#and should have tapped out for at *minimum* the last pizza and just had something else for myself

[dredshirtroberts]

the nice thing about being back home is that i can make poor food choices and handle the consequences in the safety of my own environment

the bad thing about this is that i am very good at making poor food choices when we're home and therefore safe, and thus must handle the consequences.

#the whole time we were back in virginia i had like Zero digestive issues #maybe a smidge of heartburn/acid reflux after drinking a little too much or eating too close to bed #but like other than that nothing - i was very good about avoiding my Main Trigger Food #(the 'matoes are so tasty and deserve their spot on all foods but my tumby does not enjoy them as much as the rest of me does) #soon as we got back it was like everything i was doing to be careful went out the door #and I stopped even attempting to track and avoid tomato consumption #(the main culprit was pizza and that's mainly on me - we had it 4 times in very short succession and i know better #and should have tapped out for at *minimum* the last pizza and just had something else for myself #but look - pizza is fun and delicious and easy as hell to have when spoons are low #sometimes sacrifices are made #today's been the roughest tumby day i've had in a hot minute - exacerbated i'm certain by my menstrual cycle #we're a couple days to a week out shit's going BONKERS and hopefully i'll actually have one and not have to wait a month AGAIN

[starboygrove]

Surviving Eddie Munson - Chapter 23

Hopper gets the call late at night on Tuesday, July 15th, 1986.

He’s been working relentlessly on the case for over two weeks now, and has grown more restless and agitated as the days go by. His end of the job is handled already, so now it’s just a matter of time.

The shrill ring that his office phone emits is like music to his ears.

“Jim Hopper, P.I.”

“It’s just me, Jim,” the voice on the other end of the line says with an audible smirk.

“You never know, Doc. Ever order a pizza but it turns out it was the movie theater all along? It pays to let people know who they’re talking to.”

“Fair point. How many more of these calls until it takes you to call me Sam?”

Hopper lets out a low laugh, trying to keep his volume at a minimum so that he doesn’t wake anyone up.

“I guess we’ll know when we get there, Doc.”

Doctor Samuel Owens sighs deeply on the other end of the line before updating Hopper on what he has been working on. It’s taken a considerable amount of time and effort, but he has managed to pull some strings with his government connections.

“You know, when I told you that you could come to me for anything, this wasn’t what I had in mind. Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to help the kids out, but I might need to set some boundaries for next time.”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” Hopper replies, anxiously tapping his fingers on the table.

“Right you are. Anyways, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that my men were able to do what you asked of me. The paperwork should be there by the end of next week. Do you think they will be able to handle this?”

“Yeah,” he says honestly. “They’re tough as nails. It might be a little hard on them, but they have each other. Once this is all over, they’ll come out of it for the better.”

The air smells strongly of bacon when Steve exits the bathroom after his shower. Eddie is at the stove, singing along to a Tears for Fears song playing on the radio, unaware of Steve slowly making his way through the trailer.

“Something happens and I'm head over heels,” Steve belts out once he reaches the kitchen, spooking Eddie so bad he actually jumps.

“Please! For the love of all that is unholy, not while I’m cooking,” he pleads desperately, clutching the spatula in his hand so tightly his knuckles have gone white.

Steve just laughs at his expense in return, feeling vindicated. They had gone on a walk earlier in the woods with El and Max, and Eddie had scared him so bad that he fell into a puddle of mud. While he’s almost certain Max had more to do with it than his boyfriend, he is much more inclined to seek revenge on the one he lives with.

“It’s only fair,” he says with a shrug.

“Do not bite the hand that feeds you.” Eddie’s tone is a warning in and of itself.

“And here I was, under the impression that you like it when I bite you. Guess I’ll just have to stop.”

That’s enough to win him over and Eddie’s face falls, putting his hands up in protest.

“Never mind, bite away Harrington!” He laughs, turning back to attend to their breakfast-for-dinner.

Steve helps out by setting the table and then cleaning the dishes once they are done with their meal, tasks that they have begun to naturally switch between most nights. They’re working really well together, and it almost feels too good to be true.

There is a knock at the door just as they get settled into the couch to watch a movie. They use ‘rock paper scissors’ to decide who answers the door and Steve ends up losing out, so he heaves himself up to go see who is disturbing their quiet time.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Max. What does surprise him is that El is not with her. Logically, he knows that they spend time away from one another, but he can’t recall the last time he saw one without the other.

“Waddup, Red?” Eddie calls from the couch and she gives him a small wave as she pushes past Steve into the living room to.

“Oh, please, come right in!” He says sarcastically, shutting the door behind him.

“I don’t need your permission,” she replies in a bored tone, to which Eddie gives her a pointed look. Max sighs and rolls her eyes, shooting Steve a fake smile to appease her more favored older brother.

“Come, sit. What’s goin’ on?”

Max shakes her head before replying, “Nah, I’m actually here to get you two. Hopper called, says he’s got an update. He also said your phone is broken and that you should get it fixed.”

“Shit, that explains a lot. Duly noted.” He dashes to the kitchen to write a reminder before grabbing his boots, quickly lacing them up while Steve does the same with his sneakers.

“Shall we?” Eddie asks, holding his arm out for Steve to take like a Prince at a ball.

The three of them make the short walk over to the Hopper-Byers residence in no time at all, politely ringing the doorbell when they arrive despite being expected.

Joyce opens the door and welcomes them in and leads the young men into the dining room where Hopper is sat at the table with multiple thick piles of paperwork, thumbing through them with care. Max bids them goodbye, running off to go find her girlfriend as soon as she can.

Eddie and Steve loom over the table, trying to make sense of what is going on while Hopper finishes up with the page he is currently reading.

“Okay,” he starts, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head. There are a few audible pops and he sighs in relief before hunching back over, propping his head up in the palm of his hand. “I know it’s been a little while, but my connection finally pulled through. What you’re looking at is our copy of the federal court cases that have been brought against your respective abusers.”

Steve’s knees buckle at the news and he quickly moves to sit down at the table, looking over at Eddie to find a similar shocked expression on the other man’s face.

“All of this?” Eddie asks weakly.

“Yes. Here, just one second. Alright, this one is yours,” he places a hand on one of the stacks near him, and then points to another. “And this one is Steve’s,” he says, gesturing to the other three piles on the table.

Steve’s eyebrows fly into his hairline, surveying the overwhelming amount of paperwork.

“Why is mine so big?”

Hopper laughs and scrubs a tired hand over his face. “Because your parents are pieces of shit, Steve. You wouldn’t believe the kind of dirt I pulled up on them, it’s almost admirable with how much they have been getting away with over the years. We also managed to bring neglect charges against them; with their business and personal records combined, there was ample evidence to prove that they weren’t taking proper care of you.”

He starts to feel sick so he lays his head down on the table with an audible thud. Although he knew that this was the right course of action, he had no idea that this is what he would be walking into. Eddie rubs a gentle hand on his back while he and Hopper talk about the charges being brought against his abuser.

Steve tunes in and out of the conversation until he starts to feel a little better, wondering how Eddie is able to keep such a level head in situations like this. Throw Steve into a pit full of monsters and he’s as cool as a cucumber, but the mere thought of having to face his father in a courtroom? He visibly shudders and lifts his head up, frowning deeply.

“You good, kid?” Hopper asks.

“Truthfully? No, not really,” he admits. “But this is…it’s what we have to do, isn’t it?”

“It’s what they deserve,” Eddie says with a dark look in his eyes. “All of them.”

Steve nods a few times before channeling all of his monster killing courage. “What can we do to help?”

Hopper gives him a small, proud smile. “You two are going to do as little as possible with all of this,” he says, gesturing broadly to the table. “This is my end of the deal. My advice for you two is to keep your chins up, rely on your support system if need be, and be at least ten minutes early when it’s time to go to court.”

“I think we can manage,” Steve replies before a thought pops in his head. “What if my dad tries to retaliate?”

A mischievous glint twinkles in Hoppers eyes. “I’m so glad you asked,” he says with a chuckle, thumbing through one of the stacks to pull out a thin section. “This is your temporary restraining order; it applies to both of you, your places of employment, and also the entirety of the trailer park.”

“Holy shit Hop,” he mutters, taking the papers from him to check them out. He’s had more experience with viewing court documents than he would like to admit, thanks to you know who.

Of course, they’re legitimate, and he’s beginning to grow curious as to how Hopper was able to pull all of this off in such a short amount of time. He knows that he’s started a solo Private Investigative business, but this is becoming unreasonable for a title like that.

“How is all of this possible?” Eddie asks as if he read his mind, peering over Steve’s shoulder to read the pages as well.

“I know a guy,” Hopper replies secretively with a small wink.

“Alright then, keep your secrets.”

They chat amicably about what the next steps will look like for them. Hopper has graciously taken the time to jot down the most important things to know, with notes in the margins on stuff like what to wear, what not to say, and other little helpful things that will make their experience go more smoothly.

“Ugh, I don’t even think I own a pair of jeans without at hole in them, let alone slacks!” Eddie complains while they are walking back home.

“You can borrow something of mine,” Steve offers. “Seeing as I wore your clothes for a week straight, I think I can part with an outfit for a few days.”

“Do you really think it will only be a couple of days?”

Steve hums in thought, stopping along the road to the Munson trailer to peer up into the sky for an answer. Storm clouds are rolling in again, painting the sky dark gray with streaks of yellow light peaking through from the sunset overhead.

“I’m optimistic, but honestly? These things can take time, depending.”

“Depending on what?” Eddie asks him, lacing their fingers together.

“Lots of things. The biggest one being if they try to deny it, which would be incredibly stupid considering the amount of evidence, but it’s not improbable.”

His boyfriend huffs out a small sigh, gazing down at the ground in contemplation.

“I don’t know how much I could take,” he admits softly. “I never thought I would have to see that man again.”

Steve instinctively draws Eddie in for a warm embrace, and they hug for a few moments on the side of the road. When they break apart they continue walking back to the trailer, hand in hand.

“You know, there is a way where you wouldn’t have to see him.”

Eddie laughs, “How, by closing my eyes?”

“Well, you’re not wrong, but also no. I’ve heard of this thing where they can put witnesses in a different room and use video cameras to take their testimony instead. Everyone in the court room would see you, but you would only see the camera.”

“What!? How does that even work?” He asks incredulously.

“I dunno man! Science!”

“Sounds made up, but okay.” He sighs again while sitting down on the steps leading into the trailer. “I think I should just go in there and show him that I’m not afraid of him. Prove that he doesn’t have control over me anymore.”

“I think that’s really brave, Eddie.” Steve sits down next to him and knocks their needs together.

They sit together in silence, enjoying the warm summer breeze, contemplating the inevitability of seeing their abusers again. Once it gets completely dark and the telltale sign of an impending heavy rain warns overhead, they make their way inside to try and reclaim their night.

“So, September huh,” Eddie says, tacking the scrap of paper with their court dates onto the fridge with a little yellow smiley face magnet. He rotates it so it’s upside down.

“Yeah, I guess. We’ve got some time to plan and think about it. Whatever happens in the end, we’ll still have each other though. Right?”

“Of course we will. You can’t get rid of me that easily Harrington.”

Steve grins at Eddie before flopping down onto the couch and holding his arms out for a cuddle; his boyfriend indulges him and sits, pulling him into his chest and squeezing tight. They are tucked into one another when a particularly aggressive clap of thunder sounds out, rattling the windows of the trailer a little bit.

Eddie jumps in the air before sinking down into the couch with a sour expression on his face. “Fucking hate thunder…” he grumbles, furrowing his brows.

He can’t help but agree. Whereas thunderstorms were something Steve looked forward to as a child, now that he has experienced the horrors of The Upside Down, all it does is remind him of his time in that place.

“Why don’t we go try and relax in your room?”

His boyfriend mulls over the suggestion before breaking out into a wide grin, tugging Steve up off the couch and leading him into the back. He sits on the bed and pulls out his special box, finding a pre-rolled joint and lighting it up.

“How many times do I have to say it? It’s our room now.”

Steve’s stomach flips at the words and he rubs the back of his neck with a shy chuckle. “We could own a house together and I would still think shit like, ‘oh god, does he really think I’m cute?’”

Eddie rolls his eyes aggressively, patting the bed to encourage Steve into sitting down next to him. They face each other with their legs crisscrossed, reminiscent of the first time they smoked together in here.

“You could get mauled by a bear and I’d still think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie admits with a lazy smirk.

“Hmm…what about a tiger?”

“Yep,” he says, popping his lips on the ‘p’.

“What about a lion?”

“Oh my!” Eddie replies in a falsetto voice, making Steve laugh wholeheartedly.

“Thank you for getting the joke,” he says, passing the joint to his boyfriend after taking a few hits.

Once the joint is nothing more than a smudge of ash and sticky paper, they lay down on the bed, listening to the loud pitter-patter of fat raindrops hitting the metal roof above them. The thunder and lightning persist, but they’re far more relaxed now and are able to ignore it for the most part.

“Thank you,” Steve blurts out of the blue, caressing the soft skin of Eddie’s forearm where it’s resting on his chest.

“For what?”

“For being you,” he replies softly.

“Steve Harrington, you romantic little shit. Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Eddie shuffles so his head replaces his arm on Steve’s chest, peering up at him through thick lashes.

“No, no clue. Explain?” He asks with faux-naivety, smirking down at his boyfriend.

“Where to even begin…you drive me absolutely fucking bonkers, for starters. You have the most amazing ass I’ve ever seen in my entire life; I need to send a letter of thanks to the Hawkins High sports department. What else…oh yeah, how could I forget,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You are easily the most selfless person I know. Every choice you make, it’s so that the people around you are as happy as possible. Do you know how rare that is, Steve?”

His face is flushed bright red at the sudden influx of praise, and he’s struggling to find the words to reply.

“Eddie, I…wow.” He chuckles awkwardly, brushing the hair out of the other man’s eyes tenderly. “I don’t know what to say. You are wrong about one thing though.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“I think you’ll find that it is you who has the most amazing ass. There’s a mirror right over there, and I know you know how to use it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and laughs as he buries his face into Steve’s shirt, mumbling something inaudible.

“Speak up, darling, I didn’t quite catch that,” Steve says, carding his fingers through the other man’s curly locks. He’s obsessed, always taking the opportunity to play with Eddie’s hair when he can.

“I said,” he drawls out when he lifts his face back up. “You’re obviously high as a kite if you expect me to agree with you.”

“Fine, agree to disagree then.” He acquiesces, rolling them over so they are facing each other lying on their sides.

“I meant it, though.” Steve whispers, cupping his boyfriend’s face gently. “Thank you, for everything. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Every day that I wake up here in this bed with you is better than the last. You are so beautiful, and generous, and witty, and you are so much smarter than you give yourself credit for. I guess what I’m trying to say is that…I love you, Eddie.”

The other man’s mouth parts open with the admission, eyebrows raised into his hairline out of shock. A light flush blooms over his cheekbones and Steve’s chest tightens, unable to believe how he got so lucky.

“S-steve…” he stutters, biting his lip. Tears form in the corner of Eddie’s eyes and he blinks a few times, squeezing his eyes shut tightly before returning his gaze.

“I love you, too.”

They press their foreheads together, cupping each other’s heads and slowly fall asleep to the gentle sound of waning rainfall.

*

The doors to the federal courthouse in Indianapolis burst open with a powerful shove, startling nearby pedestrians with the sudden noise. Eddie and Steve are practically tripping over each other, running down the stairs with excitement. The former has already loosened his tie by the time they make it to the sidewalk.

Hopper is trailing behind them, hands in his pockets, with a small, pleased smile on his face. It’s an unusually warm day in late October and the two young men take in deep lungfuls of the crisp air.

“I thought that was going to drag on for forever,” Steve chats animatedly as they walk through the courthouse parking lot.

“Same here, man. I still can’t believe he tried to plead not guilty! What a moron,” Eddie laughs at the expense of his abuser, who got a harsher sentence because of his refusal to admit to the crimes he committed.

They’ve had to make the trip down to Indianapolis over half a dozen times now; once, for Steve’s case against his parents for child neglect and endangerment, in which they were smart enough to take a plea deal for. He didn’t bother going to their other hearings for the other federal crimes they committed of embezzlement and tax fraud, but he did gleefully cut out the newspaper clippings from the headline when the story hit The Hawkins Post as a keepsake. His only complaint is that Nancy wasn’t here to take on the job of reporting on it; she would have found the most exploitative words to describe his parents, he just knows it.

The other trips to the city were for Eddie’s case. His abuser was found guilty for several counts of child pornography, statutory rape, and child grooming. Steve has been there for him every step of the way, and they both know that the fight isn’t over despite the lengthy sentence he received.

He would be lying if the past two months weren’t rough on the both of them, more so Eddie in particular. Seeing his abuser for the first time again in years brought up a lot of negative emotions, and he has gone in and out of fits of depression because of it. Through the panic attacks, tears, and outbursts he has stayed by his boyfriend’s side with reassurance, patience, and love.

The hours long drive back to Hawkins happens in the blink of an eye, Hopper’s truck filled with boisterous conversation. They arrive just in time before school gets out, so they bid Hopper a quick goodbye so he can make his way over to Hawkins High to pick his kids up.

The adrenaline fueled elation is finally starting to wear off as they stand outside the Munson trailer; now that this chapter of their lives is more or less over with, they get to allow themselves to imagine what their future together will look like.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Steve suggests, holding his hand out for Eddie to take. His boyfriend does so willingly, and they make their way into the woods.

It takes no time at all for them to find their favorite fallen tree to sit on, straddling it so they can face each other.

“Sure you don’t mind me getting your fancy clothes all dirty?” Eddie asks cautiously as he tries his best to be careful when sitting down.

“Not one bit, I’m actually considering ritualistically burning them later. Thoughts?”

Eddie barks out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Never change, Harrington.”

“About that…” Steve trails off, peering into the distance to find the right words. “What if I don’t want to be a Harrington anymore?”

His boyfriend cocks an eyebrow at him, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Whaddya mean? Like, change your last name?”

“Yes, but…I was thinking of maybe not only changing my last name,” he says with a timid smile. Eddie catches onto his meaning quickly and a large smile blooms across his face.

“Steve…are you? Did you just? Is this your way of…?”

He shrugs, waving his hands flippantly in the air. “If I say yes, does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“Yes! Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I would say yes.”

They smile brightly at each other before he kisses Eddie’s forehead tenderly, using his other hand to retrieve a small velvet box from his pocket.

“I know that we’ve talked about how we’ll probably never be able to actually get married, but we don’t need a piece of paper to make a commitment to each other. What we have doesn’t need to be permitted by anyone else.” Steve opens the box to reveal a matching set of thin silver bands.

“You don’t have to take it right now, but I got these for us, for when…if, you know, yeah.” He stumbles over his words, face flushing with embarrassment.

Wordlessly, Eddie gently plucks the box out of his hands and examines the rings up close. He’s got the most delicate little smile on his face that makes Steve’s heart ache with desire. Without warning, he slips one of the rings out of its holder and onto his finger, making a show of admiring it in the soft fall light streaming through the trees.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I love you so fucking much,” he says in a rush, drawing him in for a passionate kiss. Eddie takes the other ring out and slips it onto Steve’s ring finger, linking their hands at once.

They appreciate the sight of the rings together, and Steve lets out a small chuckle at the thoughts running through his head.

“What do we even call each other? Like, are we engaged, or just straight to husbands? How does this work?”

Eddie laughs along with him, clearly contemplating it seriously for a moment. “Good question. I dunno, husband kinda feels weird…makes me feel like some white picket fence schmuck. We could be engaged, have a party or something?”

“I like parties,” Steve agrees readily. “I’ve always hated the word fiancé, though.” He grimaces at the thought, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Alright, what about…super boyfriend?”

They laugh together, coming up with several different joke names to call one another, each funnier than the last.

“Ooh, how about partner? Like, we’re partners in crime, right?” Steve raises his eyebrows, emphasizing his suggestion with a dual show of finger guns.

“I think it suits us. Partners. Are we cowboys, criminals, or lovers? Who knows, maybe we’re all three at the same time,” he jokes affectionately.

They sit in a comfortable silence, toying with each other’s hands and listening to the sounds of the forest. A pair of giggles snaps them out of their reverie, some familiar faces approaching them from a small distance.

“Hey kiddos!” Steve greets happily, giving El and Max a short wave. The latter pulls a face at him, flipping him off.

“Red! Play nice with others,” Eddie scolds half-heartedly.

“She’s just mad because you guys are always here when her mom is home. Do you know how hard it is to--” Max cuts El’s sentence off with a quick slap of a hand over her mouth, blushing furiously at her girlfriend’s near admission of something that is bound to be horribly private.

“Say no more! We’re out of here,” Steve replies, hopping off the log and tugging Eddie away as soon as physically possible.

Once they reach the tree line, Steve finds a large elm tree to lean on, admiring the bright orange leaves that its branches boast. It reminds him of one of the last happy memories he had with his parents, when they went on vacation to the East Coast to visit some extended family when he was a child. He doesn’t take long to contemplate the idea that pops into his head at the reminder of how gorgeous the coastal town was, trees bursting to life with warm colors in the autumn season.

“Hey, Eddie. How do you feel about moving out of Indiana?”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x steve harrington #eddie x steve #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #cross posted on ao3 #steddie fluff #steddie smut #stranger things smut

[enigma-im]

Third Day of Christmas...

Trope: Enemies to Lovers (NSFW) Relationship: Minotaur x Human Word Count: 4,025

It all started with a note on the door.

Imani didn't expect to find a letter taped to her door that morning, or any morning for that matter. For a good couple of seconds she feared it was from her landlord, an eviction notice of some kind. That went right out the window as she read the chicken scratched handwriting.

Dear apartment 23 resident,

I'd appreciate it if you would keep the noises to a minimum after 10 pm. The singing has kept me up well past midnight. The stomping at all hours has been less than appreciated. Also, I hate to point out that your dog hasn't been a saint either, barking every morning at 7 am. So if you would please, muzzle the dog and stop the late-night parties.

                                 Signed, apartment 15 resident.

Imani is confused for a moment, walking back into her apartment while rereading the letter. All of it is not true, starting with the singing. She does not sing, especially that late in the day. The neighbor on the other hand has a daughter who doesn't understand her own volume, blaring out BTS songs at odd hours. The stomping is a ridiculous accusation, almost typical in these situations. The only time she can admit that her walking would be loud is when she first gets home and hasn't gotten to removing her shoes. Besides then, she is as quiet as a church mouse. An hour after she gets home she spends most of her time lounging in the living room. so how can she be making noises if she isn't moving?

The woman drops the note onto her kitchen table, put off by the audacity. She looks over to her little dog, shaking her head as she thinks back on the next line. Her dog doesn't bark! He is as silent as can be, never even growling. The most this 'resident' can accuse her pooch over is his nails scratching at the floor. Even then that shouldn't even register through the floors.

With the morning turned sour, Imani quickly organizes her things and heads out for work. The whole day is spent thinking hard on her letter, thinking about what needs to be done. Should she ignore it? Pretend she never got it and go on with her life? That would be the easy approach, even kinder one, but she ain't that kind of bitch.

When she got home late that day she storms into the kitchen, making sure to stop with her shoes still on, and grabs a notebook. She jots down a little message for 'resident 15' with as much passive aggression as she can put into words.

Dear resident 15,

The bold claims you have taped to my door have been read. I'd like to take the time to inform you of your misguided claims. I, for one, am not the local American Idol star. That award goes to Tiny Tina in apartment 22. I don't know why you have such an issue with her music, BTS songs are a bop.

Next on the list is my 'stomping'. Excuse me for correcting you again, but I do not 'stomp' around my apartment. The minute I get home from work I am sitting on my ass watching television till it's time for bed. So I ask you, how can I be stomping around if my feet do not move off the couch?

Finally, my dog. My dog is a saint, for your information, he is the quietest animal I have ever owned. I haven't heard so much as a peep from him since he was a puppy. Maybe check around for other noisy pooches because mine isn't the problem.

With this all said, I hope you find a solution to your problem because bugging me was not it.

                                       Sincerely, resident 23

Signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered. The next morning on the way to work she tapes the little note to the numbers on unit 15. smug, she walks out of there with her head held high.

Feeling proud of herself even further into the day she isn't ready for the speedy reply taped to her door, along with a missing doormat. With a huff, she snatches the note and heads inside. She unfolds the sheet, reading:

Dear 23,

I am not mistaken, and I'm taking your welcome mat until you know how to be a proper upstairs neighbor.

                                         -15

She gawks at the letter, put off by the blatant admission of theft. Are they a child, taking away things as a punishment? This is completely idiotic! She should march downstairs and confront the fool who thinks this is a proper course of action. Well, she would if she didn't also want to get back at them.

Throwing the paper onto the coffee table she flops down on the couch to think. What is the best way to get back at them?

A floor below rests Church the Minotaur. He is getting ready to go on a run, sliding on his sneakers as he opens the door. Glance to the side he catches sight of a gaudy plethora of stickers and glitter, his door dressed to the 9s with rainbows. He is taken aback, looking at the decorations with ire. Above it all sits a folded up piece of paper taped to the door. He quickly snatches it, reading it.

15,

Return the doormat and I'll clean your door.

                                    -23

Church chuffs, grinding his teeth as he looks to the door again. He didn't think he was being unfair when he first gave them a letter. It was a polite way to ask them to shut up. He just wanted some sleep, was that too much to ask? He looks to the door again, apparently, it was.

Imani opens the door fully expecting the letter. With a bit of a pep in her step, she grabs it, reading it as she walks to her car. She snorts, crumpling the paper and tossing it in the trash.

23,

This means war

                           -15

The next few weeks are filled with pranks of varying variety. The two start small, Imani stomping around upstairs with her heaviest pairs of boots, Church banging his hand against the ceiling during the quiet hours of the night. Next with more glitter courtesy of Church, a well-timed package that exploded in Imani's kitchen. He swears he could hear her surprised scream from below. Imani gets him back with a similar package, one with a jump scare card.

It's a back forth of one-upping the other. Church orders Imani eight pizzas, forcing her to reluctantly pay for it when seeing the nervous kid trying to deal with the mix-up. Imani manages to hook her phone to his Bluetooth speakers, playing random screams at all hours of the night. Church gets her back by attaching an alarm to her door so when walked out that morning she was startled by a firetruck worthy honk.

