#i can put on black purple lipstick and not a touch more makeup

[scoundrels-in-love]

Reminder the perfect aesthetic is exactly as much effort you are ready to put into it at any given moment .

[britany1997]

Paul X Trad Goth Reader Plz 🧎‍♀️ I haven't seen anyone do it-

Spellbound

Paul x GN Trad Goth Reader

I hope you like this! Huge shoutout to @legal-lost-boy for the pictures I used for the mood board, and for the suggestions for subs and add ins for the clothes and makeup, @crustyraccoon for pre-reading this for me as another trad goth expert, and @luv4fandoms for letting me use her earring HC! Couldn’t have written this without y’all🖤

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You leaned against the railing of the boardwalk, your gloved hands flipping through the pages of Frankenstein until it was yanked from your grasp. You looked up into the eyes of your blond vampire boyfriend, crossing your arms as you waited for an explanation.

“I thought you were reading through Dracula,” he pouted, “I’m offended babe, you gonna find yourself a Frankenstein or something?” He asked.

“First of all,” you started, “if you’re thinking of the green guy with the stitches you see on Halloween decorations, that’s Frankenstein’s monster, Frankenstein is the doctor,” you paused.

“Though Dr. Frankenstein could be considered the real monster, but then again, I certainly wouldn’t leave you for him either way,” you said teasingly.

“No, no, no,” he said, “the heart wants what it wants babe, why don’t you run into the arms of your new reanimator boyfriend,” he sighed dramatically.

You pouted at him mockingly, “ah but Paul he wouldn’t have your charms, or your rugged good looks. And no way in hell he’d have a motorcycle like yours.” You told him slinging an arm around his waist.

“That’s true sugar,” he said confidently, “I am sorta the whole package huh?”

You rolled your eyes, “you’re the best there is babe,” you told him.

“And just so you know, I finished Dracula, it’s much better,”you smiled.

“Good to know sugar,” he said, winking at you, “did you still wanna head back before we go to the club tonight?” He asked.

“Yes please,” you replied as he took your hand and led you towards his bike.

Back at the cave, you were sat on the lip of the fountain as Paul kneeled in front of you, your foundation in hand.

He gently applied the foundation to your skin, rubbing it in little circles before setting it with powder.

Then he picked up your eyeshadow palette, painting on the darkest black and grays, he hesitated before putting on any more.

“What lip color are we going with tonight,” he asked, eyebrow raised.

You laughed softly and smiled, it warmed your heart that something so important to you was just as important to him.

“Purple,” you told him smiling.

“Perfect,” he said, returning your smile before adding some purple eyeshadow to the mixture on your lids.

You drew on your own eyeliner, and did your eyebrows. Though you loved Paul and trusted him completely, you both knew he did not have the most steady hands.

You handed him your purple lipstick for the finishing touch, and to your surprise, rather than swiping it onto your lips, Paul applied it to his.

You looked at him quizzically, and he smirked at you before placing his fingertips on the sides of your face, careful not to smudge your masterpiece, and pulling you in for a kiss.

“Paul!” You gasped.

“What babe?” He asked, “now we match.” He said winking at you.

You laughed and took the lipstick from his hand, putting yours on a bit thicker. “Thank you baby,” you told him, smiling softly.

“You know i can put your lipstick on like that every time,” he offered.

“I’m sure,” you said as you smiled at his deep purple lips, “I don’t think I’d mind at all.”

He kissed you again without warning. “Didn’t think you had enough on there,” he explained, “don’t worry though, I’ve got your back.” He winked.

You smiled, grabbing your hairspray to tease and style your hair. When you finished you stood up from the fountain, walking over to your nest and riffling through clothes until you found what you’d been looking for.

You closed the curtain, hearing Paul breathe out in disappointment from the other side, before stepping out of the clothes you’d been wearing and changed into a see through black button up. You slid on your black leather pants and oversized trench coat after before pulling on your pikes and tossing on some silver jewelry.

You went to pull the curtain back but stopped yourself, turning back to grab a leather waist cincher and a moon necklace. You stepped out into the main area of the cave where Paul was waiting. “Help me out?” You asked, handing him the cincher.

He smiled as he slipped it around your waist, fastening it and pulling gently. When he was done he slipped a hand through yours and twirled you,

“Fuck me babe,” he said, “we could just stay in tonight,” he suggested while biting his lip.

“Mm I don’t think so Dr. feel good,” you said back laughing, “we did that last night. I’m dying to go dancing.”

He shrugged, “whatever you want sugar, I’m just happy to be here.”

You looked into his eyes adoringly before slipping the moon necklace over his head. He gasped and picked up the pendant between his thumb and forefinger before looking up at you.

“For you,” you said blushing, “so we can really match,” you told him, picking up the star pendant from your own neck and touching it to his moon.

His whole face lit up as a smile spread across it, “I love it,” he told you. “I’ll wear it all the time, so that everyone knows I’m yours.”

He gasped again, his face flashing with inspiration. “Stay right there!” He said.

You watched as he flitted around the cave, practically turning it upside down, until he returned to you, fist closed.

“For you,” he said, as he opened a fist to reveal an earring that matched the one Paul always wore in his left ear, “so that everyone will know that you’re mine.”

You blushed, taking out your own earring and putting in his, “it’s perfect,” you told him.

He smiled and took your hand in his own, “ready to go?” He asked.

“Ready,” you replied, lacing your fingers with his.

You pulled up to The Box on Paul’s bike. He offered you his arm as you hopped off. You smiled and rolled your arms as you laced your arm through is and strode inside.

Cities in Dust blared over the speakers as you entered. You pulled Paul to the dance floor with you as your body moved to the music. He moved with you, gripping your hips as you tore up the dance floor together.

After awhile you both had migrated to the side of the room to people watch. “Look at the patches on that jacket,” you pointed at a dancer swinging their arms and bouncing on their feet, “I’d kill for a jacket like that, but I can’t sew for shit!”

“I could ask Marko for you,” Paul offered, “he made his jacket himself!”

You smiled at him, “thank you baby, I really appreciate it,” you told him, leaning in for a kiss and adding to the purple lipstick still staining Paul’s lips from earlier.

As you both pulled away, the pendants on your necklaces tangled together, pulling you back to each other.

Paul beamed, “we’re meant to be babe, even our necklaces think so,”

You shot him a half-smile as you untangled the pendants and kissed his cheek “must be baby,” you told him.

The sound of Rockin’ Bones blared over the speakers and you grasped Paul’s hand in yours once again. “C’mon baby! We can’t stand on the sidelines for The Cramps!”

Paul smiled as you dragged him to the floor, he could dance the night away with you for the rest of his afterlife.

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Taglist🖤:

@nerdy-spooks @ghoulgeousimmaculate @6lostgirl6 @pixielostboy @misslavenderlady @anna1306 @its-freaking-bats @solobagginses

[chrisredballs]

more random headcanons

Amanda

-I don't know if you noticed but she was wearing purple lipstick in the first saw movie, during the reverse bear trap scenes.

-and did you see her outfit?? and the fit she was wearing at the end of saw II????

-yes go alternative queen go

-she definetely used to be alternative during her teen years. but like also during her whole life

-I imagine her randomly throwing an all black fit and goth makeup while blasting death metal and running around the gideon meat plant screaming

-and john is just laying there, unable to do anything unless he wants to end up with a crying, angry mandy

-amanda loves animals. you can't tell me otherwise. the gideon meat plant is literally COVERED in pigs and cows pictures

-she would adopt a cat

-if only she didn't live in a place full of deadly traps.

-she doesn't want to see her little pet getting traumatized for life by the snap of the reverse bear trap of see her precious traps get destroyed by the cat

-she likes carrots. I DON'T KNOW WHY BUT SHE JUST GIVES ME THESE CARROT-LOVER VIBES. and also in saw III you can see something like a table with a plastic cup on top of it with some weird orange things inside. they're carrots.

-she can't cook, maybe she's just able to make simple meals but I don't see her as a domestic type of person

-if she had a good relationship with hoffman she would definetely make him wear black nail polish

-and if john wasn't on the brink of death she would make him wear it too.

-Imagine mandy painting his nails right before the saw III lynn's trap; he would tell her to take it off before lynn wakes up but then amanda's forgetful ass would just forget about it and lynn would see john like that and he goes like "look it's not what it seems."

-she's a night owl, nightmares and guilt keep her awake + she used to be afraid of the dark as a kid and I think she still is; to keep up with the lack of energy she drinks energy drinks but she probably takes naps in between her projects

-normally john would snap at her and tell her to be productive but he just ends up being understanding and putting a blanket on her when she falls asleep while working

-oml I just imagined her sleeping

-she hugs her doll (the one you can see in saw III) or a pillow when she sleeps at night, it just comforts her so much

-did you see the deleted scenes from saw III? the nightmare one? she hugs a piece of clothing to calm down. I imagine her having some comfort scents

-she def smells of men's deodorant/perfume

-she probably believes that gender is a social construct; if she's going to shop for some clothes she's not going to stop at female sections. if something piques her attention then she goes for it.

-androgynous queen

-she has a tattoo on her left shoulder, you can see it in the first saw movie

-her love language is physical touch, I mean she always makes some contact with john

-but I think she highly appreciates every type of love (words of affirmation, acts of services, gifts and quality time). she's been alone for most of her life and didn't receive love for years so the tiniest bit of attention would leave her ???, wondering why suddenly she's getting treated so well

-she doesn't have a lot of money so her gifts to people she loves wouldn't be expensive, but I can see her randomly gifting little doodles to John to show that she cares about him

-she actually cries a lot, I don't see her as one of those people who cry rarely

!!tw: I talk a lot about self-harm here!!

-she's fighting against self-harm and trying to get better

-I HATE the way they portrayed her in the movies, the way she had no body hair and literally only 4 scars. if shawnee didn't come up with the self harm scene they wouldn't even mention it, so let's be realistic about it

-she doesn't shave. she doesn't have time nor a reason to do it and she doesn't care about it: it's a normal thing and it's her body

-she is covered in scars, from her thighs to her wrists and her arms

-she doesn't really like her own body, she doesn't even understand how she looks like (bpd goes bRRRR)

- I think she self harms also for this reason, to give her body something she can actually recognize

-aand she ends up regretting it

-I imagine her panicking when she realizes that maybe she did too much this time and calling lawrence immediately, then he arrives and stitches her up

-I think this would happen only a few times because if the wounds are on her thighs she probably wouldn't like that much having someone see her like that

-so she just ends up learning from lawrence how to give herself stitches

!!end of tw!!

-i just love her so much omg😭😭😭

- and of course: she listens to music while working

[bakugohoex]

Can I request kenma showin off his s/o at some big business party since timeskip kenma is a CEO and streamer

“fuck, so she’s real then”

pairing: kenma kozume x female reader

cw: implied nsfw, swearing, kissing

word count: 2100+

a/n: baby kenma deserves the world, my posts really be getting no likes ooff, but as they say i like writing so hopefully more people can see my account and follow also love this request i like writing kenma because he’s such an interesting character who I feel would have be introverted but when needed dominant in the relationship

summary: in which kenma takes you to his company's event where his employees can’t keep their eyes off you so kenma shows them who you really belong to

↞ back to haikyu!! masterlist

“You want me to come with you?” You question walking into your shared house, Kenma had handed you an invitation as his eyes went to the game he was trying to finish.

He doesn’t look up just sits on the stairs, “yeah it’s my company and I want to bring my girlfriend.”

You smile at the boy quickly agreeing as you put your hand out, he takes it walking up the stairs, your hand bringing warmth as his other tried to beat the enemy. Stepping into your shared room, he showed you what he was wearing a suit that Kuroo had helped pick out. It was gorgeous the way the jacket and bow tie would rest on him made your heart flutter.

His hair was up, you always loved this look, it was such a pretty sight but mainly you could easily pull at it when you had him deep inside of you, the front parts remained to keep his view limited, you smirked as you knew you’d have to wear something that fit with Kenma’s look. You saw a dress that hung on the side of the room, you raised your eyes as Kenma smiled throwing the console on the bed as he lied on his stomach.

“I got Kuroo to get it for you, I saw it last week.” He smiled as he watched you touch the black fabric, it went to the ground and had a slit up to your thigh, the thin straps would encase your neck as the low cut allowed for your cleavage to be visible. It was beautiful, you almost cried at the taste of your boyfriend but also how he knew it was something you would like. “Try it on then, we have to leave soon.”

You nod quickly as his eyes went to his game, his back to your changing figure, even after the many countless night in each other’s arms with his cock deep inside of you he still would never watch you change unless you explicitly told him too. You called his name softly, he turned around as your back faced him, the low cut unzipped as he knew you wanted him to zip you up.

He stood up his fingers grazing your collar leaving a small kiss on it he looked in the mirror in front of you the way you looked gorgeous in the dress, his kisses continued to the back of your neck, his cold fingers grazed over your exposed back as he zipped you up, the way the dress fitted your perfectly made his cheeks go rosy.

You turned around to face him, he was only a couple inches taller than you, but the way he made you feel as lust and love filled his eyes made you feel ever so small. He eyed you up and down, your exposed leg through the slit, his hand moving to your thigh, the cold fingers moving back and forth, his mouth turning upward at your heavy breath. The way your arms fell limply on his arms, your breathing quicker as his finger moved closer to your exposed underwear.

The way he pulled at it and snapped it back onto your hips made you arch for more, he refused, the sight of you under his control in this dress already making him weaker. This dress he chose for you was enough for him to fuck you senseless. He knew you would want to have a long night of sex after the event so would make you wait.

You pouted as he kisses you softly a haste wait slipping out of his lips as he licked at your lip, retracting with saliva coming from both your mouths. He admired as you did your makeup, deciding to leave your hair down, he watched you wear the necklace with the K on it he had gotten for you, the ring with the date you met adorned your finger with other bracelets and rings you had gotten previously, you put your hair to one side to show the long dangly earing that adorned your right ear, the tattoo of the cursive K behind your ear.

Kenma loved kissing there, he knew you were his and to have his initial on your body forever turned him on every time he saw it. Kenma saw you put the lipstick on as he did the cuffs to his shirt, the bowtie loosely around his neck as he wanted you to do it. The way his eyes grazed your legs as you bent down trying to find some small heels to still remain shorter than Kenma but more to be comfortable.

His eyes glanced the way your smooth legs were bent over, he thought of how they had been wrapped around his neck a mere hours ago, the way your fingers ran through your hair pulling at it to try and think of where you put the shoes. He wore the black suit jacket as it adorned him perfectly. He was picture perfect and it made you amazed when you turned around.

The rings he wore encasing his soft fingers, the small earing on the ear you had gone with him to pierce when one of his viewers on his stream sent money to get it done, he made a YouTube video of it which was uncommon on his YouTube library which mainly had I BEAT A …. and then there was the one thumbnail with you in it smiling in it. His fans loved seeing when you’d appear on his twitch streams or his YouTube videos it gave a more humanistic vibe to the boy.

You walked towards him doing the bowtie as he smiled at you, the way your fingers touched his neck and when you were done you brushed your thumb against his lip, he grabbed your hand kissing the top as you both left for the venue. It was a large venue with cars coming back and forth, even paparazzi to see famous streamers and youtubers who were attending Kenma’s companies big event of the year.

Even some of his team were coming some who you hadn’t seen since his your Nekoma days, you missed them and the last time you saw most of then was when you watched Argentina vs Japan at the Olympics. Kenma held your hand helping you out of the car, he let your arm wrap around his own, as he smiled moving towards the entrance, he didn’t want to be asked for pictures and stuff like that. The way your eyes brightened at the cameras flashing at you both, you smiled before Kenma almost dragged you along.

He walked inside, the warmer air hitting your exposed arms and neck, Kenma’s body still remaining close to you as he didn’t want you to be left alone at all. You spot Kuroo standing at the bar, as you gesture to Kenma to follow you.

He obliges as he lets you lead, the way you made everybody gawk at the sight of how beautiful you were, but your eyes were fixated on the boy at the bar. “Kuroo isn’t it too early to drink?” You laugh as he turns around smirking.

“Always the pussy Y/n, have a drink.” Kenma watches as he smiles at his best friend and girlfriend talking to one another.

“Baby.” You say to Kenma as Kuroo raises an eyebrow.

“How is this Kenma’s event and he looks like he doesn’t want to be here.” You giggled taking the drink as Kenma took his, his hand still around yours as Kuroo laughed at how Kenma was quiet.

“I had to make sure he didn’t bring a game.” You laughed as Kuroo acknowledged of the many times Kenma had a game in his hands before a volleyball match.

“Have you seen anybody else?” Kenma asks as you played with the fingers on his hands almost soothing him in an away.

“I saw Yaku and Yamamoto somewhere and Lev and Alisa arrived before I did, they’re already sitting down.” You nod as Kenma says a goodbye taking you to meet some more people.

The night continued as you talked to the team members, still shocked by how Lev somehow got taller, he reminisced with Kenma even though he was just boasting about all the spikes he used to do. Yaku and Yamamoto had been talking about their respective volleyball teams, you were glad they all did well for themselves and were doing things they were amazing at.

You were dragged along as Kenma made you talk to some of the people in his company, he spoke as you smiled occasionally adding your point of view which Kenma took on as his own. Before the conversation turned more casual and it was more onto your relationship.

“We always thought Kenma was lying about you existing, we hadn’t done much research on our boss but still you are fucking gorgeous.” One of the guys says, he was intimidating but you kept a smile as Kenma looked uncomfortable.

“Well I’m real.” You smile out as you didn’t really have anything to say.

A drunk guy had wrapped around the previous guys shoulder as he eyed you up and down like a piece of meat, he saw your hands wrapped in Kenma’s, the way Kenma stood in front to protect you from any of their gazes.

“Fuck, so she’s real then.” He hiccupped out as you gave a confused face at the thought that these people had thought Kenma was out of your league when you were definitely out of his league.

You didn’t answer as Kenma’s grip tightened. “I think Kuroo’s calling us.” You lied to remove yourself from their eyes, you turned around as you can still feel their gaze on you going out of the main hall, the area was empty and enclosed away from the event.

“They stared at what’s mine.” Is all Kenma whispered.

You hadn’t heard but the way his grip tightened made him push you against a wall. “I should’ve fucked you back home, then they’d know that you’re mine.”

You breath hitched as you felt his warm breath against your neck, he kissed the collar before sucking his way up to your throat, the biting of your neck made you moan his name as his hands wrapped around you waist, one even going inside of the slit to feel your exposed skin. He sucked as purple and pink bruises were left on your pretty neck.

“You know marking you turns me on, I should take you right here.” Kenma was never a dominant type letting you take control when he was tired or streaming but when he was pissed he would go all out for everybody to know that you would be begging for him.

“Ken..Kenma.” His name being a moan as he continued to leave marks around your neck, your head against the wall. He examined his fine work; you knew it was going to be embarrassing to go back in covered but at the time you didn’t care.

“Kitten.” His breath was heavy as licked his lips, he went to your neck before licking the back of your ear right where the K tattoo was, the way your breath stopped at the sensation, made you want him even more.

His hand wrapped around your neck as he went to kiss you, you kissed back as you were hungry for the taste of him, the way he dominated the kiss, the way he squeezed your neck for you to open your mouth, giving access for his tongue. The way he watched as you withered under his lips. He let go as his teeth bit into your bottom lip, tugging and bruising it to make you know it was his. The way saliva and spit were around your lips, he wiped it as he let go of your throat.

He watched as you craved his touch, your eyes pleading for more, as he smirked at the feeling of making everybody know you were his, the way you would walk back in with your bruised lips and dishevelled hair, the way your dress would show more leg than it had before, and what brought his most satisfaction was your neck littered in marks that would show to every employee who had been ogling at you that you were his.

You tried to re-adjust your dress but Kenma dragged you back in, the lights had been off only small spotlights, but you knew people could see, the way you whimpered under Kenma’s touch. You were putty in his hands, he took you to the dance floor, a slow song occurring as he grabbed your waist, the men who had eyed you previously staring as Kenma grabbed you closer to his body. They saw the marks, the visible darkened areas around your neck, they saw the way you looked at Kenma, the way you would let him take you in front of everybody right now. Kenma saw it as well and the satisfied grinned that encased his lips proved to everybody that you would always be his.

If you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and I’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alaina-rose13

[armoricaroyalty]

(click here for hq!)

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Image description and transcript below the cut!

IMAGE 1. A close shot of Vivi frowning as she examines her reflection in a mirror. She’s wearing a turtleneck sweater and a tartan skirt, generally dressed much more conservatively than her usual style of dress. In the background of the shot, a makeup artist prepares to put the finishing touches on Vivi’s look. [Stylist] “Why the long face, hon? Nervous?” [Vivi] “A little...”

IMAGE 2. As the stylist speaks and jokingly criticizes her clothes, Vivi looks away from her reflection, stung by the other woman’s casual cruelty. [Vivi] “...honestly, I don’t like how they dressed me. I don’t look like myself. I never wear my hair like this.” [Stylist] “I don’t know why not! Isn’t it nice to look like a classy lady for a change? Girl, no one misses the purple lipstick.”

IMAGE 3. Vivi slouches down in her seat, but is saved from responding by the timely arrival of Elise and her assistant, both dressed entirely in black and white. Elise’s formerly long hair has been cut extremely short. Vivi turns in her seat, intending to stand, but Elise indicates that she should remain seated. [Elise] “Excuse me, am I interrupting?” [Vivi] “Y-your Majesty!” [Elise] “Please don’t get up, I’m about to sit down. Do you have a minute to talk, privately?” [Vivi] “Uh...sure. I mean yes. I mean, yes Ma’am.”

IMAGE 4. The stylist and assistant leave Elise and Vivi alone together. They sit facing one another in front of the makeup table. Vivi’s posture is nervous and slightly defensive, Elise idly touches her newly-shorn head with one hand. [Vivi] “Um...I like your haircut. It looks nice.” [Elise] “...thank you. When I married Andre, they told me I had to grow it out, but I always hated it long. I finally just...got tired of it all.”

IMAGE 5. A close shot of Elise, her expression cautious and pensive. [Elise] “There were...a lot of things like that after we got married. I had to change completely. My clothes, the way I spoke, how I carried myself...everything. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

IMAGE 6. A close shot of Vivi. Surprised by Elise’s words, she momentarily forgets to hide her true feelings, a look of total incomprehension crosses her face. [Vivi] “...are you trying to talk me out of marrying your son?“

IMAGE 7. Elise levels her gaze at Vivi, her mouth drawn tight. She is choosing her words carefully. [Elise] “...no. But you should go in with your eyes open. Vivi, marrying into this family means giving up everything. Who you are, your dreams for your children...all of it.”

IMAGE 8. A wise shot. Vivi looks across the open space at Elise, her expression completely blank, guarded once again. [Vivi] “What option do I have? I can’t go back now. Even if I don’t marry him, I’ll still be the girl who got pregnant. And I’d rather be Jacques’ wife than his baby mama.”

