#what’s in store ◤muse list◢

[mysterycflife]

New Muse List

Greek Mythology Arke Menoetius Metis Perses Theia Peitho Mnemosyne Crius Epimetheus Cronus Iapetus

Bridgerton Edwina Sharma Eloise Bridgerton Benedict Bridgerton Michaela Stirling

Song of Ice and Fire Petyr Baelish Larys Strong Sandor Celgane Tyland Lannister Joanna Lannister

Jame Bond Q R Alec Trevelyan

Criminal Minds Spencer Reid Penelope Garcia

[darabeatha]

/ I think that if Cú got to work at a convenience store (or was it a fish shop?) all servants should have their own silly lil jobs, like that one merch event in japan where c.onstantine has a glasses store or Oberon sells vegetables and fruits, etc etc (putting them under the cut bc if u know the servants, its very funny and/or fitting for them + also the logo/brandings of each of them looks so pretty)

[buckets-and-trees]

EVERY MINUTE OF IT

Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 4k Summary: Claimed unequivocally by Alpha Bucky Barnes, leader of the growing HYDRA faction, that's not the end of it. But what exactly is in store for you? What will it mean to be his Omega?

Content/Warnings: omegaverse; reluctant attraction; power dynamics; mild manipulation; threats; dirty talk; explicit smut: spanking, vaginal fingering, biting, rough sex, choking, edging, orgasm denial, slapping, spitting, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, dacryphilia, overstimulation, erotic picture taking

Author Notes: Part three to what I never planned on being a series - the Alpha Bucky April drabble was only 500 words, the next part hit 1.5k, but this... well, let's just say this Bucky absolutely had his way with both me and my muse. This one will be a make up to tick orgasm delay/denail for MARCH of @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ; and the dialogue, alpha, and pet prompts for the second week of Hot Bucky Summer (thought this was going to be a short little thing I was going to whip out before week two had finished, but alas hahaha).

A/N 2: We've seen only a bit of his rough side up to this pont, but in this part we will truly see mean Alpha Bucky. Don't say I didn't warn you - here and with the actual content warning list.

A/N 3: I tried not to write any plot with this porn, but a minimal amount forced its way in.

He had made good on his threat, using your body for pleasure and for show under the full moon until there was no one left to watch, but you were not sure he had been keeping close track, instead merely taking you over and over until they grey hours of dawn. You had been too exhausted to register anything much after that – being carried away, a car ride, being tucked into a bed.

You had woken up in the afternoon alone.

Alone for the first time in three days.

On hearing you make your way to the bathroom someone had brought in water and left an impressive spread of food that lasted you through the afternoon and evening. You grazed and slept.

Your body and mind had been pushed beyond all previous limits, and so the sleep and rest had been most of those first few days after the full moon and the conqueror’s bonding ritual.

But now, a week on, you are tired, restless, and impatient.

You were in a spacious penthouse, you had been offered many luxuries, well fed by a personal chef, attended to by an assistant, your only restrictions being denied access to a phone or internet and barred from leaving the premises.

Should you have chosen an unplugged retreat or vacation, it would be perfect.

After contemplating and debating internally all morning, at lunch you make your decision. You finish yet another delicious meal, wipe your mouth with the beautiful linen napkin, and then set it down next to the bone china and plated gold utensils. The staff begins to move around you, and your assistant approaches.

Before she can say anything else, you take a deep breath and say, “I need to see him.”

There’s no question of who you mean.

She nods. “I’ll make the request.”

Whether pet or prisoner and left alone for more than seven days, you do not believe your request will be seen as any sort of priority, so when you see the more formal dining table set for two for dinner, your mouth drops open for a moment, and you stop in your tracks.

You turn to your assistant – even though she tries to afford you most of your privacy, she is ever on the edge of your presence. She looks as surprised as you. “I was given no response other than that they’d take the request under consideration.”

You nod, then pace, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, until you finally hear the rustle and then commotion of activity that announces his arrival.

Your heart races, but it’s only a few more moments before the large and imposing alpha, Bucky Barnes, appears in front of you.

“Omega,” he says with a mere nod of his head, no pretense.

Your eyes narrow a fraction, wary of his seemingly easy demeanor. “Alpha.”

“Shall we?” he asks, and motions to the table.

You nod and take a seat as he does.

Within seconds, the meal is brought in by two attendants and the chef, and Bucky thanks and praises them very simply.

He occasionally looks at you, regarding you, but does not speak.

Before long, you huff, and he looks up sharply, pinning you with his steel blue eyes, harsher than at any point since he’d arrived. “What?” he demands.

“What is all of this?” you start, gesturing your hand to indicate the penthouse. “And where have you been?”

He sets down his knife and fork and straightens a little more. “Is it not to suited to your liking? You can change anything you want. This is your place.”

“My place?” you ask.

“Yes, your place. It is not far from the place I’ve taken up residence.”

The revelation is not surprising, but somehow more irritating. “And what? You’ve had me and now you’re discarding me?”

“I should have thought you’d want your own place.”

Maybe you should want your own place, away from him. And yet…

“I should be wherever you are.”

“What?” he scoffs. “So you can be embroiled in my affairs and bring me down? ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’”

The accusation wounds you, though you know it’s only logical – and you know what you’re thinking and feeling isn’t logical. You have determined to put off thinking about it.

“I’m not your friend,” you state, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “but I’m not your enemy either.”

“What should I call you then?” he challenges.

You raise your chin a fraction. “I’m your Omega.”

He doesn’t speak or move immediately. Instead, his eyes somehow fix you even more intently. There’s a burning in your chest under his scrutiny, but you remain still.

Finally, he stands and moves toward you, the two of you never taking your eyes off the other.

“You are my Omega.”

He comes to stand behind your chair, and you remain unmoving. He takes your chin in his left hand and tilts your head to expose your neck to him. He leans down and noses along your jaw, inhaling your scent and putting your body on alert. You feel the curling tendrils of want stir in your core, already awakening for him. He tilts your head even more and draws his teeth along the side of your throat, causing a shiver you can’t suppress, and he chuckles darkly and licks at the fresher of the two bonding marks he gave you. His hot tongue, insistently pressing at the bite elicits a small noise from you, and your right hand shoots up to card into his hair. Your full omega side wants him, has started to slicken your pussy for him already, you can feel it. You know your alpha can smell it.