It seems it’s the last straw for Church when he receives his own glitter bomb of confetti cocks. It gets caught on the carpet, sneaking into the couch cushions, and sticking to his clothes. Quickly dusting himself off he charges upstairs, reaching her door and banging on it. He taps his foot frustrated and angry.

The door clicks open, Church already ready with his rant. Imani is equally prepared, excited with the chance to chew him a new one. When the two see each other they stumble on the words, looking one another over with confusion. Neither of them expected the other to be anything but some angry middle-aged person looking for a fight. They hardly assumed that the other would be so…attractive.

"I, uh," church shakes his head," You! A damn dick bomb? Do you understand how ingrained they are into my carpet? I sent you a cheap one, something you can easily clean up but you couldn't even consider that!"

"What," Imani comes back to her own," those craft herpes were not easy to clean, I'm sure it's still in the kitchen now and staining my clothes. So don't you dare come at me with 'woe is me' look like you had any consideration at all for my floors."

"Well excuse me, I didn't hack into your speakers to play Halloween screams all through the night. I damn near had a heart attack at 2 in the morning because of you," he points to her, debating on jabbing her in the chest. She slaps his hand away before he gets the chance, scoffing.

"At least I didn't make you spend money on eight pizzas! Do you know how much eight pizzas cost? It was like seventy bucks. I'm just glad you didn't splurge on something more than a single topping pizza. But fuck you for making them all pineapple you monster," she bites back.

The two ramble on long enough for the neighbors to peek their heads out. Embarrassed, they close out their argument with a huff and a door slam. Church heads off to his apartment, falling onto the couch while grumbling to himself. Imani growls and mumbles in her bed. They both can't help the thought that ruins all their anger:

God, they were hot.

The pranks don't stop in their frequency. The two continue, using their frustrations at their traitorous thoughts to fuel their revenge.

Imani still plays with his speakers, using screamo songs to annoy him in the afternoons. Church booby traps her door again with more glitter, his preferred weapon as of lately. She takes up tap dancing, he pays the kid next door to blare BTS near the shared wall of her apartment. She puts a fake ticket on his car, he puts vulgar stickers on her's. the childish game goes on and on.

Imani sits in her room one night, frustrated beyond belief with the sexy minotaur. She can't get his face out of her head. Why did he have to be cute? It's not like it makes the little game they have going harder to do. No, it just makes it seem more than it is. She has to constantly catch herself praising his wit in some of the stunts he pulls. Scolding herself nonstop for wanting to stop by his place and yell at him some, just to see him. It's stupid, wanting to actually get to know him.

Church relaxes in bed, feeling more bothered than Imani. He has hit a bit of a dry spell in his sexual life, or his solo sexual life. He can't jerk off without picturing the little hellspawn upstairs. It would be easy to give in and just think of her but it would be too much. She is an enemy, not a potential interest. So what if she is one of the sexiest humans he has ever seen? Who cares if her ability to keep up with him in this little war is kind of turning him on? It doesn't matter, right?

He sighs in defeat, "I don't think I can believe that even if I tried," he grunts as he clenches his shaft.

Imani is at home setting up her next plan when someone knocks on the door. She looks to the clock surprised at someone visiting this hour. Confused, and cautious, she gets out of bed and walks to the door. Looking through the peephole she rolls her eyes at who she sees.

Imani opens the door," if this is about the folk music I'll tell you now I'm not changing it back."

"No," he growls," this is about the tap shoes. Metal on wood makes for some very undesirable sounds."

"Well, excuse me for trying to take up a new hobby. What about you paying off the kid next door to play her music next to my wall? I swear that little demon doesn't sleep," Imani scolds.

"Speaking of little demons, can you for the love of god shut your dog up. Every morning I hear his damn barking and I'm seriously debating calling someone," he takes a step into her space, scowling at the dog behind her.

"He doesn't bark," she pokes at his chest," I have never heard him even make a yelp since he was a puppy so I suggest you come up with a better lie than that."

"A lie," he shouts," your fucking dog barks, stop thinking he is some sort of mute."

"He does not," she shouts back.

"Does too," he steps closer.

"Does not," she raises her chin.

"Does too," he grabs her hips.

"Does not," she tugs at his shirt.

"Does too," he says, lowering closer to her. Before she can get her turn he quiets her with a rather harsh kiss, mashing his lips to hers. They grapple one another, pulling the other closer as they stumble into her apartment.

Church kicks the door shut as he fumbles with her shirt. She helps, parting from him long enough to cast the clothing aside. He tugs her back in for a sloppy kiss, delving his tongue into her mouth as she unbuttons his top. Thrusting his shirt down his arms while they bump into the sofa. Church beings unclasping her bra, uncoordinated as she sucks on his tongue.

The two fall to the couch, church not wasting any time with her freshly revealed tits. Imani gasps, petting down his chest to his pants. As he suckles on a nipple as she pulls him from his pants, holding his cock in her hand. He stutters in his attentions, panting heavily against her chest as she jerks him off.

"Oh, fuck," he groans.

"Like that big boy," she steals his attention, him looking at her cocky smile.

"Shut up," he reaches down to her pants, palming her through her jeans. She bucks into his hand, rolling her eyes at his smirk. He quickly discards her bottoms, tossing them away without a care. He watches her as he pets at her pussy, delving between her lips to feel how soaked she is for him.

"Am I wrong to assume this is all for me," he pushes a finger in. she clenches her jaw, groaning from the intrusion. He chuckles, feeling rather confident as she rides his hand. Not caring for his large ego she reaches for his cock once more, feeling him throb in her grip.

"Am I wrong to assume this is all for me," she mimics back smugly. He throws her an annoyed look, removing his fingers and slapping her hand away. Dropping a hand beside her head he leans down, looking between them as he prods his cock to her pussy. They both flinch, eager above all else. They both watch as his head parts her lips, poking at her clit with short nudges.

"You think I can make you scream like those damn Halloween recordings," he jokes as he grinds into her.

"No, I don't think you have the stamina," she jabs back, trying to stop the urge to buck against him. Church leans down and nuzzles against her neck, pressing a sweet kiss under her jaw.

"I guess we will just have to see," he grins, feeling less confident than his words suggest. His cock is damn near ready to burst with just his tip being coated in her sweet juices.

Church reaches between them, pressing his cock to her entrance. He guides his tip in, stretching his arm up to rest it beside her head. The only warning he gives her is a sultry smile before he shoves forward, both crying out at the suddenness.

"Oh, shit," Church whimpers beside her ear. Imani grabs at his arms, feeling utterly stuffed. He pulls back, thrusting forward quickly. Imani appreciates him not wasting time just pistoning into her. The need has been building up all week, the denial adding a new level of appeal to this want.

He rams into her, listening to her try to hide her cries of pleasure. He feels her body tell him what he needs to know, feels her walls pulling him in with every buck of his hips. She wants him as badly as he wanted her. It's satisfying to church to know this. To know that she needs this as much as he does. Not wanting to miss a thing he sits up, grabbing her hips as he does.

"Look at you," he groans," trying to hold back those little moans and whimpers. Don't fight it, babe, I wanna hear you." Imani startles herself with a cry, arching her back as his words add kindle to the fire. She wants to pretend this isn't happening, that she isn't getting fucked by her apartment enemy. But damn, does it feel fantastic.

Church watches her writhe on the couch, his stomach clenching as he tries to fight off cumming at the sight. Her tits bounce with each clap of their hips and it's driving him wild. Reluctantly he shuts his eyes, thinking about anything else to prolong this blissful torture.

Imani wails and whimpers as her insides are set aflame. As her orgasm comes rushing to the forefront she locks her legs around his waist, grinding like a madwoman into his thrust. She cries out her pleasure, utterly wrecked as she falls apart.

Church chokes on his breath as she clenches around him. He can barely think as she holds him in a vice grip. His hips go wild as he finds himself coming to an end. It's only half a thought that he undoes her legs and pulls out, grinding against her as he cums on her stomach. Imani watches in rapture as he tosses his head back and moans, the sound going straight to her already throbbing clit. She watches him spray out over her and she can't look away for even a second.

Church falls onto his hands, panting as he holds himself over her. He can't believe it. He got to fuck the cute hellspawn that has been tormenting him all month. At this moment he couldn't even think about the countless hours of sleep missed because of her little pranks. Right now all he can think of is holding her close and taking a much-needed nap. As he attempts the action he looks to her stomach.

Imani is bone-deep satisfied. Her body is relaxed against the couch and she feels like she's on cloud nine. She hardly notices when Church climbs off her, his footsteps fading away. When she does notice, it stabs at her heart a little. She watches him button up his pants, reaching to the floor to grab his shirt. I guess he's leaving, she thinks.

Church grabs his shirt from the floor, bunching it up as he turns back to her. She looks surprised when he crouches beside her and mops up the mess on her stomach with his top. He wants to laugh at the shocked expression but bites his cheek against it. With her all clean he tosses the shirt away and crawls in beside her. The couch is rather small so he lifts her onto his chest, lounging on his back. He cradles her against his front, ready to take a well-deserved nap.

Imani is rather confused as she watches him fall asleep. She fully figured he would dip after everything, she surely didn't expect anything from this. They were still in a war. A truce was never called but she can't help but think this changes something.

Shrugging, she snuggles up to him, enjoying his soft fur against her cheek. This is a problem she will deal with in the morning.

Imani wakes up alone in her bed. She is nearly tempted to figure the night with Church was all a dream till she feels the subtle ache in her legs. Ride a bull, you should expect some soreness. She chuckles to herself as she dresses. Walking into the kitchen she prepares for a lazy day indoors while she figures out how to deal with Church and her's relationship. As she gets ready to feed her pup does she realize the lack of said pooch.

"uh, Giovani," she calls out. No answer. She calls out again, searching around her apartment frantically. Did he get out while the door was open last night? Surely she would have noticed if he managed to sneak past. She rounds the apartment again just in case before she runs to the door, throwing it open in a rush. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots something hanging on her peephole. She tenses at the sight, snatching it.

Imani I have your dog Church

Imani scoffs, crumpling the letter as she marches downstairs. She can't believe she let herself think that things would change between them. That this little prank war can be swapped out for an actual relationship, friendship or otherwise. Above all, she can't believe he stole her dog.

Rounding the corner and stopping at door 15 she pounds her fist against the wood. She continues pounding till the door opens, revealing a smirking Church.

"Hello, babe, what brings you here so early," he asks, leaning against the frame.

"You stole my fucking dog, I want him back," she snaps, no ounce of playfulness available. Church nearly stutters on his act, a little worried about her protectiveness over her dog.

"Now, I stole him for his own good," he explains," with his separation anxiety I figured it is best if he got used to my apartment since I'm going to take up training him."

Imani scoffs," Excuse me? My dog doesn't have separation anxiety nor does he need to be trained by some dog snatching idiot with horns."

Church deadpans," idiot with horns?"

"It's early, they can't all be gold," she rolls her eyes," doesn't matter, give me my dog back."

Church shakes his head, frustrated at her denial. Instead of answering her, he calls for the pup, leaning down to pet him when he comes trotting over. With the dog properly excited he takes a step into the hallway with Imani and shuts the door. Imani looks from him then back to the door.

"What are you doing," she asks.

"Just wait," he holds up a finger. They both stand silently, nothing happening. Imani opens her mouth to acknowledge the ridiculous of waiting in front of a door when her dog begins whining, yelping loudly from inside the apartment. Church looks over to her with a smug grin, "Told you he barks."

Imani flusters, gawking at the door and listening to her dog cry out. Church opens the door, the pup running out and jumping at Imani. Still embarrassed, she pets at her dog before picking him up and walking away. Church watches her turn the corner, not saying a word as she departs. He sighs.

It's a good day of nothing that picks at Church. Surely he didn’t push too far, he didn't really intend to keep her dog so it wasn't that mean. He just wanted to prove that her dog did bark, finishing the month-long war on a hopeful note. It wasn't meant as another attack against her. He really did intend to help by offering to train her dog.

Throughout the day he debates going up there and apologizing, to offer an olive branch of some kind so he can actually get to know her. Last night for Church was…amazing. It was something he wants to do again, to explore further. That may be a pipe dream now.

Late into the afternoon church gets a knock on his door. He jumps up, feeling rather stupid as he quickly answers the door. Expecting Imani he is left disappointed as no one is there. No one could have left that fast. He looks down the hall, left to right. Nothing. With a defeated sigh he begins to close the door. He stops when a fluttering piece of paper catches his eye. Excited, he snaps it off the door unfolding it swiftly.

Church,

Dinner at my place, 8 pm

                               -Imani

Church smiles to himself, refolding the paper and heading back inside to get ready.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #Enigma-IM #monster boyfriend #exophilia #enemies to lovers #minotaur boyfriend

[btsmakesmehappy]

Cookies Charades

Genre: Roommate to Lover, Friends to lover, Fluff, slight angst.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 4,5k

Rating: PG-13

Warning: the reader is a little insecure, grinch joke, ugly christmas sweater, low budget christmas party, a pandemic quarantine itself is a big warning (Please stay safe!)

Summary: A pandemic quarantine, cookies, a bet, and a night with just the two of you; you and your very own crush who is also your best friend. What could happen?

A/N: this drabble is for @btswriterscollective​ ‘s holiday event! It’s my first time joining an event since I wrote my fics. And this fluffy Christmas fic is dedicated to @lunar-jimin​. Merry Christmas! I’m still new at writing fics so It’ll be a little messy but I hope this will make you happy! - your secret Santa, Rain

also thank you for my beta reader, @arizonapoppy​ Merry Christmas<3

“So what are you doing for Christmas?” Jimin asks casually as he puts chips into his mouth. His eyes are glued to the TV which plays Princess Diaries out of nowhere, and you’re pretty sure that both of you don’t even pay any attention to the movie. Today is supposed to be your movie night with your best friends, just wine, and a lot of food, and maybe some board games if you can’t find anything to watch. But since the pandemic, you can’t just barge into your friends’ home easily. That’s why you are stuck in your apartment with your roommate, Jimin.

You’ve been living with him for two years, introduced by mutual friends. You searched for an apartment, Jimin looked for a roommate, it was perfect. There was just a little thing that your friends knew: that you had a crush on him.

Well, who doesn’t?

Jimin is hot, smart, and cute all merged into a fine man. A fine man with a body that makes other men envious. It’s unfair too that he is also kindhearted. It’s like everything you need for a man, you can find in him.

Jimin is like a chameleon. He can be a nerd in the morning, and a fuckboy in the evening. He can be a bulky gym-addicted man to start and then turns into a cuddly soft boy in the space of minutes. He can be a boy that an older woman loves, or a strong-fatherly figure that girls would obsess over. He cooks, he cleans, and he also takes care of you when you’re sick.

He is so perfect. So fucking perfect.

That’s why it’s hard for you to not fall in love with him, not when he is just a room away from you, and not when he becomes your best friend so very soon. It’s like Universe wants to torture you. Like the Universe sees an opportunity to mess with your heart, let alone your relationship with people.

Yes. You’re in love with your best friend who is also your roommate.

You like him, a lot, to the point that your hand goes clammy whenever he’s close to you. To the point that his scent after shower raises your heartbeat. To the point that you feel a stab of pain to your chest whenever he comes home with Jisoo.

You sip your wine slowly. “I might be skiing again right now, if we weren’t in a pandemic.” Your eyes wander to the photo frame above the TV; it was when you were on a skiing trip with your friends last winter.

“Do you want to do something with me then?” He turns his head to face you, eyes twinkling in excitement.

“Sure, why not?” you shrug. “We’re going to do these for Christmas, after all. So yeah, just make an appointment for that.”

Jimin snatches the wine glass from you and puts it on the shaky table in front of you so clumsily that he almost makes it fall and colors your cheap white carpet red. “That’s not what I meant! Let’s just make a small Christmas celebration just the two of us. We should bake, cook, and decorate!”

“Won’t it be bothersome, though?” You’re actually pretty worn out. Your finals have just ended, all of your assignments and papers are all submitted. Not to mention you just finished your internship program for this semester, because somehow they didn’t cancel the program because of the pandemic. You were pretty busy. What you really want is just food and your bed. Celebrating Christmas? Maybe it’s just a privilege for you.

“Come on!” he whines. “It’ll be fun! This is the first Christmas, just the two of us!”

And maybe the last one, you think. Staying with Jimin has been hard for your heart. You’re supposed to move this year. You’ve searched the possible rooms, looking for extra jobs to afford it, and anything you need to rent the new room. But again, because of the pandemic, that plan will be postponed. There’s no way you would move at the time like this. So, yeah. Maybe this Christmas would be a nice memory. “Fine. So what should we buy then?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with his widening smile. “Should we exchange gifts? What do you want for Christmas?”

You fold your arms, thinking. “Ehm. I know! I read it online earlier this morning, there’s a discount in the supermarket for instant noodles. Can you believe it? Buy three get two for free!”

“That’s not what I meant!” he whines. “Clothes? Books?”

“Not really; Why would I buy clothes when I spent most of my days in the apartment? And besides I’m broke.” Well, you’re not lying. Even though you’re gonna spend Christmas away from your family, it doesn't mean you won’t send them gifts, and with those pricey gifts and delivery fees; yeah, it costs you a little more than you’re expected.

Jimin pouts. “Fine… So no exchanging gifts then. Well, Christmas Eve is tomorrow anyway, there’s no way we can find gifts in such a short notice.”

You poke his sides playfully, “come on don’t be sad. And I remember you said something about baking?”

He smiles widely and rises from the couch. He walks inside his bedroom and returns with a legal pad in his hand. “What about decoration? I believe we can still find a Christmas tree downtown,” he suggests as he scribbles his ideas on the pad.

Your hand automatically stops his moving hand. “Let’s skip the Christmas tree. It’ll be too expensive. How about we just make paper chains or something like that?”

“Why? It’ll be like an investment! We can use it next year.”

“I know, but…” You bite your lips, hesitant to tell him. “It’s just…”

Jimin looks at you for a moment and then draws an X on the pad. “Fine. No decoration. Let’s keep our budget to minimum then. What about food?”

“I’m not sure. With all of the baking we’ll do, it’ll be a mess if we decided to cook too.”

Jimin taps his pencil on his chin. “You’re right. Let’s order pizza and chicken then?”

You give him a thumb up and pat his shoulder. “Okay. We should go shopping in the morning.” A yawn leaves your mouth and you rise from the couch. “Well, I’m going to retire for the night. Good night.”

“So early?” He looks at you with a raised eyebrow and then to your abandoned glass of wine. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

You give him a wave and head to your room. With the weight in your heart, you plop on your bed and sigh. Again, you missed the chance to tell him that you’re going to move out. Your mind wonders whether it’s a good idea to spend Christmas Eve tomorrow with him. Just the thought of that makes your heart race again.

Get your head straight, Y/N!

He is your best friend. Control your feelings!

Just hang in there a little more, Y/N.

Hang in there…

You’re awakened by the sound of metal crashing outside your room. You grunt as you reach the phone, eyes widening when you see that it’s noon already. You rise and walk outside to look for Jimin.

“Hello, Sleepyhead.”

You rub your eyes slowly and stretch your body. You were asleep for more than twelve hours, and instead of energizing you, it physically drained you. Your body aches. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” you ask hoarsely.

Jimin smiles as he hands you a mug of hot chocolate. Even if it’s noon already, it’s still winter and sure a hot beverage wouldn’t hurt. And the time and weather on your phone says it’s actually colder than yesterday, which is why even Jimin wears a thick black turtleneck instead of his usual pajamas. Not that you’re complaining about it. He looks good, like very good. And he just stands out perfectly in your all-white kitchen. “Because I know you’re tired. I feel bad, too, because you did this because I asked you. I’m sorry. And besides, you’re scary when I wake you up by force.”

You sit on the counter, collecting warmth by holding the mug. “Thank you. But don’t feel bad. I agreed to do it, too. So, if you give me fifteen minutes we can go to shopping-”

“That’s not needed anymore.”

Your eyes widen in surprise as your lips touch the hot chocolate, dripping some of it from your mouth. “But.. I thought we’re gonna bake cookies?”

“Yes, we are.” He cleans your chin with his thumb slowly, makes you jolt a little at his touch. The way he licks his thumb casually afterward is not helping at all. “But I already went for groceries!”

“I see, but you should just wait for me. We could go together.” You blow the beverage to cool it down and sip it slower than before.

His hand travels to your cheek and pinches it softly. “That’s fine. So just wake up already and help me bake!”

You look puzzled and yet you walk back again to your room, leaving him humming Christmas songs in the kitchen. You lean on the back of your door after you close it. Your face feels hotter as if you can still feel his fingers on your face. Smooth and warm. The warmth slowly fills your chest and makes you hard to breathe. It’s like magic. And it's even more magical that you still can stand even though your knees are all wobbly.

You shake your head to clear your mind, to clear any unnecessary thoughts, and head to the bathroom. This is going to be a hard day.

Fifteen minutes later, you go back to the kitchen, finding Jimin playing with his iPad. “What cookies should we make?” you ask as you lean on the counter, head propped on your chin. You’re wearing your Christmas sweater that your mom sent you earlier this year. It has a Grinch on the front of it and a huge Christmas tree on the back. It screams ugly in every Christmas sweater contest. You’re supposed to wear this together with your family, sitting together in front of a fireplace. Since it’s not going to happen, at least the sweater can give you some warmth this Christmas.

He lifts his head up and his eyes fall on your green sweater. “It suits you really well, not gonna lie.” He throws his head back in laughter.

His laughter again sways your heart, stealing your breath. You hit him softly on his shoulder and tie your hair loosely in a low ponytail. “Shut up. So what should we make?”

“It’s gingerbread cookies! We can decorate them too. I bought like a dozen cookie cutters just for this day.” He opens a plastic box to show you proudly.

You pick some of the cookie cutters, trying to identify the shapes. “Are you sure you picked the right shapes? Isn’t this like a mermaid-ocean-package?”

“What?” He immediately scans the box and sighs. “Fuck, I’m sure I picked from the right shelf. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? Maybe some people are mixing it up. That’s fine!” You pat his shoulder reassuringly.

Jimin grabs all of the cookie cutters and stuffs them into their box. “Just wait for an hour. I’m gonna have this exchanged.”

You grab his arms to stop him from walking away. “Don’t bother. They’re still cookies and edible even though they’re in different shapes. I mean, mermaids celebrate Christmas too, don’t they? In any case, it doesn’t really matter.”

“It does matter!” He pouts. “It’s our first Christmas together, I want it to be perfect.”

You chuckle. “Why would you want that?”

He sighs and scratches the back of his head. “I just feel we’ve been too distant lately, and you look very tired. I just want to make you happy.”

You freeze for a moment as you look at his face. A hopeful thought sneaks to your mind and you clear it immediately. “We can just make our shapes then. You know, just cut it with a knife or a toothpick or anything.”

He looks you back in the eyes, waiting for another reassurement. “Really?”

You smile. “Yes, it would be fun, making our own shapes. Besides, we don’t need perfect-shaped cookies just to make our Christmas perfect, do we?”

He returns your smile with a wider smile and pulls you into his chest. “Alright. Thank you, Y/N.”

You’re again puzzled with the sudden act and clear your throat as you pat his back. “Alright let’s bake some cookies then.”

He releases you immediately with pinkish cheeks.. “By the way, I’ve already mixed all of the ingredients a few hours ago, just so you know. The dough needed to be chilled.”

“Really? So I’m going to just cut them out and decorate it?”

“Yep.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a bowl of brown mixture. He scoops some flour with his hands to the counter and throws down the cookie dough. “Don’t worry I’ve cleaned the counter a few times.”

You’re not a cook yourself but you know a thing or two about cooking and baking. You baked cookies a lot when you're a kid, but as an adult? Not so much. So you just watch Jimin using his rolling pin to thin the dough with admiration on your face.

“What’re you doing? You should help me!”

“Oh right.” You laugh and walk to the sink to wash your hands. You snatch the rolling pin from his hand and start rolling it slowly. “Let me roll this.”

“Wait a minute.” He walks to the cabinet nearest you and grabs an apron. “Don’t want the Grinch to be dirty.” He unfolds the apron and throws the loop over your head.

You hold a breath when he touches your sides to tie the apron around your waist. You clear your throat just so you can distract yourself from the shivers that come from the feeling of his breath on your neck. “Is this fine?”

He pulls away from you. Looking around your shoulder, he eyes the dough. “I think this is the perfect thickness.”

“So how do you want to shape it?” Your hand moves to the corner of the tempting brown dough to rip it and puts it on your mouth, letting the dough melt on your tongue. You open the drawer to search for a small knife. “I’m thinking a puppy would be cute, but without the proper cutter, I’m afraid it’d turn out horrendous.”

“Oh my God, I just have a nice idea!“ He claps his hands together, eyes twinkling. “Should we have a competition then? ‘Who’d make the best identifiable cookies’. It would be like charades!”

You chuckle. “That’s like totally random. I think you hang out with Taehyung too much.” The second bite you ate is sweeter and all you can taste is just sweetness and the ginger. Did I taste some cinnamon in there?

He smiles proudly. “I think we can ask Taehyung to guess. What topic should we use… Animals would be too easy. How about food?”

“Fine! What’d the winner get?” you ask as your hand moves again towards the dough, but Jimin slaps it lightly.

“Why do you keep eating that? It has raw egg for god’s sake. Anyway, I think...” he rubs his chin and leaves a hint of flour on it, thinking. “What about the loser should grant the winner’s wish?”

You pout and use your sleeve to clean his chin. “A wish? Sure, but we should make some rule-”

“Make that three wishes,” he grins.

“Three??” your jaw drops.

He takes a step forward, forcing you to step back. Your hip bumps the counter as he reaches out his hand. “Are you afraid to lose, Y/N?”

You laugh in amazement. “No. Three wishes just for today,” you reply as you move closer to him and accept his hand. “Deal.”

After hours of baking the cookies, letting them cool off, and decorating them, it’s time to play the cookie charades, as Jimin named it. Both of you have written all of the answers on a piece of paper so it’d be fair, and no one can change the answer later.

Jimin holds his phone as he waits for Taehyung to answer the video calls. Just after a few rings, Taehyung picks up the phone. “What’s up Jimin? Aren’t you with Y/N?”

