sharp like the thorn of a rose, or a shard of glass, eyes twinkling with mischief. He raised his glass at you and smirked, amused by the situation that you were in.

“Listen here, bitch-” The man grabbed your wrist, forcing your attention back to him, “You’re gonna take the drinks I buy you, listen when I speak and sit pretty like a woman is supposed to.” He spat.

“Grrrr, scary.” You crudely imitated the growl in the man’s voice, still uninterested, “What a man your mother raised. I bet she’s proud, hmm?”

Anger radiating from the man’s body, he grabbed the glass out of your hand and threw it at the wall behind you, missing your face by inches.

“Oh, so now you’re going to scare me into sleeping with you? You need to brush up on some people skills.” You laughed, throwing you head back. You only composed yourself to grab the man’s collar, causing him to stumble off his stool. “You want to throw another glass at me? Try it.”

You hadn’t noticed the blonde-haired man stroll up to your table seeing that you were so caught up in the situation.

“Hi, I’m Hongjoong. How’s your night going? Anything I can help you with?” He asked, rubbing his hands together, surprisingly composed despite the mess. You let go of the man as the name triggered something in your head, remembering it being mentioned a few times behind closed-door meetings with your father.

“Are all the whores around here like this? I came here for some fun and this is how I’m treated? Fuck this place and every one of you here.” The man started at Hongjoong. You sat there, curling your fists ready to punch the man this time but Hongjoong noticed and interjected.

He placed his hands on the ledge of the table, leaning forward to obstruct the space between you and the man. As he did, you noticed the glimpse of a gun hanging from inside his fitted jacket, the slick shine of the metal winking at you in the light.

“I’d rather die than come to this shithole again.” The man carried on and you noticed the mischievous glint that was once in Hongjoong’s eyes finally fade to black.

“Oh, sure thing, I don’t think I want to see you here again anyway.” Hongjoong muttered and what happened in the next few seconds flew by so fast it barely registered in your brain.

The blonde-haired man reached into his jacket to pull the handgun out and shoot the man clean between the brows. At the same time, you pointed the small pistol you always kept concealed on your body at Hongjoong in reflex, having been taught to react to the sound of gunmetal in this way since you were a child.

Once you realised that the bullet wasn’t intended for you, you sensed seven pairs of eyes trained on you. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw that the boys once sat at Hongjoong’s table were all stood up, half of their guns out pointed to the man, and the other half at you, the next possible threat to their leader.

It was then that you realised that this man was the leader of Ateez, Seoul’s biggest underground organization responsible for the running of the city. It may have been politicians and businessmen in the spotlight, but behind the curtains, it was Ateez pulling at their puppet strings.

“Easy with that, angel.” Hongjoong turned to you smiling and raised a hand at the boys to lower their weapons. He continued chuckling, “I felt like you might have an attitude, but I didn’t expect this from you.”

As if it were a regular occurrence, two barmen came round to dispose of the body and your eyes followed, gun still pointing at the blonde man. Using the tip of his fingers, he gently lowered your gun to point at the floor.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, “I know some people that can sort that out.”

“Yeah those people are my paralegals paying off police in their missing persons hunts and forging their death certificates.”

Everything had fallen into place for you in that brief encounter. You knew that your father and his firm were involved in some dark business, but you never questioned it. Respecting your father’s wishes in telling you that keeping you in the dark was keeping you safe, you let it go.

However, it was only a few years ago that he had begun to tell you about his private dealings as consigliere to the organisation Ateez. That recently, his age-old friend had stepped down as mob boss and handed everything down to his son. Chuckling at how much he saw the image of his friend in the young blood, he mentioned that you would be in a similar position, that you too would be handed the law firm and become consigliere by tradition.

You had always expected to take up this mantle since you were young, as you figured that the men coming to your house for private meetings while you played in the garden did not treat you with unparalleled respect for no reason. You just didn’t realise that it would mean for you to be so heavily tied with the illicit world of the mafia then.

From then on, you trained close by your father’s side, learning the ins and outs of the world of jurisdiction, though you were never exposed directly to the ongoings with the mafia as your father had said, “the time will come when it needs to.”

“Then I guess today is the day.” You whispered to yourself smiling, you held your hand out to Hongjoong. “I’m Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my father has always spoken very highly of you.”

Confused at first, a spark was ignited in Hongjoong as the shine returned to his eyes, and the amused smirk to his lips, your name triggering something in him. Realising that you were the daughter to one of the men he most respected in his life, he took your hand and brought it to his face to kiss gently, “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, I’ve heard a great deal about you as well, but who knew my future right-hand man would be so hot.” He said as he flashed a sly smile.

The more he observed, the flames within Hongjoong only grew as he could sense the fire in you too. The most beautiful person he had ever set eyes on was to be his consigliere? Couldn’t be any more perfect. He wondered what more you could achieve together and pictured only pure wildfire.

“You better watch your mouth Mr. Kim, unless you want to start a war between the family before I even take up my position.”

“Of course, I have nothing but respect for you and your father. I was told that I wouldn’t be meeting you until he was to step down from his position, but I guess my lucky stars have aligned perfectly tonight.”

“Also, I’m more than capable of dealing with these things myself, there was no need for you to play knight in shining armour.”

“Sure, holed up in your guarded palace of a law firm, you’ve never had experience in the real world. Things are different here and what happened at this bar is just the cusp of it, princess.” He rebutted voice dripping honey, flirting his way through the conversation.

“But who is it advising your every action and saving your asses in the courtrooms, hmm?”

You and Hongjoong continued to jab at each other while the boys sat back in disbelief at the situation. Common people would have run the other way as soon as a gun was shot in their vicinity. So for you to have pulled one out in retaliation and furthering that, started arguing with their Captain, it was a sight to see.

“Bets on who’s going to win this one?” Yunho broke the silence.

“I’m betting tonight’s drinks on the lady.” Mingi said, throwing his black card onto the table.

“Me too, Hongjoong hyung looks too smitten for pride games right now.” Jongho agreed.

“Looks like we’ve got our first to tie the knot then.” San chuckled, nudging at Wooyoung who replied, “Hmmm, she doesn’t look like the typical housewife type though.” Analysing the unmatched confidence exuding from your body language.

Soon after, Hongjoong led you to the table of boys, pulling a chair out for you.

“Guys, this is Y/N L/N, future consigliere to Ateez, and not to mention, my future wife.” He smirked, eyes glowing.

“Carry on and I’ll be future Captain by regicide, Hongjoong,” you shot him a glare as you took your seat, “considering our fateful encounter, it looks like I’ll be seeing you more often with my father now, I hope we can get along.”

You poured yourself a glass of whisky and smiled while Hongjoong could already sense the eventful days ahead with none other than you by his side. -

Mafia AU Masterlist

[mypersonmyg]

The Misery Chick | MYG

thank you to my favorite @kimtaehyunq for the wonderful banner, ily you talented cutie <3

pairing: Yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, a lil tiny bit of angst, college au

wc: 5.2k (issa short one)

warnings: language

summary: maybe yoongi has a fat crush on you OR he notices, that’s all

a/n: happy birthday to the one and only min yoongi! i am so so fond of him and i couldn’t not write something for him, so I hope you enjoy :D and as always feel free to send in drabble requests for the fic and blah blah blah...

honorary tag: @gukssunshine​

masterlist

To wonder about the quickened stride of the beating appendage in Yoongi’s chest, would be to question the routine catch of gaze to the lone figure at the far end of the classroom, dwarfed by cuddled fabric, consumed with the rapid turn of the lengthy page. His arm rests atop the desk’s surface, supporting the chin that minutely dips with your every flicker of expression, the parting of your lips in gasp mimed by his own. His eyes are glazed under bright light, lids threatening to blink, the passage of time too fast, but oh so slow. 