He bites over the mark, but not roughly enough to break the skin, and you arch up for more, but he pushes himself back up, away from you and the crook of your neck.

“So needy,” he remarks, “I like this.”

The first few days you’d spent with him, he’d kept you full of his cock, tortured with pleasure, overwhelmed, exhausted by him and the recipient of a seemingly insatiable lust unleashed on you.

This feels like the predator is going to play with his prey, and you bite your lip. He pushes your head, tilted to the left, to the right to drop into his other hand, clearly testing your compliance. It’s gentle, but it’s dominant. Back to the left, then to the right, and then he dips to nip at your ear, and you gasp.

Bucky releases your head from between his large hands then pulls your chair away from the table. “Up.”

You stand. He puts one hand on your hip and ushers you around the edge of the table and to the side, in the middle, and turns you to face the wide expanse of mahogany and its centerpiece of fresh flowers – white peonies, white roses, white hydrangeas.

“Put your hands on the table,” he instructs.

You press the palms of your hands onto the smooth, dark wood. Your omega side is ready – even eager – to comply, but with your own long game to play, you know you must play out whatever game he desires now.

“Arch your back,” is his next direction.

Keeping your breathing even, you do, hips jutting away from the table, on display for him.

The back of his hand lands at the nape of your neck, and he drags his knuckles slowly down your spine. Your body rocks back, seeking more, as he reaches the small of your back, and he hums in self-satisfaction.

While his vibranium hand plants itself on your hip, he moves the other around to skim slowly over your stomach, then up your rib cage, and to your breast. He gropes the round flesh through your shirt and bra, but the fabric does nothing to quell how the pressure stokes the fire growing in you.

You feel the heat of him press up your back as his hand moves now up your neck, turning your head to kiss him. You push back against him, and he ruts his bulge slightly into your ass. Your lips are hungry in the kiss, but it’s like he only provided his lips for you to kiss him, receiving what your lips want to give. He moves his hand back down to your chest, but this time slipping beneath the neckline and going flesh to flesh to palm your breast. He kneads diligently, almost methodically, and you know all of this is designed to warm you up, tease you, get you burning for him. He’s still largely a stranger to you, but you also know you can’t resist him. He’s spent so much time already playing with your body. He knows where and how to touch you to make you respond to him after those first days and nights spent naked with him.

Bucky moves again, ending the kiss, drawing away from your back and removing the hand from your breast. You whine, but that hand goes to the small of your back again, the vibranium hand squeezing your hip as he forces you spine to resume the curving posture for him once more.

“We’re only getting started, Omega. Be patient.”

You huff, and he laughs.

The fingers of both his hands slip into the top of your waistband. He slowly pulls your pants and underwear down over your hips, and down your legs to mid-thigh. It restricts your bottom extremities, and that plays into the mental game he’s clearly playing with you. His hands move up the back of your naked thighs, and then palms your ass with both hands. He squeezes both cheeks, goes back to palming them again, then withdraws his right hand and slaps that cheek harshly. You jump and yelp, but he merely goes back to palming and squeezing, soothing the smacked flesh. Then another slap, and you hiss at the sting over the first sting. His vibranium hand continues groping your round flesh, but instead of soothing the second smack, his flesh hand dips down to your dripping hole, where he inserts two fingers, then quickly adds a third.

“Alpha,” you moan, and your head falls back, eyes closed both to hold back a couple of tears and to soak in the barrage of sensations.

He doesn’t answer, but his fingers continue dipping in and out, slow and shallow.

He delivers another harsh slap, immediately returns to the maddening fingering until you’re keening and trying to hump his hand.

Abruptly he grips your hips with both hands and turns you around to face him. The cool metal hand grips you by the neck, tilting your face up helplessly to him, and this kiss is messy, demanding, teeth nipping at your lips. You kiss him back as well as you can as he is in full control of your head and holds you where he wants you. Both your hands hold tightly to his forearm, and you squeeze.

His other hand goes to the cut of you again below, but there’s more fervor there this time. He plunders your mouth and plunders your pussy, and you’re losing your breath, but you have no wish for him to relent as you feel the powerful orgasm you crave building and barreling towards you. His fingers curl against the spongy spot on your inner wall, this thumb is demanding against your pulsing clit, and his tongue is licking dominantly into your mouth. You’re trembling and clutching at him, moaning, only when your breath hitches, inches away from bliss, he pulls back.

You cry out as he looms over you. His smirk is cruel, and his eyes spark with fire.

“Alpha!”

He licks his one of his fingers, just one.

“Alpha, please,” you groan.

“My well-mannered Omega,” he coos. “We’ll make a mess of you yet,” he says. You’re unsure whether it’s a threat or a promise, but you have no space or time to think as he moves you again, hoisting and pushing you by the grip on your chin around and away from the table until your back is flush against the wall.

Bucky pushes you down to your knees, pinches your mouth open, then spits on your tongue. "Swallow it."

You don’t think, just swallow as his eyes bore into yours as he towers over you.

He strokes his thumb over your cheek – nearly a caress, and you can’t help leaning ever so slightly into his touch. Then his thumb moves from your cheek to your lips, tracing them before pressing down to open your mouth again. He inserts two of the fingers that had been in your cunt into your mouth, and you close your mouth and begin to suck without him having to say so. The look on his face shows his approval. As you suck, there’s something so soothing about, the weight of his fingers pressing down on your tongue, the stead rhythm, that it that lulls you even further into a state of submission for him. Your eyes begin to droop.

He chuckles and withdraws his fingers, wiping them on your face. “Don’t want that so soon in our evening.”

He begins to unbuckle his belt, and you reach for the button and zipper, but he bats your hands away and slaps your cheek.

You look up sharply at him, reaching to soothe your cheek.

“Ask nicely for your Alpha’s cock, Omega.”