“Hey Tae!” you wave at the phone when Jimin shows it to you. “What are you doing? We miss you!”

“Nothing. I just played games for twenty -four hours straight so I’m resting my eyes right now. What do you want?”

Jimin clears his throat and faces the camera. “So, Y/N and I are baking cookies, and we want you to guess the shapes. It’s kind of a battle.”

Taehyung grunts. “Why would I want to get involved in your rivalry? It’s so bothersome.”

“If I win I can give you one of my wishes!” you chime in, snatching the phone from Jimin’s hand.

“Yah! That’s bribing.” Jimin yells.

You scoff. “Fine! Pretty please?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Jimin snatches his phone again and flips the camera. “Alright, thirty seconds on the clock each part and you should answer as many cookies as you can. To be fair, we’re not telling you whose cookies they are. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Can we do this immediately?”

You open your timer on your phone and set to thirty seconds. “Alright, one two three. Start!”

The first cookie’s shaped like a circle, but decorated with multiple colors. It has a brown-black stripe, red stripe, and green stripe stacked between two brown-yellowish stripes. “Hmmm, Hamburger?” Taehyung answers.

“Correct!”

The second one is also a circle with a light brown color, with a little orange accent on it. “What’s that… a potato?” he squints his eyes as he looks at his phone screen closely.

“Wrong, it’s a hotteok.”

“The fuck I should know? It’s nothing like hotteok!” Taehyung rants on the other line, seemingly excited about the game.

“Just answer it! Fifteen seconds left!”

The rest fifteen seconds and another thirty seconds flew fast and Jimin concluded the game as he waves to Taehyung. “Alright, Tae. Thank you for playing with us. I hope to see you soon!” Jimin yells.

“So who’s the winner? Ya-” Taehyung asks as Jimin hangs up the phone.

Jimin puts his phone inside his pocket and looks at the answer sheets. “So, the first one has four rights and the second one has three rights. So that means…”

You bite the inside of your cheeks to control your emotion, but looking at Jimin’s face, you’re losing it. “FINE! You win!”

Jimin smiles wider as he jumps happily. “Of course I’d win!”

“I still think that putting Sprite as a question is cheating.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s not even a food!”

He laughs again mockingly, “It is if I say it is.”

You pout. “Fine, whatever. What are your wishes then? Remember, that those wishes are only valid until midnight.”

Jimin walks to the couch and sits with a smug expression on his face. “Let’s start with cleaning all of those cookie sheets and mixing bowls.” He picks up a remote and turns the TV on to play some movies. “Start cleaning, Cinderella!”

You sigh as you look at the piled-up dishes. Why did I even agree in the first place? you mumble quietly as you brush the crumbs from the pan and the hardened icing from the bowls. And the fact that it is filled with icing sugar before only makes it harder to clean. You scowl as you run them under the hot water, leaning in to scrub them more harshly.

“Don’t be mad, Y/N. You can win it next year,” Jimin reassures as he bites into his cookies. His voice is only half-mocking.

You slam the bowl into the sink with a clang, sending a cloud of bubbles across the counter. “Yeah, right. Like I would want to visit your apartment next year.”

“You what?” he asks, his voice blurred with the sound of the song coming from the TV. He turns his head to look at you weirdly.

You freeze, realizing that you just blurted the one thing you don’t want him to know. “Nothing,” you reply as you continue to wash the dishes, avoiding his gaze.

Jimin rises from the sofa and turns the TV off. He walks back to the kitchen and grabs your arm harshly, forcing you to look at him. “What do you mean?” His voice is cold, the smile vanished from his face.

“It’s nothing.” You try to brush his hand away and continue washing the dishes, but his grip tightens.

“I said, what do you mean?”

You take a deep breath. The scrubber slips from your hand under the water as you turn to face him. “I think I’m going to move out from this apartment.”

“What? Why?” His forehead creases. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Not at all. You’re a perfect roommate.” You clear your throat awkwardly. “It’s just, something happened.” You reach for the scrubber again.

He pulls at your sleeve, and you look at him again. “What happened? Is it a money thing? If it is, don’t worry about it. You don’t even have to pay right now. Just tell me.” His mouth is pursed with worry and your head roils with a sudden guilty feeling.

You shake your head weakly. “No, it’s not something like that. I’m fine.”

“Then why are you not telling me? I’m your best friend!”

“IT IS BECAUSE YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND!” you yell, yanking your sleeve from his hand.

“What? What do you mean?” he demands.

You control your breaths. “Nothing.” You turn the faucet off and stomp towards your room. Jimin’s hand grabs you again before you get two steps, stopping you from leaving him. The warmth of his hand seeps into your body. You feel nauseous. You need to stay away from him right now. “I need some time alone.”

He bites his lips, annoyed with your answer. “Well, then you have to tell me what’s wrong.” He steps closer to you, eyes glaring. “It’s my second wish.”

“That’s not fair. I--” Tears threaten to fall at your sudden exposure.

“Tell me, Y/N. You promised me you’d gran-”

“I LIKE YOU, OKAY?” You confess as tears fall from your cheeks. Your knees turn weak after you let it out, and you slump at the counter. The secret that holds your relationship together, that makes you the way it was. It’s over for you and Jimin.

Jimin steps back from you, loosening his grip around your hand. “You what? Then why would you move out?” he asks softly.

Your fists tighten to stop your tears from falling even more. “I tried to not like you, but it is too hard, Jimin. I can’t control my feelings. I’m sorry. I really wanted to be your best friend and also your roommate, but I just ca-”

Your words are interrupted with his lips crashing on yours, catching you off guard. His lips are soft and you can taste the cinnamon-sweetness from the cookies mixed with the saltiness of your tears. Just when you try to comprehend what’s going on, he pulls away. His hands find their rest on your face and cup it gently, swiping any tears leaving from your eyes. He rests his forehead against yours and sighs. “You’re stupid.”

“Wha-what? Why?” you stutter, throat drying because of the sudden closeness.

“Why do you think I chose you to be my roommate?” His warmth spreads to your cheeks, sending another hope to you. His gaze softens and you gather all of your courage to meet him back. “It’s because I like you too.”

Again you freeze on the spot. Eyes widening, breath stopping. And it makes Jimin giggle. “I always liked you, Y/N.” He leans in and gives a chaste kiss on your nose and moves downward to plant another on your lips.

“Bu-but I thought you.. With Jisoo….” There’s no way Jimin would like you. It doesn’t make any sense. You pull away from him. “Stop playing with me.”

Jimin pulls you in his chest, resting his chin on your head. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Y/N. There’s never been another woman. It's always been you.” He takes a deep breath, and continues. “Jisoo is my cousin, and she knows about my feelings.”

“Cousin?”

“Yes. She sometimes crashes at our apartment when she has a fight with her boyfriend, who is, by the way, none other than our dear friend Taehyung.” Jimin smiles and pulls away, but keeps his arms holding your waist close to him. “And even though she sleeps here, I always take the couch. She always leaves early in the morning because Taehyung picks her up. Their relationship is a little weird, if I may say so.”

“Taehyung?”

“Look I can even call my family members just to prove it to you, if it’s what you want.”

You shake your head, looking lost. You know Jimin is telling you the truth, but still you can’t believe that he likes you. Like he actually likes you.

“I was going to tell you tonight, but this somehow happened.” He calls your name softly to gain your attention. “So yeah, I like you a lot. And don’t ask me ‘since when’, because I don’t even know the answer. It just grows each day and each moment I spend with you.”

And just like that relief washes in you along with your tears. All of the thoughts you have of losing Jimin are vanished. All of your doubts are answered. You bury your head in his shoulder.

Jimin laughs and hugs you tighter. “Why are you crying?” He strokes your back to calm you down as you sob in his chest. “It must have been bothering you a lot, does it? I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you this.”

“I’m not stupid.” You sniffle as you put your arms around him, hugging him back.

“Sure, you’re not.” He laughs again and kisses the top of your head lovingly. “So, here’s my third wish.”

Your eyes widen with the sudden change of topic, looking at him in confusion. “Like right now? Wha-what is it?”

He looks directly to your eyes, gaze softens each time he takes a deep breath. And with this proximity, you can hear his heart racing inside his chest, playing the rhythm answered with your own beat. Not even a Christmas carol can top this symphony. Not when the world is only yours and Jimin. Not when is just you and Jimin, and nothing else matters.

And finally, Jimin opens his lips slowly. “Be my girlfriend?”

Thank you for reading! Hope you all have a merry christmas!!

#bwcssy2 #btswriterscollective #bts jimin #jimin au #jimin scenario #btsgoldnet #btsbookclub #thehouseofbangtan #networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #btsguild #thebtsficarchive #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #bighitcity #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #bangtanfairygarden #purplearmynet #armiesnet #heartforbts

[mermaidsneedwater]

christmas with you | chapter four

series page

tag list: @yup-indecisive-girl-cece

Rockin' around the Christmas tree

When Dorine had told you that they would be having a small family dinner, you should’ve realized it would’ve been anything but that.

Mark’s three other siblings and their respective families had all made their way to the house at around five o’clock.

Mark’s younger brother Joey stood by the fireplace with Mark and his father, Raymond who you’d met a little before the party started.

Like Dorine, Raymond was friendly, but he didn’t pry too much and didn’t bother to ask you any questions when you’d met for the first time.

Mark’s eldest sister Grace laughed in the kitchen with her wife and Dorine.

Mark seemed to be more like Grace, she was quiet but observant. She held out a hand for you to shake when she’d met you and made small talk, asking about the weather in Korea

Feeling out of place, you tried to make eye contact with Mark, hoping he’d come rescue you.

“Y/N!” Dorine called out from the kitchen. “Come join us.”

Grateful, you immediately rushed to the kitchen. “Can I help with something? Should I lay placemats on the table?”

Laughing, Dorine shook her head, “Oh no dear, you just seemed a little lost.”

Slightly embarrassed, you blushed. “I guess I didn’t really realize how big the family was.”

“Even Patricia didn’t realize.” Grace chimed in. “Her first time at a Tuan Christmas was quite a shock for her too. Don’t worry, you get used to it eventually right babe?”

Squeezing her partner’s hand, Grace kissed the back of it. Patricia smiled at Grace and then at you, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You two are just adorable.” Dorine cooed. “I only hope Mark settles down eventually too.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you took in her knowing glance. She thought that Mark was going to marry you?

“Ha ha ha.” You faked an awkward laugh. “Anyway, how about those placemats?”

Grace, Patricia, and Dorine laughed at you.

“I can see why Mark likes you.” Grace grinned. “Here,”

She got up from her seat in the small table at the kitchen and headed over to a cabinet. Handing you a stack of placemats, you thanked her and scurried off to set the table.

Laying a mat at each seat, you were so concentrated on your task you didn’t even notice the hand on your arm.

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N?”

Whipping around, you were relieved to see Mark.

“I’m sorry I left you alone like that, my dad was just asking me about work stuff.” He apologized. “I hope my mom and Grace didn’t trouble you too much?”

“Not at all, they’re wonderful.” You smiled.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Mark grabbed a few of the mats and helped you finish your task.

“Y/N!” A voice boomed.

Mark and you looked to see Raymond standing at the bar.

“Can I make you a drink? I make an excellent tequila sunrise.” He offered.

“Oh! Uh, no thank you Raymond.” You said politely.

“What? Come on! Don’t be shy, Mark do you want something?” He asked again.

“I’ll have whiskey on the rocks, thanks dad.” He answered. “Have something Y/N.”

“That tequila sunrise did sound pretty tempting…” You gave in.

“Coming right up!” Raymond said happily as he got to work on making your drinks.

“Tammy, Get everyone at the table, we’re bringing the food out!” you heard Dorine call out from the kitchen.

You soon heard the pitter patter of everyone’s feet making their way to the dining table.

“I’m starving.” Joey said, taking a seat at the table.

Unsure of where to sit, Mark caught your wrist and brought you to sit next to him.

As the food was brought out and everyone took their seats, Raymond tapped his glass of whiskey with his knife.

“Everyone, I’d like to make a little toast.” he started, raising his glass.

All the people gathered at the table suddenly became silent, eagerly waiting to hear Raymond’s speech.

“First, let us thank God for the wonderful food and people gathered tonight. I can’t tell you how overjoyed Dorine and I are to have all our children back under one roof tonight.”

“Amen!” Dorine cheered from across the table. “My babies are all home.”

“Yes, and we welcome everyone gathered at our table tonight, especially this year’s newbie, Y/N!” Raymond raised his glass in your direction.

Shy at the attention, you blushed.

“Cheers everyone! Let’s eat.”

+++

After drinks, laughter, and more than enough food, the Tuan clan congregated in the living room. Though California wasn’t known for it’s white Christmases, the fifty degree weather at night was more than enough reason to get the fireplace started.

You watched as Mark helped Joey place a few logs inside to get the fire started, out of the corner of your eye you could see Kylia and Leila peeking around underneath the Christmas tree.

“What do you girls think you’re doing?” Raymond asked his granddaughters.

“We just wanted to check if Santa came early.” Leila said cheekily. “We thought maybe he left something under the tree early.”

“Santa Claus only comes on Christmas night, not a day earlier or later.” He explained firmly. “We have to leave milk and cookies for him,”

The adults in the room exchanged some glances before chuckling at the sight of a pouting Kylia and Leila. As the laughter died down, you could feel all the eyes on you.

“So Y/N,” Joey started. “I don’t know anything about you and Mark. How did you guys meet?”

This was easy, you and Mark had agreed to keep the lies to a minimum so you replied honestly. “I live in the apartment across from him, and we were friendly. Sometimes he’d help me carry my groceries in.”

“How chivalrous.” Joey mocked his older brother.

“I raised him right!” Dorine chimed in.

“So then how did you guys start dating?” He pressed further.

You glanced at Mark as his eyes widened slightly, the two of you hadn’t talked about a specific story yet…

“Um, I bumped into him with my pizza and ended up dropping it.” You started, embellishing an already partly true story. “So then he offered to buy me a new one and that was our first date…”

“I thought you guys met at a mutual friend’s Christmas party last year?” Tammy frowned. “Isn’t that what you said Mark?”

Mark jumped up, ready to clarify “Yeah, what I meant was, that was the first time we met, but then our first date was when we had pizza, right baby?”

“Yeah, right.” You nodded fervently.

“Baby?” Joey raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you two just the sweetest.”

“Quit teasing him,” Tammy scolded her younger brother. “Do we say anything to you when you start gushing about your girlfriend?”

That put an end to Joey’s mocking real quick.

“Well I think they’re just adorable!” Dorine smiled.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say, thank god Mark brought you home.” Grace spoke up and turned to you, “we were all worried he was going to die alone at the rate he was going.”

The room rumbled with a chorus of laughter.

“Hey!” Mark frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Raymond assured his son. “All we’re saying is that we’re glad you found someone as kind and beautiful as Y/N to share your life with.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

The night soon came to a close with everyone shuffling out of the house. At your insistence, Raymond and Dorine retired to their bedroom for the night. You and Mark worked quietly, cleaning up whatever mess had been left behind.

You stood at the sink, rinsing plates and loading them into the dishwasher. You could hear Mark shuffling around the room and collecting the extra glasses left around.

“What are you thinking about?” Mark asked.

Snapped out of your trance, you stood a little straighter and placed the dish you were holding into the dishwasher.

“I’m not thinking about anything.” You denied.

“Y/N, you were rinsing that plate for five minutes. You were definitely thinking about something, just tell me.” Mark insisted.

You silently stacked the rest of the glasses into the dishwasher before closing the machine and starting it up.

Walking to the front of the house, you opened the door and sat on the steps of the porch with Mark following closely behind.

“Okay, spit it out.” Mark said, folding his hands in his lap.

“You’re very close with your family… Aren’t you?” You said slowly.

“Yeah, they’re my anchor. I don’t know what I’d do without them.” He nodded.

“You’re lucky.” You told him. “Not everyone has a family like yours.”

“I know.” He admitted quietly.

“Do you? Because I don’t think you understand” You frowned. You paused before collecting yourself, “I’m sorry. It’s just, with everything that happened with my sister, I guess I just didn’t realize how bad things were until I met your family.”

Mark placed a hand over yours, “It’ll be okay.”

“Will it?” You asked. “I think I’m just starting to realize how alone I am.”

“You’re not alone Y/N.” Mark said firmly. “You have me and my family.”

You snorted at his response, “You mean the one we’re lying to?”

Letting out a breath, Mark shook his head, “Yes.”

“Why Mark? Why are we doing this? All they want is to see you happy. I don’t deserve their kindness, you should’ve brought someone you actually care about.” You told him.

“I care about you.” Mark frowned. “You’re my friend.”

“You know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s just for a few more days. Look, it’s already the 20th, we just have until the 26th and then we’ll be back in Korea before you know it.”

“I don’t know Mark…” You trailed off. It had only been one day and you were already doubting if you could do this.

“Please Y/N, I need you.” Mark looked into your eyes.

“Okay.” you sighed in defeat. “Alright, let’s just hope that the next few days go by quickly.”

chapter three | chapter five

#mark tuan fic #mark tuan #got7 #mark got7 #got7 mark #got7 fic #got7 drabbles #got7 fluff #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 masterlist #mnw works

[fireheartfaery]

Day 10: “Can you quit being sappy for five seconds?”

masterlist; my links

sorry if the editing is trash i’m almost black out drunk (blame @nishlicious-01 and co)

Elain's heart is so full from the smiling kindergarteners and the paint splotches covering her jeans —it was art day at the school— that it takes her a second to realize just how cold and desolate her apartment feels. She shivers as she tosses her keys on the counter and switches the kitchen light on.Despite the warm yellow glow the rest of the house is still dark and foreboding. The floor to ceiling windows high above the city seem to make the shadows of buildings crawl across her space.

Inheriting this place from her late father was both a gift and a curse. She wasn't used to this life of grand and tall, having grown up in a quiet cottage on the outskirts of the Vanserra Forest with her sisters and their mother. But her father, in his passing, had asked her to have this place, and when she had gotten a job in the city it seemed to all fall into place. A little too nicely she sometimes thought but it immediately came with a flood of regret for being so ungrateful. So she sucks it up and lives in this big loud place with its large concrete slabs and the glass that refracts the light instead of letting it melt.

She should visit home.

Instead she moves through the apartment, switching on lights and talking softly to the plants scattered like jewels around her home.

Hello little Thea, glad to see the burns are clearing up.

And buttercup, oh you are sprouting the prettiest flowers

Ah and Nicolas you look a little down? She frowns at that, making a note to give him some water after she showers. I know how you feel buddy, she strokes a leaf.

Then she's at her room and she's pulling off the button down and unclipping the bra and sighing at the freedom as each item comes off. Her shower is steaming, enveloping her like the morning fog when she used to skip to school. By the time she steps out, the floor is slick with the dampness of the steam, and her stomach is rumbling loudly. Guess it's takeout tonight; she can't be bothered to cook for one today. Friday evenings were for snuggling up in her giant knitted blanket, switching the TV to some horror/mystery and gauging on popcorn and chocolate.

Her plans certainly start out the right way. The popcorn is popped, the milk duds box pulled apart so she didn't have to shove her hand all the way inside and the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. But just as she puts her choice of movie on there's a ringing at her door.

Her eyes immediately dart to the clock in the kitchen, the crease between her brows deepening as she sees the hand strike nine. The doorbell rings again and she reasonably argues with herself that a murderer would not be so polite as to buzz. Nonetheless she makes sure the baseball bat is sitting in the unnecessarily tall vase near the front door.

With slow, nervous movements she unlocks the door, poking her head around. And laughs herself silly when she sees Chaol, her next door neighbor and fast friend in this strange city, standing in the other side.

He looks confused as he stares at her, doubled over, tears pooling in her eyes, laughing at her own jumping mind and absurd theories.

"You alright, love?" It's the first words he ever said to her. The day she moved in, boxes stacked past her head, wobbling down the corridor like a newborn deer.

"Hello Chaol," She sighs the last of her laughter away, "Glad you're not a murderer."

"Glad I'm meeting the bare minimum." He raises an eyebrow. "Can I come in?"

"Did you bring me chocolate?" She demands.

"Something better." He winks.

Apparently in the four months they'd known each other he had her pinned down, because she falls for it hook, line and sinker.

"What?" She squeals, "Tell me!"

“You have to let me in first."

She steps aside, practically bouncing as he walks in but just as she's closing the door she spots her dinner walking up the hallway.

Moments later, pizza boxes in hand, she settles back on the couch, her leg pressing against the warmth of Chaol's

She offers him a box and digs into the three cheeses, an expectant look on her face.

Chaol isn't even looking at her, transfixed on the pizza in front of him, eyes shaped like hearts as he stares at the cheesy, pepperoni goodness.

"Can you stop looking at the pizza like that and tell me the exciting thing!" She scolds, jabbing him in the side.

"I am having a moment." He pouts, and it reminds her of her toddlers at the kindergarten.

With an eye roll she shoves another slice into her mouth and pinches his side.

He glares, already reaching to retaliate. Her brown eyes narrow in what she hopes is a menacing glare. Instead she finds he's fighting a smirk.

"Tell me before I put on a horror movie and make you watch it!" The threat works because his own eyes, a bronze to her hazel, widen in fear.

"Okay, okay," He turns to face her, "I got two tickets to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show on Broadway."

Her scream is enough to deafen the country, and if this fancy apartment wasn't soundproof it might have. Unfortunately for Chaol he was in the blast zone. The scream reverberates through his skull. And then Elain is throwing herself at him, pizza boxes crashing to the floor, and her arms wrapped around his neck.

There are definitely tears in her eyes but later when they recount the story she'll deny every drop.

For now she squeezes his neck, muttering unintelligible excitement against his skin. Her heart is beating to the speed of a race car and her lungs feel like they've taken flight without her.

The one good thing about living in this massive city is that she can watch the productions she's only ever seen on a scratchy VHS when the signal in the cottage was good enough. It's been her one true burning need since arriving, and something she quickly spilled to Chaol. In fact it was the very first night she came, after they had carried all the boxes in and he'd sat on the floor with her eating chow-mein and showing her how to use chopsticks.

His arms are warm around her back, fingers brushing her waist as he hugs her to him, just as fiercely. She pulls back a little, only enough so she can see his face. Their lips are a breath away from brushing against each other. She doesn't think about it.

"Thank you," There's definitely tears in her eyes.

"It is your favourite one yes?"

She just nods, too choked up to respond verbally.

"Want to know when it is?" He grins, and she thinks it rivals the morning sun. "Next week Friday."

Her gasp is soft, sharp with surprise. "You didn't—"

"Oh I absolutely did," His grin widens, and it glows like stars. His hand, large and slightly calloused, comes up to brush strands of hair out her face. He looks at her so gently. They are still so close

"On my birthday?"

"The very day," He taps her nose. "And guess what?"

"Oh gods," She groans, burying her face into his neck. He smells like the forest, and the faintest hints of soap. "I can't take anymore things. I'm going to be a pile of mush soon."

He pokes her side, smiling delightedly, "You get to meet the cast."

She bursts into tears. "I hate you." He kisses the top of her head. "You're the worst person in the world." He strokes her hand across her back. "How dare you make me cry!" He laughs softly; she feels the sound in her stomach.

"Can you quit being sappy for five seconds?" She glares, tear-stained cheeks nullifying her doe eyes, "So I can be mad at you for making me blubber."

"I figured you deserved something special, this being your first birthday away from home in a big city you don't know."

She kisses his cheek, ignoring the blush that covers their cheeks. "Thank you."

"Anything for you little flower." He swipes a thumb across her cheek, cradling her jaw in his hand.

"Anything," She grins.

He groans, knowing what's coming. "Almost anything. I'm not watching horror with you."

She pouts her lower lip, making her brown eyes huge with plead. "I'll give you all the milk duds for it."

He smirks, turning his head to see the box which had been scattered in her little meltdown. "How about something sweeter?"

"Than milk duds?" She frowned, "I'm not sure you should even be eating candy that's sweeter than milk duds. I feel like that's the fast track to—"

His laughter cuts her off, and she frowns at him, feeling his ribs shudder with amusement underneath her.

"What's so funny?" She demands.

"Not candy Elain," He swipes more strands from her face. He always wants to see her. The freckles across her cheeks from far too much time in the sun. And the slight dip in the bridge of her nose where she fell onto a step when she was little and managed to chip off her skin. And the slight rose tint, brushing right down her neck that makes her look like she was permanently blushing. He especially liked to see her eyes, as he had drunkenly confessed one evening, because they reminded him of the warmth he felt on his back when he was at the beach or going on a run or simply standing in the street. A comforting weight, that wrapped its honeyed heat around you.

"A kiss," He stares at her lips, back into her very soul, down to the beating pulse at her neck. "Can I have a kiss?"

"Yes," She doesn't even have to think about it. She doesn't want to. "Kiss me Chaol Westfall."

And unbeknownst to them, when their lips meet, the garden growing inside her New York flat comes to life. They are the sun. They are light itself. They are—

"Dammit Chaol!" She gasps, breaking them apart, "I forgot to water Nicolas."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Tags:

@nishlicious-01

@simping4bookboisngrls

#Elain x Chaol #Chaol x elain #Valentines day crackship challenge #Crackships keep fandom alive #Day 10 #Ahhh we're almost done????????? #FDS fanfic #FDS series

[marvelmadam08]

Meanwhile, In Quarantine...

Part of 100 Days of Marvel

Prompt 7: Well which is it? I’m getting nervous. // Prompt 79: You just ignored rule one through five. // Prompt 39: We’re gonna die here. // Prompt 11: I remind myself murder, even attempted, is illegal.