Yoongi’s knowledge is second hand, rumblings of your demeanor spread through the vine of dialogue that floats coincidentally through his ears to connect with the edges of his brain, chewed and regurgitated without second thought. He holds his refusal to high regard, refusal to believe that you’re nothing more than a student, disgruntled by circumstance. It’s not simple attraction that guides his mind to the eye of logic, the region of reason, though it was the peak of initial interest.

He notices, and that’s all. 

He notices the round of your puffed cheeks that follows a particularly surprising piece of narrative. He notices the seat left empty between you and the wall, open but not a forced invitation, and he notices the way your posture straightens when someone grazes a hair too close. He notices the deflation of your shoulders when you’re left without pair during lessons framed with the inopportunity of interaction forced to simulate the false reality of reality itself. He notices the things others are blind to in their half squint, though the picture is still blurred like the edges of a polaroid. 

The numbness of his wrist, angled by the rest of his chin, draws him from captivation despite motivation to outlast the congregation huddle before you, their fronts focused toward him, his view obscured by obligation of association. His lips form the curvature of amiability necessary for pleasantry, neck craning to the defense of blue jeans offending his locked gaze.

“Can you stop staring so hard? She’s gonna eat you alive,” Hoseok’s finger nudges at the round of Yoongi’s jaw, urging his attention completely away from his person of interest. 

“Fuck off, you don’t even know her.” 

“Neither do you, despite your dedication to staring holes into her side every chance you get. They don’t call her ‘the misery chick’ for nothing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.” The jab rubs the wrong direction, Yoongi’s hand landing with a thud to the thick of Hoseok’s skull. “Come on, it’s a joke.”

“Maybe to you, and to everyone else, but she is a person. You guys just don’t look beyond what you wanna see because then she’s more than just a good laugh.” Every utterance of the moniker draws is lips to a downward twitch, fists balling in the pocket of his hoodie or scraping at the fabric of stressed jeans. It’s knowing that if he’s heard it you have ten fold, the thought harboring the wish that he could fold you inward, close to the beat of his chest to shield from the displeasure of words half baked with stupidity and the ignorance of hilarity. 

“Well not everyone wants to see her between the sheets.”

Interruption of the education saves Hoseok from the verbal spar pending within the fire engulfing Yoongi’s pupils. A place of love harbors the words of war, he knows this, knows that Hoseok’s plan is to rile to the point of action, but he’s driven to the brink of insanity by twisted words of encouragement. The kindest person on the planet playing into the stereo of broken records hurled toward the edges of your delicate framing, . 

Yoongi’s hands curl around his pen, ballpoint and already dancing the page, jotting words flown from one canal to the other and back to the atmospheric toxins of brains shorting caffeine. His sleeves are suddenly burning, neck itching with the heat of nerves crawling outward from within the confines of his collar. He glances toward Hoseok staring absently at Yoongi’s decorative scrawl, raising a brow to colliding gazes.

“Is it hot?” Yoongi puckers in mumble, swiping at the skin kissing the fringe sweeping his eyeline. Hoseok’s head careens in the negative, averting gaze to the front of the room, professor droning about the coming assignment, a project that Yoongi barely catches wind of. 

The plague responsible for his discomfort of familiarity is comfort enough to stop the distant tremble of shoulders keen to the stare that meets his eyes from the room’s opposing side. He jolts, or rather the calm of his heart picks back to pace, when his eyes meet irises reflective of his own.  They’re gone as soon as he finds them, but he’s confident that the cool of his neck is confirmation that sanity isn’t all lost. 

“Dude, could you take your notes? I’m gonna need those later,” Hoseok nudges at his forearm, limp from distraction. Yoongi hurries to scribble missed lecture, patient for a lull in speech to make room for declaration. 

“She was looking at me.” 

“What?” 

“Y/n, she was looking at me. I saw her...I felt her.” 

“Maybe she was just staring off into space because this class is a snooze-fest.” Hoseok speaks through the timing of yawn, perfectly punctuating his point. “She probably doesn’t even know you exist. Though, I guess everyone knows you exist, so maybe she just doesn’t care.” 

The words aren’t false, Yoongi’s following his beyond the definition of quaint, his celebrity following him from the rush of the court to the thrill of the keys. He’s hard pressed for a moment of peace, but he often finds it here, lost in you. 

“I’m serious.”

Yoongi sighs an audible defeat, Hoseok’s dropped lids and the rest of his chin atop folded arms a clear sign that his mind is beyond the classroom and beyond Yoongi’s own romantic woes. The end of the lecture appears miles from the start, the wave of dismissal a spell releasing its hold on the shackles chaining the  ghoulish appearance of sleepless students. 

Yoongi has worked himself to the brink of decision by the end of the lecture, sure enough that his stride to your desk will prove a build in the shy tint of his cheeks when he musters a faint ‘hello’. The pan of his half thought out plan doesn’t sort as well as he hoped, the rush of legs scurrying for the door tripping him up in his rush to the chair where you patiently filed notebook to bag. 

His vision is blurred by the passage of sweaters and hoodies, emblems emblazoned on sleeves and beanies sagging from the tips of bedhead. Hoseok follows after his stride in a confused wake from the desk that housed his sleepy head for the last seventy minutes, stumbling along with the drag of feet on tile. 

When destination is met, your chair is neatly housed, your figure nowhere to be found, Yoongi paces back, his sizable sneaker just scuffing the metal recline of an adjacent chair. 

“What are you doing?” Hoseok clutches the muscled fabric of Yoongi’s shoulder, stopping near disaster following the weighted displacement of the two. 

“Nothing, let's get lunch.”

The passage of days are a haze in the midst of the craze of midterms and Yoongi’s attempt to find reason to believe your glance was more than a passing innocence. The press of his back to his mattress, sheets freshly laundered, linens, scented of the artificial makings of fresh lilac courtesy of Jeongguk, are used to his mid-day collapse for a pre-study snooze. He’s swallowed whole beneath the dense of his comforter, fingers curling into the soft material, lips emitting a sigh of satisfaction. 

The buds in his ears are a dull hum, white noise to saturate the crevices of his brain still vibrating from the surge of knowledge consumed at the twice rapid pace of the semester’s schedule. His lids are aflutter, pupils rolling to the dark precipice, the unconscious already tugging at the bits of his subconscious manifested to snooze.  

The muscles of his pillowy cheeks fight upward against the smush to the firm cushioning of his mattress, arms cuddled around the decorative cushion of deep blue. A pitched giggle echoes in the receptors of his brain, bouncing against the walls, a comforting sound. It’s foreign though, the melodic stutter, yet it engulfs his chest with the warmth of affection, his stomach turning with nerves of the giddy sort. 

He teeters on the edge of more, features dancing between streams, a waterfall blur. Yoongi aches for the reach, his physical and metaphorical being extending from the depths of his full size bed, yearning for the exploration of the four walls and beyond. He can swear his fingers graze the soft of skin, the trace of lip curved in sensuality just visible through sleepy haze. The giggles grow in volume, almost as if guided toward his hasty reach. 

“Jeongguk, shut up!” Yoongi falls forward, just catching onto the ledge of his dresser, quick reflexes doing wonders for his physical well being, but the skip in his mental and the stop of his heart are undeniable. 

He's heard the voice a handful of times, an arm eagerly shooting to respond to a professor’s quarry, the hidden mumblings that he swears he’s the only one to pick up on, his smirk almost never enough to stop impending chuckle.

It’s you. 

He knows, but can’t quite grasp that just beyond the barrier of belief, past the door sealed to keep from disturbance you’re somewhere laughing with Jeongguk. He listens for a moment, unmoving, to attempt a deciphering of your intentions, but laughter has turned to the inaudible mumblings from the room across the hall.  He’s silent in his trek to the door, pulling it on rusted hinges, cringing with every scrape of copper and wood. 

He slips down the hall on tiptoe, unsure if you’re attune to the other members of the house, but not ready to face you if Jeongguk’s door swings back to reveal the occupants of the small cubical. Yoongi makes way to the kitchen, surprised to find the rest of his roommates crowded into the sizable space, each occupied with their own endeavor of strewn textbooks and half frozen toaster strudel. 