IMAGE 9. Elise sighs, her expression both worried and disappointed. [Elise sighs] “Of course. I understand. Good luck with the interview, I’ll send your team back in so you can finish getting ready. Just promise me one thing: if it ever gets to be too much, come to me first.”

IMAGE 10. A close shot of Vivi, whose expression is now completely confused. [Vivi] “...yes ma’am. Thank you.”

[icollectyoursins]

Leone Abbacchio Relationship HCs

🐉 anon asked for: “Abbacchio relationship hcs?? -🐉”

These are just SFW headcanons, so I went a little overboard to compensate for the lack of NSFW although, I’ll no doubt do some in the future. Tried to make these kind of organized so it’s easier to read. This will all be under the cut And, yes, reader is a stand user and can see Moody Blues.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: SFW, brief mentions of nightmares, trauma.

Word Count: 2226

General

Abbacchio is a tough cookie to crack when it comes to romance and forms of affection. He just doesn’t think he’s super into it. Until you gently caress his face while he’s falling asleep or maybe it was the time you curled up next to him while watching a movie. Or the time you casually laced your fingers with his while walking down the street. 

Okay, fine, he’s soft, but he would never admit it! Unless he’s been drinking a little too much. Then he’ll tell you how much you mean to him. Or when you’re feeling like shit and super down on yourself.

His nicknames/pet names for you are usually dear, cara/caro (darling/dear), but mostly he just uses your name. He likes the way it sounds! And, honestly, you like the way he says it too.

After you’ve been together for a while, he starts to notice changes in his personality and habits. He’s calmer, doesn’t lash out as much as he used to; he’s less on edge about everything. As well, he noticed that he was drinking less and when he was drinking, it was healthier. It wasn’t long binges in the middle of the night anymore, it was just one or two with friends or for a celebration. He didn’t really realize how much you helped him and how much you meant to him until then. He knew he loved you, of course, but that was really where it clicked in.

You notice the change too. He starts getting more playful in a weird Abbacchio way. It’s small things like poking your side or behind while you’re focused on something. Occasionally, he’ll wrap his arms around your waist from behind and whisper something sweet in your ear that makes you giggle. 

When Abbacchio isn’t reading, he’s listening to someone reading. He frequently listens to podcasts, audiobooks, etc. while doing his chores or driving. He thinks it’s a good way to educate himself on current topics or things he’s just interested in. With his whole past, I don’t think he would be interested in true crime or anything like that. Too triggering for him and with you, he really doesn’t want to fall back into old habits.

Now, he’s not perfect and he’s obviously a very hurt individual, so I think it would take someone with a lot of patience to help him get over some of his trauma (and yes, it is trauma). He has his rough days where he’s angrier and more on edge and this makes him more likely to yell or lash out. If you can avoid this, great, but talk to him about it later when he’s calmed down. He needs someone who is good with tense situations who can either calm him down or be able to walk away from the situation and come back later. That being said, you are not his therapist, you are not anyone’s therapist (unless that’s your job). You are their partner. A partner can help with some, but usually, you’re not trained enough to properly deal with something like this.

Dates

He enjoys taking long walks with you, especially near the water. The water is extremely relaxing to him and you’re relaxing to him, so it’s the best of both worlds. 

Not overly into picnics, but if you offer, he would be more than happy to indulge you by packing a basket with some nice red wine and a charcuterie board with some sandwiches. Sincerely loves the beach and sitting next to you on a blanket, enjoying the sun on the warmer days just makes him feel so human again.

His favourite dates with you are the ones where you two are on the couch at home together watching a movie. He enjoys the closeness, the relaxed state you’re both in and, of course, the popcorn. Eats it plain to be healthier, but when you’re not looking, he’ll add salt and butter to his. But, then one day one of the boyz introduce him to adding chocolatey things to popcorn (like M&M’s) and that’s it. His loose diet is out the window.

     The microwave beeped in the background while you plopped down, flicking through different disks in your hand. You had picked out a classic, cheesy werewolf horror movie by the time Abbacchio sat down with two bowls in hand. He handed him the movie while sneaking a handful of his popcorn into your mouth.

     “Mmph!” You let out a muffled sound of shock as warm chocolate squished into your hand. You dropped the chocolate into your bowl, looking at the mess you had just made. “What did you put in your bowl?”

     He chucked. “Mn’M’s.”

     “Why?”

     “Narancia told me to.” The DVD was in and starting up just as he was walking back, shaking the couch as he sat down with a grunt. He pulled a tissue out of the box next to him, handing it to you, then he grabbed his bowl, picking out a piece of warm M&M and sucking it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. He licked his fingers while you cleaned your palm, frustrated with how little it was cleaning up. 

     “Ugh, whatever!” You began licking up the remnants earning you another chuckle from Leone. One of you presses play on the remote and settle into each other. You’re curled up into his arm for most of the movie, head leaning on his collar bone. He occasionally kisses the top of your head or pops a piece of popcorn in your mouth. 

     Soon, the bowls are empty and you’re practically sitting in his lap, holding each other close. He’s so warm, so comfortable. You find yourself starting to nod into sleep. He hums as he feels your breathing slow to a steady rhythm. Yeah, that movie was pretty boring, wasn’t it?

     He chuckles, carefully pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, pulling it around you while he got himself comfortable. There was no way he was getting up from this spot, so he might as well join you.

When Abbacchio is feeling fancy or bougie, he’ll take you out to restaurants or tourist attractions. If anyone tries to swindle you out of something, you can guarantee he’s going to at least insult them in some way or maybe just straight up kick them in the face. Regardless, he’ll protect you.

Affection

When in public, he still likes to keep you close, but tones it down a little bit. Usually, he’s got his hand on your back or you’re holding hands, hovering close to each other. 

He’s very protective and if the gang’s jokes go too far, he’ll let them know. 

In private, he’s obviously more relaxed. He doesn’t need to put on a mask around you, so he just lets it all go. He’ll come up while you’re doing chores and either hug you from behind or spin you around for a kiss before letting you continue whatever it was you were doing with no explanation. 

Very rarely lets you do his makeup, but when he does, he’s a little cheeky about it and kind of anal all at the same time. The easiest way for you to do his make up is sitting in his lap, so already he’s cocky about it, but then you start getting to the eyeliner and he gets picky.

   You perched yourself on Leone’s lap, carefully buffing out a natural-looking eyeshadow with a brush. Occasionally, he would crack open an eye, looking up to see the concentration on your face as you avoided any fall out from the shadow. He squeezed your thighs pleasantly then massaged circles into the soft flesh. You looked into his open eye with a coy smirk before returning to your work.

    You dipped the brush into the pallet again, this time a lighter shade for the inner corner of his eyes. Gently, you pressed the pigment in from the edge of the lid to the corner, then, like before, you buffed it out back into the lid. His hands began to wander, sliding up and down your thighs. You gave him another look, but he wasn’t paying attention this time, eyes closed. You scoffed.

    Finally, you finished, moving onto the eyeliner, picking out a sleek black You started with the outer corner, going for a winged look. Before you were able to press a line in, he grabbed your hand quickly, pushing it back so he could open his eyes.

    “You’re doing it wrong,” he said. You sat back, exasperated.

    “I haven’t even done anything!”

    The two of you got into a small playful argument of “oh, I’ll do it,” “no, I’ll do it.” Until eventually you settled with him doing your makeup in exchange.

    “Thank you, now.” You reached for two shades of lipstick, one purple and one black. “Which one do you want?” He rolled his eyes, grabbing the black as well as a handheld mirror.

    “No, no, no. You get to do your eyeliner, not your lipstick! The lipstick is mine.” You playfully kissed his lips before pulling everything from his hands, earning you a groan from Abbacchio.

Seeing as we’re talking about sitting on his lap! He loves it. Just, any physical touch from you makes him feel so loved, especially when alone at home. He particularly enjoys when you’re pressed up against him while reading a book or watching a movie with his arm around you. Alternatively, he enjoys your legs tossed over his thighs or his over yours.

Around the House

Now, chores. Abbacchio doesn’t like chores. He’ll do them if you ask, but he’s not gonna like it. Least favourite is laundry. He just kind of chucks his clothes on the floor in a pile until you tell him to move it or do it yourself. You can’t tell the difference between his clean clothes and dirty clothes, so you mostly let him deal with it when the pile gets big enough or he runs out of clothes.

Doesn’t hate doing the dishes, so he actually gets stuck with that since you’re doing almost everything else. If you’ve recently had the rest of the Bucci gang over, he’s less inclined to do it. Narancia and Mista both tend to be slobs, so their plates are always nasty, but he does it anyway, just complains a lot later. Nastiness aside, doing the dishes slowly becomes a therapy moment for him. Just his music, a bunch of clean dishes and pure peace.

Much like with dishes, he doesn’t hate vacuuming or dusting and will do it when asked, but doesn’t like it. Honestly, he’s not the best at vacuuming, he always misses corners and forgets to do one place, so you do most of it. 

Look, I’m not saying he’s a slob, he’s not, but he can get a little lazy, especially on his rougher days. That being said, if it’s a special day or he’s feeling a little romantic and has something planned, he’ll do everything. It won’t be perfect, but the sentiment is there. 

Sleeping

He has a very cute snore. It’s not loud or obnoxious, it’s soft and relaxed. Honestly, kind of soothing. That is IF you’re able to hear it. He usually doesn’t sleep until you do, but it’s very precious. 

Prefers being big spoon or ‘the pillow’ where you sleep on some body part of his (his thighs are exceptionally comfy and, of course, his pecs). He usually wraps one arm around you if he can, rubbing his thumb against your shoulder or forearm. 

But, one night, you got in bed late and he was already asleep, so you came up behind him, wrapping your arm around his waist then stroking his stomach softly. He’ll never let you know, but he was awake. That was the day he discovered he loved being a little spoon. He won’t fight if you happen to do it again.

Regardless, Abbacchio is clingy when he sleeps. Not bear hug, but always has an arm around you to make sure you’re there and safe. 

He gets some nightmares, of course. Doesn’t scream, just jolts awake and goes to grab a glass of water, then comes back, so it’s unlikely he’d wake you up from a deep sleep. If you are awake, ask him what he needs. Sometimes he needs you to hold him, other times he needs just some time alone, but remind him you are there for anything. If you’ve already got a glass of water next to his bed, he’s head over heels. So thankful. Might make you breakfast the next morning as a proper thank you.

Stand

What does Moody Blues think? Well, much like its user, it’s very analytical and almost cold when it comes to you, though if Abbacchio is away from you for a little longer than usual, but still in range (like being kept in a meeting too long while you’re in the car waiting) he’ll send his stand to you and help you relax a bit by letting you cuddle “Abbacchio” (the stand copying it’s user), or just let you relax with the stand itself! 

Actually, if he’s busy at home and you’re tired, MB will replay a time where you were cuddling in bed, or on the couch so you can snuggle with someone at least. 

[writingsforanyone]

Forgotten Fling 4/7

pairing: Y/N x Brett Talbot

warnings: alcohol, a few swear words, blood

A/N: here's part 4!! just to clarify: in this story, Brett and Y/N are both a year older than Liam, and a year younger than Scott and the others. also, italics is a memory. part 5 will be up in the few days, enjoy!

++++++++++++

You were fixing your makeup in the mirror that was hanging in your locker, waiting for the bell to ring for your 6th period, when your light source was suddenly blocked. You looked over to see Brett leaning against the locker next to yours, blocking the window you were using for light.

“Excuse me, you’re blocking my light.”

“You look fine, you don’t need the light,” Brett said with his signature smirk.

“Funny,” you said sarcastically, moving to get your necessary books out of your locker.

“So. Winter Formal is coming up,” Brett said, changing the topic.

“That it is,” you said, checking your makeup one more time with the little light you had left.

“We going together?” Brett asked, as if the answer would be obvious. You finally shut the locker door before saying,

“You want me to go to Winter Formal with you?” Again, Brett nodded as if it was obvious, but his face changed to one of confusion as you started to walk away backwards.

“Then you’re going to have to ask me the right way,” you said with a smirk and wink before turning around and heading to your 6th period History class. You and Brett had your morning classes together, but your afternoon classes were different, so you settled with sneaking an occasional text. 

A few minutes before your class ended, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and when the teacher wasn’t looking, you pulled it out. You noticed it was a text from Brett which read,

Are you going to be here after I get out of practice?

        I can be

You should

You smiled down at your phone before putting it away. You knew that Brett knew you had to pick Liam up from lacrosse practice, but you didn’t say anything for his sake.

______________

You had been at home for the last 2 hours, doing your homework while you waited for Liam to be out of practice. You had long since changed out of your Devenford Prep uniform, which consisted of a khaki skirt, white long sleeve shirt and tie, with a purple sweater vest over top. You had changed into white sweatpants and and a matching white crewneck, wanting to be warm since it was getting colder outside. You checked your phone and saw that it was already 5:15, and that you needed to leave soon. Lacrosse practice typically ended around 5:30, but most of the team liked to shower in the locker rooms before leaving, including Brett and Liam. You went ahead and got up, pulling on a pair of shoes and grabbing your purse and keys, and headed out the door.

When you pulled into the Devenford Prep parking lot, you saw the lacrosse team heading into the locker rooms, which meant you had about 15 minutes until Liam and Brett came out. You weren’t sure why Brett had specifically wanted you to be here today, but you were impatiently waiting to find out. You scrolled through your phone and listened to music, and exactly 15 minutes later, you saw a freshly showered Brett Talbot walk out of the locker room. He started heading for his car and you watched him throw his bags into the trunk, before he moved to grab something out of the backseat. He hid something behind his back, but you weren’t sure what it was. By that point you had gotten out of your car and were leaning against it, waiting for Brett to walk over to you. He eventually made his way over to where you were standing, and when he was right in front of you, he said,

“Look who decided to show up.”

“Well, I wanted to see what was so important,” you said

“It has nothing to do with picking your brother up?” he said with a laugh.

“Only a little bit,” You said cheekily. Brett chuckled again before reaching out with the hand that wasn’t behind his back, and grabbing yours. 

“So, Winter Formal is coming up,” he started to say, just the way he had earlier in the day.

“And I was wondering if you would do me the honor of coming with me,” he finished as he pulled out a bouquet of roses from behind his back. You gasped at the sight of them, and you looked back up at him before saying,

“I would love too”

Brett smiled as you took the roses from him and smelled them. He remembered you saying roses were your favorite flowers a while back, which prompted him to use the 20 minutes he had in between the end of school and the start of practice to go get them. You turned to place the flowers on the top of your car momentarily, when you felt two hands on your waist. Brett turned you around and lightly pushed you up against the car, leaning down to catch your lips in a soft kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back, relishing in the moment. When Brett pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours and asked in a low voice,

“Did I do okay?”

“You did perfect,” you responded, leaning up to kiss him again. The two of you continued kissing for a few minutes before Brett’s phone rang. When he pulled away and pulled out his phone, you saw your brother’s name on the screen and said,

“What a surprise, Liam ruining the moment.” Brett chuckled and answered the phone, but before he could get a word in, you heard Liam say,

“Can I come out now?” You and Brett both laughed before Brett said,

“Yeah you can come now,” before hanging up.

“You made him wait in there??” you asked him, trying to seem angry but failing as the giggles fell from your lips.

“Well yeah, how awkward would it have been if I asked you to the dance and your little brother is standing right next to us?” He answered.

“Good point,” you said, before grabbing his waist and pulling him down for another kiss. After a few more minutes, you heard a voice from behind Brett say, 

“Get a room.” You and Brett pulled away and you peered over Brett’s shoulder and saw Liam walking up to the two of you.

“Did you do it?” Liam asked Brett as he put his bags in the trunk of your car. You took this opportunity to take the roses off the top of your car and lay them down in your backseat.

“Would I be making out with your sister right now if I hadn’t?” Brett said.

“Gross,” Liam said, getting into the passenger seat. You rolled your eyes and looked back over at Brett, who was already looking down at you.

“Promise me I’ll see you tomorrow?” Brett asked. Tomorrow was Thursday, so you would obviously see him at school, but once again for his sake, you didn’t say anything. You nodded, and he leaned down to give you one final kiss before he leaned up and kissed your forehead. You said your goodbyes and he headed to his car and you got in yours, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

“Why don’t you two finally just get together?” Liam asked out of the blue.

“What?” you asked.

“You and Brett. Why don’t you guys just date already?”

“It’s not like that Liam.”

“Sure looks like it to me, And everyone else for that matter.” Liam said, rolling his eyes. You rolled your eyes as well, not knowing where Liam pulled this from. You hadn’t said a word to anyone about how you truly felt about Brett, and you definitely hadn’t said anything to Liam about it. Besides, you knew the feelings weren’t mutual, and that Brett didn’t want a label, so why ruin what you and Brett had going?

_______________

You were putting the finishing touches on your look for the night: lipstick, jewelry, and shoes, when you heard a knock at your door. You heard your mom open the door and greet Brett, before striking up a conversation. Your family knew Brett not only because of you, but because of Liam and the lacrosse team also. You looked in the mirror one last time: you were wearing a short, navy blue, sequined bodycon dress, and black heels and clutch to go with it. You had curled your hair and done a full face of makeup, and you admitted it: you looked good. You were in the process of putting your phone and the rest of your belongings into your clutch, when you heard your mom yell up the stairs,

“Y/N! Brett’s here!”

“Coming!” you yelled back. You grabbed the rest of your things and closed your door, walking down the hallway to the staircase. You slowly made your way down, and when you saw Brett, you took in a breath. He looked ravishing. In his navy blue dress pants and buttoned blazer, and white button down underneath, he looked amazing. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and he had the first two buttons of his shirt undone. He didn’t realize you were coming down the stairs because he was talking to your parents, and when he finally heard your heels on the stairs, he turned to you. You watched his jaw drop, and then he said,

“Wow. You look incredible.” You smiled at him and said, 

“Well you don’t look too bad yourself.”

You made your way down the rest of the stairs, and your mom looked at the both of you and said,

“Oh don’t you two just look so cute!” This caused your step-dad to come out of the living room and say,

“Hey Brett how are you?” He reached out and Brett shook his hand before saying,

“I’m good sir how are you?”

“I’m doing pretty good. Do you plan on taking care of my step-daughter tonight?”

“That’s good to hear, and yes sir, I do.” That’s when your mom cut in and said,

“Okay okay let me get a picture of you two!” You rolled your eyes but smiled at the same time, moving over to the front of the staircase, and Brett came and stood next to you, putting his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Your mom took multiple pictures, calling the two of you ‘cute’ or ‘adorable’ with every picture.

“The both of you should put ‘Embarrassing my child: 16 years of experience,’ on your resumé’s. It would fit perfectly,” you said after your mom was through. Brett laughed, and your step-dad chimed in a said,

“Well that is our job.”

“Very funny,” you said. 

“Okay, on another note, your mother and I are leaving for night shifts at the hospital in an hour, and we’re dropping Liam off at Mason’s on the way. When you get home, make sure you lock the door and set the alarm,” your mom said.

“I will. I’ll text you when I get home,” you responded. With that, you said goodbye to your parents and yelled up the stairs,

“Bye Liam!” to which you got no response.

“Okay, cranky.” you mumbled under your breath. Brett chuckled and led you our of the front door, his hand resting on your lower back. When you were out of hearing and viewing range from your family, he said,

“You look beautiful.” You smiled and pulled him in by his blazer and said,

“You look incredibly dashing as well,” before leaning up and kissing him. He kissed you back, and when he pulled away, he opened the passenger door for you, and you got in. He went around the car and got in, before turning on the car and pulling off. He plugged his phone in and played some music, your favorite songs to be exact. He grabbed your hand with the one that wasn’t steering and laced your fingers through his, before pulling your hand up and kissing the back of it. The two of your talked about anything and everything on the way to the school, and when you got to the dance, the two of you danced the night away, having the time of your life

____________

You pulled Brett inside your house and locked the door, setting the alarm before you both made your way upstairs.

“Won’t the alarm go off whenever I leave?”

“Not if you go out the window,” you responded with a wink, pulling him into your room and closing the door. He let go of your hand and grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned down and kissed you, hard, and you kissed him back. His blazer had made his way to your body as the night got colder, and you slipped it off and threw it on the bed. The two of you blindly made your way to the bathroom, not once stopping the kiss. Brett pulled you into the bathroom and finally broke the kiss, spinning you around so you were looking at him in the mirror. He started kissing your neck, slowly making his way down to your shoulder. His hands snaked up your back and slowly unzipped your dress, letting it drop to the floor. He looked to you in the mirror and said, 

“I’ve been wanting to get you out of this dress all night.” 

He spun you back around and you leaned up to kiss him, moving your hands to unbutton his shirt and slipping it off of his shoulder in the process. Brett moved his hands from your waist to under your butt and tapped your leg, signally for you to jump. You jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist, not once breaking the kiss. Brett led you to your room and laid you on the bed, and the two of you spent your time blurring the line between friends with benefits, and two people in love, all night.

You opened your eyes and rolled over, having been woken up by your dreams yet again. Your dreams had started occurring every night, always a memory that you shared with Brett. 6 months. It had been 6 months since the deadpool ended, 6 months since you last saw Brett, and 6 months of you having these dreams. Liam and Mason had started sophomore year, you started junior year, and the rest of your friends had all started their senior year. You hadn’t told anyone about the dreams, not even Liam. You didn’t want your friends to think you were crazy, or that you were holding onto something that wasn’t there anymore. 

It was Saturday, and you had nothing to get up for expect for your plans tonight. You were going to Sinema, a new club that had opened in Beacon Hills a few weeks ago. You hadn’t had a chance to go yet, but you were excited to check it out tonight. Since you didn’t have plans for the rest of the day, you simply got out of bed to brush your teeth and wash your face, before getting back in bed and putting on your favorite show to watch until tonight came.

______________

You pulled your dress down as your walked towards the front door of Sinema with 2 of your friends from school. You got in the line and eventually showed the bouncer your fake ID, and he let you in. Your first impression of the club was loud and bright. You made your way around the club, pushing your way around people until you made it to the bar. You talked with your friends for a little bit, before the three of you went your separate ways. You weren’t driving tonight, so you ordered a drink from the bar, praying your ID passed with the bartender. It did, and by the time you were on your second drink, you were tipsy enough to be enjoying yourself. That is, until you saw your little brother and his best friend walking up to you.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” you asked them, not particularly wanting to know, but figuring it was best to ask.

“How the hell did you get that?” Liam said, pointing to your drink.

“I asked you first,” you responded.

“Hayden let us in,” Mason said.

“Hayden? As in the Hayden that Liam punched in 6th grade?”

“That’s the one,” Mason said, before Liam cut him off and said,

“Now how did you get the drink?”

“It’s called a fake ID. And don’t be so loud, if the bartender hears you I’m screwed,” you responded, rolling your eyes.

“Did you come here with Brett?” Liam asked hesitantly.