His first nights with you were about physical domination. This is the other half, yielding, submission.

You think best how to ask, before saying, “Please let me put my lips around your cock, Alpha.”

He unbuttons his trousers but keeps his eyes on yours. “Tell me how you want me to use your mouth, Omega,”

“I…” you bite your lip. You aren’t a stranger to sex, but speaking so directly about it isn’t something you’ve done with any of your partners in the past.

Bucky lowers the zipper. He pushes the band of his boxers down far enough to free his cock, and you whimper. He fists his arousal slowly. “You want it, then tell me what you want exactly. You’ve already let me use your body in so many ways, we both know you want more. What are you craving?”

You wait only another beat before answering, “Want you to fuck my throat.”

You are impressed at the evenness of your own tone in that moment, and his lips tick up as well.

Bucky widens his stance, then leans down to wrap his left arm around your head, holding it – almost cradling it – in the crook of his elbow. The he pushes his cock to your lips, you open for him, he pushes in, and starts truly fucking your mouth. The first few thrusts are slow, but insistent. He fills your mouth with more of him with each of those first thrusts. Then the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. He thrusts out and in again, again, again. His other hand strokes your cheek. Then he slaps it, and you groan around his cock.

“Mmmm, fuck you feel good,” he echoes your groan. “Gonna take all of your alpha’s cock down this pretty throat,” he says, and his hand moves down to your neck, feeling himself push in there.

Your eyes are tearing up, and the tears quickly start to spill over as he continues to use your throat, never removing himself completely now that he’s overtaken your mouth. He slaps your cheek twice in quick succession and you sob around his cock as you can manage. It’s hard to breathe, and your chest heaves. You brace yourself against his thighs, and he straightens and pulls out of you.

Bucky moves quickly, taking you by the shoulders and tossing you into the middle of the floor – rough but not violent.

“Clothes off,” he barks, but it’s he didn’t need to employ an alpha command to get you to comply. You barely have enough time to discard your pants and underwear the rest of the way, and only manage to get your shirt over your head in the time it takes him to get naked.

He’s on you the next instant, covering your body with his. With his chest pressed down against yours, you feel how his breathing is just as heavy as your own, glad he’s not as unaffected as he’s tried to play this encounter.

You hitch your thighs up around his torso and squeeze your knees around him.

But he doesn’t give you what you’re most anxious for yet, instead pausing to study your face.

“Such a pretty mess,” he admires.

Heat pulses through your body, his praise undeniable to your omega side.

He dips his head to lap up the salt of some of your tears, tongue dragging slowly up your cheek. When he draws back again, he merely looks at you. His eyes seem to be looking for something, but you don’t know what. You try not to give him anything outside of this moment.

His pelvis is lodged between your hips, so you squirm beneath him, hoping your hot, dripping cunt will call him back to your pressing needs. He groans and drops his forehead to yours, another sign he’s not as cool and detached as he was at the outset.

“Please, please fuck me, Alpha,” you beg.

“Fill you up with my cock? With my seed?”

“Yes, Alpha!”

He draws his hips back and you reach down and help line up his cock with your hole. He spears in with no mercy, and you don’t need or want it. You groan together as he fills you completely.

Your mouths meet again, and it’s a combination of rough messy kisses, nipping and bites, licking, mingled heavy breaths. It’s primal and unhinged, and there’s no thought to it as he continues to fuck you.

The pace at which he thrusts is relentless and just what you need, but also not enough.

You want more and you whimper and beg through kissing for it.

Bucky continues fucking you and pulls away from your lips, but in no way is he done overwhelming you. Leaning heavily onto his vibranium arm planted next to your head, he moves his other arm and presses his inner wrist up and down your neck insistently. The sound that escapes your mouth is broken and needy as the flooding of his scent directly In and around you engulfs your senses. Then he’s also sucking on your original bonding mark until you are a heaving, panting, crying mess, clawing at his back, unable to even put coherent words together to beg for him.

His shifts just enough that his pubic bone grinds down against your clit as he pounds into your pussy. You are practically vibrating with the impending orgasm, and as your alpha can undoubtedly sense that through the bond, he bites down on your mark, and you scream and fly into your release. Your walls clench hard around him, and he growls through two more powerful thrusts before he shouts, and you feel the heat of his seed star to fill you up. He pumps and pumps until he’s left every drop he can inside of you, then collapses on top of you.

He doesn’t move, pressing you down with all his weight as you both recover from the ecstasy you’ve just experienced. You almost move to stroke your fingers up and down his spine, but you quell that impulse. You do allow yourself to keep your hands on his back though – still, but connected to this man, your alpha, who dealt you such rough but undeniable pleasure.

Finally, Bucky pushes up off you, but surprises you when he scoops you up and carries you away bridal style, heading toward your bedroom.

“Alpha?”

“You really want to live under the same roof?” he asks.

 “Yes,” you answer simply.

He glances down at your face, brows furrowed, then looks back ahead as he heads down the hallway.

“Okay then.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he affirms, entering your room.

He tosses you onto the bed, and crawls up over you again. He reaches beneath your back to unclasp your bra, and you let him pull it from your shoulders and toss it off to the side. Closing the gap between your bodies, you relish the feeling of his bare chest against yours, his chest hair teasing your nipples. He grips your chin yet again, this time with his vibranium hand, and looks into your eyes with a steely, cold stare.

“If you’re anything other than the good omega I require, I will send you back here, but it won’t be like this last week has been. You will be in absolute exile. Don’t test me – there will be no chances.”

You give a single nod of your head.

He pushes up and leans back then, kneeling above you.

“But you don’t want to jeopardize or risk that, do you?”

“No, Bucky.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him anything other than alpha and he clocks that, you see the flash of acknowledgement in his eyes.

“You want to be with your alpha, you want the limited freedom you know I can give you if I choose to, but you also have your own agenda”

It wasn’t a question, and you know you can’t fool him – you know he is too smart for that, and you know he knows you are intelligent in your own right. He made it clear when he closed in on your people’s territory that’s why your compliance and claiming you as his omega was part of the deal of surrender to spare any more bloodshed.