A/N: I’m on day seven or nine (honestly I lost count) of my quarantine, and I am slowly loosing my mind. Then I thought ‘What would the Avengers do during this quarantine?

~~~~~

One Week Earlier

“Miss (Y/N), Mr. Stark is calling for a mandatory team meeting in the common area.” Friday announces to you, interrupting your workout

“Right now?” you huffed out

“Yes, he says it’s urgent.”

You were the last to show up, annoyed and sweaty. Nat seemed to be the only other one who looked as annoyed as you, with her hair wrapped in a towel. Bucky, Sam and Steve lounged on the couch, while Clint was sharpening his arrows. Wanda and Vision stood off to the side to themselves. Thor sat next to Peter, who was hunched over his homework and Bruce stood next to Tony by the muted television displaying the news.

“Everyone here?” Tony pointed to everyone “Good, well I’m not sure if you all heard about this whole ‘virus’ that’s going around.”

“The Coronavirus?” Steve asked

“That’s the one,” Bruce nods “there have been a few cases popping up throughout the city, as well as the country, and within the next few days the entire country is going to be on mandatory quarantine.”

“Quarantine?” Peter spoke up “Like we can’t leave the country?”

“No, as in you can’t leave your house. And that includes The Compound and Tower as well.”

The room erupted in numerous hisses of disagreement. 

“Half of us don’t even need to be in quarantine.” Nat stated loudly

“Yeah, stupid super soldiers.” you muttered

“That’s uncalled for.” Bucky gave you a stink eye 

“Doesn’t matter, we’re being order by the government and Fury to stay put.” Tony tells you all “Parker, I’m only gonna say this once, you to stay put. No school, no parties, no dates.”

“But here at The Compound would be more ideal, seeing as it’s away from the city.” Bruce adds softly

“So we’re stuck here?” Wanda asks “For how long?”

“Well they say the quarantine could last between two weeks to two months.”

“Well which is it? I’m getting nervous.” Sam unmuted the TV

‘....stores have already begun to run out of water, toilet paper, and even baby wipes...’

Day 1

You, Wanda and Laura (Clint’s wife) were organizing the last of the quarantine supplies. Clint couldn’t stomach the idea of not being with them during the whole pandemic, so he asked to bring them up until everything blew over.

“Okay so the kitchen is fully stocked, all the cleaning supplies are put away.” Wanda sighed “It’s kind of scary, how everyone is reacting out there.”

“Yeah, I had to wrestle some hand sanitizer from some grown woman wearing a face mask and rubber gloves.” Laura admits

“I wish I could’ve seen that, since you had Nate strapped to your chest.” 

“Speaking of, I should go check on him.” 

Just as Laura walked out, Steve, Bucky and Peter walked in with large pizzas in their hands.

“This is the last of take out for the next few weeks. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Steve tells us

Everyone swarmed for their chosen slices before gravitating towards the TV to get an update on the quarantine. You were instructed to stay inside, only to leave unless it was absolutely necessary, and then return back to respective homes. Keep your contact with other people down to a minimum, and overall to sanitize and wash often. 

“This is what I do on a regular basis.” Bucky scoffed

“Same.” Wanda and Nat chimed in

“This is gonna be so cool, like one big party.” Peter clapped

A few of the other groaned at Peter’s optimism.

“The kid is right,” Tony agreed “most times we’re on missions for weeks at a time. How is this any different?”

“He does make a point.” Vision nods “And surely there’s enough room for everyone to find their own thing.”

Day 4

You glared at Bucky, who was tapping his pen against his teeth, while trying to figure out the crossword puzzle in front of him. You were trying to do silent yoga, silent being the key word.

“Barnes, can you stop that?” you said through your teeth

“Stop what?” he paused

“Tapping the pen on your teeth.”

“It helps me think. Why aren’t you in the gym?”

“Because I can’t take Steve and Nat talking smack when they spar each other. And Sam is playing his music too loud, and his room is next to mine.”

“And it’s the tapping that bothers you?”

“Forget it.” you closed you eyes again and worked on tuning Bucky out

Tony hurried in, scanning around the room “Has anyone seen Parker? I can’t find him and neither can his aunt. (Y/L/N)?”

“Shh, doing silent yoga.” You hushed “And no, I haven’t.”

“He left.” Clint spoke from above the rest of you. There was a small whirling noise, and metal scrapping against more metal, then Clint and his daughter poked their head out from the vent above us.

“What do you mean he left?”

“He said something about building a death star.” The younger Barton, Lila, answered

“Friday, override and track the kid’s phone for me.” 

“Of course Mr. Stark.”

Tony turned his attention to the TV, tapping on his phone and started to call Peter over video. At this point you gave up on silent yoga and just laid out on the mat. Peter’s face popped up on the screen but he wasn’t looking at his phone 

“Trust me, they don’t even know I’m gone.” he told someone off screen 

“Hello Mister Parker.” Tony waves

“Mr. Stark!” He hurried to pick up his phone “Hey, hi... um that’s so funny I was just about to come down to the lab, from my room.... which is where I am.... right now.”

“Oh you’re in your room? Not at Ned’s place building legos?”

He paused “No? I just got so bored! And there were so many rules to just stay in.”

“There were six rules max, and you just ignored rule one through five!”

“Are you sure he’s not your kid?” you chuckled

Day 7

“Twenty-three bottles of pop on the wall.” Sam half sung, eyelids closed, while rocking Nate to sleep

Steve and Bucky were each cuddling a plush stuffed animal on the floor. Morgan ran back and forth between poking Steve with a wooden spoon and the spot where she had a pile of cookies waiting on a plate. And Lila and Cooper were on their phones, headphones in, and not paying attention to their surroundings.

“What the hell you guys?” Nat groaned

“Ooh Auntie Nat said a bad word.” Morgan giggled

“Hey Monster.”

“Auntie (Y/N)!” Morgan jumped over Bucky and ran over to climb up your side until she reached your shoulders. “Guess what, I got to have cookies and chicken nuggets, gummies and a bunch of soda.”

“Nat? (Y/N)?” Bucky lifted his head from the floor, a flattened gummy beard on the other side of his cheek “Please tell me the others are back too.”

“On the contrary, Clint and Tony wanted to know if you wouldn’t mind watching the kids a little while longer.” Nat went to relieve Sam from baby duty “Tony talked to the mayor and got her to extend the quarantine curfew for their double date night.”

The three men groaned, you swore you saw a tear in Steve’s eye.

“We’re gonna die here.” Sam curled into a ball 

“Why did we agree to babysit?” Steve spoke into the stuffed penguin he held 

“Nat, maybe we should help them out.” You held Morgan tightly while she flipped upside down from your shoulders “They’re only men.”

“When the Earth spins, how do we know when we’re upside down?” Morgan poked you in the back 

“Tell you what, clean up your mess, we’ll go get in our pj’s and then I’ll tell you.” you carefully set her back down on the floor, she ran off, picking up her toys and stray snacks 

“Coop, Lila, your homework better be done, because if I have to check myself-.” Nat started. 

They jumped up from their seats and rushed out the room, Steve looked up at you and Nat in awe, Nate fast asleep in her arms.

“How did you-”

“We have a way with kids, don’t take it personally.” 

“Done!” Morgan cheered before pulling at your arm “Can we get in our pj’s now?”

Nat chuckled “Let’s go princess, (Y/N) will meet us there. You can help me get Nate ready for bed.”

Morgan took Nat’s free hand and skipped along side her. You took the stuffed animals and blankets from the guys.

“How did four children manage to out-do two super soldiers and a former air force vet?” you asked

“They’re small, but stealthy.” Sam yawned “Morgan has been asking us that spinning Earth question for hours.”

“I tried to explain how the Earth rotates but she told me I was wrong.” Bucky added

“Oh, it’s a joke. How do you know when the Earth turned upside down?” you paused, waiting for one of them to guess the answer “Fall time.”

Day 12

“What is this called again?” Thor points to Peter’s phone screen

“Twitter.” 

“Twitter? Like the sound a bird makes? Oh and there’s a symbol of a bird there.” he laughed “Humans are so creative. Tell me Son of Stark, what is Twitter’s purpose?”

“Uh.... basically you just post whatever’s on your mind.” Peter handed over his phone to Thor “Sometimes people will like it, and retweet it, or leave a comment.”

“Please tell me you didn’t make Thor a Twitter page.” You spared a glance from your book

“He asked me to show him. What’s the worse that could happen?”

One Hour Later

“Who gave Thor a Twitter page?” Steve marched into the kitchen

You immediately point to Peter.

“He wanted to know about social media. I didn’t think it’d do any harm.” Peter blurted out

“What did he do?” You asked

“He keeps posting.” Steve scrolled through the tablet in his hand “Things like ’What is black twitter?’, ‘poptarts and coffee’, ‘Just noticed how Director Fury sounds like the freeze man in this Disney movie’, ‘Over heard Natasha and Wanda judging who had the best ass. Barnes or Rogers. Clearly it’s me’ He’s trending.”

“Steve it’s harmless fun, he’s excited to be apart of Midgard culture.” you dismissed “Or are you upset because you weren’t voted for the best bum?”

“You should see his latest, and most liked, tweet.” Steve handed the tablet to you with a smirk

“‘Pretty sure (Y/N) and Barnes are dating. How else do you explain their sexual tension?’ I’m gonna kill you Parker.” You went to grab Peter but Steve pulled you away at the last second

“You don’t mean that.” Peter started to back out of the kitchen “Do you?”

“Who gave Thor a Twitter?” Bucky spoke from the other room

“I can give you a ten second head start.” Steve warns Peter

Day 15

“I can’t take this anymore, no missions, no take out, I can’t even go get a freaking smoothie.” You paced from one end of your room to the other “I thought this thing was only suppose to be two weeks.”

“Well Tony said two weeks or two months.” Bucky lounged on your bed, playing with the rubic’s cube “Looks like it’s gonna be two months.”

“How are you staying calm?”

“I remind myself murder, even attempted, is illegal. Plus I’ve been in isolation most of my adult life, so this doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Right.” you said softly “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m complaining about being stuck in here, for my health when you’ve had it way worse.”

“Hey,” he caught your hand and pulled you closer “Don’t apologize, I know you didn’t mean any harm. And you tend to get cabin fever when we go on long surveillance missions. These next few days are gonna fly by, trust me.”

He trailed his hands up and down your arms, traveling to your waist and under your shirt.

“Uh-huh Barnes, not again.” you pulled away slightly “Vision and Wanda almost caught us last time.”

“Because you weren’t quiet.” he kissed up your torso

“No, because you dragged me into a linen closet for wearing shorts.”        

Bucky gave you a small pout “I’m from the 1940′s doll, I fantasized about your calves when I first met you. And that we’re... is this considered dating or are we just messing around during the lock down?”

“I hope this means we’re dating.” you combed his hair back with your fingers “I’m not the kind of girl that you hump and dump.”

“Hump and what?”

You chuckled “Nevermind.” You straddled his waist, he gripped yours a little tighter “So Sergeant, you gonna take me on a date after this quarantine?”

“I’ll take you to Rome as long as you keep calling me ‘Sergeant’ doll.” he left soft kisses on your neck

“Mmm.” 

“(Y/N).” Steve knocked on your door “Have you seen Bucky? I’m looking for him.”

“Nope, haven’t seen him.” Bucky pulled your shirt over your head, and tried to add to the bite marks he left the other day, but Steve wasn’t letting up.

“You know where he might be?”

You rolled your eyes and made Bucky stop “Have you checked the garage?”

“Why would he be in the garage?”

��Steve, pal, can it wait?” Bucky shouted “I kinda got my hands full in here.”

“Oh.” You could only imagine how red Steve’s face was at that moment. 

“You are horrible James Barnes.” you giggled

“Sergeant.” he corrected you in a low growl

“Sergeant.” you brought your lips down to his, quickly fighting for dominance in the kiss. Bucky flipped you over, the bed squeaking under your shared weight

“Uh- should I go now?” Steve asked

#marvel #quarantine #Bucky Barnes #sam wilson #tony stark #100 days of productivity #coronavirus #spiderman #Sebastian Stan #bucky x reader #black twitter #Thor Odinson #clint barton #natasha romanoff #Black Widow #marvel studios

[farmhandler]

Bittersweet

Bittersweet

Rating: M

Pairing: Sendak/Shiro

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Sendak, Bottom!Shiro

CH: 8/?

WC: 5K~

Read on AO3 | Read the whole series

A/N: I did forget to post ch7 on here so go read that first!!! Enjoy ch8~

Hearing his voice after so long was tougher than Shiro would have imagined. It didn’t help that when Sendak picked up only two rings in, the first thing out of his mouth was “Shiro."

There was no hello, no question as to who was calling or what he might want. Just his name, breathed with reverence.

“Hi,” Shiro said, pausing after. He was still driving, so he had the road to focus on and keep himself from shooting his phone constant glances. “So, um, hey. It’s been a while.”

Sendak didn’t say anything, which boded well.

“I was wondering. I mean—I got the call from Ulaz. But that’s not why I’m calling,” he hastened to add. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel to help keep himself calm. “Though I wasn’t expecting that. You still find ways to surprise me sometimes.”

More silence. Shiro licked his lips.

“How are you doing? You haven’t had any issues since I saw you last?”

Immediately Shiro wanted to slap himself. I know you almost died, but how’s it going?

Still there was no response. He glanced at his phone, but he wasn’t muted.

Did Sendak not want to talk to him that much? His fingers went tight around his steering wheel. Shiro was starting to suspect that calling Sendak had been a mistake. If he was going to give him the silent treatment after they had agreed to a break, then maybe they weren’t ready to have this conversation.

He was about to say as much when he heard Sendak’s voice crackle to life from his speakers.

“I’m doing well,” Sendak said, in a tone Shiro wasn’t sure he’d ever heard. His voice sounded wet, like he was seconds from crying. “Are you…” There was a painfully long pause, and when Sendak continued, his voice broke. “Are you well?”

A wave of longing and grief slammed into Shiro so hard that his knuckles gripping the steering wheel went white. He swallowed a few times before answering.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Sendak replied with immediate understanding. There was no need to ask what Shiro meant. And this time, he sounded much more collected. “I would like that. I would—” he paused. Shiro prayed he wasn’t about to start crying because he didn’t think he could handle that, and he still needed to see to be able to drive. “I would like to see you.”

“We can do that.” Shiro hesitated, but couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I’d like to see you, too.” More than ever. “Where do you want to meet?” Tapping his fingertips against the wheel, Shiro considered his options. There weren’t many. He would prefer it to be private. “…My apartment?”

“I will take you out.” Shiro opened his mouth, but Sendak was still talking hurriedly, likely anticipating his response. “To a local eatery. It would be a neutral space. For both of us.”

Oddly touched by the consideration, Shiro blinked at the road slowly. His thoughtful tone was unexpected but not unwelcome.

“That sounds like a good idea. What time works for you? Assuming you’re working the same schedule, how about we meet at seven on Friday?”

Friday was still several days away which would give Shiro plenty of time to prepare.

“Friday it is, then.”

“Friday.” Shiro nodded to no one. He felt the sudden urge to keep the conversation going and keep Sendak on the phone. He wanted to say what was on his mind; he missed him, he loved him. But those weren’t the things he needed to say in that moment.

“See you then, Sendak,” Shiro said instead. It took all his willpower to hang up.

Shiro didn’t think he’d been this nervous to see Sendak since the first day they met.

He had changed his clothes four times—the first two because he felt he was trying too hard, and the last one because he thought maybe he looked like he wasn’t trying hard enough. He didn’t want Matt or anyone to know what he was doing in case it gave him second thoughts, so he was going at it alone.

This is ridiculous, he thought. He lifted a black turtleneck he was considering. Spring had not yet sprung, so he still had time to wear warmer clothing. But if they were going to sit inside, drinking hot drinks and eating hot food, he knew he might become uncomfortably warm. With their conversation looming overhead, he anticipated being sweaty enough.

Shiro ended up wearing one of his favorite leather jackets with a long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. Midway into the relationship Sendak had bought him an expensive, very nice leather jacket, but he didn’t want to wear anything Sendak had given him. They needed to be on equal, even ground for this conversation.

With his wallet, keys, and a manila folder in hand, Shiro went to their meeting spot early. It always seemed like Sendak had to tear himself away from his work, so he anticipated waiting a while.

Much to his surprise, half an hour early wasn’t early enough. When he walked into the pizza place and looked around, he spotted a familiar figure seated near the back.

Sendak sat in a booth by himself, casually scrolling through his pad. He didn’t see Shiro come in, but it wouldn’t be long until he smelled him, so Shiro took the opportunity to watch him and take in the sight he hadn’t seen in almost two months.

God, he had missed him. Two months was enough time to bend the longing into a fierce ache.

Sendak was wearing a sweater that somehow fit his frame perfectly. It was black, which came to no surprise, and the tufts of fur peeking out from the edges of the sweater were too adorable for words.

Keep it together, Shiro. You’re still supposed to be angry. At least a little.

While Shiro had been deliberating how to best approach (aside from the obvious), Sendak had spotted him. The moment his eyes locked onto Shiro he sat up straight, setting his pad down and staring at Shiro with an intensity that made his face begin to flush red.

He stood from the table just as Shiro waved and began walking over. Sendak’s eyes never left his.

“Hey, Sendak,” Shiro greeted once he was close enough. “It’s—it’s good to see you.”

His greeting fell somewhat flat. And upon closer inspection, it was clear that Sendak had not been taking care of himself properly. If this were their first meeting, Shiro wouldn’t have been able to tell. But they had been dating for months, and he knew what his fur looked like when it was kept up at the bare minimum. Brushed and shiny, but only on the surface.

There was no point in acknowledging what he saw though, so when Sendak repeated his sentiment he just nodded.

“I took the liberty of ordering ahead so you would not need to wait,” Sendak added stiffly. His shoulders sagged a little at Shiro’s stare. “I thought it would be quicker. Should you wish to leave for any reason.”

It was a flaccid excuse, but Shiro didn’t call him out on it. He thought about how best to answer and decided on, “Thank you. You know I’ll eat just about anything as long as there aren’t any olives.”

“No olives,” Sendak agreed awkwardly.

While they spoke, his fingers were slowly curling and uncurling into fists. His eyes kept darting towards Shiro’s neckline. Standing there in a sweater and jeans (jeans! Shiro hadn’t seen him in jeans in ages) at a casual pizza joint, he couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m really glad you’re okay. And I really appreciate you meeting me here like this.”

Shiro had aimed for polite and congenial, but he couldn’t hide the aching notes in his voice. Sendak breathed out a sigh that was more like a groan.

“I have missed you,” Sendak said. He took an aborted step closer. “Our time apart has given me much to think about.”

“Yeah?” Shiro swallowed. “I missed you too. Let’s sit down and talk.”

They didn’t sit down. They stared at each other, standing in the middle of Emerald City Pizza late at night, seconds somehow stretching into eons.

Sendak stepped into his space and Shiro let him, barely resisting with a single hand pressed against his broad chest. Shiro ducked his head, and Sendak followed him, leaning in too close for comfort, his breath warm on Shiro’s cheek.

"You smell like... Ulaz,” he said lowly. He brushed his cheek softly over Shiro’s, nuzzling him in a gesture so familiar it made Shiro want to cry. One of his claws teased at the edge of Shiro’s shirt, like he was seconds from rectifying that little fact.

“I know,” Shiro replied, turning his head to meet his eyes. He didn’t let his gaze waver, making sure Sendak understood that even if he did, that was none of his business. “Let’s sit down. I have something to show you.”

Sendak released him and they sat down. Off kilter from the unexpected start, Shiro spent a few long moments adjusting the papers inside the manila folder to give himself a reminder of his goals and the main purpose of the meeting. Once he brought it into the light, Sendak stared at it cautiously. Even with his limited expression, Shiro could tell he was distrustful.

“I spent the last few days drafting these. I ended up needing a little help, but I think I got the job done.”

Shiro pulled out each page one by one and set them down between them. Sendak flipped them so he could read them one by one, the furrow in his brow deepening with each passing minute.

Shiro affected a pose of casual nonchalance, hands folded out in front of him. He had to remind himself not to clench them too tightly.

Sendak set down the paper he was holding. “I do not understand.”

“This is a contract,” Shiro said firmly. “Not exactly a conventional way to agree on things, but I thought given our circumstances, this would make sense.” Shiro picked up the first paper and pointed to the first paragraph. “I wanted it to be clear what the point of this was. Boundaries.”

“Boundaries?”

“I understand that things are different for you for a lot of reasons, and this way we can agree on things that work for both of us. No secrets.”

Sendak continued to stare at him, his confusion fading into a blank expression that Shiro couldn’t read. But that was okay. He had anticipated shock and potentially resistance.

“I didn’t mean for us to fill this out now. I just wanted to show you that I've been trying to take your needs into account even though I don’t…agree with them sometimes.” Shiro cleared his throat and sat back in his seat. “We can at least discuss it.”

For a few minutes, Sendak busied himself by glancing over the papers. He still hadn’t offered a proper response, but Shiro knew how to be patient. He waited, declining the waiter’s offer for more water, and eventually he was rewarded when Sendak addressed him.

“This is not how I expected this meeting to go. I had assumed that you had come to the logical conclusion that you—that I was unfit to be your mate.” He drew in air through his nose, and Shiro realized that the reason he had not raised his head was because Sendak’s emotions were currently overwhelming him.

Shiro looked at Sendak’s hand, halfway extended across the table, and thought about taking it. He thought about comforting him; telling him about all the thoughts he had been having, but he didn’t. Maybe later, but not now.

Shiro curled his fingers into a fist. This would be the second time he had seen Sendak cry.

“I thought about it,” he said gently once Sendak was able to collect himself. “You really hurt me, Sendak. I know you did it for the right reasons, but it still hurt.”

“I understand,” Sendak replied wetly. “I will do anything to make it up to you. Anything.”

“I know. You said that before,” Shiro said, somewhat teasingly. His hand moved without his permission, reaching across and brushing over Sendak’s claws.

Two months. Even longer if he counted the weeks he had been waiting for Sendak to get back with him during their Christmas blowup, before he found him bleeding out. Compared to the entirety of their lives, it wasn’t long stretch of time by any means, but the situation surrounding it made it feel so much longer.

Shiro curled his fingertips around Sendak’s, catching his eye when Sendak realized what he was doing.

Sendak’s hand was warm. And it had been so long.

The moment was broken when their waitress came back with their pizza. She looked between the two of them, them at the papers scattered along the table. “Pepperoni and sausage?” she said, awkwardly looking for a place to put it.

“Oh! Thank you, right here is fine.” Shiro shoved aside the contract papers haphazardly to make space. Sendak went even further and collected them in front of him in a neat pile, pressing his hand over them reverently.

“Thank you,” Sendak said to their waitress without looking at her. Shiro flashed her a smile.

Once she was gone, Shiro passed a plate to himself, then Sendak, and started divvying up the pizza.

“So, like I said,” he continued, as if the moment before had not happened. “I figured we’d go to a private space to work on this, but if there’s anything you want to talk about now, I think we should.”

“Then you are amenable,” Sendak said slowly. “To our continuation.”

Shiro immediately wanted to slap himself. He was getting so ahead of himself that he had failed to communicate clearly.

“I love you, Sendak,” Shiro said. He watched his one yellow eye widen. He had said it twice now, and each time Sendak looked just as surprised. “For better or for worse. You are the one I want to be with. You are my mate. I just…” He faltered, wondering if he was going too far too early. “I just want you to know that.”

As confident as he felt now, Shiro had to wade through an ocean of doubts to get to a point where he felt sure. And even then, there were no guarantees. But with this, he had hoped they could make it work.

At his declaration, Sendak let out a breath like what Shiro had said physically pained him.

“And you are the only one I desire. There is no one else.” Sendak squeezed his hands together on the table, claws buried into fur. “I cannot express how much I regret hurting you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

For a while, conversation moved to lighter topics. They talked about work, what they had been doing in their free time, and how much they both wanted it to stop snowing all the time. Sendak was more open about his work life, taking time to complain about coworkers and operations succeeding and failing. Because they were in public, he was still tightlipped, but Shiro could feel the difference.

It was a very refreshing change.

Together they finished off the pizza in record time, and then ended up ordering a dessert pie afterwards.

Shiro was happy to keep their contract on the backburner and focus on lighter conversation, but Sendak was the one to push the issue when it came up again.

“You don’t want to take some time to think about it?” Shiro asked.

“It is a brilliant solution. Had I not been so—“ there was the barest pause, and Shiro couldn’t tell what he meant by that, but based on the state of his fur and the lackluster shine on his prosthetic, he could consumed with grief.

“It is well-crafted,” Sendak finished quietly.

“Thanks.” Shiro tapped his fingers against the table. The waitress came back with their dessert, and Shiro set it between them. “Even if I wanted to work on this, I didn’t bring a pen.” He didn’t exactly relish asking the waitress for a pen to work on their relationship contract.

“I have a pen,” Sendak said, because of course he did. He brought out a shiny fountain pen from seemingly nowhere and after Shiro agreed with a shrug, he started working on the rules section.

“You can ignore the part about goals if you want to,” Shiro said, suddenly self-conscious now that his work was being scrutinized. “And you can suggest any changes. Nothing is final.”

Sendak nodded. He could already see him marking a few things to change here and there, and Shiro tried not to take it personally. Sendak had more experience with contractual obligations.

When he got to the rules section with Shiro’s initial suggested rules and additional blank spaces, he glanced up at him quicky before he began writing. Shiro kept eating his pie, forcing himself not to read what Sendak was carefully writing down.

When he finished, Shiro again had to exercise restraint as he pulled the papers back towards him.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said lightly, even though his nerves were shot.

Upon scanning the document, it became immediately clear what was missing. “There’s nothing about surveillance on here.” In fact, there was nothing that Shiro had expected to be on there; save for allowance thrice weekly for Sendak to scent him.

Sendak blinked at him. “I had assumed that was entirely off the table given the circumstances.”

“It’s—I mean. It’s not that I want you to bug my apartment, but I just thought—” Shiro stopped and took a breath. “I don’t want you to pretend there are things that you don’t want,” he continued slowly. “Be completely honest with me about what you want. For now, pretend that anything goes.”

Shiro knew that this was a dangerous game to play, but it mattered more that they were on the same page.

Sendak visibly hesitated, then he snatched the papers back towards himself and began scribbling down hurriedly.

It was several more minutes and a slice of pie before Sendak slid them over to Shiro. He glanced over them, keeping his expectations reigned in.

“A spending requirement?” Shiro swallowed around a mouthful of food. “Why would I need a spending requirement?”

“You have yet the credit card that I gave you on more than trivial necessities. I had intended for you to fulfill your every desire at your leisure,” Sendak said, like it made sense. “This way you will not have to feign resistance.”

“Feign resistance? I’m—that’s n—”

He stopped himself. This wasn’t the time to get emotional; he had to remember that.

“I can see where you’re coming from.” Shiro’s face was burning. Thank god they weren’t near any other customers. “It’s definitely something to consider. So, what about item 6, GPS tracker? Are you asking to install an app on my phone or what?”

At the thought, his skin crawled.

“Whatever you wish. It is not…” Sendak shifted uncomfortably. “It is not intended to control you. You had asked for honesty, and this is among the precautions I would prefer to have to ensure your protection.”

“I appreciate that honesty.” Shiro tapped his fingers flat against the table. “Definitely…on the ‘to consider’ list.”