“Well well look who’s awake,” Jimin sneers playfully in Yoongi’s direction, drawing attention from the rest of the room. 

“Bet I can guess why,” Taehyung snickers, glances exchanged with a conspiratorial air, the shift of Yoongi’s feet not unnoticed by his personal tormentors. “We told Jeongguk he might wanna keep it down, we know how you like your rest.” 

“Jeongguk didn’t wake me,” Not the correct turn of phrase, realized just moments late, the flicker of pupils raising with the feigned ah ha! Yoongi side steps them all, settling on the sphere of orange grabbing his interest from the bowl on the table, plopping into the nearest chair. 

“Oh he didn’t? Well what other reason could you possibly have to forgo your pre-study nap, hmmm?” Jin pokes at the slightly greened peel of Yoongi’s fruit, hand smacked away with haste. He withdraws to card through his hair, lengthening by the day, framing his face with more beauty than should be allowed by the ethereal senior. 

“I was hungry, s’all.” He tosses scraps with each peel of fruitful flesh, eagerly sliding bits of tangerine past his puckered lips. Anything to keep his mind from the fresh dose of giggles eating at his brain like a love bitten parasite. “Who—umm, who does Jeongguk have over.” 

“Oh, Kookie has a friend over? We had no idea,” Namjoon hums, glasses perched to the bridge of his nose, arms eaten by the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“Maybe you recognize their voice? I mean, you’re the only one close enough to hear it.” Hoseok’s grin is shit eating, half hidden behind the length of his hand, fingers curling in position at the tip of his chin. 

“Oh, oh! I think I recall him saying something about a...Y/—hmmm was it…” Taehyung fakes stumbles over the name, tips of his fingers tracing the glass of his crumbed plate. 

“Y/n.” Yoongi speaks through teeth clenched, his cheeks rosy from snatched sleep and the scrutiny he’s placed himself under, the heat of a lamp concentrated in the five pairs of eyes trained on his every movement for their amusement. 

“So you do know her, why don’t you go say hi?” Jin pats him with vigour, the sound of an echoed frame permeating the air of what Yoongi has affectionately titled, friendly toxicity. Those same muffled voices grow with the trek down the stairs, threatening to give way with each step. Yoongi lifts his eyes from his half eaten fruit for the first time since he sat down, daring them to say a word out of turn with a single look. 

“It’s pretty quiet considering seven guys live here,” Your voice is audible from the front door, Yoongi’s grip tightening, juice spilling down the crevices of his hand, soiling his shirt sleeve, palms already sticky from the stress. “I have one roommate and, as you’ve seen, she can be loud enough for the both of us.” 

“I’m just as surprised as you are actually. I know Yoongi is probably asleep,” Yoongi sinks into his chair, knowing glances threatening to drop him straight through the wooden surface. “The rest are probably out.” 

“Yoongi?” Your voice strays a bit, Yoongi’s lip twitching, unsure what to think of the sudden strain in pitch. 

“Yeah, do you know him?” 

“Oh, um...kinda? Not really, we share a class together, but we’ve never talked. I’m pretty sure he’d think he’s too cool for me anyways. You know, ‘misery chick’ and all.” Yoongi levels a stare at Hoseok whose arms lift in readied defense, though his own face conjures frown at your words. Your attention clearly never spotting the longing with which he’s leveled you for the past few months. 

“You’re not the ‘misery chick’,” Jeongguk’s voice holds firm reassurance, something Yoongi wishes he could give you, but he’s glued, too curious for the thought of impromptu interruption. “People are just jerks. Besides, Yoongi-hyung isn’t like that at all. He likes to pretend he doesn’t know how cool people think he is.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Koo.” 

The door closes, Jeongguk just as soon rounding into the kitchen, tracks dead when there are six pairs of eyes trained on his figure. “Wha—have you all been here the whole time?” 

He only takes pause momentarily, his stride leading to the fridge, a juice box of all things pulled from metal confines. The naked eye would never guess the soft interior of Jeongguk, his features contrasting with the boots swallowing his feet and the tattoos eating his arm, tracing his digits. But he’s the walking embodiment of the careful youth painting each man posted in the room, a piece of him nursed by a piece of them with each day passing. 

“Yeah, we’re just hangin’ around, Jeonggukie.” Hoseok shrugs, ruffling the base of Jeongguk’s wild curls. 

“Well you’re doing it pretty quietly, Y/n thought it was weird.” 

“Are you guys dating?” Jimin’s question is thrown with abandon, eyes trained on Jeongguk with absolute focus, Yoongi sending a glare toward the silver haired fiend. 

“No.” Jeongguk pays little mind to the question, too busy squeezing every last drop from the box clutched in his fist, doe eyes glistening with concentration. “We met last semester in lit and she’s really cool so we started hanging out. You guys should meet her sometime, she doesn’t have a lot of friends because of this dumb rumor that she’s ‘the misery chick’ which is ridiculous because she’s one of the nicest people I’ve met here.” 

“Yeah, you can bring her over any time.” Namjoon encourages, book lowered to the table, face scrunching in mental agony when he realizes the corner of his novel is soaked with the spill of orange juice. 

“She said she knows you from class Yoongi, but she doesn’t think you’d like her. I think you would though! Maybe you should try to talk to her next class.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi readily agrees, new found vigor in his speech. “Maybe…” 

Over the next several weeks, Yoongi is sure that coincidence isn’t what found his stare locked to yours, Jeongguk’s overheard conversation clearly leaving your interest peaked about Yoongi who was forced to make his own gazes less frequent for fear of being caught. His first sighting after he floated the walls of his home like a ghost in haunt was next lecture. 

The nerves that ate at his skin the first instance of your curious scan was turned bearable by the itching of excitement to his every nerve, skin alight with the tango of possibility traversing his very being. His attention was wayward, standing at the head of the class, scooping the pages required for lecture from the overflowing desk, a minute ‘excuse me’ cutting through the thick of his cogged brain. 

“Yes?” Was his response, regurgitated dumbly despite the forming line waiting for him to budge to his waiting seat. 

“Uh...could I get by...papers.” He smiles, unintentional, but the effect is the duck of your head, refusal to meet his eyes under such a heated gaze. He’s left to stare a moment longer before the snag of his sleeve, Hoseok forcing him away, calming the mob of students too impatient to momentarily still for the fruition of his romantic interest. 

Lately, your exit from class seems somehow quicker than usual, the practiced haste too much for him to master, another obstacle to his formal introduction. Though it seems your professor can read the tension that hovers the expanse of the classroom, a thread itching to be linked by two lovers, one unknowing of the delicate pull she has on her soul suitor. 

“Okay!” The professor stands at the front of the room, barely holding the attention of the class, barely holding Yoongi’s attention until he speaks once more. “Instead of a formal midterm, I want you all to complete a joint essay, yes you heard me correctly! I want you to pair up and write an essay on the topic of your choosing—as long as that topic is related to the course.” 

Yoongi perks up, ignoring the telltale that Hoseok hopes to grab him as soon as the class is dismissed because Yoongi has a plan of his own. 

“Of course I won’t force you to choose a partner, I know some of you prefer to work alone. But no more than two people to a group. Now I can see that you’re all on the edge of your seats, but I’m feeling generous today, so you’re dismissed, but your pages are due on my desk beginning of class Monday!” The final words of the professor send the class into frenzy, those who were paying attention quick to grab hold of their half and those who weren’t suddenly catching up and scrambling for someone who’ll make do.

“Hey, we’re partners, right?” Hoseok looks at Yoongi hopeful, but Yoongi already has his sights set on you, watching everyone link up, resigned to working solo. 

“Nah, I’ve got another partner in mind if that’s okay with you.” Hoseok catches the drift rather quickly, wide smile forgoing slight disappointment at his loss of the sure A on his midterm. 