“Cross me and your future will only be visitations when I require you to service my ruts.”

You don’t doubt his threat.

“Do we have an accord, Omega?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

The words you two exchanged the fateful night of that initial surrender.

He nods.

“It seems fitting to seal it by kiss.”

You sit up and then kneel before him on the bed, he bends his head down to kiss you. It’s fervent, solemn, but he cuts it off before it develops into anything more.

“Stay here,” he orders, sliding off the bed.

That was an alpha command – wholly unnecessary except to remind you of his power.

You scowl at his retreating form, then huff once he’s out of the room.

He’s quick, and when he comes back in the room, he is slowly stroking his cock with one hand, and holds his phone in the other. He steps up to the edge of the bed.

“A kiss here, as well,” he says, pushing his hips forward.

You crawl to him, lower your head, and kiss his cock. He nods at you, indicating he expects more. You take the tip of his semi-hard cock into your mouth, lave your tongue around the tip, and then suck, looking up at him. He takes a few photos, moaning at your ministrations.

“Fuck you couldn’t look more pretty and more ruined,” he whispers. He tosses the phone down, then pushes you off him and back onto the bed, manhandling your hips to get you planted in the center of the mattress with your thighs splayed open obscenely.

“Only fair for me to finish sealing the agreement and kiss these lips as well.”

He dives in like a man starved, despite the rounds you’ve just finished. He pulls your next orgasm quickly from your fluttering pussy. You would be surprised, only you’ve come to accept that he has already acquired a dangerous – and delicious – knowledge of your body.

He looks up at you and grins and then goes in immediately for another.

You try and push him away and close your legs, feeling overstimulated, but he growls and roughly forces your thighs open again.

“Your one chance of being my good omega is already begun. So, you’re going to let me eat the pussy that belongs to me until you’re a sobbing overstimulated mess and think you can’t possibly take any more, but you will. And since this should be the last night we ever spend in this bed, when I’ve had my fill of lapping at your sweet, dripping cunt, I’m going to see if I can’t fuck you hard and long enough to break the bed.”

You can only hope your gamble to deal with the devil of HYDRA will not be your undoing.

full Fine Line Collection

Everyone check your pulse, please. Mine is gone.

I'm not saying this is officially a series, but I think we HAVE fallen into a collection territory... Unless y'all are through with this Alpha Bucky...

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[heechwe]

enchanted ↦ jww

⋆ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⋆ word count: 6.1k ⋆ genre: fluff. semi-angst ⋆ tags: cinderella-ish retelling, royalty!wonwoo ⋆ synopsis: Life as the housemaid and an inconvenience to your family is not what you wished for, but Wonwoo brings a new, royal perspective that turns your world around.

Scrub, wipe, shine. The chant plays over in your head, a symphony to block out the call of your horrendous stepsister trotting down the staircase. She says your name with a shriek but you pay her no mind. More than likely she has another errand for you to do. One she will take pleasure in you finding uncomfortable, no doubt. The color of the suds and sloshing sounds of the water bring you comfort. You dip your rag in the bucket next to you and plop it on the tile floor. Taking pleasure in the most menial tasks makes life a lot more bearable.

Heejin calls your name again when she makes it to the last step, knowing well enough you can hear her when she’s standing over you. “Are you deaf? We need new clothes from the market!”

You look up to her, a confused but indifferent expression on your face. You don’t bother asking what the clothes are for, but you know she’ll tell you regardless.

“For the ball, you imbecile,” Heejin says.

Minha, the younger of the stepsisters, pipes up behind Heejin, her voice a squeak compared to her older counterpart. “It’s the prince’s coronation.”

You nod and continue scrubbing the tile. If the task at hand isn’t done before your stepmother gets home, she will have your head on one of the pikes lining the kingdom’s outer walls.

“Finish this and then head to the seamstress. The fabric must be on my bed by sundown, or Mother will not be pleased,” Heejin says, a warning interwoven with the smirk on her lips.

Heejin purposefully kicks your bucket of soapy water across the floor on her way to the sitting room. The liquid drenches your apron and face thoroughly. You wish you could sling an insult at her for her entitlement along with her lack of care for anyone’s wellbeing but her own. Minha’s face transforms into a small frown, her eyes expressing sympathy as she follows her sister’s trail.

Since your father took gravely ill five summers ago, you have yet to receive an ounce of kindness from your newfound family. “Family” is barely a word you’d use to describe the relationship between yourself and them, the wolves who invaded your home on the eve of your fourteenth birthday, just a year after your mother’s passing.

Minha is the kindest of them all for her inaction during your stepmother and Heejin’s abuse, but you wish you had a confidant somewhere in the world. 

You rifle with the letters you saved from your father and mother, the inscriptions inside of them the last memory you have of them both. Some written to each other, others simply their musings and thoughts you wish you would have discussed with them before they left this earth.

If only someone knew you truly, who cared to hear your words and valued their meaning. Who saw life as a gift rather than a tool used to induce a person’s misery. If dreams could become reality, you would not be alone another day.

Wonwoo mentally checked off the items in his head that the king and company expected to be done for the coronation ball. The town baker was provided with the list of desserts and bread necessary for the feast. The lute and harp players were given an excellent amount of coin for taking part with their instruments. Even the meat and dairy from the kingdom’s best butcher was safely stored in the horse-drawn carriage behind Wonwoo’s own stallion. The final task in need of completion was a trip to the seamstress. In the words of the king, “it’s not every day my boy finds a bride.”

On arrival, Wonwoo was enraptured with color. He absorbed the rolls of fabric and material encased on the shelves, the finest satin and puffiest tulle displayed for ladies and gentlemen to spare no expense on for the upcoming celebrations. He gave the specifications to the shopboy almost an hour ago, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind spending a bit longer outside of the castle walls.

The bell above the door pierces the air with its chime, and Wonwoo looks up to see the most encapsulating view in existence. Would someone disbelieve him if he said that view included a girl with cheeks caked in soot, her hair pulled back underneath a common scarf, and her clothes as drab as a servant girl’s? Probably. But the sunshine on your face and twinkling eyes suggests to him that he should continue looking for as long as he can.