A week ago, Shiro would have lost it the over a list like this. Now, with their needs being laid out in the open, it felt less like a threat looming over his head and something that he could, for lack of a better word, control. He didn’t have to agree to anything Sendak was suggesting, and he wasn’t as freaked out as he thought he’d be.

“I have a few suggestions,” Shiro said. “But you’ve already given me a lot to think about. Plus, my hands are greasy; wouldn’t want to ruin the papers here.” He wiped said greasy hands with his napkin. Sendak raised a brow at his obvious attempt at avoiding the talk at hand, but thankfully he didn’t push. There were things Shiro wanted to say, but—not here. Here had just been a neutral zone to lay the groundwork. “How about you give me the night to think on all this and then we can reconvene privately to revise it?”

Sendak’s ears had been moving in several directions for a while now, an indication of his general mood, and when Shiro stood to use the bathroom they went flat, pinned to his head.

“You are leaving now?” he asked, painfully sincere.

“I just have to go to the bathroom,” Shiro assured him. He waited until Sendak relaxed before leaving.

In the bathroom, Shiro peed and then washed his hands, but hesitated in front of the sink mirror.

The night had not gone exactly as expected. This, he told himself, was a good thing. It was good that Sendak was enthusiastic. It was good that things could feel normal for a brief moment.

Am I doing the right thing? he wondered, staring into the mirror. Should I be approaching things differently? Is this happening too fast?

Is this what you want?

He glanced down the drain, then back up at the mirror.

The face staring back at him bore no hesitation.

With that, Shiro took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom.

After weaving his way through the restaurant back to their table, he found Sendak hunched over the papers again, head in his hand. Shiro frowned. He thought the short break would give him a few minutes of reprieve, but he instead Sendak looked frantic and uneasy, rifling through them like he was looking for something.

“You okay?” Shiro asked, moving to sit back down.

“I...” Sendak rose suddenly and faced Shiro. Once again, he was reminded that they were in the middle of a public restaurant, and he hoped Sendak remember that too. “I fear that my actions may be misinterpreted,” he said hurriedly. “I don’t want you to think that I am aiming to control you. I am not” he paused for breath, his large chest heaving for a few moments “I don’t want to hurt you. I only wish for your happiness.”

“…I know that,” Shiro replied. He pushed Sendak until he sat back down and then Shiro slid into his side of the booth. “I don’t think that you did everything on purpose just to hurt me. I’ve never thought that. I think…” He looked around at the other customers, a few who were glancing their way. As much as it was necessary, he didn’t want to talk about all the ways in which they were hurting here at this restaurant. “I think we need to save this particular conversation for later.” He spotted their waitress passing by and flagged her down for the check. "That okay?"

"I...suppose you are right. We cannot accomplish all in one night." Sendak huffed, lacing his fingers in front of him carefully. "Things need...time."

Disgruntled didn't even cover how put out Sendak sounded at the prospect of time.

"Exactly," Shiro agreed nonetheless. "Tonight was good. I think it's a great start to starting over. And next time I'll be more involved. Tonight I really just wanted to talk."

That was when the waitress approached with a pen and paper. “Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked. At the shake of Shiro's head, she glanced between the two of them. "Just one check tonight?”

Shiro hesitated to answer immediately, staring at Sendak across from him.

“You know what? Just one check,” Shiro told her.

Sendak gazed at Shiro like he didn’t know what to make of him.

“I was going to have us split dinner,” Shiro began. “But I thought…” He licked his lips. “I think this is okay. I don’t mind letting you have this. This is the kind of thing that makes you happy, and that’s…that’s okay.”

“As I recall, you drew as much pleasure from our arrangement as I do.”

“It’s not the same though,” Shiro replied. He leaned his head on his fist, dragging his thumb along the edge of the table with his other hand. “I know you. You like to provide.”

Shiro’s voice edged on teasing, lowering into a register more flirtatious than he had intended.

Nothing changed about Sendak’s face visibly, but when the waitress came back with the check, Sendak took it from her without hesitation. His chest puffed while he filled out the total, and he exhaled deeply once he set it at the end of the table.

It was his black card. Completely unnecessary for the amount their meal has cost, but impossible to miss. Shiro’s eyes flicked to Sendak, then back to the card. He said nothing, but the air felt…charged.

This is bad. Hold it together.

“Shall we?” Shiro suggested once she returned with his card, his voice even.

The cool air that met Shiro outside was wonderfully chilly. The restaurant hadn’t been overly warm, but he was damp with sweat from their conversation.

He stood just outside the entrance and breathed it in for a few heavenly seconds before his body adjusted and it reminded him that it was actually cooler outside than was comfortable.

“You are driving?” Sendak inquired beside him. Shiro opened his eyes and glanced over at his car parked on the other side of the road. He nodded at it.

“Yeah, it’s not too close to my apartment. Though I’m sure you knew that.”

“I see,” Sendak said. It didn’t seem to bother him. It shouldn’t. He liked control, but he didn’t want to control his every move.

How much of it was true? How much could Shiro trust?

“I don’t want you to think ill of me,” Sendak added suddenly. Maybe his unease had been obvious. “If it is what you want, we do not have to continue.”

His fists clenched and then unclenched. It was obviously the last thing he wanted.

There was so much Shiro wanted to say, and so much he felt like he couldn’t. Sendak had made mistakes, and it would be wrong of Shiro to act like they didn’t matter, or that they didn’t change things.

“Can you believe it’s been two months?” Shiro wrapped his arms around himself and turned to face Sendak. “Feels like longer. And the last time we were together, we—” He had to press his lips together to stop himself. “Sendak, this may be weird to ask, but can I hug you?”

His response was immediate. Like he had been waiting for permission, Sendak stepped forward and swept him into a firm embrace. Shiro didn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms firmly around Sendak’s middle, burying his face in the warmth of Sendak’s sweater.

The ever familiar smell of his cologne overwhelmed him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled Sendak as close as physically possible, wishing for a wild moment that they were alone and not out in public.

“I missed you so much,” Shiro choked out. “I was so mad at you. I still am sometimes, but I missed you. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

In response, Sendak squeezed harder. He nearly lifted Shiro off the ground in his fierce embrace, and after an eternity he loosened his grip so he could look Shiro in the face.

“Da hos del thenak,” Sendak said, evidently switching off his translator just to say it. Even without an explanation, without understanding a word, Shiro knew what he meant.

“The next time I see you, you’re going to tell me what that means. Okay?”

Sendak nodded against his forehead, close now, so close. Their breaths mingled in the air.

Shiro's resolve to keep it at a platonic hug rapidly crumbled as Sendak slipped an arm around the small of his back and cradled the side of his head with the other hand. He repeated the phrase again, and again, nuzzling the side of his face, inching perilously close to the length of Shiro's throat, and on the third repetition Shiro yanked him back into a kiss.

Sendak made a sound like he was in pain, and seconds later, as he opened Shiro’s mouth with his tongue, it transformed into a needy, warm groan. The hand around his waist pulled tight, his claws digging into Shiro’s hips. Shiro brought his hands up to frame Sendak’s face, a weak attempt to keep the kiss somewhat chaste, and Sendak took that as permission to back him up against the concrete wall beside the restaurant and deepen it.

He'd missed this. Sendak’s smell, his—his scent drove him wild. Shiro loved the way he smelled; the way his hands felt holding him tight; the way he kissed him like he wanted to devour him.

“Sendak,” Shiro gasped, sliding his hands down, over his massive pecs. Fuck. “Stop it. We’re not—“ another kiss, one Shiro couldn’t help but melt into “I’m not doing this with you.”

Sendak’s lips left his and Shiro felt their loss. Then Sendak’s teeth grazed his ear, while his hand rubbed along the crook of Shiro’s neck, spreading his scent where possible. Since it was clear his words weren't enough, Shiro raised his hand and slipped it over Sendak’s, curling it over the back of his palm and threading their fingers so he could tug at it.

“Sendak,” he urged.

“Two months,” Sendak breathed. He pressed his full weight into Shiro, breathing hard. “Dozens of cycles. You are right: I want to provide for you. I want to provide you with anything you could ever want. Nothing you desire is out of my reach. I ache for your presence alongside mine.”

Shiro swallowed his words. He was trying to remain strong, but Sendak was making that very hard.

“I—I have to leave.”

“You said I made you cry,” he added, sounding broken up by the fact. Truly, honestly, as if causing Shiro pain was no longer something he could bear. As if he really understood what he had done.

A couple walked out from the restaurant doors and passed by, hardly paying them any attention, but it was enough to encourage Shiro to turn his head away. Sendak planted a kiss along the side of his forehead, sending a sharp electric shudder down Shiro’s spine.

“Enough,” he said firmly, using every ounce of willpower to pull away. “I know you’re sorry. And you did make me cry. But we are not doing this. Get off me.”

He reluctantly withdrew, a sour look on his face. A frustrated Sendak was a thing to behold.

“...At least allow me to scent you.”

“No,” Shiro said. “No, what we just did wasn’t okay. It’s not going to happen again.” No matter how much he wanted it to. “Not until we figure this out.”

“How long?” Sendak asked. “How long until we can meet again?”

Humans place so much emphasis on time, Sendak had said once. Thinking about what he said earlier, Shiro wondered how much longer those two months may have felt for him.

“How about…Sunday. My place. That’s only two days from now.”

“I will arrive in the morning,” Sendak agreed. “I will need to work that afternoon and evening, but in the morning I am yours.”

“Okay.” Shiro looked at Sendak’s hand, remembering the patches of fur missing all over his body. They had grown back by now, but the memory would be forever etched into his brain. “Okay,” he said again. He reached out and brushed their fingers together. Sendak’s hand engulfed his and clutched it, as if to keep him tethered there to him.

“Be safe.” Shiro said. He squeezed his hand as best he could. “Take care of yourself.”

Sendak’s gaze went painfully soft. “I will.”

Shiro went back to his car, sparing Sendak a few glances before he slid inside. Sendak stayed where he was, watching him much like Ulaz had before he finally lifted his phone and began speaking, likely summoning his driver.

I wonder which one of them has been watching over me, he wondered. The thought had crossed his mind before. It made sense; there was no way in hell Sendak would meet him without some kind of assurance that he would be safe. He would have to ask Sendak once they met again.

He drove off, already thinking about his own rules he wanted to add to the contract.

#sugar baby shiro #sugar daddy sendak #shendak #vld #shiro #sendak #my fic #fic #ch8 #voltron fic

[abhisai1]

Murder?

It was nine o'clock at night upon the 29th of July. One would say that the god's curse was hanging in the sultry and stagnant air. Lack of wind and a full moon could send shivers down the spine of even a strong muscled man.

Every police officer, in the city, would expect a murder to take place at this time of the night. And, alas they were not disappointed as just before a quarter past nine, they had a case of death registered in their records!

The street was buzzing like that of a packed swarm of bees. The photographers stood behind the various barriers kept by the local police. The gleam of yellow tape and the rapid clicking of photos by the reporters summed it all. The death of a person!

Crowd was slowly gathering outside the house. The well wishers, relatives and others were trying to go inside but the police kept barricading them.

After a minute or so, a red, blazing car arrived. The superintendent strode out of it in an alarming speed. A couple of constables paved his way by pushing a lot of photographers aside.

After asking some formal questions to the constables, the superintendent hopped over the gleaming tape and found himself staring at the white chalk outline of the dead figure. The body was still there. But he made up his mind that the body would be the last thing he would look onto. There were other matters which had more importance.

Though the pool of blood certainly made the case look a bit interesting, his eyes were looking on to something else. Sound of flowing water! Water was flowing continuously. The wash basin was a minute away from overflowing.

The tap had not been closed. With the short temper he had, he roared for a policeman and scolded him very badly.

"Sorry sir, I didn't touch it because I had read in novels that fingerprints are a crucial element in the case of murder. I didn't want my fingerprint to surface anywhere." The short heighted constable blurted out these words at the drop of the hat.

"Are you a new joining?" The superintendent asked in a callous way.

"Yes sir."

"You are a gadha (donkey). You and your bookish knowledge! How did you manage to become a constable? Don't you have minimum common sense? Murkho! You idiot, what do you have in your pockets?"

The constable, with a trembling hand, took out a pack of cigarettes and showed it to his boss.

"You are a real gadha. Don't you have a pair of gloves in your back pocket?"

"Yes sir," the constable grinned. "Sir, do you want this pair of gloves for quality check?"

"Arey murkho! I wonder how did you become a police officer! Can't you put on your gloves and close the tap? Where are your type of men bred? In asylums? That's the correct place for you. Now pack your bags and get out of here, otherwise I don't know where my limbs would be!" The superintendent shouted with a threatening voice.

"Sorry sir," the constable uttered. Before leaving, he asked a question.

"Sir, do you want this pair of gloves or shall I take it away with me?"

"Shut up and just get out of my sight!" The superintendent yelled. After the constable left, he calmed down a bit but he continued murmuring and scolding the idiotic constable at his heart.

There was nothing else interesting to be seen except the white outline made with chalk and the body. Alas, one should not expect a bathroom to show up interesting things.

Blood was oozing out of the head. The ambulance was on the way. He took his pair of gloves and touched the body. With the experience he had, he could say that the skull was broken.

It looked a clear case. He thought that if the foolish constable was in his place, that idiot must have closed the case the moment he saw the body.

But years of experience had taught him that most often, the clear cases become the most extraordinary crimes. And to add on to that he could sense something fishy. Again, years of experience had taught him to go by his instincts.

To move a step ahead, he tried to reconstruct the accident. Just as he started to rehearse the play, he heard the siren of an ambulance.

Silently, he moved aside. A couple of young men, in white, came with a bed, laid the corpse on it, covered it with a white bedsheet and quietly went away.

As he had no more work with the corpse, he didn't interrupt the men and let them do their work. After observing a things or two, he started the rehearsal again.

He tried to rehearse the most probable way of the accident, slipping in the bathroom. Well, he tried many angles and finally hit upon the right one. But instead of a smile, he was a bit upset.

The best satisfaction of a policeman is the closure of a case.

But the superintendent was in no hurry to close the case. Though the first rehearsal was a success, there was no harm in considering the other possible ways of the misshapen.

Now, an intelligent police officer has always the need to consider foul play. Or in common words, murder.

It was quiet a few times in the recent past that he had come across a well planned murder. He desperately wanted this one to come into that list. Life was boring these days. He hoped of an adventure and this seemed too good an opportunity to miss.

As he didn't have much personal information about the victim, he decided to search for the weapon used to murder. Of course, it's only an 'if' these days.

He quickly lit his cigarette and started making rounds in the cozy bathroom. Surprising, he could smell a perfume with a strawberry odour. Not the kind one would expect in a bathroom. Sadly, after touring for about 10 minutes in the bathroom, he didn't come across anything extraordinary.

There is always the case of the murderer taking away the weapon with him. And he thought that was the most probable. Emergence of some ideas took place but he had no evidence to support it.

His nerves were handing him over. Some key points of this case seemed to be connected with his dark past. He tried to shred off those fears and tried to gather courage.

The thought of his past made him shiver even in the brightest of light. For trying to forget his past, he came outside the bathroom and tried to forge the criminal ideas of how the murderer could have escaped.

There were only two ways he could enter the house and two entry points were the only exit points he could think of.

As the bathroom led to the master bedroom, he decided to investigate there. All seemed quiet there and there were no sign of struggles. There were no traces of blood and all the things were kept in an orderly manner.

He opened the various cupboards and the drawers but nothing attracted him any attention. The bedsheet was also neat and clean. No signs of dust. He decided to search the living room next.

One could see a lavish sofa with a superb finish in the middle of the room. The sofa being a U shape helped it gain more beauty. There was even a nice coffee table and an empty cup on the top of it. He kept it aside ,in a packet, for forensic purposes. Beside the sofa, a couple of accent chairs were also present.

A beautiful painting and an excellent wallpaper conveyed him that the victim was rich. He then toured along another two bedrooms and the dining room. Every single thing looked rich and had a beautiful taste of colour but all these things were tried to make simple yet artistic.

He wondered when he would have this kind of house and all the rich decors inside. The house looked like an old one from outside but was exactly the opposite from inside.

From there, he could go to either the garden at the backside of the house or the kitchen. He chose the kitchen as his next target. It was very large and again it was very clean.

At the corner of the kitchen, a large pizza was on a table. It was from the dominoes. The pizza was still inside the box. When he inspected the pizza, he could hear his stomach grumbling. For a second, he wanted to eat the pizza, how much ever cold it was. But he knew meddling with it at that time was absolutely wrong.

Moving on, he wandered into the garden. He found himself amidst a lot of greenery. He wondered if the murderer escaped from that path and jumped over to the wall. If the murderer had done so, certainly he would find some footprints on the soil. But there were no traces of the murderer escaping from over the wall.

He thoroughly checked there as well but in vain. The plants were looking very fresh. The water dropping from the leaf was a sight to behold at nighttime. The sound of cricket made the garden more pleasant. The bushes were well grown and a series of various flowers were sown in an orderly manner. From what he could make up, the victim was a nature lover.

The newly laid soil hadn't had any footmarks and the flowers were also not stamped on. As the murderer had no chance to escape from the main door, this was the only way he could have escaped.

For a police officer to find a criminal, the police officer too needed a criminal brain not a police brain.

He found a way the murderer could have escaped. There was a thin line of grass beside the newly laid soil which would not have any footmarks even if one would walk there. But to do that one needed hefty amount of practice and thus only an expert in rope climbing could do that.

There could be a chance that a police officer committed this crime as during police training, all have to practice rope climbing and endure a lot of other torturing things.

But seldom does one find a police officer committing crimes these days. With that thought in mind, he gazed dreamingly towards the full moon.

With a sly smile, the superintendent patted himself on the back for the flawless murder he had just committed!

#short story #mystery story #murder #plot twist #unique #books #novel

[pynkhues]

55. “You broke it” fluff/angst prompt for Brio

#55 “You broke it.”

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

He’s still reading through the last of what must be fifteen texts from Elizabeth (she’s gotta work late at the dealership, so he’s on parenting duty. It should be no big thing, and he really isn’t sure whether it’s some leftover bullshit from that dumbass ex of hers, or if she really does forget that he’s been a parent almost as long as she has, but she’s blowing up his phone like he’s ghosting her again) when he hears the crash from upstairs and the pounding of little feet on the floor above him.

Rocking his jaw, he glances down towards the dining room where Kenny and Danny are poring over their homework, both tilting their heads up at the sound, and Rio’s only just starting towards the stairs when he hears another set of feet running in the opposite direction and then a loud cry breaking through the quiet.

“You broke it!”

It’s enough to make him toss his phone (the non-work one) to Kenny, telling him to follow his mom’s instructions for dinner (and sure, Rio’s man enough to admit he’s not the best cook, but he knows how to throw a frozen pizza in the oven, Elizabeth, damn), and takes the stairs two at a time towards the kids’ rooms.

He’s not the sorta guy who likes to go into situations blind, but he’s also been around the traps long enough to know it’s best to keep expectations to a minimum, lest those notions get you sprung, but still. He can’t exactly say he’s surprised to see Marcus and Jane peering nervously out from behind the former’s bedroom door, while Emma’s neighbouring one sits wide open.

Sending an arched eyebrow back to Marcus and Jane, who quickly vanish, closing the door behind them, Rio steps into Emma’s room instead.

The theme thing still gets him, and Emma’s room in particular is an eyesore – all that sugar and spice shit – unicorn pillows and hanging fairy lights and a bright row of smilin’ Barbies, and Jesus, he didn’t even know they made pink glitter wall paint, but the sparkle catching his eye is unmistakable.

In the centre of it all is Emma, sitting on a pink fluffy rug, her musical jewellery box blown open beside her, and the second she sees him, she gives him those big, Bambi eyes that may as well be her mom’s. She holds out her hands towards him, and it’s only then that he sees the tiny porcelain ballerina from her music box, held as tenderly as a baby bird, and shit, he thinks, clocking the shattered legs of the thing, and the anxious red of Emma’s cheeks.

“I hate them,” she wails. “They break everything.”

And hell, he always figured she was the most astute of Elizabeth’s kids, but she gets no bonus points for realising her sister and Marcus have made a miniature demolition team. Crouching down in front of her, he looks at the ballerina in her hands, resisting the impulse to tear it from her grip and get rid of the thing – he’s had enough experience with shards of porcelain to know they’re a bitch to get out of cuts at the best of times after all.

“Lemme see,” he tells her, but Emma jerks her hands back to her chest, distrustful, like she knows what he’s thinking, and like he said – astute.

Before he can say anything else, a petulant voice sounds behind him:

“We didn’t mean to. We just wanted to put her in the show.”

He tears his eyes away from Emma long enough to look back at her open door, Jane and Marcus hovering there, Jane’s chin sticking up defiantly, while Marcus looks about ready to vanish back down the hallway at the first hint of reprimand. Rio gives them a distinctly unimpressed look.

“Are we talkin’ to you right now?” he asks, and he ain’t even all that mad, but it’s still enough to send the two of them bolting back down the hall to Marcus’ room. 

“Can you fix her?” Emma asks when he turns back towards her, holding her hands up, and he nudges slightly at the figurine, another sliver of porcelain crumbling off her hip. He sighs, looking up to meet Emma’s desperate look.

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he says, and Emma’s bottom lip quivers. She curls her fingers around the ballerina, clutching her in two hands at her chest, her breaths starting to come out faster, and he’s seen enough bouts of hysterics to know one when he sees it coming. Reaching over, he grabs Emma by the elbows, pulling her up against him and walking her over to her bed. He’s barely sat down before she collapses into tears against his chest, her little body wracked with sobs.

Rio sighs, scooting further back in her bed, shoving some of her unicorn cushions out of his way in the process. He’s not sure if it’s the movement, or the contact, but something he’s done seems to change her mood, the red of her cheeks spilling back across her neck in childish fury.

“I should break their things,” she hisses through her tears, her forehead creasing in anger, and Rio hums, still shoving cushions off the bed (and damn, him and Elizabeth need to have a conversation about how much money she’s spending on ugly, decorative pillows).

“Yeah? You think so? That gonna get you your girl back?”

And sure, maybe he could’ve been a little more sensitive, he thinks, looking at her look up at him, the anger giving way to that wobbly bottom lip again, but she shakes her head no, and at least it steered her off the path she was heading down (and shit, she must get that from someone else in the family, because Rio doesn’t think anything he’s ever said has gotten Elizabeth to go where he’s wanted her to).

Lifting Emma out of his arms, he settles her back among the mountain of stuffed animals at the head of her bed (and more damn cushions), reaching down to uncurl her hands from where they’re still clenched tightly around the broken porcelain. She’s held onto her so tightly some of it has started to cut at her skin, and he frowns, thumbing at a few of the bigger shards. He wants to get the thing in the bin, clean her up, but from the look on her face, she ain’t quite there yet.

He sits back on the bed, looking over at her.

“You think they meant to break her?”

The question is enough to make Emma blink in surprise, her mouth hanging open as she looks across her room to the open bedroom door, and Rio follows his gaze, unsurprised to see Marcus and Jane’s heads duck out of sight, their fingers still curled around the frame. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, looking back at Emma instead. After a second, she looks back down at her hands, shaking her head.

“They’re playing circus and they wanted a dancer, and they said mine was the prettiest,” she squares her shoulders a little as she says it, proud almost, before that house of cards falls in on her. “And that the box was slippery.”

Rio glances back at the box, still hanging open on the floor of her bedroom, a mess of clip on earrings and plastic bangles spilling out of it. A few have been shoved back in, haphazard, and he doesn’t have to have heard it to know that it was Marcus and Jane, trying to fix it before Emma found them. He makes a production out of considering her words, turning them over thoughtfully – judge, juror, executioner, settling on a verdict.

He hums a little, before glancing back at Emma.

“Sounds like it was an accident, huh?”

And he might not have been surprised by much in all of this, but he is in the way that Emma stares back at him, her gaze steady even if her eyes are watery, and damn, he wonders if this is what Elizabeth means when she tells him she feels like she’s talkin’ to him half the time she’s talkin’ to Marcus. Emma sucks in a wet, still-teary breath.

“It’s not fair,” she whimpers, and Rio nods.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he agrees. “But y’know, when things that are important to you break, or when they get broken, it don’t take away the good times you did have with ‘em. And when you put the broken thing away,” or throw it out, he thinks dryly. “It leaves room for somethin’ else to have new good times with.”

Emma gives him a look, leaning back amongst a large, gold-sequined stuffed owl, like she isn’t quite sure she understands, and he shrugs.

“Look at me and your mama, yeah? Me and Marcus’ mom, we broke, and your mama and your dad, they broke too, right?”

Cautiously, Emma nods, and Rio holds out his hand, like this is an example.

“And ‘cos we did, it meant there was room for me and your mama, and all of us here, and this house, and I know Marcus ain’t your favourite person right now, but I know he loves havin’ all you guys for brothers and sisters. He got that ‘cause of somethin’ that broke.”

Emma tilts her head at that, her forehead furrowing thoughtfully as she looks at him before her gaze goes back down to the ballerina in her hands. She rocks her head to the other side, chews on her lip before she says:

“I like having a little brother.”

“See? Just like I said. And I know you love your girl there, but maybe she’s leavin’ room for somethin’ else too,” he leans forwards a bit, moving his hand to nudge her own, careful to look her in the eye as he says. “You mind if I take her?”

He’s sure she gets what he’s asking when a couple more tears streak down her face, but after a minute, she nods, letting Rio scrape the shards of porcelain from her hands. He shoves them as gently as he can into the pocket of his jeans, before grabbing Emma’s hands in its stead, carefully checking them over for any leftover shards, or any cut that might have broken through. When he finds none, he moves to get up, planning to get her downstairs to homework with her brothers while he deals with Jane and Marcus, but before he gets the chance, Emma is crawling back into his lap, wrapping her arms tight around his neck.

“I like having a you too,” she whispers, more than a little shyly, and Rio pauses, surprised, before he drops a hand to her head.