“Go for it,” Hoseok gives a light shove forward, much appreciated by Yoongi whose heart threatens to burst from his chest, sure that the nerves are painted on his face like a slice of Van Gogh. He’s just in time, your hands shoved into your pockets, ready to leave the suffocation of a space smothered in unwelcome. 

“Hey.” Yoongi can see the uncertainty, your eyes glancing to either side to ensure that he is certainly addressing you. 

“Hey…” 

“So, this midterm thing is kinda weird, right?” He can already see the snicker on Hoseok’s face, though his friend is posted at the door opposite him. Your own lips quirk, his only thought of coherency aimed at how cute the action is. You rock on your heels, he notes your style isn’t far off from the bones of Jeongguk, hoodie black and heavy boots ready to stomp through endless waves of the nauseating sea of university. 

“Yeah...I guess it’s a little unconventional. But great for people who get test anxiety,” You humor him, hands withdrawing from jeaned confines to gesture wildly to the room void of anyone but the three remaining vessels, two of which are engaged in unlikely exchange. “Did you need something?” 

“Huh?” 

“Sorry! I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a class to get to and I have a thing about being late. I figure there’s a reason you’re talking to me seeing as we’ve never actually talked before…” You catch yourself in ramble, tripping over phrases whilst Yoongi watches without missing a beat. 

He’s incredibly taken with the way the words flow without pretense, a nice change to the closed off demeanor people falsely associate with you. He would listen for a lifetime to the things you have to say, hopefully with the clasp of finger and longing glances. Your intent is nonsense, nerves eating away at the buds of your tongue. To him it’s a poetry specially curated, a tickle to his throat bringing forth the soft laughter that halts your speech. 

“I’m sorry, you go ahead I’m just...nervous.” 

“No no, don’t apologize, I like listening to you,” He coos when you smile, quick to recover before your eyes, wide and attentive find his own once more, now notably softer, safer. “I love your smile too…” 

“You’re not so bad yourself…” Soft spoken and not altogether sure is the way you speak, your class long forgotten, a blip in rear view shadowed by the shining beacon before you. “So…?”

“Right, right...I was just wondering if you’d maybe wanna work together?” Despite compliments and hinted flirtation you’re taken aback by the offer, your eyes skirting Yoongi completely, raising question to the figure station by the exit. Hoseok offers you a smile you can’t help but return his thumbs raising in the affirmative. 

“He’s all yours,” Hoseok assures, taking his leave prematurely, Yoongi still waiting for confirmation. 

“No pressure, just thought I’d ask. I think we’d work well together,” And I wanna know you, he withholds for fear of frightening you more so than the sudden acknowledgement already has.

“Well I don’t know about that, but yeah I’d love to if you’re sure.” 

“I’m positive. Wanna meet at my place after school?” 

“Sounds good.” You pull your phone swiping at the screen before passing it over. “Just text me when you’re free.” 

“I’ll text the address,” He knows it’s unnecessary, just taking precautions to shield from the admission of his eavesdrop the last time you occupied the residence. You wait until you’re once again clutching the spherical confines of your devices, checking and double checking that all digits are present, not unfamiliar with the harsh reality of falsehood buried beneath genuine interest.

“Oh, I actually know where you live. My friend Jeongguk is one of your roommates, so I know my way.” 

“Well I’m sorry we’ve missed each other, that it took me so long to say hello.” Yoongi’s legs lead him half a step closer, an accidentally purposeful close of the gap between, your eyes avoid the bottom half of his face, focusing instead on the bill of his cap and the dark hair tickling the edges. 

“Guess you’ll just have to make up for it somehow.” 

“Guess I will.” 

Your visits to Yoongi are routine over the next week, the laughter filling the hectic halls caused by him rather than his roommates. He’s seen more of you in a week than he could’ve hoped in a lifetime, even more confused about the way you’ve been outcast by a majority of your major. He’s awed by your lack of reaction to the judgement of peers, often citing it as a joke, sarcasm lacing the words. 

It’s the day before assignment is due, you’re perched at Yoongi’s desk, he’s laying on his bed, tossing his basketball in mock free throw simultaneously with his toss of ideas while your fingers type vigorously in final draft. 

This particular evening leaves you alone with Yoongi, the other members of the house trying and failing to convince you to join for their weekly outing to the nearest bar where they would no doubt drink their weight to poorly prepare for the week to come. Yoongi was swift to opt out, much preferring your company to the stench of stale beer and jokes poorly executed by Jin after he downs his fifth shot. 

You were insistent that he let you handle the rest of the paper, just pages standing between you and your final product, but he’s too fond of the way your post-its decorate the shelf over his desk, different colored notes for every paragraph, the ink of your pens highlighting each point in magenta saturation. He’s obsessed with the way you hunch to close to the pages of your textbook while scolding him for getting too close to the screen of his laptop in the next breath. 

He can’t help the thought of what could be, close calls and a hair’s breadth stepping between you all week. It’s the price of seven roommates and a lock loosened with the jiggle of a handle. The hesitancy that still fills your pupils despite the easy way his words lace with genuine interest. 

Yoongi remembered what it was like to notice, deciding that it’s much better to experience you. The moment is delicate, your soft suggestions and argumentative replies tossed with a hint of tease lacing the bite of your tone. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that breaks the mold of his face, lips dampened by the press of gums prominent from healthy reach. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He raises, your fingers slowing against the keyboard, chair swiveling to offer full attention. “Does it bother you...the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” 

He’s not sure what possesses it, but he is sure that knowing will make things easier, break a barrier that to him doesn’t exist. He knows your breath is baited, knows you’ve been waiting for the pull of the rug, so he offers a tug, a comforting teasing sort of thing to ease your mind and close the gap of misunderstanding that he could never blame you for. 

“Can I ask you a question? Do you believe the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” You counter, scooting along hardwood until your knees are pressed to his mattress, sinking into the cushioned flesh as far as it allows. Your stare is careful, not expectant of the negative or offended by the positive. “It’s okay if you do, just don’t lie about it.” 

There's a sadness in your delivery and Yoongi notes it immediately. Your attempt to hide the twitch of your lip and the anxious fold of your hands in your lap don’t escape him. Your tone is even, your eyes much the same and he wonders how anyone could ever believe it, he’s grateful that he never did. 

“Not for a second.” He responds almost immediately, waiting for any lingering doubt on your end. It never comes.

“Good.” Is your reply, just as even as the question itself. Your shoulders relax, posture not as stiff as before. “It does bother me, not as much as it used to, but it does. It bothers me that they don’t like that I’m not like them. I don’t mean that in the whole ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but I’m just not Cathy college, you know? I don’t get excited about parties and drinking, I don’t need to go out all the time to have fun, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you if you do, but I don’t and because I’m not like everyone else I have to be ‘the misery chick’.

He’s sure you don’t realize it, but Yoongi see’s the build of tears in your eyes, unshed but there and it breaks him. Breaks him that something so trivial could be the defining factor of someone’s experience, that you can hide it so well at the cost of your own happiness.

“I mean, it’s college, you’d think that people have better things to do than come up with reasons to ridicule someone, but I guess I have too much faith.” You finish, glancing up to find Yoongi all ears, lips etched in frown. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for all of that.” 

“People suck.” Is all he says, hand extending toward you, inviting you to join him on his island, silent but sure. You crawl the length of the mattress, your back pressing the headboard, fingers laced with his own, warm and sweaty from nerves, yours or his neither of you are sure. 

“People do suck.” 

“I know what’ll make you feel better.” He offers, thumb running along the jagged edges of your knuckle, skin kissing skin. You lift your head, half leaning on his shoulder so your eyes meet, a reflection of picture perfect, a record in perfect sync. 

“Yeah?” 

“You should go out with me.” Yoongi doesn’t expect a snort, but the response is exactly what he receives your head averting to conceal your laughter, hands shielding your face from the expanse of an ego deflated by the graze of your accidental needle. “Why are you laughing?” 