“What? No, I came with Y/F/N and Y/F/N. Why do you ask?”

“Well…he’s right over there so I had too,” Liam said, gesturing behind him. You looked over his shoulder and saw Brett dancing with a girl and another boy. You stared for a second too long, before Mason nudged you and said,

“You good?” You rolled your eyes and turned back around, saying,

“I need another drink.” You sat back down at the bar and ordered one from the bartender as Liam and Mason walked away, assuming that you wouldn’t want to be bothered anymore. You had no idea how you didn’t see that he was here whenever you were walking around, and you really hoped that he hadn’t seen you. You downed your third drink and decided to get up and dance, hoping that the crowd would hide you from Brett. You started moving to the beat and dancing around, letting loose to the music. You had been dancing for about 10 minutes when you felt someones hands on your waist pulling you in. You turned around and saw a boy behind you that you didn’t recognize. You tried to walk away when he grabbed your arm and pulled you back into him.

“Dude, let go of me,” you said.

“Come dance with me sweetheart,” he drawled out, obviously very drunk.

“I don’t want to dance with you, let me go,” you said again, trying to yank your arm out of his grip. He didn’t say anything else, he just kept pulling you into to him, and by this point you had had enough. Right when you were about send your knee into his groin, you saw a livid Brett Talbot appear right in front of you. Brett grabbed the boy by the collar and lifted him up, saying,

“I believe she told you to let go.”

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re not gonna touch her again, you hear me?”

“What are you, her boyfriend or something?” That was a bad idea. Brett dropped the boy’s collar and he dropped to his feet. Brett swung first and hit the guy in the nose, knocking him out with one hit. The boy fell to the floor unconscious, and no one moved to help him. You hadn’t realized Brett had come up to you until he was right in front of you.

“I guess it’s my turn to say thank you,” you said looking up at him. He chuckled before saying, 

“You don’t have to thank me for that. Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m good.”

“Good.” The two of you proceeded to stand there in silence, not saying a word and avoiding eye contact for the next few minutes, until you said,

“How did you know that I needed help?” Brett looked down at you and he seemed to be contemplating how to answer the question. After a few moments he said,

“I heard your heartbeat.”

“Over all of these people?” you asked. Brett once again hesitated before answering,

“Your heartbeat is always the loudest one in the room.” You averted your gaze to the ground and tried to contain your smile, but failed, and you looked back up at him and said,

“Thank you again.”

“I told you, you don’t have to thank me for that. How have you been?” he said.

“Well, I haven’t gotten shot recently so I’d say I’ve been pretty good. How about you?” you responded.

“Well, I haven’t had any professional assassins try to kill me lately so I’d say I’ve been pretty good,” he said, mimicking your previous answer. You both laughed lightly, not sure how to feel or react that the fact that you two were actually having a normal conversation for the first time in over a year. That is, conversations that don’t involve one of you yelling at the other, or one of you almost dying. Right as you were about to say something else, Brett’s head whipped around so fast you thought he would get whiplash.

“What is it?” you asked him, slightly concerned.

“Mason,” he said, before running towards the back of the club. You ran after him, weaving in between people and trying not to hit anyone. When you caught up to Brett, you saw him pull the boy that Mason was kissing away from him, and throw him across the room. You ran up next to Mason, and Brett turned around to the both of you and said,

“Run.” 

“No! I’m not leaving you here with him!” you yelled out, but it was no use. Brett, who was now in werewolf form, and the boy, whose eyes were solid black and who had scorpion stingers protruding all over his body, had started fighting. You watched as the two boys fought, and eventually the scorpion boy, whose name was Lucas, had Brett pinned against a metal bar. He swung his arm across Brett’s torso and slashed his scorpion stingers into Brett’s body. Right as he was going to hit him again, you saw Liam fly across the room and tackle him. You took the chance and ran over to Brett.

“Oh my god,” you said. Brett was bleeding a significant amount of blood from his stomach, and you moved your hands to his stomach to try to stop what you could.

“What is that thing?” Brett said through gritted teeth. 

“I have no idea, but whatever he is, he cut you really deep,” you said frantically.

“I’ll heal,” he said. You both turned and watched the rest of the encounter. You hadn’t noticed Scott or Kira arriving, but you saw Liam throw Lucas on the ground on last time, and the fight seemed to stop. Out of nowhere, you saw Kira, who was now engulfed in a fox-like silhouette, pull her sword out. She yelled something in Japanese and swung her sword down towards Lucas. Scott grabbed her wrist and stopped her moments before she would have cut Lucas in half. The whole room went silent as the fox went away and Kira was back to normal. Scott looked over at you and Brett and asked,

“Is everyone okay?” You didn’t respond, only looking at Brett and waited for his response. He nodded at Scott before looking at you and saying,

“I’m okay.”

“We need to get him out of here. Liam, give me a hand,” you heard Scott say. Just as the boys were about to pick Lucas up, an arrow shot through his stomach, seemingly coming from the ceiling. Everyone looked up, and your eyes widened at the sight of the Dread Doctors.

“Why did you do that?” Scott yelled.

“His condition was terminal,” The first Dread Doctor said.

“What does that mean?” Scott yelled again.

“Failure.” With that, the Doctors turned around and disappeared. You diverted your attention back to Brett. Apparently, you were visibly freaking out, and Brett could tell. He grabbed your hands and pulled them away from his stomach, showing you that he was already starting to heal.

“Hey, I’m already healing. See?” You nodded, before looking back to his shirt. You brought your hand to the hem of his shirt slowly before saying,

“Can I?” 

Brett nodded, and you lifted his shirt up to get a better view of his stomach. You saw that the scratches were already starting to heal, and looked better than they had moments before. 

“I’m going to be okay, I promise,” Brett said, reassuring you. You nodded again, pulling his shirt down and standing up. You stuck you hands out, motioning for Brett to get up. He smiled up at you and put his hands in yours. You pulled him up and he stumbled a bit, but you caught him and managed to steady him. 

“Hey. Look at me,” Brett said. You looked up at him and he smiled before saying,

“Thank you.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything,” you responded.

“For being here.” You looked down, trying to contain your smile for the second time that night, before you nodded.

“I can’t have you dying on my watch. Now come on, let’s get out of here.” you said to him. You led him out of the back door, where you saw his car parked in the lot. You led him over to it, Brett leaning some of his weight on you. He felt fine now, but he relished in the feeling of you holding onto him, and he didn’t want it to disappear so soon. Once you got over to the car, you asked him,

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. I think it’s pretty much healed,” he responded.

“Are you going to be able to drive home?” you asked.

“Yeah I’ll be fine.” You nodded and let go of his waist, taking a step back.

“Promise me you’re going to be okay?” you asked one more time. You didn’t even realize what you said when it came out of your mouth, but you couldn’t take it back. You and Brett used to have a habit of saying ‘promise me…’ for even the smallest things, and it slipped out like a force of habit. Brett realized it too, and you swear you could see a hint of pink come up on his cheeks, but maybe you were just seeing things. 

“I promise. Hey,” he said, gesturing behind you. Liam and Mason were standing by Mason’s car and they seemed to be waiting on you. You nodded at them, before turning back around to Brett. 

“I’ll see you around?” Brett asked.

“Yeah,” you said with a soft smile, before turning around and walking towards the car. Liam had left the front seat open for you, and before you got in, something in you head told you to turn around. You turned back to look at Brett, and saw that he was already staring at you. He smiled at you, and you smiled back, both of you finally feeling like you were starting to patch up the brokenness that was your complicated relationship.

[aquaticstyles]

the five senses

hello everyone! while a separate 13k fic is in the works, as promised, here is a lil 2k piece i miraculously came up with at midnight. as always, feedback is happily welcomed!!! happy reading lovies x 

it's been five months since it ended.

you should hate him. you should utterly and fascinatingly despise him. you should hate the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, and the way the sounded. you should forget him—rip every page, crumple him up, and strike a match.

key word: should.

but you don't hate him. you couldn't if you tried. you are utterly and fascinatingly still wrapped around his perfect, ring-encircled fingers. you love the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, the way he sounded. you can't forget him, no matter how much you want to. his ink is still scattered in the novels of your memories, proving to be permanent and stubborn as you try desperately to put fire to its pools.

you are still utterly and fascinatingly not over him.

and you suppose that is why your mind has chosen to drift off to candy land, marshmallow puff trees and gooey caramel lakes, visions of him swimming around, around, and around.

and you also suppose that you shouldn't be thinking of him while another man touches your skin.

key word: shouldn't.

but you can't help it. not when you're reminded of just how differently harry captured your senses and locked them away in the thumping of his chest, throwing away the key.

sight

you can still see him.

his dimples popping, inviting you to curl up inside one of them for just a moment, bunny teeth displayed in an ear to ear grin when he sees you, his lover, his everything, finally in 3D again, because boy oh boy pixelated facetime does not do you justice.

those two endless forests of green paired with wispy eyelashes, billboards for his every emotion, reeling you in and casting you back over and over and over again.

that body of his that makes you positively drool—fresh out of the shower, a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, those ferns that if you had it your way, would never be covered, tempting your eyes to what's below, other markings of ink scattered across a toned bicep, chest, thigh, an endless coloring book for you and only you to paint with your lips, diamond water droplets clinging onto tanned, sun-kissed skin, mimicking your fingers as they slide down the tight muscles, ridges and valleys, of his back, the velvet, rose scrunchie of yours that he has claimed as his own cozying up around those stubborn, chestnut curls atop his head, the ones that cause eyes to roll and skin to furrow between his brows because "they're always in my fuckin' way."

the way he looks when he's napping in the summer heat after taking a refreshing dip in the pool—cheek smushed against a lawn chair, causing his bubble-gum pink lips to pucker unintentionally, begging for a slow, lazy, warm kiss, a van gogh masterpiece of bright blues, oranges, yellows, reds, whites, greens, browns, swirling together in his canvas, those green forests peacefully hidden as his pure, innocent relaxation melts into a scene of serenity before you (you're guilty of laying directly on top of him one too many times, pressing your cheek against the warm expanse of his back and sneaking in a cat nap as well).

how he looks when he enters a room, especially those rooms with a stage and thousands of fans bubbling over with excitement, confidence and swagger exuding from his pores as the spotlights hit him in all the right places, bouncing off the numerous gems and glitter of that night's glamorous get-up. then later the way he looks as his face twists in pleasure during a post-show-adrenaline-rush-dressing-room-quickie.

his reflection in the mirror of your vanity as you do your makeup, broad shoulders leant up against the doorframe, watching you as you carefully add sparkles here and powder there, the glint of curiosity and pure infatuation in his eye, his fingers toying with the smirk on his lips when you meticulously swipe on your favorite his favorite red lipstick, knowing good and well that once he's finished with you there won't be a single trace of crimson left on your lips.

you can see all of him, from the tufts of hair you love to tug and pull and sink your hands into, to the perfect slope of his nose, the sharp pinch of his jawline, his cute ears you poke fun at much to his annoyance, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect, perfect lips, his neck that always seems readily accessible to leave bites and red stains along, the ship stamped on his bicep, his abdomen that isn't too tight or too soft under your touch, just right, the happy trails leading to that one part of him that leaves you aching for days, his thighs, all the way down to his toe permanently labeled "Big."

touch

you can still feel him.

the tips of his calloused fingers tracing down your spine, a valley of goosebumps following in their tracks, a sea of comfort washing over you. fingers intertwined between yours, squeezing your palm, fresh autumn air and central park and new coats and steaming, black coffee. fingers fanned out across your thigh, splashes of pastel purple polish on cuticles and knuckles (he was shaking too much from laughing at something on twitter like an avocado in a top hat or a dog in gucci loafers). fingers following directions on a well-traveled map, tracing over the outline of your chapped lips, up to the apples of your rosy cheeks, to your temples, and entangling into long locks of tangled hair, braiding, massaging and scratching when you've had a tough day, exhausted, hypnotized, harry.

lips against your ear, hushed whispers meant for only you in the midst of a thundering crowd (one too many neat tequilas and risky texts), cold rings sneaking underneath your shirt and spanning out against a piping hot back, the vibrations from the bass thumping beneath you joined by the organ in your chest, sweaty palms and shaky knees as rivers of suggestions flood from his earth to yours, promises that will be proven true later in seductive, blue moonlight.

his sudsy chest cuddled snugly behind your back, sinking beneath bubbles of lavender and rose because he couldn't just pick one scent, your missing puzzle piece, pruny fingers tracing shapes onto your knee beneath the water, vibrations from his giggles when you mistakenly guessed the shape as a dinosaur (it was a banana), warm puffs of breath against your neck, sopping scrunchies stacked on the ledge next to a half empty bottle of red, lips painting across your shoulder down your arm to your fingertips coating you in bright yellow, affection, admiration, addiction.

the prickles of the new addition to his face scratching up against you in the most agonizingly amazing way as his face buries between your thighs, the magic of that mouth of his, pixie dust, an arched back, an eager tongue accompanied by glistening, cherry lips, pleadings of "never shave again."

him buried inside you in the early hours of the morning, legs anchored around his waist, miles and miles of his soft, tanned skin washing against your own, nails digging into the toned ridges of his back, chestnut locks falling onto a sweaty forehead, scorching lips dancing over every inch of you over and over until he reaches that one spot, moans and exhales and crumpled sheets, your temple resting on a swallow, fingertips tracing a lone butterfly, clutching onto the cold metal of a cross, lazy smiles, bed head, halfway closed eyelids, a tranced daze basking in fresh, crisp sunlight.

taste

you can still taste him.

the bitter taste of whiskey coating his tongue as it encircles your own in the back of a taxi, wrinkled suit jackets and bunched up satin, fingers toying with buttons and zippers, giggles when his nose bumps against yours carelessly, a clouded drunken haze of city lights and sparkling sequins.

minty toothpaste covered lips smushing against yours because he just "couldn't wait," spearmint, foamy smiles wiped away on plush towels.

juice from a ripe watermelon dribbling down his chin and leaving a sugary path along his exposed neck and chest, glistening in the afternoon, summer heat, lapped up teasingly by your tongue, causing widened eyes and a harsh gulp, the reflection of heart shaped sunglasses rippling in a crystal clear pool.

a warm cup of coffee sitting on your bedside table, placed there by your lover before he leaves for a run, waiting for you in the early morning glow of your bedroom, the scent from a fresh pot still lingering in the air, the steaming liquid slowly cascading down your throat during his absence.

coconut chapstick coating his lips, stolen from your side of the vanity, even though he has countless of tubes himself he claims using yours "is more moisturizing" when in reality he just likes keeping a part of you with him at all times.

saltwater droplets clinging onto his skin, coating your lips as you leave trails of kisses along his chest and sunburnt cheeks, awaking him from his nap in the shade, waves crashing behind you, seagulls chirping and trying to steal crisps, low grumblings of "what's this fo?" accompanied by a dimple and a smirk ("just cause").

smell

you can still smell him.

the candle burning in his dressing room on tour, the one you bought him that you immediately recognize when you visit him for the first time since he left, a warm batch of butterflies brewing in your tummy when you notice the almost completely burnt through wick, apples and cinnamon.

his detergent, leaving your clothes coated in a fresh linen scent because "no way yeh leaving mine with laundry to do, love" a pair of his boxers that he knows you love to wear folded neatly on top of the rest of your belongings and sent off with a pillowy peck to your lips and promises of "see you tomorrow."

his body wash and hair product duplicates in your shower, dancing with daisies in the steam surrounding him, persisting in the small, tiled space for most of the week, even in his vacancy. sometimes you'll accidentally on purpose grab his bottle of shampoo with your eyes closed, using more than intended (harry goes through shampoo much quicker now).

the diffuser in his bedroom, spewing out vapors of a eucalyptus blend he ordered online after extensive research ("it helps with clear breathin' and relaxation"), another scent that can only be described as pure harry, later encompassing your abode as well due to your incessant claims of how much you love it (one night you came home from work to a perfectly wrapped package on the foot of your bed, a diffuser and the same eucalyptus blend hidden inside).

his cologne perched on your dresser, tom ford, tobacco vanille, harry in a bottle, sneakily spritzed on your sweatshirt when he's not looking (he notices every time), lingering on your pillow case, his purple robe hanging next to yours, and your hand towels, tokens of him dolloped throughout your apartment, a tornado of familiarity swirling you into his galaxy. the same scent filling your nose as it buries into his neck, arms wrapped around him in an ages-long bear hug, his cheek resting against the top of your head, the soft fibers of his sweater tickling your skin.

sound

you can still hear him.

the warm drip of his honey voice in the early hours of the morning, raspy and deep from his slumber, pooling in the pit of your stomach growing thick and heavy until releasing with moans and whispers lost in the rising sun.

that laugh of his that doesn't bubble up often, the one you cause more than anyone else, buckets of giggles that leaves behind tears, crinkled eyes, and hands over tummies.

his thick accent that repolishes itself after he's made a trip to london, mumbles of "bugger," "oi love," "rubbish," and your favorite, "absobloodylutely" leaving his cherry lips more often than he realizes.

his moans. your favorite kind is when you're riding him, locked in a sweaty, pulsating embrace—twisting here and turning there and doing the things you know drive him absolutely mad—those moans that erupt from deep inside him and uncharacteristically replace his typical, filthy language because you're doing him so good that he's left speechless in a heap of tangled limbs and panting breaths.

his voice as it echoes in the acoustics of the shower, the soft patter of the water serving as his own orchestra, notes belonging to rock anthems of the 70s or sometimes his own verses that have been freshly inked in his worn-in journal (occasionally you'll record him singing the new ones—unbeknownst to him—to listen to when he's away for too long).

the clinking of his rings together when he's in full-on discussion mode—using his hands as he elaborately details a story of his childhood or a conversation he had with jeff today or why he thinks salsa shouldn't go in the fridge or the reason behind this lyric and that chord progression.

his keys clanking against the ceramic dish by the door, the sweetest symphony to your ears because he's home.

and finally, the sound of those three words—smooth as butter rolling off his tongue effortlessly, a hurricane crashing and splashing against you, three strings lifting you off your feet and soaring into the clouds, green eyes and rosy cheeks pulling your heart strings, sweet sugar crystals floating from his lips to yours—"i love you."

physically, he's gone, probably off writing another album, undoubtedly doing much better than you are. maybe he's even moved on, cuddled up into another woman's side, whispering things in her ear, tangled up in her sheets.

but in every other way imaginable, he's still with you.

five senses, five million memories.

[blossomszn]

Blossomed Lens

Back home, you had always seen your life through one, dull lens. But moving to the beautiful island of Okinawa, Japan, to start the next chapter in your life, helps you to discover new ways of seeing the world. It seems your black and white world may just start to become tainted with pink blossom.

Part 1 - An Escapade in Okinawa

You glare at your reflection in the small bathroom mirror for the last time. Is your hair pinned upright? Are there any visible creases in your blouse? Has your makeup smudged at all?

You know you’re just overthinking. You’re fine.

So walking back into your bedroom to your bed, you sit down and collect together all the documents you need for your interview. Your résumé sits at the top, with a small professional picture of yourself staring back at you. Underneath, is your application, clearly printed in black and white. Lastly, your portfolio.

The job you’re applying for is only a personal assistant position at a Calligraphy studio up to the centre of town. Though, what interests you the most, is the technology involved within the firm. Being a photographer like yourself, art and technology is a pair you’re both very familiar and well equipped with. So seeing the application, you just could not stop yourself to apply.

You’ve been living in Okinawa, Japan for two months now. Ever since you visited the beautiful island on a holiday in your teens with your friends, you made a pact to yourself that you will move to this heavenly island, and take endless pictures of the beautiful landscape scenery that captures its essence.

Of course, leaving behind your friends and family was difficult. But you’re not the type of girl who stays in one place for long. Travelling is what you do, and photography has become an orthodox lifestyle for you. A lifestyle in which makes you happy.

It hasn’t been so hard, the change of scene. Okinawa is just how you remembered it. Paradisiacal beaches, dreamy sunsets, friendly people, delicious food. It makes your hometown look relatively dull. But nothing will beat the excitement of when you first stepped off the plane and was welcomed by the heat of the island, luggage in hand and adventure on your mind.

Because of the size of the Japanese island, your apartment did not cost as much as you thought it would. It’s basic with one bedroom, a living area, a kitchen and a bathroom. Besides, you have been saving for this escapade for three years now, you have a decent amount of money to last you a good eight or nine months. But not only did you save money for three years, but you learnt how to speak and write Japanese too. You’re not completely fluent, but you knew if you wanted to work out here you needed to know the basics. And from what you’ve spoken so far with the locals, your paid courses have come to good use.

Naturally, you want to become a professional photographer as soon as possible. But in order to apply to the best companies on the island, you want to complete your upcoming project; Night Lights of Okinawa. Yes, the island is breathtaking during the day, but the night is just as exhilarating. Thus, after your project is completed and you have experience working on the island, you will set out on your photography career.

But for now, you let your eyes scan over the application for Sakurayashiki Calligraphy once more. It’s a basic personal assistant job. Providing to the needs of the very busy founding director, while maintaining the clientele, and looking after the studio. The pay is what also enticed you. The company must be very wealthy to pay an assistant this much. Actually, out of all the other places you have applied to, this seems like the highest-paid one.

Sliding all of your paperwork safely into your portfolio folder, you grab your phone off of the bedside table and type the studio’s address into maps. It's not long at all, a half-hour walk. You don’t exactly want to take your bike, the fear your ironed down outfit will become creased. Thus, you set out on your half-hour walk.

The walk significantly calms your nerves before the interview. You walk along the stoney lanes with a small smile on your face. Moving to the island still hasn’t set in, so you always catch yourself smiling. People must think you’re a lunatic.

The sun is beating down, it’s a hot day, so you’re relieved to wear a short-sleeved blouse and a long skirt. You’re still not quite sure about the interview clothing requirements here in Japan, so you played it safe making sure your skirt was long enough and your shoes we’re not too high. You even kept your makeup minimal, with some light blush, lip gloss and mascara.

After taking a slightly longer route to walk beside the crystal blue sea, you check your maps to see you have arrived at the building. The outdoor looks very clean, a two-story white building, with varnished wooden panels lining the windows and a sign in Japanese that reads ‘Sakurayashiki Calligraphy’.

This is it. The interview you’re hoping you'll bag.

The butterflies in the pits of your stomach begin to flutter more aggressively. You just hope the founding director is a nice man, and the job is just what you expected it would be.

So taking a deep breath, you step through the floral tainted doors into the Calligraphy studio.

The place smells very clean, with a small hint of cherries. The walls are rich mahogany with golden swirls and patterns painted across. The floor is sparkling varnished wood, and there’s natural light pouring through the vast windows. It really is a grand looking place.

Once you step through the doors, a young woman dressed in a deep purple kimono approaches you immediately and smiles pleasantly at you. “Hello, you must be Evelyn Reader! A pleasure to make your acquaintance” She greets, bowing slightly. You notice she is speaking in English. She must have read your application.