“Yeah?”

She nods against his shoulder, his hand brushing down her hair.

“You ain’t so bad,” he tells her, and she giggles into his shoulder leaning back and tapping her nose.

“I’m the best one,” she tells him conspiratorially, and when he hears Jane start yelling in the next room and the fire alarm go off downstairs in the kitchen, he thinks she’s probably right.

(Or, at least, he does until she insists on spending the next three nights in their bed mourning the damn thing, taking his spot against Elizabeth’s chest, but that feels like a whole other thing.)

#beth boland #rio #emma boland #jr good girls #jane boland #marcus #nbc good girls #my fic #the center and circumference #domesticity #welcome to my ama

[yesloverboy]

Trip of a Lifetime (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader)

Requested: Anon! 

“Could you do a story about tommy and the reader dropping acid and whatever they do on it is up to u😂 I think it'd be really cute and funny”

Note: I am sorry this is so late! I may have gotten a little carried away, but I wanted to make sure I did this prompt justice. It’s definitely been a hot minute since I’ve done psychedelics, but some of these events are inspired by true ones so let me know what you think. Enjoy! 

word count: 2,294

 It all started on a Saturday night. With you and your boyfriend Tommy having such busy schedules, the both of you had decided to take turns planning date nights. The way you figured it, taking turns would prevent one of you from feeling more responsible for maintaining the relationship over the other. So far it seemed to be working out nicely, and this time it was Tommy’s turn.  

 You and Tommy had been together for a few months now, and were still well into your phase of continually trying to impress one another. At this point, Mötley Crüe was really taking off, and you found yourself looking forward to your scheduled dates more and more as Tommy became increasingly less available. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t his fault that he was so preoccupied. There was no doubt in your mind that he and his romantic heart would be willing to move mountains for you; but that didn’t mean being apart never stressed you out. Sometimes you even wished you could slow down time just a little so that you wouldn’t always have to say goodbye to Tommy so soon. When you had told Tommy that, he just laughed and told you he would make it happen if he could. As always, you believed him.

 As you waited for Tommy to return home from his day at the studio, you couldn’t help but fidget in anticipation. When it was Tommy’s turn to plan dates, he always liked them to be a surprise for you. His spontaneous nature and childlike enthusiasm were just a few of his qualities you loved the most, and the dates he picked were a reflection of that. In just a few short months, Tommy had already taken you to more arcades, theme parks, concerts, and spontaneous road trips than you could keep track of. So as anxious as you were to see your boyfriend’s smiling face, you were just as excited to find out what he had in store for you.  

 When Tommy finally opened the door, you practically leapt into his open arms. In true Tommy fashion, he picked you up off the ground and spun you in a circle, eliciting a a chorus of giggles from the both of you.  

 “Well hey there, baby,” he cooed, kissing you gently, “someone sure is happy to see me.”

 You nuzzled his nose lovingly as he placed you back on the ground. “I just missed you is all.” Even though Tommy had put you down, you still felt like you were hovering above the earth, your heart light and carefree.

 “So what’s the plan for the night, rockstar?” You knew rockstar was a cheesy nickname, but the blush that would color Tommy's face made it all worth it. More than anything in the universe, Tommy wanted to play music that the rest of the world loved, and you always knew in your heart that he would do it. 

 “I thought maybe we could go on a little trip,” he smiled wryly, his eyes meeting yours with a mischievousness he normally reserved for inside jokes.

 “Where?” Your arms were still firmly fastened around Tommy’s neck, keeping the space between the two of you to a minimum.

 To your chagrin, Tommy unwrapped his hands from your waist, and reached for the pocket of his leather jacket. “Not that kind of trip, dude,” he said, pulling out a plastic bag, “this kind of trip.”

 You looked at the plastic bag, your face lighting up as you spotted two little squares of paper with skulls printed on them. 

 Acid. 

 You couldn’t believe it. It had been so long since you’d tripped that you almost didn’t remember what it was like. Still you craved an escape, something to take you and Tommy far away without ever having to leave the home you shared. It was perfect.

 “You told me once that you wanted to slow down time,” Tommy continued, “so I thought we might give it a shot.”

 “Oh my god, Tommy!” you squealed, delighted that he had been paying such close attention to how you’d been feeling lately. “I never thought I’d say this, but you might be a genius.” You stood on your tiptoes, gripping the sides of his angular face to kiss plant a kiss on his lips.

 Tommy tried to look offended, but his act quickly dissolved under the smile on his face. “God, do you always have to be so mean?”

 “Isn’t that why you love me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes in mock innocence.

 Tommy just ruffled your hair in response, causing you to groan in protest. “Do you wanna take these for a spin, or what?” he asked, laughing at your irritated pout.  

 “Fine,” you huffed, “hit me.” You stuck out your tongue, signalling Tommy that you were ready to get the night going. This is it, you though, quickly accepting the fact that the two of you would ultimately be housebound for the evening.

 Tommy reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a single tab. With a careful hand, he placed it on the tip of your tongue. Closing your mouth, you let it slowly dissolve. You’re not sure what you expected this time around, but it tasted like nothing just as you remembered. Soon after, Tommy did the same and all that was left was to wait for those little squares of paper to work their magic.

 “Wanna watch a movie? Maybe order a pizza?”

 You smiled up at Tommy, reveling in the fact that so many wonderful things in life could be so simple. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

 It took some bickering, but eventually you and Tommy agreed to put your copy of Halloween in the old VCR. You had been worried that watching a scary movie would trigger a bad trip, but Tommy reassured you that his hilarious commentary would get you through it. You relented, but solely on the condition that he would hold you the entire time.

 About thirty minutes into the movie, you noticed the image on the television began to vibrate softly, the colors pulsating and running together as if they might drip right out of the screen and onto the bedroom floor. You turned your head to look at Tommy to see if he was seeing the same thing, twisting against the hold he had on your body. To your amazement, he wasn’t looking at the screen at all. Instead his eyes were fixed on you.

 You watched carefully as his the blue of his eyes seemed to shift colors, ranging from their usual denim blue to bleeding with vibrant yellows and greens. Even though Tommy’s eyes were locked on yours, it seemed as though he was looking somewhere beyond where you were sitting.

 “Dude,” Tommy whispered, his voice soft and distant, “you’re so beautiful.”

 “No, you,” you argue, the blood in your veins humming with the same softness that crept in and out of the edge of your vision when you looked at Tommy. It was almost as if your body was vibrating softly under his touch, making the rest of the world feel warmer and brighter. In that moment, it was so amazing to you that Tommy could call you beautiful when he was clearly the most mesmerizing thing in the room. It was then you thought that maybe, just maybe you could love him forever.

 Tommy just rolled his eyes, “Oh please, you’re, like, a work of art,” he stated, moving his hands about animatedly, “just like that–wait what’s she called? The Moaning Liza?”

“You mean the Mona Lisa?” you asked, throwing your head back with laughter.

 Playfully, Tommy tried to put one of his large hands over your face to shut you up, but you were able to wrestle out from his grip with happy tears leaking out of your eyes.

 “Oh come on, Y/N! You know I didn’t do well in history.” At this point, Tommy was laughing too. “My point was that you don’t just look like any old work of art– but a priceless one. One that people cross oceans to see.”

 You gazed at your boyfriend lovingly, and firmly believed that the secret to eternal happiness was hiding somewhere behind those beautiful, kaleidoscope eyes. The hum in your body was growing more persistent by the second, and suddenly your head was flooded with a hundred different ideas all at once. However, one stuck out to you over the others and you couldn’t help but wonder if Tommy would be on board with it.

 Getting up abruptly, you made your way over to your bedroom, seeking out an old box of acrylic paints. The paints were leftover from your attempt at being an artist a couple of years ago, and you figured there was no better time to give it a try again than the present.

 You found the box almost immediately as the yellow light from your closet rained down in glowing droplets above your head. The dripping light seemed to lead you right to where the box was nestled, and for a moment you wondered why you thought it’d be so hard to find it in the first place.  

 Strutting back into the living room triumphantly, you held the box of paints securely in your arms. To your amusement, Tommy’s gaze was now transfixed on the ceiling fan above his head, his eyes following the blades closely as they spun.

 “Tommy!” you tapped at his shoulder and immediately he snapped back to reality. “I have an idea.”

 “What is it?” he still had his signature, goofy smile but his eyes were unblinking. You wanted to laugh, but suddenly couldn’t remember the last time you’d blinked either. Realizing it didn’t matter, you set the box of paints in his lap.

 “We shout paint each other! Well, not actually like paint each other, but paint on each other. Sounds fun, right?”

 “Okay, but if we do I’m going first,” Tommy’s happy expression was replaced with a more determined one, “‘cause if you don’t believe you’re a work of art I’m just going to have to make you believe me.”

 Unable to resist, you gave Tommy a peck on the cheek. “Alright, baby. Whatever you say goes.”

 “Where should I start?” Tommy asked, rummaging through the selection of colors. “Your back maybe? I feel like there’s probably more room.”

 You just shrugged and pulled your shirt up and over your head, allowing it to fall limp on the arm of the couch. Grabbing one of the extra cushions, you placed it on the carpeted floor so you could lay comfortably while Tommy set to work.

 “So, what are you going to paint, Mr. Lee?” you asked, laying flat on your stomach. The carpet itched at your bare skin, the fibres swaying back and forth against the pressure of your body.

 Tommy sat beside you with his legs crossed, the box of paints accompanying him at his spot on the floor. “Hmmm, can’t tell ya. It’s a secret.”

 “Fine then,” you smile, “have it your way.”

 Without warning, Tommy squirted a few drops of paint straight from the tube and onto your bare back. “Fuck, that’s cold!” you hiss, squirming uncomfortably against the rough carpet.

 “It’ll be worth it, dude. Promise.” Tommy chuckled softly, adding more drops of paint from various bottles to the canvas of your body. 

 After a while, you were surprised to find that the cold from the paint was soothing the buzz of your body high quite a bit. The ebb and flow of Tommy working the paint into patterns on your back sent tingles of electricity from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.

 Tommy didn’t talk much while he painted, apparently putting all of his concentration into whatever he was creating. Even though you couldn’t see his face while laying down, you’d be willing to bet he looked just as deep in focus painting as he did while writing a song. You couldn’t help but hum happily, feeling more than content just being alone with Tommy.

 Evidently, Tommy had noticed your level of relaxation and laughed quietly to himself.

 “What’s funny?” you ask, wanting so desperately to know what was going on in Tommy’s head during his trip.

 “Nothing,” the smile in Tommy’s voice was obvious, even if you couldn't see it, “it’s just– do you ever think about how crazy this all is?”

 “How crazy what is?”

 “This.” he insisted, “the fact that, of all the people in the world, and of all the time that’s passed...we got to meet. Just you and me, and the rest of the world.”

 Your mouth fell open in awe, unable to believe the love and passion that radiated from Tommy’s words.

Just you and me, and the rest of the world.

 Tommy’s profound observation flashed bright red in your mind, glittering against the backs of your eyelids like the Las Vegas strip at nighttime.

 “I think I’m going to say it,” Tommy continued, unphased by your moment of silence, “You’re the love of my life. No matter if it’s this life, or the next one–or maybe even the one after that. If there is one, I think it’s always going to be you.”

 The tenderness in Tommy’s voice hung in the air with all the softness of a passing cloud. Even though you knew that the both of you were tripping, no amount of chemicals could alter the way you felt about Tommy in that moment.  

 “You’re the love of my life, too” you repeat back, meaning every single word of it, “I don’t ever want to be anywhere if it’s not with you. Loving you is the trip of a lifetime.”

Masterlist

#this prompt was amazing thank you so much #i hope i did alright #writing #mgk!tommy lee #mgk!tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #tommy lee x reader #motley crue #vince neil #nikki sixx #mick mars #the dirt #the dirt nextflix #motley crue imagine #the dirt requests

[insideoutstory]

Inside Out → Chapter Twenty-Four

summary: Two unexpected visitors, one with an apology, one decidedly not. word count: 6k warnings: Men being held accountable for their actions, can I get a hell ya a/n: Hey guys! This is the second to last chapter! Next week will be the Christmas epilogue, so prepare yourselves! This one is actually one of my favorite chapters, so I hope you enjoy.

[ masterlist ]   [ FF.net ]

Christine’s sling came off two weeks after the incident. She would have partied, or cried, or done something to celebrate. Something more interesting than going to work. But after what had happened with the spray paint and the missing candy, she was already on thin ice. If she wanted to keep her job at the Hawk, she needed to show up to work. 

Still, Anthony had been kind enough to switch up her duties. The sling was gone, but she was still on crutches, which meant it was still hard for her to get around. Joey was taking over the concession stand and cleaning duties, while she sold tickets and ran the projector. She knew Joey wasn’t exactly happy with the arrangement, but complaining made him look like a dick. You couldn’t be mean to a cripple. 

So that’s where Saturday morning found her—in the front booth at the Hawk, selling tickets to the new comedy they’d just gotten in. Hawkins was already getting colder, and Anthony had grudgingly allowed her to wear a plain black sweatshirt while she was upfront. It was the best she could do while she waited for her new uniform to come in. Her shirt and bowtie had never been collected from the school. 

Christine tapped her pencil against her head, trying to decipher the physics notes in front of her. Steve had been attempting to take notes while she was out, and had kept it up for the last two weeks. She could tell he really was trying, but his handwriting was crap. He also kept misspelling words like “electromagnetic,” “gravitation,” and “field,” which added a whole layer of mystery to the subject. So she was going back over the papers to amend and copy them. This way they could study off something that actually made sense. 

She was just erasing one of the bullet points when a familiar, gruff voice spoke through the glass. 

“Uh, hi. Can I get one ticket to…uh…whatever the hell you’re playing this week?” 

Christine did not look up. She jabbed her pencil to her right, gesturing to the giant movie poster on the wall. 

“Oh. Right. A Christmas Story. Sounds great.” 

She rang up the ticket and passed it through the window. She still did not look up. 

“How much?” 

She tapped on the top of the cash register at the numbers that had popped up. There was a grumble from the other side of the window. The money came through the slot, and she counted it out to make the change. It was company policy to end transactions with, “Enjoy your movie!” Christine decided not to follow company policy. 

“Just curious,” the voice started again, determined. “When are you guys gonna get something new?” 

Christine held up two fingers. 

“Two…? Two what? Two days? Two weeks?” 

She shook the two fingers again. 

“Fine. And what’s that gonna be?” 

She pointed her pencil at the opposite poster. 

“Huh. Christine. How about that? Not about an annoying babysitter is it?” 

Christine finally lifted her head, glaring at Chief Hopper through the glass. 

“It’s a horror movie about a haunted car. Will that be all?” 

“Horror movie,” Hopper said, with the minimum amount of interest. “That the kind of stuff you’re into?” 

“Why?” 

“Just trying to have a conver…” 

“Why are you here?” 

Hopper stopped, narrowing his eyes at her. “Just came to check in. See your arm’s out of the sling. How’s the leg?” 

“Still broken.” 

“And uh…any…any unexpected visitors?” 

“Who wants to know? You or the Department of Energy?” 

Hopper frowned. But he didn’t deny it. That was good. If he had, Christine might have landed her arm back in the sling trying to punch him through the glass. 

“Forget it,” he grumbled. “I’m just here to watch the movie.” 

He tapped his ticket on the counter and started to walk away. 

“You know the worst part?” Christine blurted before he’d gotten too far. “I actually thought it was gonna be Mrs. Byers. I figured, desperate mom looking to find her kid. What if she decides to make a trade for Will? But Joyce doesn’t have it in her. She never would have done that to Eleven.” 

“Hey!” Hopper stormed back to the glass, looking frantically up and down the street. “Keep your damn voice down, kid. Do you want to end up in a lab cell, too?” 

Christine’s heart nearly snapped in half. 

“Is that where she is? At the lab?” 

The chief’s face furrowed in frustration, and he leaned heavily against the counter. 

“No. No, she’s not at the lab. I’ve been keeping an ear out, but it doesn’t look like she’s anywhere.” 

“Good. Wherever she is, I hope it’s far away from you.” 

“I did what I had to to save Will Byers.” 

“Yeah, and El paid the price. You just gave her up as collateral, after everything you said. All that bullshit about not letting a kid go back to a prison like that. And I was actually stupid enough to believe it.” 

“I tried, okay?” he said impatiently. “How do you think the cops got there so fast, huh? I sent in the tip to cut the agents off.” 

“And look how great that worked out,” she spat. “The kids had no one to help them, and Eleven had to go up against the Demogorgon alone. Whatever happened to her after that, that’s your fault. If she’s…If she’s dead? That’s on you.” 

Christine abruptly cut herself off, staring blankly down at her physics notes. She had no idea what she expected to get out of this conversation. It wasn’t going to bring Eleven back. It wasn’t going to change anything. She couldn’t have been the only one who put the pieces together. But for some reason, none of them were talking about it. Like they were so grateful to have Will back that they wouldn’t look the gift horse in the mouth. Well, if no one else was going to put up a fight, she would. She would punish Hopper in every way she could. Even if that was only with extra sass and overpriced movie tickets. 

He was still hovering on the other side of the glass, his massive form casting a shadow on her notes. It was very annoying. 

 “You tell the kids any of this?” he asked. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because they’ll probably do something stupid, and I’m hoping Dustin can make it through middle school without jail time.” 

“Right. So if someone eggs my house, I should assume it’s you?” 

The sound of his chuckle filled her with fury. This was Eleven they were talking about. A real girl, who was really lost, all because of his really stupid decision. And he was laughing at her. 

It made her reconsider breaking through the glass. 

But Chief Hopper seemed to sense the storm he’d stirred. He held up his hands before Christine could open her mouth. 

“I deserve worse, I know. But try and keep it hypothetical, huh? Sure your folks want you to make it through high school without jail time, too.” 

Christine clenched her newly freed fists. “Enjoy your movie, Chief.” 

He nodded and backed away from the counter. She turned back to her notes, which seemed even more incomprehensible now than they had before, but he wasn’t done annoying her just yet. 

“What’d you feed her? When she was living with you?” 

It was so out of left field, it took her a second to respond. “…Why?” 

“Just curious.” 

Christine frowned down at her homework. Her pencil hovered over one of Steve’s doodles, where it looked like he’d been playing tic tac toe against himself. She traced a circle around the grid, unable to restrain a smile. 

“Eggos, mostly. She really liked waffles with whipped cream.” 

Hopper didn’t respond. She heard the door open, and when she looked up, he was already gone. 

Whatever the chief had wanted out of their conversation, Christine hoped he’d gotten it. All she’d gotten was the uneasy sense of being watched, of being in the dark. She’d been confused a lot over the last month, but somehow it still felt like she didn’t know everything. She was still reeling when Claudia came to pick her up at the end of her shift. Thankfully, her spaciness was easily disregarded. If there was one thing her cast was good for, it was excuses. 

Claudia drove her to Big Buy, and together they did their grocery shopping. Even then it was hard to put Eleven out of her mind. The automatic doors at the front of the store had only just been replaced, and there were still fragments of glass that refused to be swept off the sidewalk. The manager, Robert, had spent the first week telling anyone who would listen that a little girl had broken it with her mind. After business had taken a hit, he changed his tune. It had just been a malfunction with the door wiring, and everything was all fixed now. 

Christine smiled wryly at the thought. She grabbed her own box of Eggos and dropped it into the shopping cart. 

It was a pretty light trip to the store. Christine had to limit herself to three bags if she wanted to be able to walk. Claudia was more than happy to help, but Christine always waved off her offers. There were only two people in the Walcott house, and neither of them ate as much as they should. She could manage the groceries on her own. 

“Hey, Dad! I’m home!” She smacked the front door closed behind her, and limped her way into the kitchen to start putting away the food. “I just got the basics. Mostly cereal, bagels, more Pop Tarts. There’s some chicken in the freezer if you wanted to do that for dinner. Otherwise it’s Chinese or pizza. Or burgers, I guess, if you wanna make the drive. What’re you feeling?” 

Not for the first time that day, Christine didn’t get a response. 

“Dad…?” 

She put the essentials in the fridge, then poked her head into the living room. Her father was, in fact, home. He was sitting in an armchair, newspaper held up in front of him. 

“Dad, did you hear me? I asked what you were feeling for…” 

“There is a boy in your bedroom.” 

Christine stared at him. “Excuse me?” 

“There is a boy in your bedroom,” he repeated. He folded the corner of the newspaper, briefly checking his watch. “He’s been in there for about…oh, thirty minutes.” 

“…okay…who is it…?” 

“I don’t know. He didn’t care to introduce himself.” 

“Right.” Christine nodded, still not following. “And you just…let him into my room?” 

“Oh, I didn’t let him anywhere. He climbed through your window.” 

Christine choked on air. Her father, on the other hand, just continued to stare at his newspaper. 

“I’m sorry, he—he what?” 

“Climbed through your window. I watched him try and sneak around the house, trip in front of the living room window, and stop outside yours. Took him a good five minutes to get it open.” 

“Uh huh.” Somehow, Christine was still waiting for a punchline. “And you just decided to…to not do anything about it, huh?” 

“I wanted to ask you about it first. See if you were expecting any visitors.” 

“Uh, no. Definitely not.” 

“I see.” Her father casually turned the page in his paper. “Gotta say. That answer does not feel as reassuring as I hoped it would.” 

Christine rolled her eyes, and was halfway to another quip when a thought occurred to her. Unexpected visitors… 

“I’ll handle it, Dad,” she said quickly. “I’m sure it’s just one of the kids playing a pranks, so uh, don’t go for the shotgun yet. I’ll let you know.” 

“Okay. And be careful! It sounded like he knocked over a stack of your cassettes.” 

“What? Oh. Yes. Yeah, uh, will do.” 

She hurried down the hallway, fast as her crutches would carry her. Could it really be her? It wouldn’t be the first time she was mistaken for a boy. And if she was sneaking around—she should be more careful. Coming here, especially when Hopper was looking for her, it was entirely too dangerous. 

Christine nearly tumbled into her own room. She looked around, out of breath. But she did not find what she was expecting. 

“Steve?” 

“Sh, sh, sh!” Steve sprang up from where he’d been sitting at her desk, and hurried to close her bedroom door. “Keep it down, alright? I had to sneak in through the window. Your dad doesn’t know I’m here.” 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Uh, nothing. I just…you know. I…wanted to check up on you.” 

“You just…?” Christine gaped at him. “And this required breaking into my house when I wasn’t home?” 

“Well, now—hey,” he said defensively, holding up his hands. “I didn’t know you weren’t home. I know you usually get off work around now, so I was just guessing, and—and I didn’t break in, okay? Nothing is broken.” 

Her eyes strayed over to her dresser, where several of her cassettes had been scattered across the top. Steve grimaced. 

“Technically, those are not broken. I just…knocked them over when I tripped. Sorry. I uh…I hope you didn’t have them in any specific order.” 

“I did.” 

“Ah, okay, well uh…if—if you want help putting them back or something, I could…help?” 

She stared at him, still trying to wrap her head around the image. Steve Harrington was standing in her bedroom. His face still horrendously bruised, and wearing a green T-shirt that matched her carpet. He was just standing there. There was her poster of Indiana Jones. There was her poster of Han Solo. And there was Steve Harrington. There was her closet, still open from her morning’s search for a black sweatshirt. There was the towel on the floor from her shower. And there was Steve Harrington. 

 Christine gulped. He’d been waiting in her room for thirty minutes. Alone. The thought filled her with panic, though she had no idea what she might be hiding. 

“Did you touch anything else?” she demanded. 

“What? No! No, I didn’t—I barely even looked. I didn’t look. At anything. Sorry.” 

His nervousness had the curious effect of calming her down almost immediately. If nothing else, Steve looked just as uncomfortable in her room as she felt to have him there. Which only begged the question further. 

“Seriously, Steve. What are you doing here?” 

“Right, yeah.” He nodded and, right on cue, ran a hand through his hair. “Can…Can we talk?” 

She nodded without really processing the question. She let Steve help her over to the bed. He grabbed the desk chair he’d been sitting in and dragged it over. Steve did not sit down. He paced back and forth behind it a few times, drumming his fingers on the back. Christine had only seen him this nervous one other delightful time. 

“Look, Steve,” she said flatly, “if you’re here to talk about Nancy, I can’t help you. She’s dealing with a lot right now, and I don’t know what…” 

“Nancy?” he asked absently. “No, this isn’t about Nancy. Nancy doesn’t even know I’m here.” 

“She doesn’t?” 

“No. Well, she doesn’t know I’m here right now, but she knew I was coming.” 

“She did?” Somehow, this was even more baffling than the first statement. “You told Nancy you were coming?” 

Steve stopped pacing abruptly, and plopped down into the desk chair. “How’s your leg?” 

“Oh it’s…fine…” She stared down at the cast, almost surprised to see it. “I mean, it’s still broken.” 

“Right,” he said with a small grin. “So your leg is about as fine as my face.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that bad.” 

“No, I know it is. You can be honest.” 

“Oh, I meant my leg,” she said cheekily. “Your face still looks like shit.” 

Steve gawked at her for a moment, then choked out a laugh. “You—jeez. Alright. Pulling no punches, today.” 

“Hey, you wanted honestly.” Christine smiled, looking at him expectantly. “So…?” 

“Your leg, right.” Steve leaned forward in the chair, his elbows propped on his knees. “Well, seeing as you still can’t ride your bike, I was thinking I could give you a lift to school if you wanted.” 

“…Seriously?” 

“Yeah, sure. You’re only a couple blocks away from me anyway. And then I was thinking, you know, since you still need someone to carry your shit, Nancy and I could take turns walking you to class. This way she can stop freaking out about missing so much school.” 

A heavy, knowing feeling settled in the pit of Christine’s stomach. 

“Steve, you don’t have to do this.” 

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” he said jovially. “I don’t care about missing class.” 

“No, I mean any of it. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t.” 

“Oh.” He paused, looking crestfallen. “Why not?” 

Christine wet her lips. It made it slightly less painful when they split into an incredulous, wounded grin. 

“Because I don’t love being used, Steve. If you wanna patch things up with Nancy, that’s great. Good luck. But don’t use me to get your redemption. I don’t need your pity. Either of you. I honestly thought we were past all this.” 

“What—We are!” He nearly jumped forward out of his chair, waving his hands in front of him. “Chris, I’m not here because Nancy asked me. And—And I’m not here to make it up to her.” 

“Oh, right. You just had some completely unrelated conversation with her before you came to my place. Honestly, Steve, I know I’ve been dumb, but I’m not that dumb.” 

She tried to slide off of the bed, but Steve forcibly pushed her back into her seat. 

“No, no, no. Look, Nancy doesn’t even know about the carpool thing, okay? That’s all on me. I went to her to ask for permission to talk to you about some other stuff.” 