The seamstress and owner of the shop comes from behind the store, a sketching pencil tucked atop her ear and a vibrant smile on her lips as she says your name, the letters together a lovely orchestra. “Here for the usual order?”

“No. Heejin needs something spectacular for the ball. Her words, not mine.” You raise your hands in mock surrender, and the seamstress laughs.

“I’ll see what I can do. Just wait a moment.” In a flash, the seamstress walks back to her private area of the shop, and Wonwoo is left alone again with you, the mysterious but mesmerizing girl. A maid perhaps, given the nature of your visit?

All he knows is that he must talk to you, whether you recognize him or not.

You lightly tap your hands against the wooden counter, waiting for Miss Jae to come back with a fabric to take home. Hopefully one that Heejin loves enough to keep. That way you don’t have to come back on foot a second time today.

“Blue is best.”

You turn with a gasp. The man attached to the voice is adorned in royal clothing, golden cufflinks and buttons matching the royal purple material of his clothes.

 “Sorry,” you stutter, hands suddenly clammy.

“Your color.” He slides over to a roll of sky blue satin, placing a patch of it over his arm. “It looks terrible on me, but on you, I believe you would outshine any commoner.” He lets out a breathless chuckle and intakes a deep gulp of air.

It has been so long since another person wanted to engage with you, especially someone as handsome as the person before you. He may be as nervous as you, given his awkward introduction, but you know your conversational skills are worse for what. You aren’t sure how to converse anymore about topics outside of dinner orders and cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, but I won’t be attending the upcoming festivities.” You try to hide the sadness that threatens to break free on your face, but you’re too late. The stranger sees it and responds in kind.

“Everyone is welcome to the coronation,” he assures you.

“I’m afraid ‘everyone’ does not involve me…Your—” You stop short, unsure of his title as you don’t know his name or his face from recent memory.

“Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo.” Wonwoo breaks into a smile. You’re unsure whether you like his laugh or his smile more, but both seem to make your cheeks heat up all the same. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, and you give yours back, curtsying in response.

You tell him your name as well, a blush on full display. “As I said, Wonwoo, I usually stay in. Not in my nature to court or be courted.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure your company is surely missed.” His hand is still caressing yours, thumb rubbing up and down your palm softly.

A shopboy suddenly comes into view. You both separate quickly, the intimate bubble bursting at the intrusion. The boy stuffs the garments in Wonwoo’s hands and bows swiftly before going back to his duties.

“You must be hard to miss as well, Wonwoo.”

“Well, you could say that.” You both hear a horse neigh outside the shop doors, and Wonwoo barely fights the urge to stay with you. “Until the next time.” He says his goodbye and your name with determination. If only you could assure him there will be a future where you cross paths again, but that hope may be squashed as quickly as it was born. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to hold onto it, though.

“Not terrible,” Heejin says when you come home, running her hand over the material Miss Jae gave to you. “If Mother needs more yards of it, you’ll have to go back immediately before they run out.”

“Of course, sister,” you say. You hate to use that word for someone as vile as Heejin, but Stepmother Jung enforced the rule as strictly as the list of chores you were to complete before the sun set every day. “We must always be a family in the eyes of society,” Stepmother Jung told you once after your father passed. “Even if you will never be a part of this one, you have to play your role.” If only that role extended to social gatherings.

Minha looks over Heejin’s shoulder and smiles. “It’s a beautiful pattern.”

“That’s why it’s for me. Mother will give you one of my old gowns to wear,” Heejin tuts and pats Minha under the chin with her free palm. You know Heejin spares her worst behavior for you, but in your eyes, Heejin doesn’t deserve the title of sister in any form. Just as your stepmother has no business being a mother to anyone.

“You’re dismissed,” Heejin says to you, the hand that was under Minha’s face used to wave you off.

“Sister, if I may.” She grimaces at you, but a curious spark remains in her eyes. You think back to Wonwoo, plucking up every ounce of your confidence. “I was wondering if you may consider letting me attend as well. Stepmother may not let me go of her own volition, but if you told her you approved then maybe-”

“And why would I do that,” Heejin says. She knows exactly what you want, and the only way for her to entertain the idea is if you grovel.

“Because I have never asked anything of you before.”

“As you should.” Your stepmother’s figure and shadow encompass the entirety of Heejin’s bedroom doorway. You immediately lower your head; it’s one of the humiliating rules you have to obey in the wake of becoming the family servant. You hear Heejin snicker, but it’s cut off immediately by Stepmother Jung clearing her throat. “Your purpose in this household is to do what is asked of you without complaint or question, not the other way around. Asking for anything else is an insult to me and my daughters.”

You feel tears prick the back of your throat, but you hold onto your resolve with a steadfast grip. “Stepmother, I am begging you—”

“I do not know what is worse, girls,” Stepmother Jung says, addressing Heejin and Minha, “hearing someone beg for something that will never come true or seeing someone forget their place in this world.”

Your bottom lip quivers without your approval. You can only hope none of the other people in the room are paying attention to your despair. Heartbreakingly, it appears they don’t.

“Now, Heejin, we need to measure you again for your dress. I swear you grow an inch every time you require a fitting, dear girl. Minha, I know exactly which of Heejin’s dresses will look perfect on you.” She motions for you to look her in the eye, and you force the tears to evaporate. “As for you, you have chickens to feed.”

“Seungcheol, I told you already, the conversation is over.”

“That’s Prince Seungcheol to you, kid.” Seungcheol juts Wonwoo in the arm. The practice swords whip through the air as the birds sing throughout the courtyard. “And who’s to say a royal summons would embarrass her? Everyone is to attend the ball. Maid, mare, or otherwise.”

“She seemed certain she was not supposed to be there. I don’t want her to feel forced to do anything.” Wonwoo huffs as he lands a blow on Seungcheol’s hip.

“What good is it to be royalty if I cannot help a dear friend and the future Hand of the King find love?”