“No I’m not—I just—you’ve been looking at me like I’m completely insane all semester! I didn’t think you liked me, I thought you were looking right through me...I kinda thought you were just coming to class high every day.” 

“I don’t even smoke, those were not the eyes of a stoner, they were the eyes of a man who’s very fond of you.” Yoongi defends his position, his usually dormant stare now bugged to exaggeration, unavailable for serious consideration. 

“My mistake, though I don’t know whether to be weirded out or completely flattered.” 

“You better be so flattered that I can see hearts in your eyes because you were pretty quick to agree to be my partner for this project!” Yoongi keeps the charade, glad to lighten the tension and draw from the heaviness of the previous conversation. It’s not a chapter that’s closed, but the beginning is the build and he’s planning an entire novel with you, so he figures his time isn’t limited by the tick of a clock nearing the midnight hour. 

“I heard I’ve got a sure ‘A’  and I’d be an idiot to pass that up.” 

“You could get a passing grade in your sleep, you can’t fool me. But you can go on a date with me.”

“So you, cool guy Min Yoongi, want to go on a date with me, ‘the misery chick’?” You gasp, hand clutched to your chest, Yoongi’s hand catching hold and bringing it to his own, to the beat of his heart, the bass begging for a melody that only you can satisfy. 

“More than anything.” 

“Well when you put it that way I have no choice but to say yes, but to be clear, I’ve definitely seen you looking at Hoseok with that same look in your eyes so you might wanna sort some stuff out first—”

[popatochisssp]

Hello Poppy! I hope you slept well! Here is the reminder you requested to create a mob au hc post like the cowboy post. Have a wonderful day!

Thank you, it’s finally time! I’m gonna put it under a cut immediately because having twenty skeletons makes every post with all of them automatically a long one!

Full disclaimer-- none of the boys are bosses, that falls on the monarch(s) of their universes... but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own roles to play~

(Warnings: mentions of crime, drugs, violence, sex, brief sexism [probably not the way you’d think] and ableism, plus all the usual mob-tropes I may have forgotten to mention)

Sans (Undertale): He’s a...humble purveyor of items, quality goods produced economically in order to pass those savings on to the crafty consumer who might not want to pay full, exorbitant price for ‘name-brand’ luxuries... Yeah, he’s the ‘you wanna buy a watch?’ guy and he spends most of his days (strategically) wandering around the city looking for customers to hock knockoff, lookalike watches, wallets and bags to. The fuzz know him by name but can never seem to find anything to hold him on, so he’s mostly just a harmless nuisance to be shooed along elsewhere if there’s been any complaints. (He’s real good at making friendly conversation with the law enforcement and keeping all eyes on him, and frankly, if there were any real shady business going on somewhere nearby... well, the cops certainly wouldn’t know about it, too busy hustling him along down the street, now would they?)

Papyrus (Undertale): An upstanding citizen, unlike his brother who’s always in some little trouble with the law or other. He is gainfully employed at a fitness center, and he commutes there by car, because paid for his license to operate one and practiced his driving skills and saved up until he could afford a very beautiful, shiny car of his own! It’s a very nice vehicle...so nice, even, that he doesn’t like to drive it for...recreational outings with friends, in case the paint might get scuffed. That’s why his friends let him borrow their cars when they go out, and let him drive very fast (but safely!) all over the city, even at strange hours or by ‘suspicious’ locations. He’s certainly never seen anything suspicious going on, he just waits outside, and if he happens to keep a First Aid kit in his glove-box, that’s just taking precautions, isn’t it? Accidents happen, you know! (He’s the best getaway driver in town and he knows it, but plausible deniability--the less he ‘knows,’ the better.)

Sky (Underswap Sans): Just your average, ordinary businessman, running a nice little bar for average, ordinary folks of all kinds. Well... he co-owns the place with a buddy of his, Grillby, but Grillbz is a free spirit and a real man about town, so really most of the ‘running’  is down to him. And he loves it! So many people (monsters and humans) to meet and chat with and serve... human food and alcohol, of course. Monster food and alcohol isn’t legalized yet to serve to humans, and a black mark like that against his little establishment would be just awful. He adheres fully to the rules and regulations set forth by human governmental agencies, no magic in anything he passes across the counter, skeleton’s honor! ...Total bullshit, obviously-- he’s running a speakeasy for humans who want to partake in a little monster food or booze, because it’s not harmful to humans and that makes it an even stupider regulation than prohibition was. Grillby taught him most of the menu and cooks on the rare occasions he’s in, while Sky handles the liquid menu and keeps an eye-socket out for snitches and inspectors trying to catch him in the act. He’s never missed a rat yet.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He works at his brother’s place. In the back. Only part-time, though, Sky’s got it mostly buttoned up there, so Paps has a lot of leisure time to wander around the city, hit up his favorite joints, chat with friends--and strangers that can become friends, he’s a friendly sorta guy. And if he’s ever seen sharing a cigarette or two with one of those friends, of course it’ll be a totally normal tobacco cigarette, and no exchange of money or anything else incriminating about the interaction. ...Doggo is the one that does the deals, he’s got the Dog Treat supply and a client base that’s steadily starting to include humans--but since Dog Treats are classed as Monster Consumables and illegal to distribute to humans, in spite of being non-addictive, only mildly affective, and non-irritant to lungs, things get a little more convoluted. Paps hits up Doggo at Muffet’s (a wholly monster establishment) for the Dog Treats and a client list, ‘refurbishes’ the Treats to resemble cigarettes, and then meets up with anybody who prepaid for their order real casual-like to fence ‘em. He gets a little cut of the profits, and a discount when he’s picking up for pleasure instead of business--like a (slightly) more illegal girl scout cookie racket.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Him? He’s just an average joe in all respects. He’s got a little auto shop, spends his days tuning up cars and bikes and such as the like, and most evenings out having fun with anybody else who’s out looking to have a good time--food and drink and maybe a little gambling, but small games, low stakes, for charity, yanno? Nothing illegal, he’d freely assure anyone concerned about the law. Yep, he’s a perfectly normal, law-abiding citizen...as far as anyone can tell. If he does a little work on the side, when specifically requested to, by perhaps one of his monarchs or one of the parties they’d approved to ask for his...services... Well, he’s certainly too quick and clean about it to leave any hard evidence behind, and he’s always far away from...whatever may have happened...with too many witnesses all in agreement that he was there and couldn’t have been anywhere else, unless he could somehow make it across town in the blink of an eye. (His side-gig is as a hitman. He keeps his shortcut ability very tightly under wraps to make for perfect alibis, and takes his targets out with magic bullets which he can disappear afterwards. If he’s ever somehow implicated in anything, he’s happy to point out to the nice officers that he doesn’t even own a weapon. They’re free to look, but all they’ll find is a set of knuckledusters he keeps on his person, purely for protection--and look how shiny the brass is, never even been used, officers! Guess they’ve got nothing on him, after all...)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A law-abiding citizen. He must be--surely one can’t get more law-abiding than a lawyer...right? He actually does keep his (lack of) nose clean, but studying the convoluted mess that is human law doesn’t leave time for much else--even when your studies are funded by royalty and you’re given everything you need to open up your own practice as soon as you’ve passed the bar. Still, his skill and knowledge in arguing the law is very valuable and his services are in high demand, so he’s well-compensated for his chosen career and lives his life outside of it both comfortably and legally. His clients...are innocent until proven guilty and it would be an extreme failing of his duty to give any of them anything less than his best in the courtroom, regardless of their character, their associations, and what they happen to have been accused of. (Yeah, he’s a mob lawyer, used almost exclusively by Asgore and Toriel to protect them and anyone they send to him and all of their collective...interests. He respects the law, but values justice above it, so in spite of having a lot of clients who are definitely criminals in one way or another, he has no trouble sleeping at night.)