You bow too, letting a graceful smile touch your face “Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. But please, call me Eva”

“Of course” She smiles “Sakurayashiki-Sama will be with you shortly. Please, take a seat” She smiles, gesturing to the two pristine black chairs by the window. “Would you like any refreshments? Water, tea, some coffee?”

“Just some water, please,” You say, making yourself comfy on the chair.

“Of course. I will be just a moment”

Once the woman has left, you fish in your bag for your portfolio to memorise your résumé. You check over each skill you have listed, each attribute, retaining each bit of information. By the time your water is set on the glass coffee table before you, you feel everything is intact in your brain.

You’ve got this. You’ve had many interviews in the past. This one is no different.

Once ten very long minutes pass by, you hear footsteps coming from the stairs. You direct your eyes to a suited young male making his way towards the door. You spot his briefcase in his hand. He must be another candidate.

The woman immediately gets up from her reception desk and heads over to the male, taking the empty teacup from his grasp and waving goodbye.

You feel even more nervous now. Now you’ve seen another candidate, you just can’t help but compare. He looked very formal. Do you look presentable enough? Perhaps you should have worn those shiny back heels tucked away in your wardrobe? Or put on a brighter shade of lipstick?

No. Don’t overthink, Eva. You have got this.

That’s when an electronic voice echos around the room. Almost like a robot.

“Master Sakurayashiki is now ready for the next candidate” It speaks. You look over towards the young woman on the desk and see a faint purple glow illuminating her face. Is this the famous AI technology you have read about on their website?

“Thank you Carla” The woman responds, sitting up from her desk and directing her gaze onto you.

“Sakurayashiki-Sama will see you now. If you would like to follow me” She smiles warmly. Your heart suddenly jolts at that. You feel your hands go slightly clammy as you hold tightly onto the portfolio in your grip. You hope you don’t get the folder all sweaty, that would be embarrassing.

You follow the receptionist up the stairs in which the male candidate came from, and walk along another mahogany corridor. At the end, you reach a tall door. Delicately written across a wooden plate attached to the door, are the words ‘桜屋敷 スタジオ’ Kaoru Sakurayashiki’s Studio.

“You can walk straight in,” She says, gesturing to the wooden door before you.

Pushing the door forward, you step foot into a large space. The walls are the same style, if not with more gold patterns accompanying the deep red. The floor however is different, with a mix of light and dark purple tatami mats. To the far side of the wall is black shelving, with glittering awards and rich ornaments. And in the middle of the shelving is a large black plaque with what you assume is an example of Sakurayashiki’s work. Next to the shelving, sits a man at a dark wooden table.

Immediately hearing your entrance, he rises from the table to greet you. He’s dressed in navy blue traditional Japanese clothing. Although what catches your eye most of all is his vibrant pink hair, tied to the side in a messy ponytail. His eyes are a piercing golden yellow, and they shine in the daylight’s sunbeams.

You have to admit, he is a very handsome man. That makes your interview much worse, doesn’t it? That the man who will possibly be your boss if you do get the job, is incredibly good looking? Snapping back to reality and focusing on the matter at hand, you smile warmly at the man.

“Evelyn Reader it’s a pleasure to meet you” He smiles, holding out a delicate hand for you to shake.

You hope your hand is not too shaky as you extend it to touch with Sakurayashiki’s. “It’s lovely to meet you too. But please, call me Eva” Your voice comes out a lot more confident than you thought it would. That’s a relief.

“Ok, Eva, if that is what you prefer” He smiles “Please, take a seat over here” He announces. You notice how he is also speaking in English. He knows it well, speaking very formally.

“Thank you” You smile, making your way to the opposite side of the table. You sit down on the purple tatami mat and find it is very comfortable. Putting your bag beside you, you place the black folder on the table.

“Thank you for taking the time to visit today. I assume you found our studio well?” He asks. The way he is looking intently into your eyes is making you suddenly come over all nervous again. So you place your hands tightly in your lap to stop you from fidgeting.

“Yes, I did. It’s not too far from my apartment actually. Just a half-hour walk” You respond.

“I see, that is quite fortunate” Sakurayashiki hums. “What is your résumé profile?” He asks.

As soon as the question escapes his lips, a small black disc in the middle of the table lights up, with a purple C illuminating at the top of the beam.

“Evelyn Reader. Age twenty-two. Nationality, English” The robotic female voice speaks from the small black disc. It’s the very same voice that spoke downstairs to the receptionist. The technology picked up his question so easily? Extraordinary.

“Thank you Carla” Sakurayashiki smiles happily. You assume this piece of technology must be the man's pride and joy. He even gave it a name. “It appears you are from England. Whatever made you decide to move to such a reserved island to the south of Japan?” He asks.

“I actually visited Okinawa back as a teenager on a holiday. Since then, I have been dying to come back and potentially move here permanently. And well, after getting my degree at University I wanted a change of scene, so I decided to go for it. I have been living here for two months now, I spent them making the most of the island and exploring all around but now I think it’s time I settled down into a new role” Once you finish you take a small breath. You feel you did quite well with your explanation. You hope you’re exactly what Sakurayashiki is looking for.

“You are quite right, the island is indeed beautiful. I’m glad you’re enjoying it here. What is it you did at university in England?” He questions.

You pause for just a second. You feel a little dumbfounded now. You’re not sure which questions he is asking you and which he is asking the AI Carla. A few seconds later when the technology doesn’t light up again, you respond. “I did a degree in photography. I feel I have a very creative spark, and I did a lot of the arts all through school and through University. I paint and draw in my spare time, I am very skilled with editing softwares such as Photoshop, Illustrator and Indesign. And of course, photography” You explain.

“Naturally someone with a creative spark is exactly what we need for this position. Although most of your work will be assisting when you can around the studio, it is still important you have a keen eye for the arts” He says.

“Yes, well in my portfolio here," You say, gesturing to the black folder before you. “My work ranges from photography photos to fine art pieces, and I paint in my spare time too. I have also learnt Japanese Hiragana, which I feel I am quite skilled in at this point. So if by any means you need assisting in the calligraphy side of things, I am no stranger to the paintbrush. My experience as you will see from my résumé, I worked in an art studio back at University. It was my mothers, she is a professional painter. That is where I picked up most of my artistic skills”

All the while you talk Sakurayashiki sits and listens. You try your best to hold his gaze while you speak. But you can’t help but feel horribly nervous when you do. You find yourself saying subconsciously again, why does he have to be so darn handsome?

“That’s interesting to hear. My mother too is a professional painter, and it is where I refined my skills also" He smiles "It seems you have the creative persona we are looking for. Do you mind if I take a look at your portfolio?” Sakurayashiki asks.

“Oh really? That’s funny” You smile. “And of course, here” You slide the black folder towards him.

“Thank you,” He says. He opens it first on the photography page, examining the glossy pictures inside. He is quiet for a moment as he flicks through. He then looks through your paintings, and finally your written Hiragana. “Your work is something special. I can see you definitely have that creative spark you was talking about. What is your favourite piece?” He asks, with his eyes still on your work.

Hm. No one has ever asked you that. You take a moment to have a think before answering “If I had to pick one, including my paintings, I would have to say my photograph of the eerie-looking forest. I took it last year when I was on holiday in the Lake District in the UK with my friends. Even though it was summer, it was raining the whole time we were there. But the shot was so chilling and almost sinister from the gloomy colours and the dark undertones. And with the rain, I just feel it completes the picture. It’s almost like a shot taken from a horror movie…” you realise you have been rambling so much about a single photograph you instantly stop yourself. “Sorry I do love that piece as you can see” You smile awkwardly.

Sakurayashiki smiles. “No do not apologise. I can see how passionate you are about your work and that is very important. I enjoyed listening. That is why I asked you, is it not?” He says. “I particularly like this painting here myself” He hums, tilting the folder slightly towards you. The painting he chose was a self-portrait from a project back in sixth form when you was eighteen. It’s an old one, but it’s very colourful and was inspired by a retro styled artist.

Although once it sinks into your brain that it is indeed a self-portrait he has picked out and right now your eyes are staring back at you, you can’t help a slight blush rise to your cheeks. “Oh… thank you. That’s quite an old one from back at school” You say, tightening your grip onto your pencil skirt. At this point, you don’t care if the thing gets creased. You’re too god damn nervous again.

“It’s different from the others in here. A lot brighter, and more vibrant in colour” He comments, closing the folder to slide back to you. “Now you mentioned earlier that you have learnt the Japanese language which is very impressive, how long did it take you?” He asks.

You feel your mouth has turned incredibly dry, so you take a sip of your water before answering “I visited Okinawa when I was Nineteen. So about three years. However, whenever I do get the chance, I continue to practice”

“Excellent. It’s nice to see someone motivated in learning the language now that they’re over here. A lot of people tend to stick with the basics” He sighs “Now of course a requirement on the application is to speak moderately in Japanese. You will be handling our clients after all. So Miss Reader tell me, what makes you the ideal candidate for the role?”

Sakurayashiki continues to ask you standard interview questions after that. What your skills are, your strengths and weaknesses, your greatest achievement, where you see yourself in five years. You answer each one in detail, and precisely, all the while taking sips at your water to give yourself time to think of the best way to answer.

“And when is it Miss Reader that you can start with us if you were to be hired for the position?” Sakurayashiki asks.

“Well, straight away” You smile.

What you did notice throughout the entire interview was that Sakurayashiki did not once write down your responses to any of his questions. But then again, this is a man with exceptional technology, it would not surprise you if the AI Carla is recording everything for him.

“That’s great. Well, I believe that is everything from me” He smiles “Is there anything you wish to ask?”

“Yes, there is actually. On the application, it states there will be a requirement for travelling. What does this entail?” You ask.

“Of course. We often have a lot of events and talks in which we need to be present and I will require a lot of your assistance. Though I do believe it will be good experience for you. I also have regular meetings with our clientele, and it would be ideal to have you there to note everything down for me, as well as get to know them formally. I would expect at least once a week you will be away from the studio”

“I see that sounds good. I was hoping for a bit of travelling in my next position” You smile.

“Well, it’s lucky you found this position” He responds with another warm smile.

“Yes, it is”

“Is there anything else you wish to ask me before we end this interview?” He asks.

You think it over. You feel you know everything that you need to. And your mother always says at least one question is always enough at the end of an interview. Too many will overwhelm the interviewer. “No that is all”

“Perfect” Sakurayashiki stands then, patting down his kimono. “Thank you again for meeting with me today. I will have Hina on reception give you a call by tomorrow morning to let you know if you are successful”

“Thank you for the opportunity Sakurayashiki-sama" You smile "I will look forward to the call” You extend your hand to shake with Sakurayashiki’s once more.

Once you’re outside the wooden doors you pause just a moment before you head downstairs. There's a feeling deep down inside you, one that you don’t want to admit. But you covertly hope you get the job just so you can get to know Sakurayashiki himself. He seems like a very interested man… well, by interesting you probably mean good looking.

No, stop being so shallow, you think. You shake your head to rid of the ridiculously unprofessional thoughts before walking back down the stairs. Heading for the door, the receptionist Hina says goodbye and gives you a wave.

On your way home, you take a little detour and head to a nearby park. It’s still a beautiful day, and you feel you’re getting a little hot in your blouse and long pencil skirt. Even though you look around and see the locals walking by in jeans and sweatshirts, you’re still not used to a warmer climate. You smile to yourself again. You do not miss the English weather one bit. Looking in your bag for your DSLR camera (you never leave your apartment without it). You carefully take off the lens disc and begin to set it up.

Lens correction off, Landscape mode on.

Luckily you did not have to do much adjusting as you’ve only been taking scenery pictures lately.

So making yourself comfortable on the green grass and closing your left eye, you look through the camera lens and focus your sights on two elegant cherry blossom trees ahead of you. It’s the middle of Spring, so the colours are brilliantly vivid and the blossom is in perfect bloom. But for some strange reason, before you click the shutter button, a particular face comes into your mind.

A certain someone with pink, blossom coloured hair.

You shake off the thought quickly. You’re thinking of that man now? Stop being so weird Eva, you probably won’t get the job and see him ever again.

So ignoring the face in your mind, you focus your open eye on the two trees. Once you adjust the focus manually with delicate fingers and take a deep intake of breath to avoid a shaky picture, you click the shutter. You zoom in, zoom out. Angle both portrait mode and landscape. The photos come out perfectly by the time you finish.

You can’t wait to get home and edit these on Photoshop. You just know with the right adjustments, the photo will look even better. Perhaps something you can add to your portfolio.

The next scene you focus your lens on is a full landscape view of the park. There aren’t many people in the park being three o’clock on a weekday, so the shot is mostly the greenery and blooming flowers.

You spend another half hour walking around the field, taking shots of every inch. You snap pictures of the tweeting birds in the trees, the strikingly bright Kaneshon flowers, you even take a snap of an urban looking view of the buildings surrounding the green space.

Once you feel satisfied enough, you decide to head back to your small apartment and spend the evening cooking a basic vegetable stir-fry meal, watching sitcoms on Netflix, and editing your photos in bed until you drift off into a pleasant sleep.

.

You wake up to the ringing sounds of your phone alarm the next morning. You made sure to be up early just in case the calligraphy studio calls. So hopping out of bed you stretch your arms and freshen up in the bathroom. You wonder to yourself what to do today. You could plan your next trip across the island to another scenic spot, as small as the island is there is still so much you haven’t explored yet. You still haven’t tried out a Hot Springs yet. Perhaps that is something you can do today?

So walking out the bathroom with a little bounce in your step, you pull your laptop out from under your bed and get to work on searching for a nearby Hot Springs. After some searching for a few minutes on the world wide web, you note the closest one is at least a twenty-minute drive. Well, all you have is a bike so that will at least take double that. You don’t think you have the stamina to cycle for forty minutes.

You decide to search for the best option for public transport instead. Two buses.

"Hm, that's not bad at all" you hum to yourself.

You make sure to screenshot every part of your route, before sending the pictures to your phone.

You decide to go just before midday, ensuring you have a large breakfast beforehand. You put your laptop away back under your bed when your phone suddenly starts ringing. Your heart immediately jumps into your mouth.

"Oh jheeze ok. This is it" you say nervously.

As expected you didn’t recognise the number on the front. So clearing your voice with a cough, you answer the phone.

“Hello, am I speaking to Eva Reader? This is Hina here at Sakurayashiki Calligraphy” The polite female voice speaks from the other line. You note she is talking in Japanese this time. Perhaps Sakurayashiki informed her of your Japanese? You wonder.

“Hello Hina yes you are, how are you?” You respond in Japanese.

“I am very well thank you, are you well?” She asks.

“Yes thank you”

“Perfect. I firstly want to say on behalf of Sakurayashiki-Sama, thank you for applying to the position, and taking the time to visit us here at Sakurayashiki Calligraphy”

“No, thank you for the opportunity. It was nice to meet Sakurayashiki and see his wonderful work” You respond.

“I am sure he will be happy to hear that,” She says. There is a little pause. Even though it's silent, you are sure you can hear your heavy heartbeat thumping in your ribcage.

“I also want to congratulate you on being accepted as Sakurayashiki-Sama’s new personal assistant. He was very happy with how your interview went, and you are exactly the candidate he was looking for!” She says brightly.

You don’t think it is possible to smile even wider. You want to squeal and jump up on the bed. But of course, you do your best to stay put. “Thank you so much! That’s fantastic I am so happy”

Hina can hear you grinning. “As you should be! You did very well, in fact, Sakurayashiki-Sama even mentioned how well put together your portfolio was, he was very impressed. He hasn’t seen such a range of artistic work from a candidate before”

“Oh really? That’s amazing! I am so happy he liked my work. Thank you again for this opportunity!” You exclaim with a grin still fixed to your face.

“You’re very welcome! Sakurayashiki-Sama informed me that you will be available to start right away, is that so?”

“Yes, that is” you respond.

“Perfect, would you be able to start tomorrow? It will be a shorter shift than your desired hours, from 10 am until two. And it will just be the two of you going through your everyday role and the contract. Does this time work for you?”

“Yes, that’s great. I read on the application that it is required to wear traditional Japanese clothing for the role. Would this be needed for tomorrow?” You ask. You suddenly think to yourself that you don’t have any kimono lying around… perhaps you should have invested in one as soon as you moved here.

“Yes if that is possible, though it's not vital. As long as you wear the required clothing on your official first day, which will be in two days. Also, the colours we are required to wear are darker than usual. Just nothing too bright, and no patterns!” Hina replies.

“Ok, that all sounds fine thank you! I haven’t brought a kimono before so this should be exciting. I will look forward to coming back tomorrow”

“Oh, you will do just fine! The shops are all very accommodating here, they will be able to help you pick one out. One last thing, please remember to bring a form of identification so we can scan it through our system”

“I’m sure they will everyone has been lovely so far. And I will do. Thank you again!” You say.

“No worries. Have a great day Eva and we will see you tomorrow!”

“Bye!” You say, before hanging up. You sit still on your bed for just a moment, taking in the phone call you just had moments ago. Then, with a beaming wide smile on your face, you leap up.

“Wooo!” You shout, jumping up and down in excitement. You can’t believe your first interview here on the island, you’ve managed to bag the job. And the very job which pays exceptionally well. You just can’t believe it.

Once you’ve calmed down from the excitement, you think to yourself. You are a little surprised you got it if you’re being honest with yourself. You’re fairly sure there must have been professional calligraphers going for the position. But they chose you. He chose you.

The sudden thought of the pink-haired man makes the butterflies in your stomach begin again. You know it’s only because he’s attractive, and you’re not going to lie to yourself anymore, you are a tiny bit excited to see him again tomorrow.

Well, he is your boss now. You assume you will be working closely with him.

“Ok enough Eva, no more swooning over your new boss” You scold to yourself out loud, shaking your head again.

You’re going to have to make a rule. No thinking lustfully over your boss for longer than… ten seconds a day. No too much, five seconds.

This will not be easy.

You can find a full list for each part linked here. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

[nerdypanda3126]

Conceal and Reveal

This was written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Fic Challenge. 

The rules are three 15-minute sprints with 24 hours for light editing, which includes new writing to smooth transitions or make it feel complete. I ended up adding about 600 words (is anyone surprised at this point? 😅) 

The prompt I used this time around was: Tan lines (although I went for the more painful cousin, sunburn lines)

And while I was writing, I started to consider this a prequel to Love Somebody Who Ruins Your Lipstick, one of the first sprint challenges I did. I always kind of regretted that I didn't show Luka actually putting the lipstick on her, or the conversation that they had that made Marinette realize *things* so, here it is. This can be read separately, but there's smooches in the other one, so....

Read on Ao3 

Marinette detransformed in a flash of pink light in an alley close to the Liberty. If she was lucky she’d be just in time for Kitty Section practice. She slipped a macaron to Tikki and ran, still blinking spots from her eyes from the akuma she and Chat Noir had defeated moments earlier. She’d had a blinding power, as bright as the sun, and it baked like the sun, too. Marinette had had several near misses with it, and as she ran towards the houseboat the wind stung against her face. She could only hope she hadn’t been burned too badly. 

She skidded to a stop in front of the gangplank and carefully climbed aboard before she realized that while she’d thought she would barely be on time… no one was there yet. 

A quick check of her phone found a group text postponing practice due to the akuma. Which meant she was an entire fifteen minutes early. Enough time to breathe and try not to be angry with Chat Noir for sacrificing himself for the millionth time. Enough time to try to scrub the memory of him disappearing in a flash of blinding light from her mind’s eye.  

She took a deep breath and it came out as a groan as she fell onto her usual cardboard box in front of the stage and covered her face with her hands. 

“Marinette?” a familiar voice called. When she peeked between her fingers, she found Luka kneeling in front of her, his concerned blue eyes trained on her. But they widened when he caught sight of her face. 

“Uh, Marinette? You’ve got…” He chuckled and gestured around his eyes. Marinette reached up to touch her cheek and winced as it stung again under her fingers. Luka glanced around at the empty boat before he stood and offered her a hand up. “Come with me,” he said, and pulled her gently over to the stairs that led below deck. 

At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and held up a hand for her to wait as he looked around. When he seemed satisfied, he led her to the bathroom on the side and shut the door behind them quickly and locked it behind himself. 

She didn’t have the energy to ask him what was wrong as he hooked his foot around the leg of a stool under the sink to pull it out and pointed at it for her to sit. When she had, he turned to a small linen closet and took out a black and purple makeup bag. As he turned back and saw her watching him, he chuckled again and gestured to the mirror and she was barely able to process that he wanted her to look at herself. 

But when she did she gasped and covered her face with her hands again, hissing in a pained breath as her bright red cheeks turned white under her touch. Only the skin around her eyes was left untouched—in the exact shape of her Ladybug mask. 

“Luka, I can explain—” she started, but he just smiled and started taking different bottles and sponges and brushes out of the bag. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said easily. “We can cover it up.” 

“But—” He was too calm, too collected. Why wasn’t he freaking out? She was definitely freaking out. This was an absolute disaster! And Luka was acting like… like he’d thought about it before. Like this was expected—normal, even. She tilted her head to consider him. “Did you know?” 

“Know what?” he asked innocently, but the corner of his mouth was turned up in a small smirk. “Hold still and close your eyes.” 

She huffed impatiently at him, but did as he asked and his fingers swept something liquid and cool over her burning cheeks. As soon as he was finished, she opened her eyes again and hardened her gaze. 

“Luka, seriously. How long have you known?” 

He didn’t answer right away, instead keeping his head down, the blue tips of his hair falling over what little of his face she could see as he searched through the bag for something else he needed. The stick he pulled out was seafoam green, and when he took the top off and twirled the bottom, so was the product inside it. She pulled back from him as he turned back to her. 

“That’s green,” she pointed out, a little bewildered. He laughed. 

“And you’re red. They cancel each other out. Trust me.” He gestured for her to come back to him and she did, albeit reluctantly. He held her chin in his hand as he dabbed the green product along the hard line of her sunburn, contouring it along her cheeks and nose as he went. When he set it down, he started feathering it with the pads of his fingers, and that’s when his eyes met hers again. 

“I suspected, I guess,” he answered finally. “It wasn’t anything solid, just a feeling.” 

She caught his hand. “You can’t tell anyone. Not even Juleka.” 

“Technically, I still don’t know anything for sure,” he said, chuckling. “There’s two people in Paris who might be having this issue right now. You could be either of them.” That little smirk twitched upwards as he teased her. But his words hit her sore heart and she couldn’t help but wince. 

“I’m not Chat Noir,” she said quietly. 

His hand lingered to cup her cheek and a beat of silence passed between them. “No, you’re not.” 

After another moment, he smiled sadly and let her go, picking up a bottle of a more skin-colored shade and squirting a bit on the back of his hand. They were both quiet as he started sponging the foundation on for her. She only noticed that a tear had slipped down her cheek when he brushed it away gently. 

“I saw on the news,” he murmured. “It must be hard.” 