Wonwoo and Seungcheol grew up together due to their fathers’ stations, one bearing the crown and the other gaining the responsibility of advising him. Although Wonwoo had no place without Seungcheol’s family, they had become close in their own right. Once Seungcheol ascended his throne, Wonwoo knew he was to be standing beside him with the title his father had worn for most of his life. 

With that in mind, it seemed both Wonwoo and Seungcheol were on respective quests to find a bride to continue the long-held, individual legacies they were born into.

“All you have to do is smile and dance with every eligible woman in the next three kingdoms while I hope my mystery girl decides to step out of the shadows, unprompted and entirely by her choice.” 

Seungcheol scoffs, sweat on his brow from trying to find an open spot on Wonwoo to exploit. “You place high priority on a stranger’s independence and choice-making.”

Wonwoo blushes. His thoughts go back to the fabrics, the jasmine smell in the air, you walking into his life and halting his day in the best way possible. He wishes he had said more, learnt more about you, held your hand longer before he was whisked away back to his priorities. Now he could only hope you would find your way back to him, whether by fate or of your own free will.

With his thoughts occupied, Seungcheol takes the opportunity to knock Wonwoo in the shoulder. Seungcheol smiles triumphantly, biting his lip. “Finally, for fuck’s sake.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You won’t beat me again, Choi.”

“Wanna bet?” Seungcheol jokes.

Wonwoo immediately thwacks Seungcheol’s sword out of his hand in response. The tip of Wonwoo’s meets the column of the prince’s throat, and he grins. “You should train more if you want to be half as good as me.”

Dust, sweep, clean. You repeat the list in your head with traces of melancholy in your heart. You weren’t expecting to be allowed to go to the ball without a fight, but Stepmother Jung was right. What was the point in fighting if you had no standing at all to barter with?

Minha calls your name, her appearance in the kitchen is like magic. You must’ve been too lost in your morose thoughts to notice her walk in. Or she seems to know how to sneak around the manor better than you do.

Her arms rest behind her back, concealing something. “I’m sorry,” she says immediately, surprising you.

“I cannot blame you for Heejin or your mother.” A part of you wishes you could be more cruel, but you’re certain you have little to no capacity to be, even to your worst enemy. “You have done nothing to require an apology.” 

“I have. You deserve to go to the ball as much as any of us do.” She looks over her shoulder for someone, or a lack thereof. Satisfied, she throws a lump of fabric on the kitchen island. You notice the bandages on Minha’s fingers with a quick glance before focusing on the dress. The turquoise material sparkles in the light of the stained glass windows. “So you will.”

“Minha, I can’t-” You feel the same tears coating the back of your throat again, grateful to her but incapable of accepting the gesture.

“You can. You were right when you said you’ve never asked for anything before. So don’t ask. Take the chance, and the dress, and go to the ball.”

With that, Minha disappears quietly from the room, leaving the decision in the air for you to either seize or surrender.

The main ballroom is filled with swathes of dancing couples alongside gossiping nobility and local townspeople. To a stranger walking in, it was a display of royal decadence, the party lit from within with the sounds of joyous laughter, heavenly harps, and gorgeous decor. To Wonwoo, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

 Seungcheol and his parents sit in their royal chairs, the gleaming gold of the upholstery almost too polished for Wonwoo’s eyes. The young men share knowing glances when someone particularly obnoxious makes an entrance or wishes to greet the royal family. Wonwoo wishes he could joke with his best friend openly about the noble women’s copious frills and curly mops, but now is not the time or place.

Wonwoo’s father leaves the king’s side to pat his son on the back. “You did well with your part in this, Woo. Maybe you’ll be rewarded with finding someone to wed as well. Wouldn’t that be luck smiling on us all,” he says with a loving grin.

“I doubt that someone will show up.” Wonwoo frowns.

“Have faith, my boy.”

Like luck was indeed shining on him, Wonwoo looks up and sees you at the top of the stairs, horns blazing to signify your arrival. Even in a mask, he can tell it’s you from the skipping of his heart. With your hair in a loose bun, tendrils framing your face with precision, you look nothing like the girl he met in the dress shop yet the exact same. He wonders how the color blue had the capacity to take his breath away. It doesn’t help how the dress’s bodice hugs you perfectly, the bottom of the gown a cloud that Wonwoo wishes he could rest his head upon forever.

You fidget with the tops of your gloves that brush the neckline of your dress, the sleeves dropping loosely on your shoulders. Wonwoo wants to rush up the stairs to assure you there is no need to be nervous.You’re the most beautiful woman in this kingdom, tonight and always.

When you reach the bottom, everyone is looking at you, the mysterious stranger that nobody can recall or pinpoint. You hear murmurs as you pass, some predicting you’re a long lost relative of the prince or whispering of you being a foreign beauty. You laugh to yourself at their capacity to chat and how far they are from the truth.

You catch Minha’s eye from her corner of the room, Heejin and your stepmother sneering at you. Minha smiles, a silent cheer in her expression, and you respond with a mirrored grin.

You make it to the center of the room, the pathway cleared for you thanks to the shock and awe of the crowd. To your content, Wonwoo meets you halfway. A hush falls over the spectators when he meets you on the dance-floor, but you don’t care about their perceptions.

Wonwoo says your name and bows. You curtsy in response. Despite feeling out of place for half of your life, it seems instinctual now to be in this room. Not with the strangers surrounding you, but definitely with him. “My prince.” 

A look of shock over Wonwoo’s face, and he immediately laughs. “No, I-I— I should have told you before. I’m not—“

You place a hand to your mouth, the realization a flood. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“I didn’t tell you before, so I wouldn’t expect you to—”

“I did say I don’t attend many social gatherings.”

You both share a laugh, the confusion dissipating your embarrassment at your slipup. You notice a well-dressed young man that steals all the glances in the room away from you, the man you now know is the prince himself. He strides over to Minha, her expression a pale sheet. He takes her hand for the next song, which she gleefully accepts.

Wonwoo pulls your attention back to him with the taking of your hand in his. “May I ask you to dance?”

“I would be delighted.”