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He’s an accountant, nothing more, nothing less. ...For Toriel, of course, so he’s paid well for his services. And he has quite a head for numbers and figures, so he plays the stock market and does quite well there, too, smart investments and reading the writing on the wall, and all that. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his very healthy finances and his lavish lifestyle--fur coats, fine suits, fancy cars, shiny gold pocket-watches-- it’s all expensive and almost over the top, but hey, he is the money-man and all the numbers check out. It seems that he’s just very good at handling and investing his capital, it’s no wonder the monster-queen herself hired him on... (He is, of course, running several money laundering schemes at any given time, taking all the less-than-legally-obtained money earned by constituents of the [former] Empire and layering it through official channels to make it look legal in such a convoluted, complex web that it doesn’t raise any significant red flags. He’s got his claws in a lot of pies, and he takes what he needs off the top to live a little luxuriously, with Toriel’s knowledge and permission-- a perk for the necessary service he provides.) Whatever else may be true, it’s a simple fact that he’s very, very good at his job.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): With the lucrative career his brother has, the lucky SOB doesn’t have to work a day in his life if he doesn’t want to, but he’s using the safety net to pursue his passion in art. Subjective as it is, it’s hard to say if he’s really any good, but people seem to like what he produces well-enough--not a household name, but people passionate about the subject might recognize his work and his pieces sell with at least moderate success. For all that it’s probably not going to make him famous or rich(er than his brother), he’s dedicated to his craft and regularly makes bulk purchases of his supplies, canvas and reams of paper and paint and ink and the like, to keep up his steady work and art sales. He seems like an altogether normal and down-to-earth sort of guy, nothing suspicious about him at all. (He’s a counterfeiter and works in tandem with his brother--they even hit a Bureau together to lift a set of plates for the one and only active crime he was involved in--and his art is just a really good cover for why he needs so much ink and paper and other supplies on a regular basis. He does love and care about his art career, that part’s not fake, but he’s also got a good eye-socket for detail and steady hands to replicate it, and if fake human money that looks really real can help monsters, he doesn’t really see why he shouldn’t.)

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s...been through a lot. All monsters have, really, but he was hit kind of especially hard and... Whatever Gerson, or Undyne, or whoever’s running things now up on the Surface are getting involved in...he doesn’t really want any part of it. He gets regular stipends for some unspecified ‘service’ he performed for the Queen, Underground, and while no human (alive) knows what that was, it’s apparently enough to live off of relatively comfortably without being employed himself. He has a nice little place with his brother on the outskirts of the city and he lives there quietly, peacefully. He rarely goes into town, just the occasional walkabout, stopping at restaurants or scoping out the architecture. (Part of his one concession to being left out of whatever illegal, mob-type business may or may not be going on: he needs a good mental map of the city and at least a few landmarks that he’ll definitely remember, because he’s the emergency evac should...anything...go especially south. The house phone doesn’t ring too often in the middle of the night, but when it does, he needs to know where he needs to be, and quick.)

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s, ah... not involved in any ‘business’ either, but he does spend a little more time out of the house, at the local hospital. He was allowed to make a study of human medicine and become a nurse by Very Special Exception--mostly due to some friends (or at least one) in high places, and some very backwards human attitudes about parts that constitute a ‘man’ and how a skeleton without any parts could perhaps be allowed into nursing--and he’s proven himself a valuable member of staff and even made friends with all of his coworkers. He’s happy at his job, and with his life, and returns home to his quiet, peaceful house every night with a smile. (He has a go-bag ready by the phone for those late night calls, though, full of healing items and medical equipment he may have subtly nicked from the hospital, just so he has everything he needs to treat a monster or a friendly human that may have gotten hurt...somehow...and for reasons they have no need to specify, can’t risk going to a doctor.)

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Just a poor street musician...or at least, that’s what most people figure, ‘cause he doesn’t dress too well and the trombone he plays while sitting out on the sidewalk looks like it’s probably the nicest thing he owns. He gets a couple bucks from time to time, but rarely any second glances, and that... That works in his favor. You’d be surprised how much people talk about when they think nobody’s listening (or at least...nobody important) and he can pick up a lot of interesting information of what’s going on in the city just by setting up in the right spot and waiting for folks to talk business. He’s pretty quiet when he’s not tooting the ol’ horn and great at blending into the background, and that’s made him the guy to go to when you want to know something--like how much somebody else knows, or if there are any plans in place for say, a raid or a sting or some kind. (Law enforcement is the worst about keeping proprietary information ‘proprietary’ when they think their only audience is some nobody monster bum sleeping on a bench...) He’s also got something of a whole information network going on with the actual homeless people in the city, since he gives great tips about places who are hiring or somewhere to get a meal or a bed for the night and he always gives his earnings from busking to those who need it more than him. He’s paid for the service he provides and he’s got a home to go back to, it just seems right that the music-money goes to help somebody else.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a nanny for the Queen! Not too long ago, she might’ve opted to just stay home and look after her newly adopted child herself, while Asgore handled business with the humans, but... They’re freshly split now, and Toriel wants to be just as involved in things as Asgore as much as she wants to s l o w l y ease into being a full-time mother again. Yrus is the solution, already fond of little Frisk and a very warm and trustworthy soul who stayed bright even in the gloom of the Underground. He happily takes the job when asked and splits his time between supervising and caring for Frisk, and tutoring them in all the important subjects (math, history, magic, et cetera). He finds he has a passion for teaching and thinks he might go into that someday, when Frisk is older and Toriel has a little more time and confidence to no longer need him as a buffer. (Whatever it is, specifically, that takes up so much of Toriel’s time and keeps her out so late that he sometimes has to wait around well past Frisk’s bedtime for her to come back and ask after them... Yrus couldn’t fathom a guess and isn’t going to ask any questions. That would definitely be out of his scope as a simple child-minder and even if he knew anything, it would be an extreme violation of the family’s privacy for him to tell tales, which he’s happy to point out to anyone with a lot of questions for somebody so close to two of the Dreemurrs.)

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s on his brother’s payroll. It seemed like the best way to kill two birds with one stone: he’s a big, scary-looking wall of bone who isn’t well suited to a regular-joe sorta job, and his bro’s a very high-profile guy who needs somebody big and scary-looking to stand next to him and be a deterrent. Nepotism, maybe, but they’ve been looking after each other their whole lives already and it’s something Brick knows he can do--he’d do it for free, but if King thinks it’s better (and safer) to have it as his job description, he’s probably right, so Brick’ll take the paycheck for it. King’s also very likely the only one who could stop him if he...lost control...somewhere out and about, so sticking close to him makes Brick feel better and hey, maybe they’re actually killing three birds with this stone of an arrangement. Still, he mostly just goes about town with King, standing around and watching his back and staring people down when he needs to while his brother carries on with his conversations and business. He hardly ever has to do anymore than that...almost never. (One of his favorite places to go is a little hole-in-the-wall craft shop, where King always pretends to take longer than he needs so Brick can peruse the yarn and try to pick up a little sign language from the nice old deaf lady who owns the place.)

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Yes, yes, he’s very high profile--he did lead monsterkind for a time, getting everyone up to the Surface and settled there--but he’s since stepped down. He’s retired, and anything his successor may be involved in... surely, he couldn’t say. He and Toriel are barely in contact and the money he receives from her on the regular is a gift of goodwill, mostly for medical expenses (his leg, and his brother’s...well). All he does these days is collect for a charity, a pet project of his, Monster Reparations. Lots of people give such generous donations when he goes around to ask for them, maybe impressed a little by his fame, but he can’t feel too terribly about using it for such a worthy cause... (It’s a thinly veiled protection racket and the people and businesses who buy into it tend not to fall victim to ‘mysterious’ criminal activity. Toriel may be officially calling the shots now, but King, as the monster who put her back there, is in a very unique position of power in having her ear, an unofficial underboss totally off the books. Some ‘donate’ more than necessary when he comes collecting, hoping to earn preferential treatment, and sometimes they get it and sometimes they don’t--it’s entirely down to King’s opinion of them personally. ...The old woman who runs the craft store pays about half the going rate, and the immigrant who imports the miniature trees he likes gets a heavy discount, too. The deli-owner he overheard hurling discriminatory epithets at a customer, however, pays triple. You get the idea.)