She nodded, but if the lump in her throat was any indication if she tried to speak she’d only end up crying and ruining Luka’s hard work. 

“You must mean a lot to him,” he continued, “if he trusts you so much.” 

“I wish he didn’t sometimes,” she admitted. He nodded and hummed, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he turned to switch products again, this time a white, shimmery powder and a fluffy brush. He ghosted it across her skin, focusing on her cheeks and nose before he set everything down and gestured for her to look again. 

She barely recognized herself. All she saw were tired, sad blue eyes in a mask of pale skin with pink cheeks. 

“Is that me?” she couldn’t help but ask. Luka looked in the mirror with her, then turned her face back to him gently. 

“Two more things,” he said, smiling, and she could’ve sworn she saw a thought flash through his eyes. Something he hadn’t meant for her to see. He dug in the bag and pulled out two things she finally recognized—eyeliner and a lipstick tube. 

He didn’t even have to tell her and she closed her eyes for him again, leaning her face forward blindly until his hand was cupping her cheek again. She felt him steady himself before the pen was on her eyelid. He drew soft, feathery strokes at first along her lash line, then winged it out on the side. She waited until he’d completed the other side before she opened her eyes and her breath caught. 

She hadn’t expected him to be so close. 

Apparently he had the same reaction because he chuckled nervously and drew back, then tipped her chin from side to side, checking his work. As he set the eyeliner pen down and reached for the tube of lipstick, she noticed his fingers were trembling. He had to take a deep breath and then he turned back to her with a crimson lipstick uncapped in his hand and a small angled brush.

He cleared his throat before he tapped the brush against the color, then gestured for her to lean forward again. She set her chin in his hand and watched as his eyes focused on her lips. As he followed their contours with the brush, only stopping occasionally to pick up more color. 

And as he stopped once more to admire his work, his thumb lingering in the hollow of her chin and his eyes catching on hers, still full of that same thought she couldn’t quite place.

“There,” he breathed. “Ready to face anything.”

[instasiswetrust]

July Prompts, Day 5 - Camera

"You still kept this one?"

When Jonathan turns to look at him, Steve's holding a broken camera in his hands. It's the one he had broken after seeing the pictures Jonathan took of Nancy, cracked and missing a part of the casing.

"I figured I could get it fixed but then you guys got me a new one. Kind of forgot to get rid of it afterwards." He shrugs, going back to rifling through his cassette collection, trying to find the Motley Cure one.

"You mind if I take it?"

This time, when Jonathan turns to look at him he appears to be confused, maybe even curious. Steve just shrugs, trying for nonchalance. He's not sure how to explain why he wants to keep the camera, just knows that he feels like he needs to.

So he's relieved when, after a moment, Jonathan nods. He gives him instructions on where he can get it fixed, a few tips about taking pictures, and that's that.

Guess Steve owns a camera now. Fun times.

-*-

Bitterness.

That's what the first picture he takes makes him feel.

He had stared in the mirror, brown eyes taking in the aftermath of Billy Hargrove's anger, of two nights of restless sleep and nightmares that left the phantom taste of rot and ash on his tongue. Had stared, looking at the canvas of bruises, black and blue and purple.

Nebulae on ashen skin at 3 AM.

His fingers had been shaking, a hint of desperation in his movements, when he reached for the camera. The flash had reflected on the cracked bathroom mirror, the outcome of a previous panic attack, blinding him for a moment. The end effect had made his stomach churn when he saw it.

With his eyes scrunched closed and the bruises lit up by the light of the flash, he had looked so fragile. Vulnerable and in pain. The bags under his eyes so dark that they blended in with the bruises already there.

He hated the picture.

It was still tucked safely in between the yellowed pages of an old empty journal.

-*-

The second picture taken comes courtesy of Dustin.

He had spent a whole week locked up in his room, bitter and scared, too afraid to be alone but too tired to face the whispers that would undoubtedly follow him. Each time he closed his eyes he could see Billy's face. Twisted in anger, golden curls flying with the force of his punches, but there had been something in the depth of those blue eyes. Something like fear, like regret.

Something Steve had wanted to forget if only because he didn't think he could stand it if there was something more to Billy Hargrove than just all the fury.

On Saturday the doorbell had rung. Insistent and unrelenting, the shrill sound hadn't stopped until he had wrenched open the door, scathing words dying in his throat at the sight that greeted him.

"Mom made extra chicken pot pie because she knows it's your favorite." Dustin had said as soon as the door had opened, shouldering his way past Steve on his way to the kitchen. "And everyone's been worried about you so I figured it was about time to force you out of your self-enforced pity party."

"It's not a pity party..." He remembers himself murmuring, lips pursing into a pout as he followed the boy into the kitchen.

By the look Dustin threw him, it was obvious he saw right through his bullshit.

It had been later, stomach full for the first time in days, that the younger boy had spotted the camera he must've left on the coffee table at some point. Steve had been lazying on the couch, eyes closed and mind blessedly empty when the sudden flash of a camera had gone off, startling him.

"What the hell dingus?"

When he had opened his eyes, Dustin had been grinning wide, all boyish smugness. He had only given Steve a moment before the shutter had gone off again. And again. And again.

He had taken pictures until the camera had run out of film avoiding all attempts Steve had made to wrench the camera out of his hands. Despite the annoyance he had felt though, a smile had curled Steve's lips for the first time since they had made it out of the tunnels.

Looking back on the stack of Polaroids, most of them had ended up blurry and unfocused from the chase. Only that very first one he had kept. He had looked content faded bruises, and eyebags the only hints that not everything was okay but that maybe it was getting better.

Bitterness and Hope. Maybe he should start a collection.

-*-

The third picture doesn't even come from his camera at all.

"Wha-?"

Once the brightness of the flash cleared, Steve was turning to look at Nancy perched on the hood of Jonathan's car, his camera in her hands. She was smiling at him the same way she used to back when they had started dating, all dimpled cheeks and crinkled eyes. She was even more beautiful now but she no longer his.

His chest ached with the knowledge. A quick jolt of pain.

It still didn't explain why she had just taken a picture of him.

"You should talk to them. If you miss them, that is." He didn't understand what she meant until the photo finished developing and she handed it to him.

She'd captured his right side in the frame, his gaze seemingly lost in a random point in the distance. At least, that's what he thought at first before he spotted the outline of a couple on the opposite edge of the frame. They looked a little blurry because of the distance but it was clear Steve's gaze was fixed on them. Longing was etched deep and clear on his features.

Maybe he should have stopped assuming that nobody was paying attention to him these days.

"Why would I talk to Tommy and Carol? They are assholes." It had come out a little too quickly, a little too guarded. An obvious lie.

"So were you but you changed." She gave him a soft but knowing look. Like she could see right through him. Maybe she could, he wouldn't put it past her. "Plus, you guys were friends since childhood weren't you? Those types of bonds aren't that easy to forget."

And he knew there was truth in her words but he felt scared.

Because although Steve was fine these days with no longer being considered King Steve, it was one thing to just passively lose popularity and another one to have Tommy and Carol spouting his secrets for everybody to hear.

Thing was, they hadn't done that yet. Even with Billy in the picture, they still hadn't.

"Maybe." And for a while that had been that.

Later that week he had dropped by Tommy's house. Tommy had begrudgingly accepted to talk after Carol needled him a little. They had talked and apologized, although it would take some time and effort before things between them resembled that of old.

Bitterness. Hope. Longing. Wonder what would join his collection next.

-*-

By the time the fourth polaroid joined the others in the old journal, his room was filled with dozens of pictures of his friends --his family-- hanging on strings over his head.

"I didn't peg you for a photographer, princess."

Billy had been standing in the middle of the room, looking at the motley array of pictures that littered the room. He had one in his hand, tugging surprisingly gently on the string so he could get a better look at it.

"Well I didn't peg you for an idiot but somehow you're in my room instead of the bathroom." But the heat that normally would accompany his words hadn't been there, the corner of his lips curling into a replica of a smile.

He remembers walking further into the room until he had stood next to the blonde, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat of his body. At the time he hadn't thought much of the heat on his cheeks, attributing it to his embarrassment when he spotted the picture in Billy's hand.

It depicted Steve and Jonathan, both of them either high or drunk. He had been draped over Jonathan's side, pressing a lipstick-covered kiss to his cheek. Dark red lipstick and black eyeshadow to match, to be exact. Probably high, that's the only way he would've allowed Nancy to put any of her makeup on him.

"Black really doesn't fit you, pretty boy." Billy had teased him, all wide smirks and tongue between his teeth.

"Oh shut the fuck up, Billy." He had scoffed, punching his arm. "I looked damn fine."

And the way Billy had laughed, loud and honest and surprisingly bright. Steve couldn't help himself. He wasn't sure why he had found it so important at the moment but it had been, so he had grabbed his camera and snapped a photo.

Billy had stopped laughing at once, but at least he hadn't tried to take the photo.

It would be two weeks later when Steve realized what it was that he had seen at that moment. Another week before he had scrawled Love at the bottom of the polaroid and tucked it safely with the others in the journal.

-*-

The fifth photo just cements Steve's resolve to never show anybody the polaroids tucked inside the old journal.

"B...B-Billy fuck... baby please. I can't- I can't. Please."

Steve bit down on his bottom lip so hard that he had tasted blood. It had been impossible to quieten his sounds and focus on rolling his hips at the same time, especially when Billy seemed intent on covering his neck with as many lovebites as he could.

"Gonna come for me, baby? Come on my cock all pretty?"

And, oh god, Steve had whined.

High, and breathy, and so fucking lewd. Billy hadn't even touched him and he had been so close already, desperately chasing an orgasm that had been denied twice already. His eyes had been closed, head thrown back as pleasure mounted, dragging him even closer.

If he had opened them, maybe he would've seen what Billy was doing.

"Come for me, baby."

He vaguely registered the flash of a camera going off at the same time tremors overtook his body, thighs shaking with the force of his orgasm.

Later, when they were curled up on the couch going through the remains of a pizza, Billy had handed him the polaroid. Lust had been scrawled at the bottom of the photo.

"For your collection." Was what he had said.

-*-

If somebody were to ask what his favorite polaroid was, Steve thinks he would have to choose number 6.

He had caught Billy looking at his chest in the mirror, where the pale white scars twisted across the expanse of his chest. After the Mind Flayer, he had taken to wearing his shirts buttoned all the way. Even in bed with Steve, it was rare that he ever took off his shirt.

The look on his boyfriend's face then had been so miserable. All the iron defenses stripped away until only the fragile vulnerability underneath remained. It had pushed him to step into the room, wrapping his arms loosely around Billy's waist.

For a second Billy had tensed up, muscles going taut, eyes widening a fraction before he relaxed into Steve's arms with a sigh. The fragility had still been there but his roughened edges had softened some.

"What's on your mind, baby?" He had whispered, pressing a kiss to a bare shoulder.

He hadn't gotten an outright answer at the time but each kiss Billy pressed against his lips had been stained with a restless kind of desperation. Like he had wanted to etch each kiss on his skin and remember them forever, just in case he were to lose it all again.

And yeah, Steve knew exactly how that felt.

"Billy, I'm not going anywhere, okay?" The words had been muttered between slow kisses, reassuring and gentle. Silently begging Billy to believe in his words. "This? Us? I want this to be forever. Even if it's hard, or we have bumps along the way, I want to stay by your side."

Steve had gotten an idea then. With a quick *I'll be back* he slipped back to his room and grabbed his camera, giving it to Billy once he was back. His boyfriend had been understandably confused.

"Um, so I know this probably sounds lame and you can say no but just- Hear me out okay." He had taken a deep breath to try and battle the blush coloring his cheeks. "I was thinking that, as a... promise or something, we could take a photo each year. Just as a reminder. Of us. If you want, I mean, it's kind of a dumb id-"

Warm lips pressed against his, effectively shutting him up.

"You're a dork, Stevie." But Billy had still pointed the camera at the cracked mirror and taken the photo before dragging Steve back to bed.

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

the artiste; hanamiya makoto

tags; fashion/modelling industry!au, lowkey sugar daddy!hanamiya, not telling you anything else so you gotta read these 3.8k words now

tw; unhealthy weight loss techniques

note: charon is the dude who carries souls of the deceased across the river styx - the river which connects the earth and the underworld

“Well, aren’t you pretty.”

These are the first words Hanamiya ever directs towards you, raising his champagne glass as you approach, with the same sleazy smile across his lips that you’ve seen on the face of every man who steps into the host club to soak up the atmosphere of women and wine.

“I’m flattered,” you upturn your lips - amiable but not too friendly, ladylike but not cold.

“Not you’re not,” the man’s tone holds none of its previous singsong. In your shock, you lose the smile, “you’re sick and tired of hearing the same words come out of every man’s lips, right? Nor are you particularly subtle with how you looked up at the clock.”

“I apologise-“

“Don’t. I’m not kidding when I say I’m pleased to meet you,” he stretches out his hand, takes yours and shakes it hard, “Makoto, Hanamiya Makoto. And I’m here to be your Charon.”

At first, your conversations with Hanamiya - always at the club, of course, though they grow more frequent, and soon he doesn’t even need to request you either; all the staff know that he’s only got eyes for you - are stilted and stiff. He’s charismatic but you’re not trained to talk to charismatic men.

“I’m not like the others, am I?” Hanamiya chuckles as if savouring his own sense of superiority. “I don’t work with the script your manager tells you to follow. I bet you’ve never told a single one of your customers what you actually think about them. You know, I used to work for a place like this, a common place pimp, picking up pretty girls off the street for the manager - that’s how I know just about everything you’re thinking. I understand more about your profession than you do.”

“What do you do now?” you ask, noting how the discussion is slowly falling into dangerous territory (the manager’s number one rule: never tell the customer anything they can’t just see).

“I’m a fashion designer, producing haute couture gowns for those with too much money to spend.”

It’s only then that you understand why his name sounded so familiar. And maybe Hanamiya sees how your eyes sparkle at the recollection, because the grin slips back onto his lips.

After that, conversations start getting easier. Hanamiya’s still a little too questioning, just a touch too intrusive, but you can’t avoid the questions of a man who dwells in the summit of society, which you could only dream of looking up at as a child. After all, who hasn’t fantasied about walking down the runway, being the object of everyone’s envy, being the centre of all the photos?

And that’s the worst part of Hanamiya - he keeps saying it’s possible, for you.

“It’s your bones,” Hanamiya tells you, running his hand across your cheek, his fingers pressing down gently onto what lies beneath your skin (the manager’s second rule: never let customers touch you in any way vaguely intimate - insist on boundaries). “God made you to be a model.”

Of course, you tell him you’re not interested (you’ve got a comfortable paying job now, and it doesn’t lack in glamour either, entertaining rich old men with pearls on your neck), but, every time he visits, he asks again. And it slowly gets harder to resist how sincerely he squeezes your hand, how authentic his smile has become (no longer do you feel the sensation that he’s inspecting you - he’s a friend now, more than anything), and how this could be your only chance to fulfil those childhood dreams that would have never stood a chance, if not for Hanamiya.

“I need you,” murmurs Hanamiya, staring so intensely into your eyes that it’s like he’s not looking at you at all, “you’re perfect.”

“Why me?”

“There’s this one dress... It’ll only reach its true potential if you’re the one wearing it. Just one show, just a couple steps down the catwalk, that’s all you have to do. If you don’t like it, you can leave the industry the next day.”

You glance around the club you’ve come to call a second home, at its plushy red sofas which look almost blood-coloured, dimly lit by the chandeliers overhead.

“I’m happy here.” Once, that wouldn’t have been a lie.

Hanamiya sits back, but his gaze still doesn’t leave yours. “You enjoy grandeur here, but only in the night. Don’t you want it in the light too?”

That evening, you quit your job.

It’s raining outside. As the two of you rush to his car, parked a little while away, Hanamiya holds his coat over you head.

“I thought your coat was too expensive to get wet!” you laugh, your hands still shaking with the adrenaline of your own rashness, the soles of your shoes slapping against the puddles on the pavement.

“You’re way more expensive, angel,” replies Hanamiya.

In the moment, with his raindrops glittering across his hair, and a boyish smile across his face, you can forget that this man is a multi-millionaire who now owns your future. Right now, he just seems like an ally - maybe even a friend.

“You’ll stay with me for now,” Hanamiya’s saying as he slips his key into the lock of a tall mahogany door, with his face turned away from you, “model apartments, agencies: they’re all shams. It’s tricky business for a newcomer. You’re safest with me.”

You’ve worked long enough in a shady industry to know that it’s never wise to put all your eggs in one basket.

“Why not an agency? Don’t I need someone to represent me?”

“Agencies only exist to take as large a cut of your earnings as they can, and get you in debt - that’s what the apartments they set you up with are for - and then make you reliant on them, so they can keep taking your money. They don’t care about your potential,” the light down the corridor is flickering, casting fleeting shadows over Hanamiya’s form which distort his face as he turns towards you, “not like I do.”

Something in his tone suggests to you that, firstly, you don’t know the first thing about this industry you’re stepping into, and that, secondly, you don’t need to know. You just need to stick with him.

You can trust him (you think).

After all, Hanamiya’s the one who’s responsible for your being a model in one of the biggest fashion events in this half of the year - you, someone with no experience apart from a couple hours practice with an expert (who had only agreed to it, you understood, because they were desperate to work with Hanamiya too). He’s also the one who kept you company during the dress rehearsal, when all the other models were eyeing you, mumbling together from the distance, dressed in their various shades of blacks and greys and purples like a plague about to smother you whole.

“Ignore them, they’re just envious that you’re the star of the show,” Hanamiya whispered, his lip just grazing the top of your ear, before announcing to the room, “work hard, ladies, and maybe, one day, you’ll get to be my favourite instead!”

You had asked him to not make such a big show of it. One of the best parts of working at the host club had been sitting with your fellow hosts at the end of the day, slipping off your high heels to give your feet a rest, gossiping together about that day’s customers. Making friends with these new colleagues of yours, you explained to Hanamiya, was just as important to you. You didn’t want to be the lone wolf; you didn’t want to feel like you were walking down the runway alone.

“Why?” Hanamiya had replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Looking at the mirror before you, you were convinced the other models were glaring at you. “Can’t you cope with the pressure?”

And, now, in the final hour before the first (and potentially last; now it’s so close, you’re starting to realise just how unqualified you are) show of your life, still no one’s talking to you. Even the three people working on you - two on your hair, one of your makeup (in Hanamiya’s words, the star shouldn’t have to worry about anything but the walk ahead) - refuse to speak to you, or even meet your eye in the mirror. Your only option for conversation is Hanamiya, who’s barely interested in you. His eyes keep straying to look over the preparations being performed before him, like a boy studying his ant farm.

“You’re got too much trust in me,” you say to Hanamiya, as your head gets wrenched back by one of the stylists, “I could ruin your whole show.”

“If I thought that,” Hanamiya’s eyes flicker over you, and then return to observing the other models, “I wouldn’t have offered the position to you.”

“I’m no professional model.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Hanamiya’s casual smile slips off his face. He’s displeased. You have to put more trust in his decisions, you remind yourself, as black lipstick and eyeshadows is smudged across your lips and eyelids, giving you the appearance of a banshee.

Around 10 minutes before you’re supposed to go out, you’re helped into the gown you’ll be wearing (the other models have been dashing back and forth to get changed into their next outfits, whereas you just have the one), and hairspray is once again sprayed over the crow’s nest that was once your hair (you look deranged, you think to yourself, but Hanamiya gives a satisfied hum once he sees the stylist’s finished product).

And then, in the final seconds, Hanamiya approaches you - “make me proud” - and pushes you onto the catwalk.

One step in front of the other. Let the satin skirt swing. Don’t move your arms too much. Expose the lace that attaches the sleeves to the skirt, hanging down like great wings of spider’s webs. And keep your arms raised, just slightly. Even when the heaps of black satin, piled across your biceps and forearm, make your muscles burn, keep your arms up. Look confident. But haunted too. Walk slow. Let your hips slip to the side, but don’t overdo it. Not like the other models. Remember, you’re the witch. You’re wearing the dress of the witch. You’re not a model.

You’re the star.

At the end - and it’s curious how long the runway feels whilst you’re on it, and how short it looks when it’s over - the lights dim, and, the minute you’re backstage, high on adrenaline, you race into Hanamiya’s arms. You’re shaking too much to speak, but Hanamiya holds you closely, like you could crumple any minute.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “you did exactly what I told you to.”

And then he tosses you to the side, as he goes out to greet the applause.

-----

You’re not sure how (in the photos, you look like a woman possessed - perhaps you shouldn’t have been concentrating so hard on remembering Hanamiya’s advice) but the show’s a success. More than that, you’re a success. Suddenly, your schedule starts being booked up. There’s magazines interested in this new look, photographers keen on being the ones to represent it, and even the tabloids have been writing about “designer Hanamiya Makoto finds yet another hidden talent!”

“’Another’?” you ask Hanamiya, stretched out underneath his bed’s thin black duvet - he keeps saying he’ll find you your own place to stay, but he’s yet to refer you somewhere, and you’re not sure you’d want to go, even if he did.

“There’s been a couple models in the past that I brought to the industry,” he replies, slipping off a dark grey tie, unbuttoning the top hole of his black shirt, “but none with your potential, angel.”

Your attention returns to the magazine, as you reread the article for the tenth time. There’s something addicting about seeing your name written there, seeing your photo printed into the glossy paper. Over and over, you run your fingers across the ‘truly the star of the show’ printed in Times New Roman, and, every time, the words bring a shiver up your spine. That’s you. You’re the star. You’re Hanamiya’s star.

-----

A few weeks after the show, and your days are spent on booking after booking. Today’s job involves wearing a collection of what Hanamiya deems as ‘funeral dresses’ - long black frocks, not quite ballgowns but clearly not designed for the average grieving mademoiselle. And it’s only the three of you in the studio today: you, the photographer, and Hanamiya.

(You’re not sure why Hanamiya attends all these bookings of yours. He’s a busy man, after all; just organising your schedule seems a lot of work for someone whose main job is focused on something entirely different. The one time you asked him as to how he finds the time, he replied that, “as the artist, I cannot possibly leave you - my muse. Not unless you want me to?” He raised an eyebrow, and you never asked again, knowing very well that you weren’t ready to be separated from his company).

“Hand up a little,” says the photographer now, “no, put it back. The pose isn’t working. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He approaches you, squints, grins, and begins to adjust the positioning of your legs and torso. His hands slowly slip to your hips - you bite your lip as to not gasp - and then to the inside of your thigh, give your skin a slight squeeze.

And that’s when you slap him. Storm over to Hanamiya.

“Makoto, this man is no photographer,” you retort, filling your voice with rage to hide how your hands are shivering, “he’s a commonplace groping pervert at best.”

“Hush up, angel,” Hanamiya doesn’t even look up from his book, flicks to the next page “the plot twist is coming up.”