“Permission?” Christine echoed. She wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or outraged. “Why the hell would you need permission?” 

“Because…Because Jonathan was right. I know you and Nancy were fighting, and yeah, a lot of it was because of Barb or the Upside Down or Jonathan or whatever. But it was also because of me. Because I was being a colossal shithead, to both of you. And I wanted to talk to you, but…I didn’t want to start anything on accident.” 

Steve sat back down in his seat, his hands folded in front of him. He was watching her anxiously. It looked like he was waiting for her response before he went any further. 

“Oh,” was all she could muster. “That’s…thoughtful, I guess.” 

“I’m trying,” he said earnestly. “Also, I didn’t want one of you badasses to beat my face in any more than it already is.” 

Christine bobbed her head slowly. “So, what was the other stuff you wanted to talk about?” 

The question made him look almost as nervous as the Demogorgon had. But Steve swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“I meant what I said that night. About wanting to make things right. I’ve done…a lot of shitty things, to a lot of different people. I went to Jonathan’s to apologize about his camera, but…obviously things didn’t go that way. And now with his brother home, he’s got more important things to worry about than whether or not he wants to forgive me. 

“I apologized to Nancy, for…well. The thing at the Hawk. It was dumb, and I was hurt and overreacting for absolutely no reason, and I know I can’t erase it. Well…like I literally erased it, but it doesn’t…yeah. And she says she gets it, but that she still needs time, which I totally get. So I asked her if she thought I could talk to you without making things weird, because…I’ve been going around apologizing to people and…and I still haven’t apologized to you.” 

He was quiet for a worrying amount of time. He was just looking down at his hands, perfectly still except for the rise and fall of his chest. Christine nearly kicked him to make sure he was still awake. But finally, Steve looked up at her. He almost looked bashful. 

“I just wanna start by saying that…I honestly don’t expect you to forgive me at this point. Which is kinda why I’ve been putting it off. It’s a pretty long list of bullshit so…if you’re gonna punch me, just try and wait until the end, okay?” 

“Okay,” she agreed hesitantly. 

Steve wiped his hands down his face, and started from the top. 

“Alright, well, first off—I’m honestly not that busy with basketball. I lie about that all the time to just about everyone so I can get out of chores and homework and everything else. I just hate physics. I don’t understand it, and I know you’re really good at it, so I let you do all the work so I can get a good grade without having to do anything. I lied because I knew that you’d do it for me. And I did the same thing when I invited you to Jenny’s party so I could hook up with Nancy. And when I invited you to my party so Nancy would come too. And when I asked you not to talk to the cops about the beers so I wouldn’t get in trouble. And…when I asked you come talk to me at the Hawk so Tommy could spray the building. 

“All of it was—I was wrong on so many levels. I was a manipulative son-of-a-bitch. I was self-centered, and—and arrogant, and honestly—I just really liked knowing that you would do things for me if I asked. I guess it…I don’t know. It made me feel good about myself. So…So I used what I may or may not have known about…how you may or may not feel about me, just to get what I wanted. Which is like, super fucked up. And I don’t know if it counts for anything, but…I’m sorry. And I don’t want to be that guy anymore.” 

None of this was news. Logically, Christine had known everything he’d said. She’s known Steve had been using her. She’d known he’d been doing it on purpose. She’d known that he had to have been clued in to something about her if he realized how he could manipulate her like that. 

But somehow, hearing him say it was so, so much worse. Having to listen to him say the words, “how you feel about me”…she wasn’t sure if she’d ever been more mortified in her life. 

She felt about ready to vomit. But she was still in a cast, and Steve was sitting nervously between her and the bathroom. It probably wouldn’t be good form to excuse herself to upchuck before they finished the conversation. 

Christine smiled, knowing it was supposed to suppress the human gag reflex. 

“Hey, it’s a two-way street, right?” she said, awkwardly. “I let you do it. It’s not like I didn’t know what was happening.” 

“You knew?” 

The thought honestly seemed to surprise him. Christine laughed for real, still dangerously close to tears. 

“Yeah, Steve. I knew. You’re not that smooth.” 

“But…if you knew it was a load of bullshit, then…why did you keep playing along?” 

She must have given him the bitch face to end all bitch faces. She’d explained a lot of simple concepts to him in the past few months as his lab partner. She was not about to explain that. 

Steve’s face dawned with realization, and he grimaced. 

“Sorry, that’s…I’m a fucking idiot. In case you haven’t noticed.” 

“Trust me, I’ve noticed.” 

She regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. She’d meant it as a slight, to mean that he was such an idiot, it was impossible to ignore. But in her mouth it just sounded like another compliment. Of course she’d noticed he was oblivious. She noticed everything about Steve, from his GPA to his cologne to his favorite breakfast sandwich. What hadn’t she noticed when she’d been spending all her days watching him? 

Thankfully, Steve was just oblivious enough that he didn’t pick up on her tone. 

“I am an idiot,” he agreed, with a smile. “I just meant that—you know, you’re way too cool to be taking orders from a douchebag like King Steve.” 

That one threw her for a loop. 

“I…what?” 

Steve stared at her, seemingly just as surprised. 

“Christine, you’re awesome. Just this month I’ve watched you finish four science projects, hold down a job, empty a shotgun into a monster and then jump into a hole in the ceiling to save a kid you barely knew. You got thrown into a wall—hell, even just the fact that you punched Tommy H! I mean, maybe you haven’t noticed, but…you’re kinda a badass.” 

Her stomach could not digest the butterflies fast enough. It was infuriating. 

“Shut up, Steve,” she said, shaking her head as he laughed. 

“No, I’m serious! You’re a badass, you’re a genius, and you’re just…a really good person. And if by some miracle you don’t want to deck me, or jump ship and tell Mr. Austin you’d rather die than try and read my handwriting again, then…I’d really like to put in the work as your lab partner. And maybe be a better friend.” 

Friend. Christine had to stow away her bitterness before it shone through. It was what she was going to get. Steve liked Nancy. Nancy liked Steve. Christine would not stand in the way. After all, it wasn’t all that different than it had been before. She would do what she had to if it meant spending time with him, and preserving her friendship with Nancy. She’d get over him and get used to it, because that was life. Sometimes, you had to put your own feelings aside. 

“Friends, huh?” Christine stroked her chin dramatically. “I don’t know. Friends with Steve Harrington. That’s a pretty exclusive club.” 

“Oh yeah,” he said, with an exaggerated nod. “So exclusive that membership is currently running at about oh, uh…zero. So, we could use the numbers.” 

“Well, I guess that settles it.” Christine pushed herself closer to the end of the bed, extending her hand. “Consider me member number one.” 

Steve beamed. It looked weird, with his broken face, and his eyes that were still a little too bloodshot to be normal. His mouth couldn’t make it all the way up on the right side, because his lip was still split. Still, he grinned like none of it could bother him, and clapped his hand into her own. 

“So I’ll drive you?” he asked, even sounding hopeful. 

“If you want to,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t want to make you look bad. I mean, Tommy will probably wonder why you’re riding with Psycho Bitch…” 

“Screw Tommy. He’s an asshole anyway, and if he ever calls you that again, I’ll make sure his face looks worse than mine.” 

Christine raised an unconvinced eyebrow, but decided not to comment. As his friend, it probably wasn’t nice to tell him he would lose that fight in a heartbeat. 

“I do have one condition, though,” Steve added with a grave look. 

“Besides my forgiveness?” 

“Yeah. We are not listening to your music in my car.” 

“Excuse me?” Christine’s jaw dropped and she glowered at him. “What’s wrong with my music?” 

“I know! I’m sorry! It just—It seems kind of limited.” 

He got up from his chair and circled around the bed, heading back to the dresser where her cassettes were still scattered. Christine grunted, and had to barrel roll clumsily on the bed to keep him in sight. 

“I only got a quick look when I was picking up the tapes, but come on! Look at this! Piano Man, Billy Joel. Cold Spring Harbor, Billy Joel. Elton John, well, Elton John. Blonde on Blonde, Bob Dylan…that actually doesn’t sound bad. Oh look! Nylon Curtain, Billy Joel. Night at the Opera, Queen—that can stay. And, what a surprise, we’re back to Glass Houses by Mr. Billy Joel. I mean, where’s your Blondie? Where’s your MJ? Where do you get this stuff?” 

She smiled. “A lot of it’s my mom’s.” 

“So what? She makes you listen to all her stuff? I’m gonna have to sneak you a mix or something cause this collection is…phew!” 

She decided to wait rather than say anything. It wasn’t long until he realized what was wrong. He was holding one her tapes up to the light, squinting at the tiny font. The squint ebbed away until he was finally staring at it with eyes blown wide. Gently, he put it down on the dresser again. 

“Christine, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” 

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “You can’t know if I haven’t told you.” 

“Yeah, but you did. You did tell me. At Jenny’s party, you said it was just you and your dad and I…I just don’t listen. Sorry.” 

“Guess we can work on that too. That and your handwriting.” 

Steve laughed politely. Christine was still smiling, and she beckoned with her hand. Steve dropped the Billy Joel cassette into her palm, and hesitantly sat next to her on the bed. 

“She got sick when I was about four,” Christine confessed, flipping the tape in her hands. “In and out of the hospital with kidney problems. Eventually we had to move out of New York so she could get around the clock care. She couldn’t move a lot, so she’d just listen to a massive amount of music. I remember the nurses used to yell at her for singing too loud…and then, um…she died when I was six. That’s when Dad and I started doing the whole move around the country thing.” 

“This guy her favorite?” Steve asked, tapping the tape. 

“Yeah. He’s from New York, so she was always really big on him. State pride and whatever. He only had two albums out at the time, so the rest are mine. It just makes me feel closer to her, I guess. Like maybe it hasn’t been ten years.” 

“Hey, I get that. It’s not the same thing, but I don’t feel that close to my mom either. I don’t think I could even tell you what her favorite artist was. Just the stuff my dad has us listen to.” 

“Which is?” 

“Beatles, mostly. It’s not the worst, but…it’s kinda like the movie theater, you know? You listen to the same thing every day and…” 

“And suddenly ‘Blue Skies Forever’ is the worst song ever created,” Christine finished with a grin. “Yeah, I get you.” 

Steve plucked the tape from her hands, inspecting it with renewed interest. “So he’s your favorite too, huh? You got any recommendations?” 

“The Stranger,” she said without missing a beat. “1977. Not a miss track on it. I’ve probably got to get another copy soon, I listen to it so much. It’s in the other stereo though, cause…I was playing it for Eleven…” 

Her sentence trailed off, but Steve just nodded in understanding. She wasn’t sure how much he knew about what had happened the other week. She supposed it was a conversation he’d have to have at some point, but if felt like something Nancy should do. She was the only reason Steve had gotten involved anyway. 

 He nudged Christine’s knee with his own and gave her a bracing smile. “You’ll have to make me a copy too, huh?” 

“Hm…no. I don’t think so.” She enjoyed watching his face contort with shock, and couldn’t contain her smirk. “Make your own copy, Harrington.” 

Steve laughed too loudly, which died instantly when there was a knock on the door. Panic shot across his face, and he jumped up from the bed. 

“Shit! Shit, I’m—can you stall him? I can just head out, or—or hide in the closet, or…” 

“Yeah, Dad, come on in!” 

The door swung open, and her dad took his time stepping around the corner. He was wincing, afraid of what he might find inside. Christine wished he wouldn’t play it up so much. She was in a cast for Christ’s sake. How much trouble could she get into? 

“Hi,” her dad said awkwardly. “Are…we still having dinner?” 

“Yeah. I tried to ask what you wanted before but you never answered me.” 

“Right. I was…a little preoccupied.” 

His eyes shot to Steve, who was standing stock still in the middle of the room. Realizing he’d been spotted, he quickly composed his face into a smile. 

“Uh…h-hey! You—You must be Christine’s dad. I was just…just asking about some notes for school, so I thought I’d…” 

“Sneak in through my daughter’s window?” her dad finished coolly. 

Steve’s face flushed with terror once more. 

“Relax, Dad,” Christine scolded. “Steve, this is my dad. Dad, this is Steve Harrington. My lab partner.” 

“Your…lab partner,” her father repeated, turning to her with a knowing look. “Right. Nice to meet you, Steve.” 

“Likewise,” Steve said quickly. His voice was about two octaves too high. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Walcott. Christine is…she’s like super smart. Probably the only reason I’m passing physics.” 

“I see. And…will you be joining us for dinner?” 

“Oh! No, I don’t want to be—I should probably just…” 

“Yeah, Steve,” said Christine, enjoying his discomfort. “We were just trying to decide between pizza, burgers and Chinese. What do you think?” 

It was hilarious how betrayed he looked. 

“Um, I don’t—no, I don’t think—you know, ha! Who am I to…?” 

“Come on,” she said with a shrug. “You’ve been living in Hawkins your whole life. You must know where all the best take out is.” 

“Yeah, but my parents…” 

“Would probably want you to study so you can start passing your physics tests instead of just your physics labs.” 

Steve glared at the thinly veiled threat. His eyes bounced nervously between Christine and her father, each more amused than the next. He ran a hand through his hair, and deflated. 

“Uh…burgers sound great. There’s a diner on the north side that does pick up.” 

“Great. Dad can call it in, and we’ll go pick it up.” Christine grinned, and herded Steve toward the door with her crutch. “We can listen to some Billy Joel on the way.”

#ocappreciation #stranger things #stranger things oc #stranger things fanfiction #fyeahstrangerthingsocs #chapters #chapter 24

[carmenlire]

Satiable

Trigger Warning for disordered eating.

read on ao3

He doesn’t notice at first.

He doesn’t notice that he’s subsisting on coffee, that he can’t quite remember the last time he had a real meal. He’s just not hungry and he can’t figure out why his headaches have come back.

When he was a teenager, Alec suffered from terrible, pain in the ass headaches that made him want to collapse into bed where he could cry until he finally fell asleep and get some relief from the pain. It’s a dull ache in the back of his head, a sharp pain in his temples.

It’s been awhile since they’ve been this bad, though Alec doesn’t notice that their intensity-- and frequency-- has been ratcheting up. All he knows is that by mid afternoon he can hardly focus. He takes a deep breath and as his lungs expand, he feels a quiet easing of the bands that seem to tighten around his chest a little more with each day that passes. It’s a temporary relief from slogging through paperwork and approving expense reports but it keeps him from screaming.

Sighing heavily in the quiet of his office, Alec tosses his pen onto the blotter and brings a hand up until he can press fingers into his temples hard enough so that the blunt pain can drown out his headache for a brief, blissful moment.

Glancing at the clock, Alec sees that it’s almost six. Shadowhunters should be coming down to ops soon for their assignments and Alec’s glad that he gave Jace that responsibility a couple of months ago. He doesn’t know if he could leave the sanctity of his office right now and go into the control center where everyone would be talking, eager and ready to head off on patrol as their runes kicked in for the night.

The very thought of the controlled chaos makes his head pound a little more viciously.

Shaking his head a little, Alec works another hour or so until he deems the day done. He still has a thousand things that will be waiting for his attention in the morning-- and he knows a thousand more will drop in his lap overnight, no doubt-- but he’s done all he can for today.

Standing, Alec feels himself sway a little in his spot. Blinking, he frowns and reaches for the mostly empty mug of coffee that’s never far from his elbow. He takes a last swig and while it’s gone cold and more than a little gross, his shoulders lose some of their tension.

Reaching behind him, Alec shrugs into his coat and pockets his phone and stele. He’s out the door a minute later and manages to avoid everyone on his way out. Fall is sneakily fading into winter and Alec huddles a little tighter into his coat.

Magnus is out of town for a few days, tending to a werewolf pack illness in Dubai, so it’s just him as he swings the door open to their loft.

Alec briefly debates making dinner-- maybe heating a can of soup up or scrounging for some cheese and crackers-- but just the thought is exhausting. As he goes to walk past the kitchen, however, he abruptly stops as he realizes that the only thing he’s had today is six cups of coffee.

Suddenly, he’s starving and with a sigh, he enters the kitchen and heads straight to the fridge. Opening it, his head throbs as the fluorescent light pierces into his skull.

He’s not seeing a lot of options. He’s definitely not in the mood to cook and Alec briefly wishes that he’d had this realization just ten minutes before. He could’ve stopped by the pizza joint down the block or ordered takeout from the Thai place halfway between here and the Institute. Undoubtedly unhealthy but he needs calories and he's too tired to worry about their quality. He figures something is better than nothing.

Now, if he could just find something that wasn't too damned exhausting to prepare, something he wouldn't need to wait an hour for. He wants his bed so fucking bad he feels his eyes burning.

He’s just about to give up altogether when a deep blue Tupperware container catches his eye on the bottom shelf. Leaning down-- and that feels like so much goddamn effort-- just a little, he slides the box out enough to see a bright pink post-it on top.

This is for you, darling. I shudder to think what’s passed for a meal since I left you a few days ago. Before you collapse into bed, I want you to eat this entire bowl.

Love, Mr. Lightwood-Bane

Huffing out a laugh, Alec wonders idly that Magnus knows him too well. He hadn’t looked in the fridge in a few days but he’s filled with a quiet wave of warmth at Magnus taking the time to prepare-- or summon, for Alec’s not quite romantic enough to think that Magnus toiled away over this pasta when he wasn’t looking-- dinner while he was away. It's well known that Alec gets tunnel vision when he's at work. Magnus is used to Alec coming home and devouring the whole fucking kitchen once he's out of the Institute and breathign fresh air.

Alec tries to tamp down on the guilt that Magnus doesn't know that that's not what this is lately. It's not enough to be cause for concern, he tells himself and ignores it when the thought strikes hollow.

The pasta-- chicken fettuccine, his favorite-- warms up perfectly in the microwave. It’s delicious, even if Alec barely manages to eat half of the container before he’s too full to continue.

Figuring he’ll have leftovers tomorrow, he pours a glass of tap water and downs it while standing in front of the sink. Placing the empty glass next to the fork he’d used, Alec runs a hand through his hair before giving the room a once over and stepping out to the hallway, turning the lights off as he goes.

Pulling his shirt over his head and pushing his pants down until they pool on the floor next to his side of the bed, Alec slides between cool sheets and sighs into his pillow.

The weight of the day sloughs off him and he closes his burning eyes, finding almost immediate relief from the headache that’s held him in a vise grip for most of the day.

Sinking into the sheets, he falls asleep quick, pulling Magnus’s pillow to his chest and breathing in the scent of his husband’s shampoo.

--

The weeks blend together and Alec feels like his whole goddamn life is a never ending dumpster fire.

Well, that’s not quite true but he’s overwhelmed and stressed to the max and if Jace asks for special permission for a dumbass mission one more time, Alec won’t be responsible for his reaction.

His vision blurs as he reads over a request from the Clave that’s as subtle as a fucking grenade asking for his expertise to calm rising downworld tensions in St. Petersburg. Their flattery falls flat and Alec’s well aware that he’ll be portaling his ass to Russia by week’s end to deal with shadowhunters who will need to be brought to heel quickly and with as little bloodshed as possible.

That’s a headache for future Alec, though, he thinks with a grimace.

Reaching for the last bite of his pain au chocolat that he’d picked up along with his quad latte this morning, Alec barely tastes the damned thing. He figures it’s more than enough to get him through a day that’s busting with meetings and reaches for his coffee to wash it down only to scowl when the to go cup is unforgivably light.

There’s not a drop left and Alec growls a little-- there’s no one around to hear his irritation, at least-- as he stands, rounding his desk to head to the canteen, hoping to hell that someone’s bought more hazelnut k-cups since they were out last week.

Thankfully, Izzy is the only one there when he arrives and she bites into her sandwich as he grunts at her, the bare minimum greeting she’ll take and the most he can summon the energy to give.

“Rough day,” she asks dryly, reaching onto her plate for a cheddar and sour cream chip.

“Everything’s a pain in my ass,” Alec replies roughly. “If I have to hear another recruit talk back I’m putting them on ichor duty for the rest of the goddamn decade.”

Rasing a brow, Isabelle doesn’t say anything. She just watches him as she makes her steady way through lunch.

Alec opens one of the cabinets and breathes a quiet yet fervent sigh of relief when he sees the red box, almost three quarters full of his favorite k-cups. Placing his mug under the drip, Alec fires the Keurig up and selects the biggest size, tapping the button for strong before hitting start.

Almost immediately, the fresh smell of brewing coffee hits the air and his shoulders relax. It’s like coming home. It’s a brief respite and Alec inhales the notes of hazelnut and beans and prays that his headache stays away until after he has a chance to peak into the new recruits' training.

He’s just reaching for the almond milk in the refrigerator when Izzy asks, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I had a croissant this morning,” Alec says absently.

“And before that?”

Alec’s quiet for a moment as he tries to remember. There was that granola bar he’d forced down last night as he’d been reading over a treatise draft. Frowning a little, Alec can’t remember anything else that he’d eaten yesterday and shit if he can remember the day before that.

He’s too busy to eat, he thinks with a frown. He’s never hungry in the mornings and by the time he gets to the Institute, he’s too busy to take a break. Most nights, he’s so damned tired that he takes a few mechanic bites of food before going to bed, just to wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

His plate is full to bursting and eating is as low a priority as he can have right now. There’s a little voice, though, that tries to slither its way through his head.

It’s not that he likes not eating. It’s not that it makes him the tiniest bit happy when he’s realized that he’s managed to go sixteen-- or twenty four or thirty six-- hours without anything but coffee to serve as a meal.

It’s something he can control. He can ignore his hunger pains through sheer force of will, even if nausea sweeps through him occasionally and he has to close his eyes to regain his equilibrium.

It’s something that’s plagued him off and on since he was in the Academy. When Alec was stressed-- when he was tired and the only thing he felt he could control was his eating-- his appetite vanished. It’s nothing unusual and Alec knows that in a few days, a few weeks, he’ll feel better one morning. Waking up won’t be so exhausting and he’ll go over to the East Village and have the best bacon burger in the city with an extra large fry and Oreo milkshake. Everything will go back to how it’s supposed to be and Alec won’t have to wonder when his last meal was, won’t feel his sister’s piercing eyes over a bag of Ruffles potato chips.

He doesn’t answer her and Iz doesn’t push. He pours a healthy dollop of milk into his coffee and leaves, resigned to going back to his office and getting through the day’s work.

Distantly, he wonders if he’ll have time to sneak in a quick training session before he calls it a day. He feels light and there’s an energy that’s simmering low in his gut that he knows from past experience just needs an outlet. Blowing across his coffee, Alec takes a slow, deep sip and wonders if he could persuade Jace to a sparring match tonight.

--

The next morning, Alec wakes up to a long line of warmth along his back. Sinking into the sheets, his breath catches at the dull throbbing in his ankle. He’d used an iratze after sparring Jace last night and he’s pissed that his ankle still feels off. Deciding to deal with it later, Alec relaxes further against Magnus and his eyes fall shut as he feels his husband nose along his spine.

He lets himself be urged onto his back and stares up at a sleep-rumpled Magnus. It’s a vision that still makes his heart ache in the best damn way, no matter that they’ve been together for a few years now.

Magnus studies him in the low light and Alec closes his eyes again as Magnus leans forward and nibbles across his collarbone, along his deflect rune.

“What do you say to waffles this morning, Alexander?” Magnus’s voice is a low rasp and Alec smiles a little even if words get stuck in his throat.

As though he knows Alec’s thinking, Magnus raises his head and studies him carefully. The intensity in his unglamoured eyes is a little unnerving.

Running a thumb over a stubbled jaw, Magnus smiles. “What do you say? Surely the Institute can wait a couple of hours.”

While there’s a part of Alec that’s uneasy-- while Magnus could be coy when needed, with Alec his attempts at subterfuge had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer-- Alec knows that Magnus has realized that his appetite has been damn near nonexistent lately.

Resigned, Alec thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised if his husband knew about his over-training. Alec’s not dumb. He might be pissed off but his ankle is screaming and the only reason that ever happens after applying an iratze is because his energy stores are too low.

Things have finally come to a head and while he still feels like he’s in a fog most days, he knows that something had to give sooner or later.

“Sure,” he replies hoarsely. “Let’s have waffles for breakfast.”

Magnus’s gaze eases just a tad even as the gold warms. He leans down and kisses Alec.

“Right answer, darling.”

The two of them get ready slowly, showering together, lingering under the warm spray. Magnus catches Alec’s wince when he forgets not to put his full weight on his left foot and his eyes sharpen.

He doesn’t say anything though, merely lowering until he’s kneeling on the marble of their shower, reaching a hand out to wrap it around Alec’s ankle. Alec watches as azure flows into his skin and the relief is immediate.

Magnus kisses the delicate bone of his ankle before lowering his foot back to the ground and stands, pulling Alec closer with arms around his middle.

They stand there for long minutes and Alec feels warmth that’s been missing for longer than he wants to admit.

He’s finally hungry. Not starving, not ravenous. But he can admit that he’s craving food.

It’s the breaking of the dam. It’s a start.

Alec knows the next few hours won't be easy but Magnus hasn't stopped looking at him, warm and open, and suddenly he's tired of hiding from his husband.

It feels like the quietest of snicks as the puzzle pieces align. Maybe, he wonders, if he felt guilty about keeping something from his husband then it was time to come clean.

He breathes easier at just the idea.

#satiable #my writing #malec fic

[originaldetectivesheep]

A Life of Riley Part 1 - The Problem With Grinckles ch 5

Chapter 4

V

"No," Wilson said, knotting the metal hooks at the end of the bungee cord together and twisting so that they would bind, "this is how you do it.  I will show you all how to do this right, and we will get the rest of the cameras up faster."  He pulled the sides of the cord loop, stretching it, then doubled it up to keep it from stretching too far, and turned it once in his hands to put a single twist in the double loop.  He kicked off his shoes and pulled away at his socks with his toes, then set the bungee cord around his feet as a makeshift harness, and grabbed for the tree.  

Sajitha snorted, like she would have rolled her eyes and gone "boys" if she had anyone who resembled an ally here to listen, but with just Remy doting on her even weirder than Wilson was, and me who she'd seen pulling these kinds of Tom Sawyer stunts for other chicks and other dudes, she wasn't in a position to really do anything but shrug and hand him the camera.  "Be careful," she said, a hard stressed edge to her voice, "and remember to wrap the duct tape around crosswise – the boss will kill me if any gets on the lens or the antenna."  Wilson was already halfway up to the branch that we'd picked out, seemingly having a harder time with the inconsistent bark and the need to move around side branches than if he'd been going up a palm back home, so it was anyone's guess if he was listening, but Remy nodded vigorously over Sajitha's shoulder, holding the camera in his hands up to his eyes like this was something he had to pay special attention to.  I had to do something, or these woke 21st-century university honor students would be bashing each other over the head with logs and lying about how many mammoths they'd killed in a second or two.