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a researcher. Highly confidential, he’s sworn to secrecy and even mentioning that he’s being funded by Elder King Shroomba is pushing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to talk about. Still, he has his own facility, and several assistants, monster volunteers and sometimes human ones--but they have to sign papers swearing not to talk about what goes on in the lab, too. From what they are allowed to say, the gist is just that it didn’t seem like anything sinister was going on; not even a blood-draw... Merc seems pretty happy to leave at the end of every day, though, and whenever it comes up, he talks very fondly about being able to finish the project. (He’s researching DT, specifically how it can be used to enhance monster physiology and make them more resistant to damage from intent. Merc’s misadventure with DT destabilized him, but from 1HP he’s now more durable than ever, and his second attempt with his brother had less dramatic but still noticeable and successful results. The king wants that safety net for more monsters, especially ones who are on the front lines of...potentially less than legal dealings...who could really be at risk. Merc is reluctant, but with the stipulation of informed, willing volunteers for DT extraction and infusion, he can’t bring himself to turn down the resources and funding to research his own condition and bring the possibility of being normal again ever closer. He still has a hard time with the idea of ‘enhancing’ monsters, but the fact that it’s at least being done safely, willingly, and with a whole team behind it this time helps a lot.)

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He’s in a wheelchair but not letting it keep him down, and he’s running a modest little newspaper stand on the corner--papers and magazines and cheap books--nothing all that special but boy, what an inspiration, good for him that he’s got a job and can run the place by himself! All kinds come and go from his stand, and sometimes he closes it up for a little bit in the middle of the day to take a...er...roll, with some people who must be friends of his, but he’s never gone too long, so nobody says anything to the poor guy about the inconvenience. He’s a dedicated businessman, or trying to be; won’t even let people help him with those heavy-looking boxes of deliveries he gets, and for a fella with no legs, he seems to be doing his best! (...The whole thing is a low-key smuggling operation and he is making bank off it. There’s a system of code-words in place related to the publications he sells for a ‘customer’ to indicate whether they’re buying or selling, and what--magic consumables, stolen/hot items, imported goods, the works--and where and when they want things to go down. There’s even hidden compartments in his custom-built wheelchair for some of the riskier stuff, because he knows no cop in their right mind would force a guy with no legs out of his chair just to search it with witnesses around. And that’s presuming any law enforcement were to even catch wise to his set-up, which he kind of doubts: he’s sly and subtle and even if he weren’t, he knows people see the chair before they see him. Why not take advantage of that?)

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He makes his living as a boxer, and a subsequent minor celebrity. Pretty much any match he’s in is an exhibition match--not just a monster, not just a little guy (...relatively), but a short skeleton monster who’s blind, wow! You don’t see that every day, that’s a spectacle! Plenty of ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s in the packed stands every night the sightless skeleton scrapper is in the ring and nobody can figure out how he bobs and weaves so well that he hardly ever gets hit. He loses some matches, that’s to be expected, even for a ‘normal’ fighter, but hey, people love an underdog story, so when he wins, it’s an uproar every time. (For his part, Pitch hates most of his ‘fans’ who think of him the same way they probably think of a silly little dog who learned a funny trick, but the fame in general, and the thrill of the fight... Those are enough to keep him in the ring. Just... maybe not quite enough to keep him fighting clean. He’s as dirty as sportsmen come and he and a few other monsters regularly play his own odds with the bookies: he’ll subtly use magic to cheat and stay in longer, or go down when he could easily keep fighting, whatever’s more profitable with the over/under from match to match. If he’s going to be a circus act doing what he loves, he may as well get hazard pay for his dignity... and y’know, a couple of idiots who think being able to fight is a ‘trick’ because you’re blind aren’t nearly so annoying when you’re being driven away from them in a luxury car, to your expensive house in the hills decked out with all the amenities.)

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s got a place he looks after, keeps things running. Just a small joint, nothing fancy, a little cabaret variety show type place--singing, dancing, drinks on tap, that kinda thing. After dark, some of the...performances... might get a little more risqué, stuff that titillates like burlesque and striptease, but rest assured, his permits are all in order and everything’s on the up and up. Nothing illegal whatsoever going on here, just a bit of singing and dancing and everybody having a good time. (Most of the performers are sex workers--monsters, but some humans too--and patrons can negotiate private shows or off-the-clock ‘meetings’ at their discretion. Nemo opts to not know too much of the details of what his dancers do when he’s not looking, for legal reasons, but he makes sure they have a safe place to do it, are paid for their services, and don’t have repeat problem-patrons if any slip through. Being one of the gentlemen running such an establishment in the city that doesn’t happen to touch or steal from or mistreat the performers, his place is the place to get hired if that’s your line of work. He’s mostly just happy to be able to provide the job security and the job safety for a group that really seems to catch a lot of hell up here on the Surface just for how they make their money.)

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He’s a busy guy, bouncing around from place to place, job to job... Being so scattered, you might think he’d be having money troubles by now, but while he may not be the type to stick with one thing and stay there for a good few years, nobody who knows him would say he’s unreliable--he’s the type of guy that you can give him a call anytime and if you need help, he’ll be right over, and he’ll get the job done well, too! Of course he lives with his fancypants brother, and the King and Queen probably spot him a loan or two now and then, since they’re friendly, so all in all, no one really wonders how he makes enough money to live so comfortably. The answer’s right there in their face...isn’t it? (Yes and no. He is the kind of guy you can call anytime to get a job done, and he will do it well, but the money he gets from Asgore and Toriel is less of a ‘loan’ and more of a ‘payment for services rendered.’ He’s a cleaner, the guy you call to make things go away, things that aren’t supposed to be there: stains, papers, weapons, evidence... He’ll get rid of it for you, and if you need a convincing coverup or an alibi for...whatever it is that you weren’t there doing, he’ll take care of that, too. If somebody’s calling him up for his special brand of help, they probably just want to put it all behind them and forget all about that nasty business. He’s happy to facilitate--after all, what are friends for?)

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Like his brother, he gets on well with the King and Queen. (They both feel like they’ve known the monarchs much longer than they actually have...somehow...) But in any case, unlike his brother, Aster is very well-organized and thoughtful, so he’s a natural choice as an...advisor, of sorts, when monsters surfaced and it was...decided that perhaps there would be some...activities and...ways of doing things that...should remain unknown to the humans. Not unknown to Aster: he keeps track of everything, reminding the monarchs of little details they may have forgotten, pointing out things they may not have noticed, making educated suggestions for courses of action with likely positive outcomes based on past experiences... He’s the linchpin between Asgore and Toriel that makes them terrifyingly more efficient than they would be without him, a consigliere-equivalent who certainly isn’t a boss himself, but he has the bosses’ trust and their ears and that makes him a person of great interest. But...no one can get anything useful out of him: he’s loyal, above all, and much as he values truth, he also realizes that perhaps not everyone deserves to know the full truth of everything, especially not those who might use that truth to bring some sort of harm or misfortune to his friends...or to monsterkind at large. ...And trying to directly seize his extensive notes on the private and personal business-doings of the Dreemurrs is an even more doomed endeavor--he writes them all in a strange jumble of symbols that no one’s ever seen, and the code-breakers never have it long enough to decipher anything useful before its back in his hands, reclaimed quite speedily after unlawful seizure of private property containing confidential information. Lots of well-meaning law enforcement have their sights set on him as some sort of criminal white whale, but the simile is all too accurate-- they’ll never catch him, and even if they do, there’ll be nothing to hold him on. He simply has too many friends (and family members) in very high, very useful places.