Just the three of you in the room, you think once more, frozen to the spot. And then the photographer guides you back to your position, and, though he’s less loose with his hands now, his grin has only grown.

“You’re being paid to be a mannequin,” he says, rubbing his thumb down the side of your torso, as if adjusting how the dress sits on you, “keep that in mind.”

Perhaps it’s due to his book, but, in the corner of the room, Hanamiya’s starting to laugh.

-----

In the evenings, the two of you return to Hanamiya’s apartment together. He cooks - you always offer to, but, in his words, you’re too good for household chores - and then, sat at opposite ends of the mahogany table, you both eat and discuss the day. Even now that he spends most of his day with you (and when you’re not on a booking with him, you’re trapped in his apartment, whose key you’re still yet to receive, not that you mind, of course: there’s plenty of fashion magazines here to entertain you, many of which now include photos of yourself), Hanamiya continues to ask you questions about your life. It’s like nothing has changed since the two of you were chatting together at the host club.

But that’s the pleasant thing about Hanamiya. He’s always so easy to talk to. He never treats you like the man who’s brought you all this success; rather, he treats you like you’re the one who’s enriching his life.

And that’s why, months later, sharing a meal together as per usual, you raise to Hanamiya your concerns as to how you’ve been getting less bookings recently.

“Of course I know you’re busy,” you twist the spaghetti around your fork, “but I’m getting more popular with each passing day. I need to keep up with it.”

“Oh, and that’s my job, is it?”

“You’ve always done it before.”

“Aren’t you getting a bit above your station, angel dearest? If you want more jobs, make a network and find them.” You can tell, from the way Hanamiya’s voice has dropped, from the way he’s placed his wineglass back down on the table, that you’re pushing your luck, “I’m no slave of yours.”

Fighting to keep your voice composed, as you wind the pasta tighter around your fork, you respond, “then at least give me a larger percentage of the payout from my bookings than I’m currently getting.”

“Do you even know what percentage you’re getting right now?”

You don’t. You’ve been relying on Hanamiya to handle the financial side of things; he always said that it made more sense for him to manage the books, since he was the one finding the jobs in the first place.

Your silence is telling and Hanamiya grins, takes a long sip of his wine.

“Just remember, I brought you into this world. It wouldn’t be hard for me to take you back out of it,” he purrs, glancing at how your plate is still full, “and that reminds me. Do be careful with what you’re eating, angel. I wouldn’t want you to lose your edge.”

That evening, you throw up the little of the spaghetti that you had eaten. It’s time for a change, you reprimand yourself. You can’t let yourself fall out of Hanamiya’s favour.

It’s with this in mind that you start swallowing down cotton balls, dipped in juice beforehand, and, as you feel them slide down your throat, you tell yourself that you’re full.

But still, the number of bookings continue to decrease. Those that you do attend are often filled with other models, so you’re just one of the crowd, one of many faceless limbs and torsos. No one speaks to you, even though Hanamiya’s not spending much time with you either. You stand in the queue, waiting for your photo, and, as the photographers criticise your inability to look natural in a pose or to even maintain it - “is your head full of wool, woman? Keep your hand there!” - you think back to your first (only, so far) fashion show. How you were the star of the show. How you’re still the star of the show.

These petty little bookings with their petty little photographers simply don’t understand your potential.

That’s what you’re repeating to yourself during your lunch break, having snuck outside to swallow down another couple cotton balls - this time dipped in chilli oil (if your mouth is burning, you can’t be hungry, right?). The sky glares down at you, painfully bright, as you run your tongue over your lips again and again, feeling the grooves in the flesh, where you’ve bitten into your lips hard enough to make them bleed.

“You’re the girl that did Hanamiya Makoto’s last show, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?”

The woman, who’s just stepped outside to stand beside you, blows smoke into your face, before inspecting you more closely. She’s tall, and there’s something skeletal in her fingers as she brings the cigarette up to her lips once more.

“He’s losing interest in you, isn’t he?”

“How dare you-“

She glances down at the remaining cotton ball in your palm.

“Just take coke if you want to get skinny,” the woman states, looking you up and down like she’s pitying you, “it’s downright weird to eat cotton. Coke speeds up your metabolism, makes you less hungry too.”

“Coke also gets people addicted, and then killed.”

“In that man’s mind,” she leans back against the wall, as a cloud of grey trickles from her lips, “beauty comes first. So us models who hope to work for him can’t prioritise our futures. You’re not going to last long with your current attitude.”

“What would you know? I bet you’ve never been in one of his shows.” Your words come out tenser that you had wanted them to. “I’m the star of-“

“There’s nothing permanent in this industry,” she lets her cigarette fall to the floor, and grinds it into ashes with the heel of her platform boots, “but I guess you’re still new to the game.”

-----

The booking grows worse throughout the day. As the humidity increases, the photographers’ tempers shorten - and Hanamiya doesn’t look your way when you get yelled at once again. You’re spending even longer stuck in the queues, standing silently, listening to the conversations of the models around you.

One woman glances at you with a smirk, and then tells her companion, “there’s rumours he’s found a new girl, another host club adoptee.”

You don’t have to guess who the ‘he’ is.

So, that evening, when Hanamiya returns late as he has been doing for the past coupe weeks, you confront him. Dressed in the slick black dress he bought you, wearing the diamond necklace he offered you as a birthday present, you pin him between against the wall, the minute he walks through the door.

“You’ve been at the host club, haven’t you? They’re saying you’ve found someone new, that you’re going to replace me!”

Loosening his tie, Hanamiya murmurs, “you’re not my wife, you know, angel.”

“I am the star of your show,” you hiss in response.

Hanamiya pushes your torso away from his, and something about his touch, or perhaps how you haven’t eaten anything substantial since 6am this morning, makes your knees weak. You collapse to the ground, your head slamming against the wall beside his leg.

Slowly, Hanamiya rolls up his sleeves, grabs your chin and pulls it up - hard.

“Don’t tell me this is all you’ve become - a jealous, talentless bitch?” He smiles, but there’s nothing entertained in his eyes. “All my expectations for you, and yet here you are, keeling over like a donkey in a fucking third world country.”

You fight against the pressure of his hand on your chin, but his hold is too strong to go against. “The new collection, “Styx’s Allure’… I’m going to participate in that show, right? Everyone’s talking about it, all the magazines are raving about it; I can’t not be in it.”

“Sure you can,” Hanamiya pulls you back up to your feet, and now it’s you being pressed against the wall, “in fact, I’ll save you the trouble of having to wait to find out. You’re not in it. You can beg all you want, and you still won’t get it. There’s a cute little girl at your old employer’s place; she’s much more suited-“

“I thought you said I’d be the star!” you snarl, overwhelmed with an exhausted rage.

“I thought you’d be capable of being the star,” sighs Hanamiya, running his hands around your neck, like he’s contemplating just how thin it is, just how easy it would be to snap, “but don’t worry, angel, you’re not entirely useless.

Just the other day, I was talking to a taxidermist about you.

You know, some things just don’t reach their true potential in life.”

[writemywaytoyourheart]

BTS Reaction: They Let You Do Their Makeup/Hair Maknae Line

a/n: I thought of this one night before falling asleep and I thought it was cute and funny so here ya go :) Hyung line is up already! finally T-T

requested: nar

genre: crack and fluff

warnings: language

Maknae Line Hyung Line

enjoy plssss

PARK JIMIN:

"Whatcha watching, y/n?"

You jump a little at the unexpected sound of your boyfriend's voice. Jimin is leaning over you and looking at the video on your phone. Recently, you've been obsessed with lip art videos on Instagram. For the past week, you've binge watched probably over a hundred videos by now.

"I'm watching lip art compilations." You state simply before turning back to see the girl finish off the Minnie Mouse head she made on her lips with some black sparkles. Jimin moves around the couch to sit next to you, situating himself on his back with his head in your lap. You smile at him briefly before looking back at your phone. Jimin pouts cutely, then he reaches up and boops your nose gently.

You laugh and set your phone down, "You need some attention, baby?" He nods and continues to pout. You run your fingers through his hair, smiling when you hear him let out a relaxed sigh. You're watching his face, his cute lips puckered as he sighs happily. That's when an idea pops into your head. 

"Hey, Jimin?"

"Mm?"

Might as well just go for it.

"Can I do lip art on you?"

"What?" Jimin sits up and laughs at your puppy dog eyes. You bat your eyelashes and push your bottom lip out in a pleading pout. Jimin just giggles and pinches your cheeks.

"You're so cute. Why do you want to do it on me, though?"

"Because I really wanna try it and you have the perfect lip shape to try it on! Please, baby? Please?"

Well, never let it be said that Jimin could ever resist your puppy dog eyes.

~

You have Jimin sitting obediently on the couch as you dig through your makeup bag. After a minute you triumphantly pull out a golden tube of lipstick.

"Found it!"

"What color are you gonna do, jagi?" Jimin inquires, trying to get a look at the lipstick. You open the lid and peer into it with a smile. Then you close it up quickly before he can see it.

"You'll find out when I'm done." You say cheekily.

Jimin just nods in agreement and gets comfortable, closing his eyes after you ask him to so he doesn't see the colors. You take a different lipstick out of the make-up bag and apply it to his bottom lip. It's a soft gray color, and you smile at how good it actually looks on him. You're going to have to go pretty simple because you don't have a lot of different colors, but you did manage to find a good one. You take the golden tube from before and open it, rolling out the medium purple color. You put it on his top lip and step back to assess the situation.

It actually looks surprisingly good just like this, but you have a special thing in mind. You grab your purple lip liner from your bag and start to draw little roses on his bottom lip. The gray background with the purple roses is really pretty on his plump lips, so you try not to jump up and down with excitement when you're finished. When you turn back to your bag to get something else, Jimin speaks up.

"How's it look, baby?"

You grab the little container you were looking for and turn back to him, smiling widely.

"It looks so good! I just want to put the last finishing touches on it." Jimin nods with his eyes still closed and you fight the urge to kiss him on the nose, because it just looks so dang kissable.

You put a clear gloss on his top lip that's covered in purple, then open the little container of purple sparkles you've had in your bag since Halloween last year. You gently dab it all over his top lip, then step back and take it all in.

"Ok, open your eyes!"

Jimin blinks his eyes a few times after opening them, then he focuses on you. He pouts his lips, then smiles, doing different things with his mouth to show it off.

"How is it? Am I beautiful?" He bats his eyelashes and you cackle, smacking him on the shoulder.

"It looks gorgeous on you, you idiot." You cross your arms, extremely proud of your work. Jimin stands up and gives you a hug, "Am I allowed to see it now?" You nod and lead him to the bathroom. The second he sees himself in the mirror he starts giggling.

"Oh wow! It actually looks incredible, jagiya!!"

You smile and clap your hands, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

"Thank you for letting me do it on you."

"Of course baby, I love to see you doing the things you enjoy. Thank you for making my lips into a work of art!" He giggles again and nuzzles his nose into your hair.

You two end up doing a purple color schemed photoshoot. You do his eyes with a similar purple shadow to complete the look. Jimin, of course, looks absolutely breathtaking in all the pictures you take. He makes you promise that next time he gets to do a photoshoot for you of his choosing.

KIM TAEHYUNG:

You growl in frustration and slam the eyeliner pencil you have in your hand onto the vanity.

"How annoying!" You grumble and lean forward to get a closer look in the mirror. You've been wanting to try a new look on your eyes, something cool, creative. But it keeps turning out stupid. When you see the smudged shapes on your eyelid, you pout and sit back on your chair, folding your arms and glaring at the reflection in the mirror.

"Why do I suck at everything?"

"Hey! Who's saying my baby sucks?" You start when you hear the voice of your husband from behind you. You turn and see Taehyung standing there smiling, a big black bag over one of his shoulders.

"Tae!" You jump out of the chair and run into his arms, loving the way they engulf you when he wraps around you. "Hello, babygirl." Tae kisses the top of your head and smiles into your hair.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" He asks as he pulls away to look at your face. That's when you remember your failed attempt on your eye and you quickly cover it with your hand.

"Oh...I uh, I was trying a new look and I messed it up." You pout, hand still covering your eye. Taehyung just giggles and moves your hand away to take a look at it. "What were you trying to make?" He asks kindly. You just frown and cover it up again, "I don't want to tell you. It'll look even worse if I do."

"Oh, baby." Tae kisses your cheek sweetly, then your forehead. "I know you can get it, you just need more practice. I believe in you." His beautiful smile makes your heart melt, so you nod and go back to your vanity to try again.

~

"I give up!" You grab a make-up wipe and angrily wipe at the mess of your eye. Then you toss the wipe to the trash, watching in mounting irritation as it flutters down and misses the trashcan all together.

"Argggh!" You get up and grab the wipe, throwing it into the trash and glaring at it.

"What's up, love?" You turn at Tae's question, seeing him drying his hair with a towel, another wrapped around his waist.

"I can't do it. I'm giving up. It's too hard to do it on myself."

Your husband looks thoughtful for a minute, then he looks back at you and asks, "Well, can you try it on me? Maybe doing it on another person would be easier?" You brighten instantly at his offer, "You wouldn't mind?" You ask hesitantly.

"Of course not! Hey, I'm excited!" Taehyung drops his hair towel on the bed and walks over to sit in the chair you previously occupied.

"W-Well you gotta get dressed first..." You see him smirk at you in the mirror from your statement.

"Why? You're my wife. You've already-"

"Taehyung! Stop that. Go get dressed! I don't want to get make-up on the towel." He chuckles at your flustered face, then gets up and kisses your cheek before walking to the closet to change.

~

When your husband is finally decent, you sit him in the chair and get straight to work. Taehyung just watches you, smiling at you like you're the only thing in the world. You get flustered a few times from his stares but manage to finish it, stepping back and beaming with pride at how beautiful it is.

"Better?" Tae asks softly and you nod.

"A lot better." You grin and clap your hands, then another idea pops into your head. "Tae? Can I do your hair too?"

Taehyung looks surprised for a split second, then a wide smile breaks out on his face and he nods.

"Please do!"

You run to grab your hair stuff, then rush back and turn him away from the mirror even more. He hasn't seen his reflection yet, and you want it all to be a surprise. Then you start on his hair, brushing and sighing happily at how long it's gotten recently. It gives you more to work with. While you're concentrated on his hair, you don't notice that you're tugging a little too hard and pulling his hair painfully. But Tae just keeps a smile on his face, completely unbothered as you work. As long as you're happy, he's happy. When you're finally done, you step back once again to take it all in. Tae smiles brightly at the grin on your face.

"May I see it now?" He asks excitedly. You nod and he immediately turns to the mirror, his eyes widening when he sees your work. His eyelids are covered in purple, pink and blue hues. Sparkles all over his lids and sprinkling down his cheeks. His right eyelid has an intricate mermaid tail wrapping around it, the scales very detailed and realistic. Then there's his hair; mini french braids lining the sides and making him look like a prince.

A merman prince to be exact.

"Y/n! It's amazing!" Taehyung exclaims breathlessly, looking up at you, his eyes shining with adoration. Your cheeks burn and you duck your head.

"I'm glad you like it." You mumble shyly, a squeak leaving your mouth when he pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and giving you a giant hug. "You're amazing."

You smile into his neck, hugging him tighter and letting yourself be happy about your work. Taehyung takes a few pictures and posted them on Twitter, much to your embarrassment. But he assures you that everyone will love it.

A flooding of likes and supportive comments a few moments later proves him right.

JEON JUNGKOOK:

"Jungkook? I'm bored."

Your boyfriend pauses his game to turn and look at you, who is currently sprawled out like a starfish on the couch. The book you were reading is lying open on your chest. He chuckles at the image and smacks your thigh playfully, making you whine and kick at him. He dodges your attack easily, then sets his controller down and lies on his tummy next to you, propping his chin up with his fists.

"What do you wanna do?"

"Anything but watch you play your boring games." You smile cheekily at him, squealing and pulling your leg away, smacking his hand when he tries to swat you again. "I'm kidding!" You giggle and he eyes you doubtfully. You stick your tongue out at him and squeal again when he makes to grab your tongue.

"Jungkook, ew!"

He just chuckles and flops onto his stomach, flinging one of his arms over your tummy and stuffing his face into the couch. "Ok, so besides insulting me and my awesome games, what do you wanna do?" You hear his voice mumble into the cushions, then see his soft hair and can't help but card your fingers through it. You run your fingers through his hair for a couple seconds, then Jungkook makes a confused sound when you suddenly stop playing with his brown locks.

"Hey, that felt good." He whines sadly at your hesitation and you tap him on the head gently to get his attention, "I thought of something we can do!"

Jungkook shakes his head, fluffing his hair up, "Is it better than getting a head massage? Because I was doing just fine a minute ago, not gonna lie." He peeks up at you sleepily. You giggle at his lazy expression. The fact that you playing with his hair can make him fall asleep in .2 seconds never fails to amuse you. But, you have other plans for you two right now.

"Trust me, it'll be fun."

Jungkook closes his eyes again, then opens them a second later.

"Ok, what is it?"

-

Five minutes later; you and Jungkook are in your bedroom. Jungkook is sitting on your bed with one of your pink bow headbands keeping his hair back as you paint a weird, wet, black substance onto his face. He crinkles his nose at the strange feeling and you bop him on the head gently.

"What was that for?"

He pouts up at you, only half his face covered. If you're being honest, he looks really freaking cute right now. You pat his shoulder consolingly, "Sorry, I just need you to stop moving. You'll make it crack!" His pout deepens but he stops moving nonetheless. You finish painting the face mask onto him, then you move to the bathroom for a mirror to do your own. It's cold and wet, but you hurry up and finish it anyway. When you're finished you turn to see Jungkook fanning his face, watching you. You giggle and his face twitches as he tries to fight back a smile, not wanting to ruin the face mask.

"So, what kind of mask is this again?" He talks a little slurred with the way he barely opens his mouth to speak. You come out of the bathroom and sit next to him on your bed, "It says, 'deep pore cleansing face mask' on the package."

Jungkook makes a sound of approval and you smile at him, your mask still wet enough to do so.

"How long do we wait?" He slurs again and you chuckle, starting to fan your own face. You grab the package and look at the instructions then read aloud, "Let face mask dry for fifteen to twenty minutes, until it is slightly sticky to the touch." You make a face at the wording, but shrug and grab your phone to set a timer.

-

"Ok! I think mine is ready to wash off!" Jungkook jumps up from where you two have been lying on your backs on your bed, staring at the ceiling and chatting. You look at your phone and see five minutes left on the timer. "Since I did yours first, I think you're right. But, you don't wash it off, silly." You sit up now and see his look of confusion as he sits down on your pink comforter again.

"What do I do then?"

"You peel it off."

"Oh." Jungkook touches the black mask uncertainly, then he scratches at the end on his chin a little bit, to lift it up. He winces when it pulls, his eyes widening and looking back at you.

"It kinda hurts though..."

You nod, "Well yeah, it's ripping all the gunk out of your-"

Jungkook holds up a hand to make you be quiet, "Hush, don't. Do not finish that sentence. No need to be so graphic." You nod again and he winces for the second time when he tries to pull it once more.

"Ok freaking ow...I hate this."

"Do you want me to do it?" You offer hesitantly. You're trying your very best not to burst out laughing at the panicked expression on his face.

"Is that a joke? Don't you dare touch me." He flinches away when you scoot closer to him. You bite back a snort and he glares at you, "I'll do it myself. You worry about your own face, Y/n."

You stop advancing on him, settling down next to him and picking at your own mask. You flinch at the sharp pain when you pull it off a little patch of skin. "Ow! Oh ouch, you weren't kidding." Tears already spring to your eyes and you blink rapidly. Jungkook chuckles darkly at you, satisfied that you understand his pain. The pain you doomed him to.

"This is all your fault, you know."

You nod tearfully, tugging at the piece you've been able to get off part of your cheek. "Yeah I know, but you're just a weak baby. I'm totally fine."

You hear Jungkook scoff, then it's totally silent while the pair of you cautiously peel the masks off. After a minute, you jump when Jungkook hollers angrily.

"ouCH! MOTHERFU-"

"Jungkook!!"

"It hurts! Shi-"

Your laughs drown out his string of angry expletives. Jungkook looks up sharply, his eyes piercing daggers into yours. But, the black face mask covering his whole face apart from a little bit of his chin, that he's managed to pull off and the pink headband with a cute bow makes you go into another fit of giggles not being able to take him seriously.

"I'm gonna kill you. I really am."

You put a hand up to your mouth, trying to stop laughing. The mask covering your face pulls tightly whenever you smile, as you try to stop it from peeling.

"Mark my words, Y/n."

You choke back another snort and try to make your eyes look as puppy-like and innocent as you can, "Sorry, baby."

His gaze softens and he grasps your hand to plant a quick kiss on it, "I'm not mad. At least we're in this together." You nod and continue to cringe as you take turns gasping lightly and spitting out a curse every now and then.

You look over at Jungkook after a while and see his eyes watering and a crazy look in his eyes as he peels the mask slowly.

"Ok. Ok, ok ok wait. This isn't working." Jungkook takes a deep shuddering breath and you halt in your painful journey, looking over at him.

"Would it be better to rip it off like a band-aid?" He asks uncertainly, "because this slow pain is torture, I can't handle it."

You shrug, "I don't know, I'm kind of scared. You try it first." Jungkook nods and immediately grabs a flap of the mask; he's gotten it almost half way off his cheeks so far with the whole top of his face and his nose still covered. He closes his eyes and breathes out quickly, then says in a rush.

"Ok, ONETWOTHREEGO!"

You flinch as he goes to rip it. But, then he doesn't. You smile at him sadly, seeing him go through some kind of attempt to calm himself by inhaling deeply through his nose.

"Ok. Y/n, you're gonna have to count down for me. Frick my life."

"Alright. You ready?"

Jungkook gives a tiny nod, taking the little flap of mask and closing his eyes.

"One...Two...Three!"

Riiiiiiip

You visibly cringe at the audible sound of the mask separating from his cheek.

"AH, motherfu- this is a nightmare!"

Jungkook throws himself backwards onto your bed, grabbing one of your stuffed animals and putting it over his face to cover the tears that are threatening to spill. You feel really guilty about getting him into this, as funny as he's being, so you crawl over and cuddle into his side, " 'M sorry, gukkie."

You hear a small whine leave his lips and you sit up, Jungkook soon following as he drops the stuffie onto the bed again. It's silent for a minute as you watch him quietly. Jungkook is just staring blankly ahead, then he speaks up, breaking the silence.

"I think we'll just have to live like this forever. At least you'll love me even with a mask on half my face as we turn old and gray. Right?" He looks into your eyes dramatically as he speaks in such a forlorn tone.

"Kook, you're so dramatic." You roll your eyes in amusement and go back to peeling at the mask.

"Ah, my nose is next. I'm scared." He whimpers and stomps his foot. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all...

Then Jungkook takes a loooong deep breath next to you and you hear it. The tiniest little sound.