I pulled out my phone and knelt down by the monitoring console, still in Sajitha's bucket – that at least was a positive to having this stupid wannabe love triangle on the team, Wilson and Remy were so gung-ho about one-upping each other that I didn't have to carry any of the buckets any more – and gave it a poke.  "So we've got about half the cameras up now; it's gonna be a bit of a walk to get the last two in, and we're not going to have them up till after dark. And jeez, looking at the whole map now, everything's spread way the hell out.  Where are we going to have to post up with the console? Doesn't that have to be in the center?"  I looked up for a second to tip Sajitha that she should start giving some orders here, and then looked back down quick as the phone buzzed: there was a camera on line on top of us, a new pin in the map, and now Wilson was climbing gingerly back down the tree.

Sajitha waited till he got back over, slapping the tension out of his hands, to reply.  "No, the console's independent.  I want to leave that in the Facilities office at the sand depot, and then we can stay up in one of the lounges in the Maissel library up on campus and watch out for pictures.  Leo, budge over so I can work on it."  I stood up and took a step back as she squatted down, turning on the portable console: Remy did not step in over her shoulder, realizing it would be creepy, and Wilson rolled up for a better look, but stayed sat down, pulling his shoes and socks back on.

"The cameras are motion cameras, so they won't go off unless the sensor picks up something in the field of vision – you guys did set them up to cover as much of your potential crossings as possible, right?" She didn't wait for an answer, not quite trusting either of them to really make that determination.  "Whatever, I just switched them on, and it looks like the four streams we have so far are good enough, so keep it up.  Anyway, they're defaulted to one-meter resolution; if there's three feet of something moving relative to the last frame from a second ago, it'll write it out to the console – and this is new equipment, so it'll just put the frame into a stream buffer on port whatever; we can sit on that port with our phones and get a notification if there's something new.  A meter should be plenty for a Bobcat dragging a trailer full of fish, but if they're doing something weird and like moving them by hand, it'll catch it too.  

"The only problem is that we're going to tend to get a lot of false positives till about midnight, when there's not so many people just going around campus, even on access roads like this.  But if you want to be sure, you need to check all of it, and I'd rather do that at the library where it's lighted and heated, and I can do some homework when we don't have camera stuff to process."  Sajitha pulled down an access panel and typed out a couple commands on the half-keyboard inside, probably configuring the streaming slots for the cameras we hadn't connected up yet.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.  "And if we're in the library, we can grab other people a lot easier if we need more eyes on this than if we were cooped up in some cabin in the woods.  Let's go – only two more cameras to put up, and then we can get your console locked up where it needs to be and catch the bus back to the eng campus."  Sajitha nodded and stood up, half-dragging the lid over the bucket; Remy and Wilson each grabbed a handle, on opposite sides, and looked at each other like this was going to go to pistols at dawn.

Instead, we went back to the science library just as planned.  We got the cameras up with a minimum of further neanderthalism, got the console set up on a top shelf in the back room of the Facilities shop at the sand depot with some assistance from Jarlan and Paulina, who picked out the place with the least signal interference, where it was least likely to get unplugged or knocked over or something by someone on a different shift, and then gave us a ride back to center campus in the truck, partly like they said because Sajitha was their favorite student worker and partly, I guessed, because they had to pick up one of the temporary leaf-clearing crews and take them over somewhere that connected to the city bus system.  It was a good time, and after the air-drying in the back of the pickup I was pretty sure that enough of the pond stink was off me that I wouldn't stand out in the library.  Well, in the science library as panicked freshmen in over their heads started grinding for their first midterms.

It was still early when we got in, but instead of just sprawling over the first empty table we came across, Sajitha led us around and down into the basement study area – where Carolína carefully turned down a paper reservation marker or something as she saw us coming.  "Hey, welcome," she said, hugging Sajitha and waving at the rest of us.  "Did everything go okay? I got the message and marked the table like you said, so we should be set down here for a while; some freshman bros tried to take it, because they didn't know what it meant, but I told them to message their RAs or whoever about Riley, and that got them out pretty quick.  Did you eat dinner? We can't get pizza here like we get in the lab or the CS labs, but drinks are okay – so I have a big thermos of blended-up ajiaco from my cousin's place and some cups."  Carolína had hustled Sajitha around to the far side of the table, and lifted up a big red thermos barrel with an uff, the rich scent of Colombian potato stew drifting out as she opened the tap on it.  Two chairs on their side, three on this, that stuff about Riley to get rid of randos – this was definitely a setup to make sure that the rest of the night went the way Sajitha meant it to.

Wilson picked up the paper tag that was still on the table, reading over what Carolína had sharpied onto it: "'Caution – Applied Physics Lab practical investigation in process – Keep Well Back.'"  He looked over at me, sideways at the girls, and then back at me.  "The Applied Physics lab – are they in this after all?  Did you give it over? You're close enough to them – he is friends with them too – and now they are both in the lab, and now there is this.  What is the meaning of this?"

Carolína stood up, hands out.  "I'm sorry; I know we have kind of a bad reputation, but that was the point of the sign – to save the table and make other people go away by thinking that I was going to set it on fire or put it in another dimension or something.  It's just a bluff; I'm not doing anything crazy here, just my homework."

"She's right," Sajitha said, not looking up from the notebook and textbook and class notes and propped-up phone with more references on it spread out in front of her.  "I told her to make something up about the lab to scare off the randos, since we can't actually go up there and do this, because a) you're scared of Riley and b) there's legit not room for three extra people in the lab at once these days. The only AP lab business that's happening at this table is me and Carolína doing our solid-state homework; sit down and watch out for your fish thieves."

"Anyway, I don' think we've met, like, live, for real," Carolína said, extending a hand to Wilson.  "I'm Carolína Canaveris, from the Applied Physics lab, but I promise I don' bite."

Wilson extended his hand bashfully.  "Wilson.  Wilson Msekela. Biology, pre-med, some population genetics.  I'm sorry for being angry."  Peace restored, I sat down and got my phone out, connecting over to the camera streams; Wilson dropped beside me and busied himself likewise, remote-logging to his cluster to check on the profiling he'd started, and Remy jammed his hands in the pockets of his warmup pants and went to go look for a soda machine or something.

And that's how it stayed, at least for the next couple hours.  Carolína and Sajitha dug in behind a rising couch fort of texts and journal boxes, scribbling out equations for silicon permeability, Remy texted with his buddies on the taekwondo team and intermittently stood up and walked around like he was thinking he might move his chair around closer to Sajitha if there was anything he could say about wafer doping that would turn out remotely intelligent, Wilson poked his cluster and chained through the references in this one article in the Lancet like he was writing a survey off it, and randos came by and side-eyed us when they smelled the stew in our cups, then blanched and skittered away when Wilson turned the Applied Physics warning sign back up.  And I kept watching the cameras, kept watching the false positives of cars, students on bikes, the wind pushing branches down into the frame, hoping that we'd gotten it right and that this setup, tonight, would give us a clue somewhere about who was doping all the ponds around campus with grinckles, and how they were doing it.

It had to be getting in around midnight when Remy noticed me pulling up another Facilities truck driving through the frame, then flipping it off, back to the split-screen view.  "Yo, Leo, this has been kind of bothering me for a while," he said, his voice low, like he didn't want to disturb everyone else studying around the table, "but are we even like looking at the right places, the right way for these things?  What you said about like with a Bobcat or something and a trailer – I mean it makes sense, but it also don't.  Like, when you drive a Bobcat through the woods, it rips up the ground – there ought to be a trail if they were doing that, and there wasn't.  I mean, I didn't look real good at both sides of the road around where I saw them fish splattered around in the middle, but I was riding my bike along all the way on one side, and I'm pretty sure I didn't see nothing like that.  I mean, I dunno, but I think I'd'a noticed if there was Bobcat tracks going into the woods."

I thought for a second; it did make sense, and even though there were a lot of leaves on the ground so that maybe there wouldn't be wheel scars everywhere, Remy was right – we should have seen something, somewhere.  "Let's check the pics over again," I said. "You got all this stuff photoed right when you saw it, so maybe there's something in the picture that you didn't notice the first time.  And even if they're not using motor vehicles, they've got to be moving the grinckles somehow, maybe a bucket brigade, or maybe –" The phone buzzed in my hand, and popped out a notification from the number three camera.  I slid it open and dropped my phone onto the table with a clatter.

Everyone looked up, everyone looked over.  It – I couldn't explain this shit, not in words.  "The – the cameras.  Number three.  You should've just got it.  Look.  Just look."  I somehow got the words out, somehow turned my phone back level again as the picture changed: one meter resolution, one meter's worth of delta one frame to the next – a line one meter longer out of the woods onto the road.

"How," Wilson said, "how is it happening.  How are they in the road – what is the file history – where are the men who set them up?" He was flipping backwards in the camera stream, already minutes back of no change, vainly looking for how this was going to turn out to be an elaborate prank.

"Sajitha," I said, "what is the resolution on these cameras?"  At some level I didn't want to zoom in – I didn't want to know what the shadows under the fish were, the blurry infrared shadows below the fins as a line of grinckles marched out across the number three camera's field of vision – but if it was possible we had to do it, to establish just how godawful weird this was going to become.

"Seven-twenty," Sajitha said, shaking her head loosely like she did when she ran up against something truly shocking.  "It's a frame a second max, so they can go up to half HD.  I – I'm already zoomed in, and you don't want to see this."  Three fingers poked on our side of the table, three mouths hung open.  Crutches.  Fish on crutches.  Why the hell fish on crutches.

"I'm not a biologist," Riley said from somewhere above and behind me, leaning over in a shower of bagel crumbs to take a look at the phone, "but I don't see why you mooks are so bent out of shape about fish being on crutches.  The last time I checked, fish are kind of bad at legs, so if they had to, like, walk on land for a migration or something, they'd probably need some extra help."  That answered nothing – that helped the problem where someone was making crutches for fish, or where grinckles were a kind of fish that made themselves crutches to go around walking between ponds, not at GODDAMN ALL, but of course that didn't make any difference to Riley, who wasn't supposed to be in the library now rather than the lab, and certainly wasn't supposed to walk around the library munching on a bagel, but of course "the rules apply to Riley lololololol" was still the standing punchline anywhere touching the Applied Physics lab.

"And look," Riley mumbled, mouth full, pointing at the latest frame, a shadow rushing out of the dark at the edge of the camera's detectable range, "there you go, rest of the problem solved." A new frame loaded, with a Facilities truck barreling through the line of grinckles in a splatter of fish and fish parts, and then a second frame with the survivors continuing through the carnage across the road.  "Grinckles are migratory fish, nobody's seeding them and needs to get beat up, perfectly natural circumstances, let nature take its course, problem solved."  There was no way of telling whether Riley was serious or trolling.

"No!" Wilson shouted, standing up, backed away from the table, away from Riley towards the stacks.  "No – problem not solved – and this is not nature taking its course.  You have done this – this is your fault – any problem you touch, any problem your people touch, it becomes stranger and it becomes worse.  This is your fault; you are a walking quantum distortion" – this was pointed at Riley, and then he shifted, finger pointing at me – "and this is your fault, for getting me into this problem, for getting all these Applied Physics people into the same problem.  You have made it worse – by observe the problem you affect it, you make sure it is the worst and strangest of possible worlds."

I was pretty sure that I didn't know quite enough quantum mechanics to convince Wilson that he was wrong about that part, and that these fish had been weird and awful and probably walking on crutches long before any of my AP friends got involved, but I was also pretty sure that I was the only one that he'd listen to at all.  "Wilson, listen, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I roped you into this – I'm sorry that it turned out so weird.  I'm as shocked as you are – I don't know what the hell Riley's doing down here either, this totally wasn't something I expected.  I get that you don't want to be involved – it's ok.  You've done enough – if you want out, you can ditch the map, drop the group chat, and I promise I'll never bug you about this ever again."

"You are wrong, Leo," Wilson said, spitting fury as he gathered up his phone and his backpack.  "You were right before – this is a problem that you need to be involved.  I was wrong to get involved with you – with your poison friends – but I was not wrong to get involved with the grinckles.  There is a problem still – there will be a problem as long as there is a single grinckle on campus – and I should have gotten involved earlier with that.  And I will stay involved – I will solve this problem – I will solve this problem my way, and you all will stay out of that way if you know what is good for you."  He stomped off for the stairs, and I slumped forward, breathing out hard.  This was shit – this was the worst-case outcome.  I had maybe probably lost one of my oldest friends at school, and I was stuck in with a bunch of people from the AP lab and fish that walked around on crutches.

"Too bad about Wilson," Riley said, hands on hips, looking off after him.  "That dude's a good dude; he's got some moxie.  He should quit that pop-gen and epidemiology crap and switch to nuc-med; he'd take over that stupid department in a minute and a half and then he could hang out at the lab.  If he says he's going to singlehandedly wipe out all the grinckles on campus I'd almost half believe him. Anyway," Riley continued after half a beat, turning back to the four of us left around the table, "the grinckles ain't wiped out yet, so that's actually what I came down here to find you guys for. Yuping shared out that map for you guys, and like the whole Chinese-speaking internet around this place has been blowing up about it nonstop for the last couple days; everyone's sharing all their fishing spots and snapping the crap out of places that haven't been visited yet, so like everyone's numbers are going up and nobody's bitching or fighting with each other over trying to hit the same spots.  Didn't you see all that detail flooding in all over the place?"  Riley looked around, face to face, and apparently everyone else was looking as blank as I felt; I hadn't looked at the map at all since we got the cameras up.

"So yeah, everyone on campus who writes their name in hanzi is somehow in this big Whatsapp group called I guess the Spike Red Fish Mutual Benefit Cooperation Society or that's how Yuping translated it, and some of the big wheels in the chat came up and gave him a stack of fillets for getting the ball rolling, and I went down and stole all the crumbs out of the toasters at the Gluino Research Society bagel stand; it's going to make a sick panko breading and we're going to fry up them fillets before they stink.  Are you guys in?"  Riley looked around, face to face to face, still nothing.  Nobody, least of all me, was jumping at the chance to go eat on this fish that we'd just seen walking around in the road on crutches.  But Riley was Riley, and there wasn't going to be any way out of this; silently, I wished I'd stomped off with Wilson when I'd had the chance.

Chapter 6

#nanowrimo #alifeofriley #fiction

[alexschurick-blog]

Did you know that there is zero proof to suggest that, generally speaking, people who have kids are happier than those who don’t?

In fact, there is evidence to suggest to the contrary

Psychology Professor at the University of California, Sonya Lyubomirskiy, cited research in her book ‘The How Of Happiness’ (al) that clearly demonstrated that most parents happiness levels do not increase no matter how much they wanted children.

But when was the last time you heard a parent admit they weren’t as happy since the arrival of their newborn?

Probably never because it’s so utterly taboo.

Not only is it taboo to say that, it’s taboo to even think it. It’s the kind of thought that if we start to be aware of we immediately banish to the corners of our mind.

But think about it for a moment.

Of course there are amazing moments of joy for (hopefully) all parents, but there are also plenty of sleep deprived nights when they are young or sick.

Similarly, there can often be financial concerns for the family with an extra mouth or mouths to feed and compromises often have to be made with personal goals often being put on ice.

My best friend felt he had to quit playing drums in a band and be around more often when his daughter was born and that was really tough for him.

It’s normal for parents to be anxious about how well their kids will do at school, whether they will fall in with the wrong crowd, whether they will remain healthy and a multitude of other things.

I’m not looking to make the argument that people shouldn’t have kids if they want to be happier, that’s patently ridiculous and there will be plenty of exceptions – such as every parent reading this post!

Meaning Doesn’t Necessarily Equal Happiness

Kids bring other benefits that don’t necessarily mean greater happiness levels and I’m not just talking about tax breaks.

There’s meaning to bringing kids into the world that is hard to attain anywhere else.

There’s also the comfort and satisfaction of having a loving and supportive family – even if you do want to kill each other on occasions.

And if the bumper stickers on half the SUV’s I see around Orlando proclaiming the drivers kids are on the school honor roll, there’s also pride.

Whereas meaning, satisfaction and pride can lead to happiness, they don’t have to.

If you have an important meeting at 7am and it’s 3.30am and you have spent the last few hours trying to get a sick two-year-old off to sleep it’s highly unlikely you can tap into any state other than anxiety and maybe exhaustion.

Similarly, if you get a call from the cops because your eldest son has just rear ended a car at a stop light after having a couple of beers, you won’t be skipping to your car high on life and humming Louis Armstrong’s ‘What a wonderful world’.

And whereas the happy moments tend to be relative fleeting, the stressful ones can stick around for a lot longer and become part of a parents psyche.

There is one thing that a lot of parents worry about that can be eradicated altogether though, and that’s school fees.

About six years ago I was working with a lady who was a single parent with a 10-year-old son. The child’s father was long gone and alimony was not forthcoming.

Fortunately, she was something of a high flier and earned great money.

But, unfortunately it was never enough and she was always pushing, pushing, pushing. Working all the hours she could so she’d continue to climb even higher on the corporate ladder.

She had come to me because her stress levels were through the roof and it was effecting her sleeping, and her overall health and fitness had declined sharply in recent years.

I was curious to know what was driving the need to earn ever more money and it didn’t take much uncovering.

The Cost of Education

She had a desire to build up a huge college fund for her 10-year-old son.

She thought that with the way education costs were rising she’d need a bare minimum of a quarter of a million dollars to be sure he had enough.

I looked at her slack jawed for a moment as I tried to gather my thoughts.

I then asked her whether she’d been through college, and when she said she had I followed up by saying, ‘Did you want your parents to run themselves into the ground and probably an early grave so you got free tuition?’

‘Of course not’ She replied, somewhat incredulously.

‘Well what on earth makes you think your son will want that in ten years?’

Before she had chance to answer, because I didn’t want that at this stage, I followed up with:

‘And let me ask you this. Which kids do you think come out of college mentally stronger and more able to deal with their finances Those who sat around the dorm room all day playing video games, eating pizza and smoking weed. Or the ones who worked 3 jobs and paid their way through school?’

‘I guess the latter group’

‘Okay, so here’s where we’re at. You’re making yourself ill trying to earn money for your son, that firstly we don’t know he’ll even need. He may not want to go to University.

And secondly, you agree will probably diminish his ability to manage his finances and set him up with an attitude that you don’t have to work for things of value. Is that wise?’

And here’s what happened.

She fired me.

Not then and not in so many words, but she cancelled our next session with little notice and when I followed up, she never responded.

I suppose there may have been any number of reasons, but I tend to think that the thought of not working to help her son years down the road felt ‘wrong’ to her. As such she couldn’t shake the belief that he should have it easier than she had.

And that’s the thing. Parents somehow believe that the goal in bringing up kids is to make life as easy as possible for them, but should that really be the case?

Isn’t it facing and dealing with adversity that forges spirit, desire and commitment?

An Alternative Path

Not saving for your kids may make you feel uncomfortable, so let me offer a solution.

I understand with rising tuition costs that it’s not as easy to earn enough money to pay as you go, but it is possible to make a big dent in the costs and there is nothing stopping you helping out with the repayments after they graduate if they don’t get a job that pays well enough.

So by all means start a fund for them, but don’t let it sit there for if/when they make it to university. Let them figure that out for themselves.

Instead use that money to get them out of the United States, or better still North America, for two or three weeks per year. More if possible.

Immerse them in new cultures and have them meet as many people as possible who share a different worldview.

Encourage them to be curious about life, people and this planet we live on because the more they see and experience the more they will want to see and experience.

It’s not a coincidence that people who have travelled extensively, and I’m not talking 5 star travel when the only local you meet is the one delivering your laundry back to your room, tend to be more open minded, empathetic and tolerant.

There’s a division in our Society at the moment the like of which we have never seen before, at least not in my lifetime.

That division is born out of ignorance and fear of the unknown.

And sadly it is being encouraged and exploited by a President who couldn’t give a flying fuck about anybody who isn’t like him and doesn’t support him.

You can do your part to heal the divide by bringing up kids who understand that the unknown isn’t to be feared, but embraced and it’s doubtful university will teach them that.

The post Why You Shouldn’t Save For Your Kids College (and what you should do instead) appeared first on A Daring Adventure.

[hemanth1607-blog]

The list of popular food delivery applications in India

Bitcoin Wallet App development servicesCost To Develop App Like Swiggy elearning app like byjus cost Cost of an App like Oyo  Cost of an App like BigbasketOnline matrimonial app like shaadi Our smartphones can do many things today. Whether booking a train ticket, a hotel room or our lunch, just a few simple taps. Food delivery is one of the fastest-growing segments in India, with major players such as Zomato for up to 1 million orders per day. It cannot get more than that.

The list of popular food delivery applications in India

Zomato

The first application of food delivery to sweeping the country. It serves several other nations, including Canada. Customers can access all the information they need from a restaurant from notes, prices, reviews, scanned menus, schedules, and more.

Zomato also provides restaurant reviews and you can see genuine guest reviews to find out if this is a place worth going to.

Zomato recently acquired the UAV company based Lucknow TechEagle Innovations for an undisclosed amount. We may soon be able to see the food deliveries by independent drones for the first time in the country.

More:-  Cost To Develop App Like Zomato

Uber Eats

The world's most popular taxi service application, Uber, began distributing food to people's doors and in a short period since its launch, it has gained a lot of momentum. The application of food delivery is currently working in all major cities in India including Mumbai, Delhi, Pune, Hyderabad, Bangalore, Chennai, and more.

Swiggy

Inspired by the design to provide food to all of India, without the limitation of minimum order and tie-ups with several local restaurants, Swiggy is one of the most popular food distribution in India with more than 1 million + application downloads on Google Play Store only.

Have it's delivery personnel rushing to ensure that customers get their food fresh, Swiggy focuses on timely deliveries.

Food panda

Next to be on the list is Food panda, the platform of global food distribution in line with its headquarters based in Berlin, Germany. Just like Zomato, Food panda also operates in several countries. Last year Food panda was acquired by Ola company profile for $ 200 million to fight against the competition in the food retail market. Ola will be reintroduced into the industry after the closure of its Ola Cafe food delivery service.

Pizza Hut Delivery

Applying Pizza Hut food delivery is another popular pizza delivery application in India that provides food to your nearest Pizza Hut outlets. Customers can order not only pizza but also pasta, desserts, drinks, etc. Fast delivery is a favorable choice for the delivery of food among urban gourmets. It gives you super-fast access, local deals and offers a unique feature that makes it stand out among its competitors in the food delivery market.

Dominoes

One of the largest pizza delivery services in India, Domino began with its hassle-free mobile phone delivery option that was available just a pizza once. It updated an application platform and catering to pizza lovers throughout the nation. Delivery of 30 minutes is something that makes them extremely popular. One of  how Dominoes stands out and keeps you more customers and is raising more through its coupons. Customers can apply these coupons to get amazing discounts.

Behrouz Biryani

Behrouz Biryani claims to bring the secret recipe of biryani that was lost long ago in Persia. You can order different types of biryani online and other Mughlai dishes like kebabs and Shirin. The service is available in 15 Indian cities across 160 locations.

Travelkhana

Travelkhana is another company that provides fresh food for the passengers of Indian Railways. They promise to provide clean food and hygienically cooked at affordable prices. You can choose from India, Continental, Jain Thali, South or North Articles and India delivered directly to your seat.

Railrestro

Railrestro is an authorized body designated by IRCTC E-Catering Services. Passengers of Indian Railways can use the application to obtain their desired food delivered to their seats. You can pay online or receive payment on delivery for your items ordered.

Conclusion

Although there are lots of food delivery applications out there in the country, most of them are still trying to capture a significant market share is up for grab. Zomato led the game until Swiggy came. And now there are competitors like Uber Eats. Food panda, who had faced difficult times some time, also seeks to reinvent itself to give a tough fight to other under the direction of the turn-Ola hail giant.

With so many options out there, start-up food distribution applications require an effective and innovative plan strategy. While discounts are great, they cannot work in the longer term. Instead, measures such as customer satisfaction, how, and growth of reliable food delivery guys users what they should look. Smart marketing moves like UberEats can also go a long way in roping increasing traffic to your food delivery app. With over a billion people out there in India and a middle class whose numbers are on the rise, it is no secret that the market can handle more than one enterprise application delivery food.

Fusion Informatics has expertise in creating and developing restaurant based service apps with innovative features. Contact us for more information regarding such apps and how we can help you. Because of we are a Leading Mobile App Development Company Doha, Qatar offers the best mobility solutions in its class. Also, Fusion Informatics is an Artificial Intelligence company in Qatar, provides Data Science, Machine Learning, Internet of Things, Blockchain, Cloud, Enterprise Mobility, & Business Process Automation solutions & services.

Source:-  https://fusioninformaticscompany.blogspot.com/2019/10/the-list-of-popular-food-delivery.html

Visit:-

Bitcoin Wallet App development services

Cost To Develop App Like Swiggy 

elearning app like byjus cost 

Cost of an App like Oyo 

 Cost of an App like Bigbasket

Online matrimonial app like shaadi