[nitannichionne]

Boston Escapade, Part V: Once Upon A Dream - A Chris Evans Halloween Fan Fiction

“Would you like to try something in addition for your spa afternoon?” my masseuse, Hannah, asks me.

“God, what is there?” I ask sleepily after the massage and facial. We were given snacks that were appetizers and now I could go for a nap in my fluffy robe.

“The spa day includes a massage, a facial, and pedicure,” Hannah replies. “How about a manicure to go with it?”

“I hate to ask, but—“

“Complimentary,” Hannah smiles.

“Okay, let’s do it.” I shrug, not ready to get out of my robe just yet.

I am in the middle of my mani-pedi when I see Lana go by. She is already leaving. We share a look, but she goes on. I sigh sadly. Off to see him, I guess. But on the upside, I feel like a million dollars. I am trying to remember the last time I felt this pampered—if at all—in my life. I think I was in a hospital.

When I get my clothes, I find they have been laundered. I was here long enough, that’s for sure. I get a note from the front desk of the spa. I open it:

Meet me at Rowes Wharf.

I make my way out of the spa, and feel a little…lost. I was led here, and now after four hours, I have no idea—

“Need some help?”

I know that voice! I turn and Chris is just standing there like he has no particular place to go, or like a guy waiting for his…date? “Hi-i!”

“Hey!” He opens his arms walking to me, and I meet him with mine. “Well played today.” We share a quick hug.

We step back, still holding hands and looking at each other. “Thanks, good game.”

“Thank you!” I can’t stop smiling now.

“You like that kind of stuff, don’t you?”

“It’s interesting,” I say.

He puts his hands in his pockets, he offers an elbow and a broad smile. I take it, fighting my rush of lightheadedness, and we walk. “I saw everything.”

“How?” I think about it. “Cameras at every stop.”

He gives a nod of confirmation.

“What happened to the others?”

He seems impressed you asked, but tells you, “The girls were sent to another spa for mani-pedis and dinner.”

“And Lana?”

“I had a little coffee with her, and said I’d help with her charity, and she made dinner with the others,” he shrugs. “You two were not supposed to see each other, sorry about that.”

“I wasn’t sure what it meant.”

He chuckles. “Really?”

“She could have been leaving to see you, and the manicure was a consolation prize for me,” I think aloud. “or she was leaving to be told she didn’t win.” I honestly wasn’t sure which yet.

“You know you won, right?”

“Thanks for the confirmation!” I laugh outright, and I didn’t realize how tense I’d been until just then.

“So, bowling—“

“And pool,” I finish. “but right now, I’m just happy to be walking the wharf with you.”

We walk and talk about a lot of things- our childhoods, our favorite foods (his mouth drops when I said I detest jelly beans), and he actually discusses pros and cons of DC and Marvel.

“You said you’d like bowling and billiards at—“

“Boston Bowl, yeah,” I laugh softly. “Never been there.”

We walk to an SUV and he opens the passengers side door. He takes my hand as I get in and gently closes the door. He trots around and slides in himself. “Sounds like fun.”

He drives us to Boston Bowl. He drove us to Boston Bowl for a private bowling party.

The Xperience is a separated and adult section of Boston Bowl, and this private area was for us. I am thrilled but feeling shy. I am alone with him, not that it’s a bad thing, but it’s new. We start bowling and music pumps through the place, which makes me relax. As music plays we talk about stuff we like when it comes to music.

By the middle of the first game, food came. I was hungry, too; earlier, I felt too nervous, but now I’m starving. I’m ready to eat.

“Hey, you wanna take this to a room?”

I am a bit confused. “Room?”

“We can play pool.”

“You’re on.”

“A bit dated, but okay, right?” He sets his tray on the counter.

I look around, setting my tray down. “I like it.”

“The owner was about to renovate it, but—“

“Covid,” we both say together and laugh.

“I think it just needs a new color, take out all the pink?” I say, looking around. “I love the blue.”

He closes the door and turns on music in here. “So, how good are you at pool?”

“I held my own back in the day,” I shrug.

“Call shots?”

“God, no!” I laugh, shaking my head. “Not that good. You?”

“I hold my own.”

“Call shots?” I raise an eyebrow.

“If I feel lucky,” he winks.

We play a game while making trips back and forth to the bar. I enjoy his jokes, his singing to a whole bunch of Disney songs, which I can’t resist joining in on because I was raised on Disney. The look of surprise when I join in on A Whole New World was priceless. The next thing I know we are going through each other’s playlists, switching Bluetooth speakers back and forth, and surprising each other with how much music we know. We were trying to stump each other, and I seem to be winning. We even dance a few songs like teens hanging out.

“Come on, hand here—“ I place my hand up and he meets it with his own. “Other around my waist—“ He puts his arm around my waist and draws me against him. “Uh, dance space, Chris! Hey!” He dips me and starts dirty dancing with me, making me laugh outright along with him.

“Uh-uh, I’m next!” he takes over the Bluetooth.

“Aw, come on!” I reach for it, and since I’m so damn short, I have to jump along the length of his body to try to reach his outreached hand. I only get to his wrist. “You suck!”

He turns away from me, and starts the music. It’s slow. Finally, slow songs start. It was something that would happen eventually-maybe-but he starts it. We are buzzed from the alcohol, so we are going through the moods of the spirits-energetic and laughing to slow and pensive.

He sets a waltz, and bows to me. I swallow hard, recognizing music from my own phone, and curtsey.

“How’d you do that?”

“Been doing some reading.” His extends his arm in invitation. "And this is on your YouTube playlist."

He spins me on the floor, waltzing me in the space. I am breathless as he turns me on the floor and pulls me back to him. I feel tears come to my eyes, my vision blurs. Remember this, lock it in your heart. I lean into him, my head on his chest and he gathers me closer. The waltzing slightly changes into a sort of rock, and now I am hiding my face, trying to get a hold of my emotions. He feels so good, and as I close my eyes and inhale I realize he smells good, too.

The song stops, and we go still. Chris wipes the few stray tears I couldn’t manage to hold, and kisses my forehead. I exhale in a sigh, closing my eyes and feeling lightheaded. He tips my chin up and I feel his llips on my nose. I give a small smile, and just as I am about to bow my head, he tips my chin again, and I feel his lips on mine, his mustache brushing my upper lip. My lips clasp his instinctively, and I give myself over to the kiss.

The next thing I know I am no longer standing, but being laid on the couch, but it’s a faraway assessment because all I know is his lips on my jugular, my hands raking his back, his hands under me arching my back to him. We are moaning and panting and—

There’s a knock on the door.

“Uuuh!” Chris moans softly between kisses. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

My nerves are all over the place, but I manage a laugh. “Not too many people know we’re here. You should answer it.”

Chris exhales and smiles, then kisses me on the lips and rises from the couch. I sit up and swing my feet around, trying to slow my heartbeat, trying not to feel my arousal. He opens the door to see Scott standing there.

“Chris, someone tipped off…” Scott’s look melts into surprise as he looks his brother over, then at me and back to his brother again. “whoa.”

Chris runs a hand through his hair. “Papparazzi knows we’re here?”

“Yeah, I think so. A friend heard somethin’ and I denied it, then I came straight here.”

“Where are the others?”

“They are at The Icon.”

“Thanks, man.”

“I told them I had to get the limo,” Scott nods. “Head to Boston Harbor. Heré's my room key." He puts on sunglasses and a baseball cap. Oh, they'd done this before.

“Dude, you’re movin’,” Chris laughs shakily, slapping hands with his bro and drawing him in for a hug.

“Gimme your keys,” Scott puts his hand out and Chris hands them over. “I’ll park in the employees spot, tell management. Take the back way out.”

“Okay.”

Scott leaves.

We move as if we'd done this before. I get take home stuff from behind the bar and pack the food and finish my drink. Chris checks the hall, grabs our phones and extends his hand to me. I move quickly on the balls of my feet as if he'd asked me to dance again, put my hand in his and let him lead me away.