You sit on one of the many balconies in the royal castle, breathless. Your feet should hurt more than they do with the multitude of waltzes you danced with Wonwoo, but they don’t. You wouldn’t mind if every limb ached, though. With Wonwoo beside you, breathless as well from the night’s excursions, you feel light as air. Free from the obligations you never asked for.

If only you knew Wonwoo felt the same way. He could not remember the last time he smiled this much in one day. Seungcheol was his best friend, his father the biggest influence in his life, and yet both of them reminded him daily of what the future entailed. With you, he didn’t feel anything but ease. 

“What if they send a kingsguard looking for us?” Your mouth is upturned in a smile, but you know Wonwoo shouldn’t be gone too long from the events. He was of some royal standing, and he needed to be there, shaking hands and bowing to subjects.

Wonwoo furrows his brows, his smile mirroring yours. “Seungcheol is the one who needs the most protection tonight. And besides, it would take ten of the best men to pull me from this balcony.” He chuckles. “Right now, there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

You nod and sigh happily. Looking over the edge of the marble landing, you agree with him. The town square is visible from your vantage point, the torches and homes, big and small, specks of light celebrating the coronation. “It is a beautiful view.”

“Is it indeed,” Wonwoo says, his eyes pinned to you and the bare skin of your upper chest. Your skin looks lit from within, your entire being a star amongst a sea of darkness. It’s at this moment Wonwoo knows his father was right. Luck has given him the greatest gift and more, and he won’t let you get away again.

You turn your head. His words make your breath hitch, but you try to reserve yourself. You smile in response and take his hands in yours. Your bodies are closer than you initially realized, and the look in his eyes begs you to move further towards him. 

All your life, you have lived at the whims of others. As you see it, there’s nothing wrong with taking your power back. Choosing at this moment to throw other parts of your life out of focus. Wonwoo is all you want, so you take your chance.

His mouth softly collides with yours, his lips careful to press too hard onto yours. He presses one hand to your neck, deepening his kiss and igniting a fire inside your heart. Every insult or slight you’ve endured over the years seems to fade away in that instant. You’re grateful, even, if it meant it all led to the moment in front of you, a man who seems to share your feelings confirming so with a kiss you’ve never experienced before.

You break away from him, each others’ lips still centimeters away. Wonwoo inhales a shaky breath, eyes hazy with longing. The desire to kiss him again and hold him closer is strong, but timing proves the night can’t last forever.

Your stepmother’s carriage suddenly comes to the front of the palace, and you feel your stomach fall.

You quickly step back from Wonwoo and take a breath, nerves spiking and your heart telling you to defy your head at this moment. It would be so easy to stay here and not look back, but the fallout would be too incredible to bear. And you wouldn’t wish that on this beautiful man in front of you.

“I must go,” you say, a sob caught in your throat.

“Please don’t leave. It’s only midnight,” Wonwoo insists, squeezing your hand. In the same fashion as the day you first met, he’s rubbing circles into your palm, almost like an incantation. With his words and his touch, maybe he can convince you.

Unfortunately, your choices can’t be that easily swayed when so much is on the line.

“I told you before Wonwoo. My life isn’t filled with parties like this,” you reply, tone wavering, “or people like you.” You take his hand in both of yours and press a kiss to the knuckles. “But I’ll cherish this forever.”

Before the pleading look on his face breaks your resolve, you gather your skirts in your hand and run.

You run down the staircase Wonwoo brought you up only moments before.  He calls out your name,  but you refuse to look back now, knowing it will break you to look into his eyes and walk away again if need be. You feel yourself fading the further you run away from him and out of his life.

It’s true, you’ll never forget him or the way he’s made you feel. But it’s also true that it is terrible to forget one’s role in the world. How does one witness all the colors of the world and accept going back to living in black and white?

Little did you know the paper you carried in your skirt's pocket had fallen out on the way out of the palace. Wonwoo looks through the forest lining the castle and curses, you disappearing successfully in the darkness. 

Before he can walk back into the ballroom, he notices the aged paper on the brick steps of the stairs. He unfurls it and reads the handwritten text. He exhales with relief, feeling in his gut he has found the key to finding you again.

No matter where he has to look, whether it’s beside a babbling brook or the highest castle on the far side of the ocean, he promises himself the next time he sees you he will make sure you stay by his side forever.

You feel the sticks and twigs scrape your arms and legs as you run into the forest, the fabric of your dress in ribbons by the time you make it home. Thankfully, you don’t see the coach or footmen anywhere in the distance.

Once you’re inside, you discard the clothes and makeup into the cellar’s hearth. Each item burns slowly, reminding you with every new cinder of your harsh welcome back to the reality you’re familiar with.  The smock you quickly tied around your waist and the soot you smeared across your face to avoid suspicion. The calluses on your palms from the endless, menial work. Your pliable acceptance of cruelty.

It’s all you’ve known, but it feels foreign at the same time. You don’t want to go back to your routine now that you’ve had a taste of what life could be.

Your stepmother and stepsisters waltz into the foyer. Minha looks starry-eyed and love-swept, all of which relate back to her dallying with the prince.

“I can’t believe he danced with me but was looking at you the entire time,” Heejin sneers at Minha, removing her gloves with tense fingers.

You smile to yourself, happy Heejin was knocked down from her high horse and the tides turned in Minha’s favor.

“The good thing is that the prince showed one of you attention, my love.” Your stepmother splays her fur coat out on the loveseat, your cue to immediately scoop it up to carry to the coat closet.

“Tomorrow you need to clean inside the cupboards. I noticed they were a tad dusty,” Heejin says before you can walk out of the room. Your heart was heavy before, but now it’s numbed and frozen to the habitual torture.

"Of course, sister."

Wonwoo rubs his fingers over the page’s text as his father interrogates the young girl in front of them. Seungcheol sits back in his throne beside the king’s chair, curious if this is the girl his best friend whisked away four nights prior.

Wonwoo’s father plucks the writing from Wonwoo’s hand and gives it to the knight. The knight hands it to the girl, her face doe-eyed and timid. “Is this writing familiar to you in any way?”

She looks down to the floor and shakes her head. “No, Lord Hand.”