...rip

"FUCKITY FUCKIN FUCK!"

oops.

____________________________

a/n: :’) here at last :’)

[leejeongz]

TO1 reaction to you wearing dark lipstick

anon requested: can i request too's reactions to you wearing dark lipstick/liptint? like you don't normally wear any make up but you suddenly show up wearing a dark red lip 😋🤍

✨some of these are a little suggestive (not the younger members’ ofc) - just a warning haha✨

jaeyun:

you wanted to make a great first impression at your interview and so you decided to wear a little more makeup than usual. instead of bb cream you put on foundation, some pink eyeshadow rather than the usual brown and some red lipstick.

you’d just finished getting ready when you heard a knock at your bedroom door.

“only me, i just wanted to wish you luck today!” jaeyun announced, entering your room with a smile. “i took the day off work so i can take you and wait outside if you like?”

you nodded and turned back towards your full length mirror, patting your outfit down and taking one final look at yourself. you always thought that nervous deep breath thing was a cliche but no it was real, definitely real.

“your makeup looks really beautiful y/n, are you sure you don’t want to be our make up artist instead?” he joked, knowing your response.

“do you not remember when i did your make up that one time?” you laughed.

“well you look good right now, you’re gonna kill it, honey. they better not ask for your number.”

chihoon:

“they’re just kids, they don’t care if you’re wearing makeup or not” he laughed at your tantrum. you had started volunteering at a nursery and today was your first day. of course you wanted to look your best, which wasn’t easy with the uniform but you made it work, you just really needed that one red lipstick you bought a few weeks ago. after 5 minutes of looking, you spotted it in the bottom of your makeup drawer and pulled it out quickly.

“really? red lipstick? not even i get red lipstick” he whined, watching you get ready from the comfort of your shared bed.

“are you jealous of a bunch of two year olds?” you asked.

“pft no” he lied blatantly. “okay maybe a little. but it suits you! why don’t you wear it more often?” when you looked at him in the mirror there was a serious pout on his face.

“ummm maybe because you’re not a two year old and you don’t deserve it” you sassed, grabbing your pre packed tote bag and walking out the door. “get on their level”

he let out a small whine and threw himself back at the pillows “good luck i guess.” he really meant it but there was no way he was gonna let you get away with that sassy behaviour when you got home later, even if he didn’t enjoy it.

donggeon:

you swatched the two colours on your forearm, one pinkish-coral, the other a deep red. “which do you think?” you held your arm out for donggeon to investigate.

he thought for a while, letting out an audible “hmm” before pointing to the red one and smiling at you sweetly.

you paid for the new lipstick and rushed home so that you could try it, applying some more makeup so it didn’t look weird with the makeup that had rubbed off throughout the day.

“wow” he said, looking at your reflection in the mirror. “look at me! let me see!” as you turned his hands grabbed your arms so he could keep you still. “it suits you, i think you should wear it more often, but i think it would suit me more,” he said before kissing you on your lips.

“places to go, people to meet” you lied, pulling away from the kiss to tease your boyfriend. “how about we put this lipstick to good use and go out tonight?” you asked, excited by the prospect of showing off your new shade.

“orrr we could just stay in?” he fell to the bed behind him, pulling you down with him.

(he is at the top of the list of boys i would sin for omfg look at him)

chan:

a dinner date with chan was just what you needed after a rough week at work. you put on your favourite two piece and applied some make up, including the wine coloured lipstick you’d bought especially for the occasion. you knew chan would like it, this was right up his street, so why not tease him a little?

“hmm well this is a nice surprise” he said with a smirk on his face, grabbing your hand and holding it. “i really wanna kiss you right now” he whispered down your ear, close to burying his face into your neck “but i don’t wanna ruin your lipstick” he teased, breath hot on your neck.

“well i can always re-apply it” you pointed out but he pulled away and shook his head in reply. “my neck has no lipstick on it...?” you were practically begging to feel his lips against you at this point.

“it’s okay, i can wait” by this point he was back to looking you in the eyes. his smile was cheeky and he knew EXACTLY what he was doing. but it was all just payback since you wore THAT lipstick.

jisu:

“y/n, are you almost ready? the taxi is here!” jisu shouts from the living room. you were busy getting ready to go out for a meal with a few family members as a celebration and so you wanted to look your best. you were just applying a final spray of perfume before heading into the living room.

“wow, you look gorgeous” jisu commented, almost tearing up at just how beautiful you looked.

“aww thank you” you replied, smiling from ear to ear.

“your make up” he pointed out, going to touch your face. you slapped his hand away before he could ruin it.

“shall we get going then” you changed the subject abruptly, remembering the taxi was outside.

“hang on” he grabbed your hand, pulling you back from the door, “can we take some pictures first? my instagram looks so boring without you on it”

minsu:

“must not be late meeting his members for the first time” you said to yourself, scurrying around your room, applying the first lipstick you saw.

you arrived at the dorms and composed yourself before ringing the bell at the entrance. before you could talk to anyone on the intercom, your boyfriend was already greeting you.

“hey, nice lipstick” he complimented, giving you a sweet hug. “you smell nice too” he complimented once again “all this effort for some other boys, should i be scared?” he joked.

you stood at the door to the dorms, composing yourself once again.

“guys! meet y/n!! they wore a dark red lipstick today just for you guys so you better be nice to them” he said in a fake angry tone as a warning.

the whole time you were there, minsu couldn’t stop looking at you. he wondered why you never wore that lipstick to meet him and actually started thinking really deeply into it, beginning to get a little jealous.

you noticed this, reassuring him at the end of the day that you only wore this as it was the first you picked up and that you always thought carefully about what to wear when you see him. you made sure to wear it the next date you went on with him.

jyou:

with your birthday FINALLY here, you were excited to see what your boyfriend had been hiding. it was always “don’t go in there” or “don’t look in that bag”, it was the only thing you’d heard from him for the past week at least.

you woke up to a collection of gifts at the end of your shared bed and next to them, an ecstatic jeyou.

“open this” he said, handing you his gifts one at a time, being careful to make sure you didn’t open the little box until you had no more left to open.

“this is the last one, i really hope you like this one the most,” he said, hand shaking in anticipation as he handed you the box.

you opened it slowly as a lipstick box began to reveal itself through the wrapping paper, your favourite brand too. you pulled it from the box and found he had bought you a deep red colour, something you’d never tried before.

“put it on! put it on!” he was more excited than you at this point which was a pretty hard competition to win.

you followed his instructions despite only just waking up.

“wow you look…” he paused, grabbing you a mirror “sexy as hell, babe. here take a look. don’t you just wanna” he made a fake kissing noise “kiss yourself right now? because i know i wanna kiss you”

kyungho:

“can you come over?” you asked kyungho on the phone, almost in tears.

“i’m on my way right now. what’s wrong, angel?” he answered, extremely concerned because maybe this time there had been a real incident.

“there’s a spider” you replied.

“i’ll be 2 minutes” he was so used to these kinds of calls now, but he didn’t mind, he was your big strong boyfriend and he didn’t want to ruin that.

you opened the door for your boyfriend who was ready to fake storm in and capture the spider, when he noticed your makeup.

“you look nice. like… really nice” he complimented, a little bewildered. “is that dark purple lipstick?”

“GET THE SPIDER KYUNGHO” you shouted making him snap out of his trance. “but if you must know, it’s actually called black cherry”

“I WAS DISTRACTED IM SORRY” he shouted back, running to find the little terror.

after putting the spider outside, he returned to you. “but like for real, you look really good and it would be a shame to let this make up go to waste so why don’t we go out for dinner?”

jerome:

you always assumed jerome’s favourite makeup look for you was just natural with chapstick and mascara and so this is what you wore when you wanted to impress him. not to mention how good he made you feel when you were all natural around him, you’d never felt so pretty without makeup than when you were with him. he never stopped telling you how beautiful you are.

today you were going out with your friends and so you decided to wear heavy make up with a dark lip. before you went, jerome facetimed you.

“oh you look different,” he said as you answered.

“i do?” you asked, a little insecure.

“yeah, you’re covered in makeup. what have you done with my y/n?” he joked.

“ohhh don’t you like it? i know it’s not really your style” you looked down, you felt guilty but you weren’t too sure why.

he looked closer, as close as he could, leaving you with a picture of his blinking eye only “i think you look really pretty, you could pull off anything, but you know you don’t need all this makeup to look pretty, right?” he commented. you nodded in response “but if you feel pretty then i’m happy because that’s all that matters” he pulled the phone back and smiled brightly at you. “your friends are getting a real treat being able to see you like this”

woonggi:

“how come you never wear that lipstick?” woonggi asked, pointing towards the deep red lipstick on your desk.

you looked at it and turned back to face him. the dreaded lipstick… you don’t even know why you kept it if you were honest.

“i don’t think it suits me right now” you said, fake pouting before turning back to carry on with your everyday makeup look.

“try it, i think you’ll look fabulous!” he exclaimed, emphasising the fabulous, “and you can always take it off if you don’t want to wear it”

you took the lipstick from the desk, investigating it to check if it was out of date, you’d owned it for that long. you applied it delicately, one false move and you'd end up looking like the joker. you put down the lipstick and looked in the mirror, surprisingly pretty impressed with how well it suited your skin tone. “damn i look good” you spoke.

“i knew you’d look amazing, omg i should become a makeup advisor” he said, thrilled with your new found confidence after applying the lippy.

gifs aren’t mine

[c-c-cherry]

What's the most embarrassing thing each of the Bucci gang has done/has had happen to them?

Ok I took WAY too long on this but I loved this question so much and it was so fun coming up with these. Special thanks to my girl @jjadegreen for helping me!!

**This isn’t NSFW but I’d say its teen and up just because of some of the stuff talked about hehe**

______________________

Mista

-Pre-canon Mista was a bit sick one night so Bruno made him stay home while they all went on this one mission

-So naturally he’s like “HELL YEAH HOME ALONE”

-Bruno forgets his wallet and had to come back a little while later to get it and walks in on him wearing the following:

One of Abbacchio’s signature goth dress robe thing

Like 12 of Bruno’s barrettes all sticking to the top of his head

Fugo’s tie

Narancia’s bandana

All while BLASTING K-Pop at full volume in the living room. And our man is INTO IT. This isn’t just some radio coincidence shit, he was SCREAMING the lyrics. He owns the CDs.

-Bucciarati LOSES IT. Mista has never been so mortified in his life and Bruno has never laughed so hard in his life.

-He promises not to tell the rest of the gang but tells him it’s officially blackmail material

-They never speak of it again but at Christmas Mista opens Bruno’s gift and it's a brand new K-pop CD and everyone thinks its just a gag gift but like

-He definitely listens to it later alone in his room

Bucciarati

Bruno Bucciarati does not get drunk for two main reasons:

He blacks out every time

He’s an absolute lightweight

-The last time Bruno got absolutely piss drunk, he was with Abbacchio and it wasn’t even funny. It was just surreal because Bucciarati never lets himself go to such an extent

-For whatever reason Bruno is like “hey I never drink we should go to the bar or something” after a successful mission

-Even though the legal age of drinking is technically 16 in Italy they leave “the kids” home to watch mean girls or some shit

-Mista tags along too because he’s worried Bruno will get drunk and spill about the unfortunate “K-pop incident”

-My man Bruno drank like two beers and was immediately GONE like he got up and got lost in the bar after way too many drinks and ran into a drag Queen with Abbacchio’s hair

-Said drag queen became Bruno Bucciarati’s new drinking buddy

-He stumbles over to the karaoke contest and gets onstage and grabs the shitty bar mic and screams “THIS GOES OUT TO LEONE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MWUA TWO YEARS HONEY~” and Mista is just like 👁👄👁

-Because uhhh they have literally been together for two years but everyone in the gang just thinks its a weird on/off thing because they never talk about it

-He sings dancing queen because its by ABBA and both Leone and Mista are fucking screaming with laughter and Abbacchio is filming the entire goddamn thing

-He buys the entire bar drinks they all love him so much

-Afterwards Leone tries to get them home so he leaves them outside while he takes a piss and when he walks back out THEY ARE GONE.

-Mista thought it would be a perfect time for them to get tattoos because his fucking capo is drunk off his ass and there is no better time

-Mista gets these two giant smoking guns on his back and his ass is in SO MUCH PAIN afterward that he leaves Bruno alone while he’s picking out his tattoo to get ice cream

-When he comes back Bruno has a tattoo ON HIS LEFT FOOT THAT SAYS “Never don’t give up.” The tattoo people tried to correct him but he insisted

-Abba finds them and is just like “jesus god” and takes them all to a hotel because there is no way in hell he’s taking them back home like this

-The next morning Bruno remembers absolutely NOTHING and as the gang admires Mista’s giant tattoo they ask if Bruno got one too and he’s like “god no I’m not that irresponsible”

-As soon as they’re alone Abba’s like “you got one on the bottom of your foot” and you can just see the moment Bucciarati’s soul leaves his body

Fugo

-Ok so if y’all didn’t know Fugo literally canonically wears a thong

-This isn’t sexualizing him (also I am indeed a minor don’t harass me) it's just a fact of life. You do you Fugo.

-So he sneaks out of the house once in a while and goes shopping for them cause our man’s gotta live, you know?

-He pops in the underwear store one day and you wanna know who he fucking passes by in the lingerie section?

-Bruno fucking Bucciarati.

-Which isn’t exactly a surprise considering he’s wearing visible lingerie in his tiddy window outfit but like

-That’s like running into your dad at femboy hooters

-Much to his dismay, the man spots him immediately and there’s just this...awkward silence as Fugo is holding this shopping basket of underwear and Bruno is holding the raunchiest piece of clothing he’s ever seen in his life

-They never talk about it again. Fugo finds a different store.

Abbacchio

-The most mortifying moment Abbacchio can live to remember is the first time he told Bucciarati that he loved him

-Pre-canon, our man is NOT having a vibing time

-He gets absolutely wasted with while Bruno’s at his apartment

-He’s the most miserable drunk, so he’s just fucking sobbing and Bucci is sitting there trying to console him and Abbacchio just looks up at him with tears streaking down his face and says “I’m in love with you” and the look on Bruno’s face just makes him feel even more miserable

-The entire night he keeps blubbering about how much he loves him and how much he means to him and how beautiful he is and the entire time Bruno is doing that thing where he tries to cover his face with his hand because our man is mega FLUSTERED up in here

-When he wakes up he remembers EVERYTHING and he wished he didn’t because then maybe he would be able to say that he didn’t mean it

-Bruno is surprisingly just like “Did you really mean it?” and he can’t lie so he just tells the truth and he’s just nonchalantly like “me too”

-Bruno thinks it’ll be a nice wedding story and Abbacchio no longer wants to live on this planet

Narancia

-Mista and Narancia are vibing in the living room one night and Nara tells Mista to grab his gameboy from upstairs

-He says its under his pillow (or else Bruno will take it away every night hehe)

-But you wanna know what else is under Narancia’s pillow? His Diary. No, it’s not a journal or just a blank book, Mista finds a book titled DIARY.

-And the shit in there is priceless.

“Bucciarati is sooo cool. I tried cutting my hair like his, but it didn’t really work. I think I gotta wear this hat for the next couple weeks. Shit. Fuck. If someone takes it off, I’m so fucked.”

“I clogged up the toilet yesterday and was too scared to tell Abba, so I just flushed it again but then the water wouldn’t stop flooding everywhere so I used Aerosmith to explode the toilet and told Abba that it was a stand attack. He believed me. If ANYONE ever finds out, I’m dead.”

“HOLY SHIT. I swallowed a tide pod yesterday and freaked out so I made Giorno turn it into a grape in my stomach with his stand. I almost DIED. But I didn’t so I’m over it. If Giorno ever tells anyone, I’ll kill him.”

-Narancia realizes about ten minutes after Mista left that HOLY SHIT HIS DIARY

-he finds Mista three quarters way through it and gives him $50 not to tell anyone about it.

-The shame never leaves, though

Trish

-Jade gave me a cute headcanon that Trish’s mom was still only teaching her how to properly put on makeup before she died (it's not like there was youtube or anything to teach her either) so our girl Trish only knows the basics

-She puts on lip gloss and blush and mascara and stuff but she’s never even TOUCHED eyeliner and rarely puts on eyeshadow. She doesn’t even wear concealer most of the time (she honestly doesn’t even need to, her skin is baby soft smooth)

-So long story short she kind of misses her mom and remembers how her mom was going to teach her a smokey eye before she died and is determined to teach it to herself now

-So she pulls a little heist and snatches some of Abbacchio’s makeup while they’re all out doing stuff

-She was not prepared for how heavy this shit was. She was used to the lighter, more natural stuff but Abba’s makeup is EXTREME.

-All of his stuff is waterproof so it doesn’t wash off while he’s crying at 3am and it’s just this—dark, heavy stuff.

-She actually hasn’t used a thick, real tube of lipstick before, only those little gloss tubes with the stick because she has smaller lips so when she crouches over with a small makeup mirror in fear of anyone somehow walking in on her and smears Abbacchio’s thick, dark purple lipstick on her lips, she knew she was absolutely fucked. She has no idea how to do this shit, especially not with dark, heavy goth makeup

-The smokey eye does not work. It’s just smeared eyeshadow EVERYWHERE, it looks like she has two giant, awful, black eyes and her first attempt at eyeliner was just—unspeakably horrible

-She has no idea where to start so she just puts on way too much of absolutely everything and immediately regrets it the moment she looks at herself in the bathroom mirror

-Abba comes home early and immediately realizes that some of his makeup is gone and he knows it has to be Trish

-He walks upstairs to confront her but just hears loud, ugly sobbing coming from her room and bursts in only to find her desperately trying to wipe off layers of caked-on water-proof makeup and absolutely failing

-The two of them spend all night taking it off all while Trish is still crying teary apologies to him

-To add in some wholesome Dadbacchio, he teaches her how to properly put everything on the next day <3

Giorno

-Some people forget that as a 15 year old, Giorno sometimes has absolutely no impulse control

-So when Polnareff tells him that he’s the spitting image of his evil, murderous, vampire dad he’s immediately like “haha well I’m gonna go dye my hair now”

-Everyone had something to do that day/night so Giorno waltzes over to the nearest drug store and grabs one of those at-home dying kits (he got dark green cause he thought it would look cool with his new outfit)

-He gets home and has absolutely no idea what he’s doing so he just thinks it’ll work out somehow

-Soooo yeah he does NOT put it in properly at all, he just kind of takes the shit and slathers it all over his hair and doesn’t do his roots and doesn’t put it up and leaves it dripping down his back and stuff and his stupid ass FALLS ASLEEP with the hair dye in

-He wakes up and the sheets are this really awful light green colour but he doesn’t pay any mind to it

-He looks in the mirror and from the front it actually looks good and he gets all excited and decides to wash it out

-When he gets out of the shower it’s this awful disgusting light light ugly green and he almost cries. Almost.

-It looks like someone dunked him in that Nickelodeon slime and he looks at the package and it says the dye will stay in for at least 3 weeks and there aRE TEARY EYES

-He spends the next hour in the shower trying to wash it out. It does not wash out.

-Utterly defeated with his hair matted and donuts practically falling apart, he stumbles over to his room and tries to wash the sheets covered in slime-coloured hair dye which *surprise!!!* doesn’t wash out either!

-He must dispose of the evidence, but of COURSE they’re out of garbage bags so he shoves all the dye kit stuff and the sheets into a mafia body bag and chucks it by the garbage can outside without a single thought

-Which he SHOULD have had a single thought about it, because when they get home and Narancia spots the body bag he’s like “holy shit guys I think Giorno killed someone while we were out”

-So they all panically pop into the house and cautiously try to find Giorno. Fugo finally finds him pacing around his room in the dark and when he flicks on the lights HO-LY SHIT.

-Fugo obviously bursts out into laughter and Bruno books it up the stairs and also starts cackling and Narancia is like “OH MY GOD YOU KILLED SOMEONE LOOKING LIKE THAT?!” and Giorno has to explain to them that the body bag is filled with stained bedsheets (much to his embarrassment)

-Abbacchio takes so many pictures and Giorno is having a nervous breakdown because he cannot live with his hair looking like this

-Bruno makes Abba fix it the next morning and he loves every second of Giorno’s mortification

-The pictures Abbacchio took of that night are framed next to the pictures of Bruno’s wasted karaoke night in his room

______________________

Thank you for the ask, anon!! I’m absolutely exhausted now haha so I’ll scroll through the rest of the asks when I wake up!!

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 7

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

Hallowe’en chaos.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

After trivia night, Emily Prentiss found her world had shifted slightly. 

For the first time in her life, she had a friend group: a consistent presence of not only just Derek and the occasional Hotch, but also Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia and most importantly, Jennifer Jareau. 

Emily noticed it most in the dining hall. Most mornings this semester, she would grab coffee and maybe an apple on her way to class. Now, she was invited to breakfast in the caf. And everyone was also invited, so the six of them began eating not only breakfasts together when their schedules lined up, but soon that melded to include dinners and the odd lunch between classes. While Penelope initiated at the beginning, soon this became a routine. 

While they were all busy, and driven people, all with full course loads, extracurriculars and miscellaneous commitments, they managed to get the whole team together multiple times that week. 

A few times, extra faces joined them. Penelope’s friend from class, Kevin… something, joined for a lunch on Wednesday. He sat shyly as Derek stared him down the entire time. On Thursday, somehow Hotch convinced their Criminology TA, David Rossi, who was part time Masters Student and part time weed dealer, to have lunch with the bribe of them using their guest pass so he could get a free meal. He reluctantly acquiesced, but seemed to enjoy himself. On Friday, the day before Halloween, Emily brought Tara Lewis, the MC from the Trivia night that was two years ahead of her in criminology, they ran into each other in the quad, recognizing each other. This open door policy made these dinners fun, with new faces alongside their team.

This was all new for Emily. Not having friends, that is, because Emily could always muddle along with some friends, and when she was younger she shaped herself easily into whatever the popular kids wanted her to be. No, it was new because it was so easy. The team, as they now called themselves as a shorthand, had fallen together so effortlessly. 

Today was Halloween and they had plans at Dave’s student house, the shabby place that she had ran into JJ, Penelope and Spencer all that time ago. Had it only been a month? She felt like she had known them all for lifetimes by now. 

It happened that way with Derek last year, the whole living together thing sped up that connection. Intimacy comes fast when you brush your teeth next to someone. 

Emily was sitting at her desk, finishing up her makeup. She was aiming for a vampire, which wasn’t hard given her previous fashion aesthetic. 

Yes, Emily did have a goth phase. She will admit it. Not to her new friends just yet, and Derek had been sworn to secrecy. She was now a much more toned down goth, more alt than goth, wearing mostly black but significantly less chains and make up. 

Tonight, she wore her fishnets, a short black dress and a cape that was already tied around her shoulders. She had put a slightly too pale foundation on her face, down her neck, and was currently working on her eye liner. She carefully created elegant swoops over her lashes, coming to sharp points. 

Next, she added a deep red lipstick. Blood red. It was all very spooky. 

Finally, she struggled to test out the fake teeth insert that she had ordered online, slipping it over her top teeth. It fit surprisingly well. 

“Happy Halloween,” she said to herself, testing out whether or not she had a lisp. She did. She didn’t care. It was perfect. 

Emily did a couple of spins in the mirror on the back of the door. Turning off the overhead light, she looked at herself in the glowing light of her string lights. 

She was satisfied. She looked like a hot vampire. 

She grabbed her tote bag, which was filled with six miscellaneous beers and coolers that she had leftover from the last few weeks, knowing that she hated the cheap hoppy beer that Rossi would have at his party. 

Emily was picky about her alcohol.

She glanced out the window, considering taking an extra layer. It was dreary outside, with the sky an eerie green and powerful gusts of wind rattling the window. Emily grabbed her leather jacket. 

Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and draping her coat over her arm, Emily peeked out of her door, looking out into the hall. In both directions were students in costume; she spotted a Frankenstein, a couple of cats and even someone dressed up in an inflatable t-Rex suit. 

She made sure her door was locked and then walked down the hall to Derek’s room, who was at the very end of the hall, as he had lucked out and got a massive room with lots of windows, across from the showers. 

She opened the door, finding just about all of their friends already there, sneakily drinking out of mugs, cups and water bottles. 

Reid was a zombie, wearing tattered, bloody clothes and a full face of makeup that Emily assumed that Penelope did for him. Sitting next to his computer, queueing music for their pre, was Derek, dressed in a baseball jersey and hat, apparently as a baseball player. This was expected, he wasn’t big on Halloween. Hotch was… a devil? He wore all black and simply had devil horns on his head. Low commitment but the spirit was there. 

Emily hoisted herself onto Derek’s bed and greeted her friends. 

Spencer was sneaking up behind Derek, peeking his head over his shoulder. Derek, at that moment, seemed to be texting, squinting down at his phone. 

“I’m going to eat you!” Spencer yelled into Derek’s ear, causing the larger man to jump to his feet, swatting at the boy in his fright. 

Emily laughed at her friend’s distress. He really didn’t like Halloween that much. 

“Are you ready for a spooktacular evening?” Spence asked, making his voice wobbly as he put on a dramatic effect. He shone an orange, pumpkin patterned flashlight under his chin.

“Of course,” Emily lisped, “In fact, I vant to drink your blood!”

She lunged forward, and Spencer hid from her behind Derek. It was silly but she could tell how much he liked Halloween, he had talked about it all week, and she couldn’t help but adopt a lispy vampire voice to go with her costume. Though the boy was only two year younger than them, his thin frame and wide eyed expression made him seem much younger. 

“Your teeth are excellent,” Spencer pointed out, “Very realistic.”

“I don’t get the hype about Halloween,” Derek said, “Disguises? Pass. Horror movies? No thank you.”

“Booooooo,” Emily protested, “Don’t be a buzzkill, Morgan. Let us have a little fun.”

The door opened again, and Penelope, followed by JJ, joined them. 

“Is my statuesque god of sculpted chocolate thunder being lame again?”

“He barely dressed up,” Emily complained.

“Neither did Hotch!” Derek said, gesturing to Hotch’s devil horns. 

“Hey, at least I bought these at the party store,” Hotch said, “I’m sure both of those are items from your own closet.”

Derek did not confirm or deny this. Emily knew he wore the same get up last year.

“So when should we be there?” JJ asked.

She was dressed as a witch, with an oversized pointy hat perched on top of her head, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders in perfect curls. She wore a purple dress and tall boots to go with her witch look. She and Penelope joined Spencer on the floor, sitting with their backs to Derek’s closet and cracking open a beer for JJ and a fruity cooler for Penelope. 

With large wings, glittery make up and an adorable skirt, Penelope was clearly dressed up as a fairy, which was entirely apropos to who she was as a person. In fact, it was not entirely dissimilar from her normal outfits. 

“Rossi said to come by eight,” Hotch said, “So in party talk he means nine-thirty earliest.”

“It’s, what?” Derek checked the time on his laptop, “Eight fifteen now, so we can pre here for an hour or so then start walking over.”

“Yeah,” Hotch said, “His house is just off campus.”

“The weather is crazy out,” Penelope said, looking out the window. The trees were swaying and the leaves were blowing everywhere.

“We could take a cab?” Emily offered, “I’d rather avoid getting leaves in my hair tonight.”

There were some nods, then they got back to preing, playing a few rounds of King’s Cup to ensure that all of them were sufficiently drunk before they left.

Morgan put on his new playlist, not “For The Boys (and emily)” this time, but one titled “Team Vibez” that Emily had seen him make during their lecture on Thursday. It had a lot of his normal songs, some top hits, but a few fun pop songs that Emily knew he added for Penelope, and even some classic rock for Hotch. 

At this point, Emily was feeling buzzed. She had two cans discarded in the bin, both hosting lipstick prints from her dark red vampire lips. 

JJ was currently chatting with Hotch about some student government scandal that was happening at the time. While politics gave Emily the heebie jeebies, she had reluctantly joined the Criminology Academic Society. It would give her a leg up on grad school applications, for one, and so far, even as a low-level member, she found she was actually making a difference for her classmates. This meant that Emily, despite her deepest urges to not touch political scandals with a ten foot pole, knew exactly what they were talking about.

As the two discussed the student politicians—there were some minor accusations of nepotism, embezzlement and coverups by the undergraduate executive—Emily looked at JJ. Her brows were furrowed in concentration and she was gesturing wildly with her hands as she talked about how badly they were handling their crisis communications. 

Suddenly, interrupting this discussion, their phones blasted out a siren, followed by a chorus of the same robot voice announcing an emergency alert.

“National Weather Service: TORNADO WARNING in this area until 10:15PM EST,” the robot announced, “Take shelter now in a basement or an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building.”

They looked at Derek’s three, large windows, and watched as large gusts of wind sent leaves barrelling down the street.

“If you are outdoors, in a mobile home, or in a vehicle, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris,” it continued. “Check media.”

Then, their phones went silent and Derek’s music continued unheeded. 

“A tornado?!” Penelope said, “Here?”

The window rattled. Derek stood up and hesitantly moved away from it. 

Penelope grabbed Derek’s computer, her hands moving in a flurry.

“Ok so,” she began, “from what I can gather from the good old Internet, we’re in a region of extreme winds and the meteorologists are thinking that funnel clouds and tornados are possible this evening.”

“So much for Halloween,” Spencer whined. 

“Party is definitely off,” Hotch said. “We should probably take shelter. Is there a basement here?”

“There’s the laundry room?” Emily said. 

Adrenaline started pulsing through her veins. She’d been through some severe weather before in her life but never a tornado, nor did she expect one. They were in the north east, nowhere near tornado Alley. 

They all stood, making a move for the basement, when the lights flickered once, twice, then shut off entirely. Rain begin to fall down, hard onto the windows, and the boom of thunder filled their ears. 

“Shit,” Emily said. “Anyone have a candle?”

 ---

Ten minutes later, the six of them were seated in a circle, on the strange carpeted floor of the laundry room, with the severe weather making the wind howl outside. Between JJ’s two candles, which were very against the rules, and Derek’s laptop screen, they had enough ambient light to see, but it was all very spooky. 

The room smelled damp and earthy, with a strange combination of laundry soaps and dryer sheets. They had to move a spare sock to form a circle around the candle. It looked very much like a séance, so that did fit the Halloween spirit. 

“Well,” Hotch said, “At least this is festive.”

Derek was still queuing his music, filling the silence with his DJ skills. 

“Aren’t you worried about your battery life?” JJ asked, “What if the power doesn’t come on in the morning.”

“Then I have a great excuse not to finish my essay,” Derek said with a shrug.

“Fair point.”

“Anyways,” Derek continued, “No sense giving up on our party. We have drinks, we have music and thanks to JJ we have illegal candles.”

“They’re not illegal!” She protested, “Simply very against res rules! I like lighting a candle while I study.”

“It’s lucky that there was no one left in res because of Halloween,” Emily said. “Or we would've had a bunch of party crashers.”

“This is better,” Penelope, “Team bonding!”

“What should we play?” Hotch said, “we don’t really have much to work with.”

“This is all very high school,” Penelope said, “A couple of kids, in a basement, sitting in a circle on the floor…”

“With a tornado tearing through our city…” Emily quipped. 

“Statistically speaking for this region we are more likely to experience dangerous winds rather than an actual tornado. Worst case is that fallen tree branches hit power lines, or fall onto houses or cars.”

“So you’re saying that we’re in the worst case scenario right now?” Hotch said. 

“Yup.”

Hotch frowned. 

“How about we play truth or dare?” Penelope changed the subject.

“I’m down,” Emily said, surprising herself. “If everyone else is.”

“I’ve never played!” Spencer said.

“Never?” JJ asked. “Not at any sleepovers.”

“I didn’t get invited to many sleepovers.”

“Neither did I,” Emily admitted, “Some parties I went to played it too.”

JJ looked at her, there was a brief look of sympathy, and then understanding on her face. Emily made note of that. 

“I guess we’re playing,” Hotch murmured. 

“Derek,” Penelope purred, “Mon cher, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said defiantly, bracing himself with a swig of whatever was in his water bottle.

“Who is the prettiest fairy in the basement?”

“You, of course,” he replied with a wink. 

“Gross!” Emily exclaimed, “Truth or dare is not for flirting. Hotch: truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Show us the… most embarrassing photo of you on your phone.” 

He frowned. 

“I don’t take many photos.”

“Try,” Emily urged with a laugh. 

He fumbled in his pockets, grabbing his phone and scrolling through his photo album for a few minutes. 

“It’s from high school,” Hotch said with a sigh. “I was in a play.”

He held up a photo of him in a pirates outfit, he looked smaller, younger than he did now. His hair was shaggy and his face rounder. He was pointing the sword at the camera. 

“Who’s the girl?” JJ asked. 

“My girlfriend Hayley,” Hotch said, “we’re long distance now. I joined the play to get close to her and it seems to have worked.”

“That’s not embarrassing,” Penelope said, “that’s adorable. Try again.”

“Oh I have one!” Emily said, pulling up her Snapchat memories. She had a photo of him conked out in a lecture last year. His mouth was open and his head conked back, fast asleep in a dimly lit lecture hall. Emily had taken a series of these photos before waking him up. 

“Now that’s what i'm talking about,” Derek said. 

“How can you fall asleep during lecture?” Spencer asked in horror. 

Hotch shrugged. 

“I was tired, we had a game the night before,” Hotch said. “Morgan: Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I don’t know any dares,” Hotch looked around for help. 

“He could play the tinder game?” Emily said. 

“What tinder game?” 

“Oh that’s a good one,” JJ said, “Derek opens tinder and we randomly tell him which way to swipe and see who he matches with.”

Derek groaned. Opening the app and placing it down onto the carpet. 

“Right!” JJ said to start. 

A match.  

“Left?” Hotch said, it came out more like a question. 

“Right,” Emily said. Another match. 

Left, right, left, right. New message from a recent match, left, right, right, right, right. Derek looked on in horror. 

“Ok I think he’s had enough,” Emily said with a laugh. 

“Derek it’s your turn,” Penelope said. 

Derek sighs in relief. 

“Uhhh, Pretty Boy,” he turned to Reid. Thinking for a moment. “Have you ever smoked before?”

“Smoked what? Cannabis, tobacco? Something else. Be specific.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. 

“I dunno man,” Derek said, “I was talking about weed but go off.” 

“I have.”

“How?” JJ said, “You’re like sixteen! I haven’t even smoked weed.”

“Me neither,” Penelope said, sounding outright disappointed. 

“I believe it,” Hotch said. “He has a Juul.”

“Seventeen now,” Spencer said. “Kids in my first degree found it funny when I performed actions that they deemed mature for my young age. 

“What?” Penelope said. “But you were sixteen last week.”

“It was my birthday on Wednesday,” he said. 

“And we missed it?” JJ asked.

Emily decided not to inform them that her birthday had been a few weeks back as well. 

“It’s no big deal,” Spencer said, “I don’t really do birthdays.”

“Well I do birthdays!” Penelope said, “and you’re getting one.”

Emily could see the gears turning in Penelope’s head.

“Wait you haven’t smoked weed?” Emily said. She didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but hell, it was college. 

“I’ve never been offered,” Penelope said with a shrug.

“You have a Juul, Spence?” JJ said. 

He shrugged. 

“Anyways,” Derek said with a laugh. “Reid it’s your turn to ask.”

And the game continued roughly the same for a few more rounds, with some truths, some dares, a lot of drinking and a fair amount of laughter. 

Emily learned that JJ likes some angry rock music when she’s upset, that Penelope has committed several federal crimes, that Reid used to coach basketball in high school, that Derek has been posing nude for art classes on campus for extra cash, and that Hotch has never successfully completed a word search in his life. 

The dares were limited, because frankly they were basically hiding out in a basement during what might actually be a tornado. Emily was dared to do an impression of Hotch, which wasn’t good and involved a lot of eyebrows and frowning. After, JJ was forced to leave her snapchat at Garcia’s mercy for the entire night. Other dares involved dancing, attempting gymnastics, and seeing whether or not Reid fit into the dryer. He did. 

The game finally had played out when it was Hotch’s turn again to ask. 

“JJ, what’s your greatest fear?” Hotch asked.

“Mr. Serious over here,” Derek said with a whistle. 

“Probably the woods,” JJ replied. 

“Why?” Spencer asked, tilting his head. 

JJ grabbed a candle, holding it under her chin much like Reid did earlier. 

“I used to be a camp counselor, when I was a teenager. In the woods up in Vermont.”

She leaned forward. Emily didn’t know she worked at a camp. It made sense. She pictured her in a camp t-shirt making a bracelet. It suited her. 

“I had the night shift. I tucked the girls in, turned off the lights. The typical drill. Everything seemed fine; all the kids were asleep. You know, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

Another dramatic pause, both Spencer and Derek had leaned in, invested in the story. 

“Until I noticed there was some blood, on the hallway floor. So, I followed the blood trail out to the camp director’s cabin, walked up to his bed and he was just lying there, underneath his covers. Dead!”

Penelope gasped. The room was silent.

“Someone stabbed him. I ran out of there so fast, out the door, down the hall. I just remember it… being really dark. Once I got to the door, there was another counselor there. I guess she heard me scream.”

JJ set the candle down, looking at the flame flicker. This couldn’t be real, Emily thought, this had to be a joke. 

“They caught the caretaker on his way to town, I guess he still had the knife on him.” 

“Anyway, I guess that’s probably when I decided I didn’t like the woods.”

“You’re serious?!” Derek demanded. 

“No!” JJ said with a laugh. “You bought that! I’m kidding!”

“So are you afraid of the woods?” Emily asked.

“Yeah,” JJ said, “They’re spooky I don’t know.”

They all laughed at that. 

Emily glanced at her phone; they had been down here for almost two hours. According to Penelope’s intermittent checks on the status of the extreme weather, most of the city was experiencing black outs, but there was no sign of an actual tornado. They were still supposed to take shelter for the next hour or so, just in case. 

In this time, Emily was close to five drinks in, with only one left in the basement. A growing pile of empties had built up around them, and Hotch had pulled out a small bottle of whiskey in addition to his beer, passing it around the circle. Having recently turned 17, the group had officially decided to give Spencer a beer, which he nursed slowly, wincing at the bitter taste. 

“Emily,” JJ turned to her and looked mischievous. “Truth or dare?”

She felt her heart flutter.

“Truth.”

“Hmmm…” JJ said, “Where was the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Emily found herself blushing at the memory.

“Oh god,” Emily buried her face in her hands. “IHOP parking lot.”

“What?”  

Emily nodded, downing the last of her beer. 

“No further questions,” she proclaimed as she opened her next drink.

“I think that should conclude Truth or Dare,” Penelope said, “It’s time for another sleepover classic, since some of you are sleepover virgins.”

She grabbed Derek’s water bottle, plopping it down onto the carpet and spun it. 

“Spin the bottle!”

Emily went pale. What was Penelope doing? She stared into her drunk, not daring to look at anyone else. 

“That doesn’t seem very sanitary,” Spencer said.

“Boo,” Penelope, “You’re no fun. It’s a classic! And we’re all friends, it’ll be fun. Hotch you spin first.”

He looked horrified, but took the bottle. There was no getting in the way of Penelope Garcia’s will.

“The rules are simply: kiss or you have to finish your drink?,” Penelope said, “Got it?

Hotch nodded, he spun the bottle. It went around the circle, once, twice, three times, then landed clearly on himself.

“How do I kiss myself?” he said, deadpan. 

“Drink!” Emily told him. He downed his last beer.

Derek spun next, rubbing his hands together nervously as it went around and around. It landed on Penelope.

“Come here, chocolate thunder!” 

Derek took his baseball cap off, turning it backwards. Penelope pulled his shirt towards her, tugging on him as their lips met. They both closed their eyes, she could hear JJ giggle at the sight.

“Was that the only reason we’re playing this?” Spencer asked, “So that you could kiss Morgan?”

“Maybe?” Penelope, “What’s it to you, boy-genius!” 

He put his hands up in surrender, it was his turn. 

He spun the bottle awkwardly, so that it rocked back and forth in addition to spinning. It went around once before landing on JJ.

Emily wasn’t sure what to think about that. On one hand, he was just a kid and the kiss wouldn't be anything, but on the other hand, Emily was jealous that she didn’t get a kiss. 

“Come here, Spence!” JJ said, making a grabbing motion at the boy and laughing. 

He leaned in with his eyes closed, Emily wouldn’t be surprised if he told them he hadn’t done even this before. JJ put a hand on his face, turned it gently, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Derek clapped him on the back and made a comment about it being ‘pretty boy’s first kiss,’ and Reid simply sat and blushed as he busied himself with drinking some of his beer. 

Emily’s turn. She tried not to cross her fingers and pray for JJ, but it happened anyways. It landed on Derek. Emily sighed dramatically.

“Ewwww,” Emily mock protested.

“Come on, princess,” Derek jeered, “You know you want some of this!”

He lifted his t-shirt up and rubbed his hands down his abs.

“Put that away sir!” she covered her eyes. 

“Oh come here,” she said, leaning in. They kissed on the lips with a loud ‘mwah!’ noise. 

“That was cute,” Hotch commented.

Emily fake gagged, while Morgan tried to wipe her red lipstick off him. 

Last was JJ in the circle. She spun it casually. Emily tried to read her facial expression, wondering if JJ, too, wanted it to land on Emily.

See, Emily was starting to believe that JJ liked her back. She was single, and for all Emily knew, she was straight, but the more Emily got to know her, she got queer vibes. She played soccer! Her nails were short and- 

Emily couldn’t think of any other things that moment, as she was currently freaking out about the spin the bottle situation that was presently unfolding. 

The moment in the bathroom, Emily thought, that was something! The way she looked at Emily… she was sure that she felt JJ’s eyes on her linger. 

The bottle landed on Emily. They had to kiss. It was part of the game.

Holy shit. 

Penelope squealed and Emily could feel the entire room's eyes on her, except JJ whose eyes were on the ground. 

Emily could hear her heartbeat. She desperately wanted to kiss JJ but did she want to under these circumstances? For a dare? 

JJ looked at her. Blue eyes staring into brown. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. She found herself leaning forward, only slightly. JJ did the same. Her lips parted, her eyes hungry.

Emily shifted forward, she sat with her legs tucked under her, bracing herself with her arms. JJ was cross legged, her arms free to grab at her face. JJ’s hands tugged her forward.

Their lips met. 

It was uncertain, chaste, soft. Then, JJ’s hands pulled her closer. They were pressed together, heads tilting so that their noses didn’t bump.

Jennifer Jareau was kissing her. They were kissing!

Emily’s brain short circuited. JJ filled her senses; the blonde’s vanilla perfume and soft lips and the taste of alcohol on her tongue. 

Oh god, her tongue. 

Emily did not want it to end. Their mouths opened and their tongues slid against each other, feeling so perfect and sending Emily’s blood racing away from her face and noticeably south. 

JJ was incredibly hot and Emily desperately wanted to do more than kiss her. Or kiss her like this forever. Her ams were caressing her cheek and tangled in Emily’s hair, pulling her closer.

The lights flickered on; they had power, again. JJ pulled away from her, sharply. 

Emily sat back, sitting up straight. The room was luckily too distracted by the lights to notice how out of breath Emily was. Or that they probably shouldn’t have passionately made out on a dare. 

JJ wouldn’t meet her eye, but Emily could see her own lipstick on the other girl’s lips. Emily blinked at the bright light, started by the sudden return of the electricity after she had become accustomed to the dim light of the candle.

“What impressive timing,” Spencer murmured.

Taking the lights as a good sign, Penelope checked on the emergency alert. It was over and they were safe to go back upstairs. She found out that a few downed trees were the cause of the outage and there was never an actual tornado. No one was hurt but there was a bit of property damage throughout the city. 

Without the atmosphere of the candle light, and the likelihood of a RA doing a check of the building, they decided that that was the end of their party. They gathered up their empties, and blew out the candles.

As they finished up cleaning, all making sure not to leave any trace of their illicit affairs, Emily tried to quell her racing heart and blushing face, completely unable to look anyone in the eye. 

The door opened, their RA was there. Erin Strauss. She was a hardass.

“What are you all doing down here?” she demanded. 

They all stood, stock still, jaws dropped, smelling of alcohol and clutching clinking tote bags. 

“Erin,” Emily said, trying to sound as sober as possible despite the five plus drinks in her system, “We were simply following the directions on the emergency alert.”

“Yes! It said to seek shelter from the storm and the basement seemed the best for that,” Penelope said. 

“Uhuh,” Erin said, “What’s in the bag?”

The bag clinked. 

“Oh just some garbage,” Emily said, lying through her teeth. “We had some snacks.”

“Sure,” Erin said, not believing them. 

Emily tried not to sway, but did not feel steady on her feet. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or her recent kiss with JJ.

For a second, Emily was sure that their RA would bust their asses, but the girl simply sighed and told them to go to bed, muttering about how dealing with non-existent tornadoes wasn't part of her job.  

The six of them scurried upstairs, all freaked out about their near-miss with a write-up.

Reid disappeared up to his room, then JJ and Penelope walked down the hall to their’s. Emily slipped into Derek’s avoiding Erin Strauss’ watchful eye, helping Derek steady a very drunk Hotch.

Hotch, who had probably had a little too much of that whiskey, stumbled into Derek’s room and decided to sleep on the floor. Emily placed a water bottle next to him, and placed him in recovery position, glad for the distraction from the blush that refused to leave her face or the lingering taste of JJ on her lips. 

She walked slowly down the hall back to her own room, the events of that evening playing back in her mind. She threw herself onto her bed, dazed by her situation. 

Emily fell asleep with vampire make up still on her face that night.