She didn’t look familiar at all to Wonwoo, just like the last dozen women who came before his father and the prince.

Seungcheol’s idea to find Wonwoo’s mystery girl by interrogating every noble and common girl in the kingdom sounded stupid the second Wonwoo heard it. But with the king’s approval and the hand’s enthusiasm to find his child a bride, the plan was enacted.

Now, in paper and practice, Wonwoo feels more defeated the longer they continue. The only thing that gives him solace is the paper he found, his only connection to you keeping him grounded.

The girl bows for Wonwoo and the royal figures in front of her before being escorted away from the great hall. Wonwoo’s father hands the paper back to his son and sighs.

“I feel we are much closer,” his father says to lighten the mood.

Wonwoo laughs sadly. “It seems you’re the only one who feels that way.”

Seungcheol stands from his chair and pats his friend on the back, his version of a hug. “Closer or further, we’ll do whatever we must,” Seungcheol says to Wonwoo’s father.

Wonwoo’s father exits, a handful of knights marching behind him.

Seungcheol puts a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder. He looks at his best friend with sincerity, a vulnerability he rarely shared with anyone. “You cannot lose hope now.”

Wonwoo nods. “That’s not what I’m afraid of losing. The longer this search continues, the more I feel our chance slipping away.”

Wonwoo traces the familiar pattern of the words with his thumb, the lost paper the one thing holding him steady.

You rifle through the documents you’ve held onto over the years, fear triggering the tremble in your hands. You had brought the dress home from the ball and immediately threw it in the fire. If you had accidentally discarded one of your father’s most precious letters along with the items you burned that night, you’d never forgive yourself.

You hear a horse-drawn carriage outside of the manor and the shrill wail of Heejin calling your name. It stamps down your anxiety enough for you to focus on following the sound.

Walking into the room, you see your stepmother lacing up Heejin’s corset while Heejin is putting a dab of rouge on both cheeks. “The royal carriages are outside!”

You gulp and nod at your sister, unsure what she wants from you.

She exhales with an angry breath and motions for you to go upstairs. “Get my shoes, you idiot!”

Minha stands at the top of the stairs and looks at you sadly. “I could’ve gotten them for you if you just asked, Hee.”

“Like you could do any better,” Heejin remarks. Her voice becomes airy when your stepmother reaches the final inch of tightening on Heejin’s corset. You run up the stairs to quickly follow your orders.

You squeeze Minha’s hand as you pass her to walk towards Heejin’s room. When you find the slippers and place them on your stepsister’s feet, someone knocks on the door forcefully.

Minha and Heejin stand in the center of the room as your stepmother walks up to the front door. You run back down to the cellar. 

Typically you would answer the door for company, but you knew your stepmother wouldn’t want the royalty welcomed by the unbecoming help.

Regardless, your heart thumps furiously at the sound of the stranger at the door delivering his greeting. And you can only wonder what will occur because of his presence.

Wonwoo waits in the carriage as the knight addresses the lady of the house. Wonwoo vaguely remembers his name and feels guilty for not keeping it to memory. Mingyu, was it not?

The lady of the house, her mouth a permanent grimace, nods and opens the door wide for the company to come inside. Wonwoo’s father steps out and Wonwoo follows behind him. Seungcheol exits his own carriage as well.

They all enter the manor, and Heejin can’t help her squeal at the prince’s presence in their home. Wonwoo stifles an eye-roll, keeping his mind focused on business.

As soon as Seungcheol locks eyes with Minha, he smiles. “My lady,” Seungcheol says, striding over to her to bend down and kiss her hand. Minha’s cheeks turn a deep scarlet, but she bows accordingly and smiles.

“‘My p-prince,” Minha stutters.

Heejin sneers at her younger sister, but the prince is too enamored with the young woman in front of him to pay any attention to her.

Wonwoo’s father coughs, redirecting everyone’s attention to him. “Madam Jung, our records indicate there are four residents in this manor. So, to be correct, outside of the three of you here now—”

Madam Jung giggles uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Lord Hand, I have not been to the registrar in some time. Those records must be outdated.”

“So, the third child referenced in these documents-”

 “Took ill some time ago. Again, an oversight caused by immense grief, I assure you.” The words leave her mouth instinctually. Wonwoo feels the confidence in her words and how false it is. From the conduct of her oldest daughter, he’s not surprised lies and negativity are commonplace in the household.

A rumble from the below startles both the women and Wonwoo’s father. The knights instinctively grab the hilts of their swords, but to no danger, a girl covered in ashes from the hearth saunters into the center of the foyer, tears streaming down her face and fists clenched.

In that second, Wonwoo feels he could cry as well.

He wants to run over to you and kiss the tears from your face, squeeze you tight, and get down on his knee in front of everyone in the room. The weight of the ring box in his pocket reminds him of what he has wanted to do since you left him alone that night. He inhales a deep breath, both elated and terrified at once, wondering what is going through your mind at the sight of him here.

I’ll never let you go again, he thinks with steadfast certainty.

Wonwoo comes back to reality when he realizes you’re stomping towards your stepmother. You have barely noticed anyone else’s presence in the room besides hers, and he’s sure you heard every word of her lies from the cellar. The pain on your face is a mixture of incredulity and anger. The emotions are knotted together in the expression on your dampened face.

“How dare you,” you whisper, lips quivering but voice solid as a stone.

“How dare I-” Your stepmother starts, but you raise a hand to her. She blanches. Surely she’s shocked to see this side of you rear its head.

“My whole life, the only act of kindness you’ve shown me is pretending I didn’t exist, in spite of my father’s love for both of us. And now, after everything, to wish me dead…” 

You muster what is left of your strength to continue. “I’m unsure what I did to deserve such hatred in this family, but all I’ve ever wanted was to belong. Was that worth me being punished for this long, mother?” The word tastes like venom on your tongue. It prickles the flesh on your arms to call her such a title, but spitting it back at her with vitriol makes a part of your anger subside.

“You w-will not speak to me like that in my own home, you l-little pest,” she stutters. To your satisfaction, her insults have no weight now.

“This house could be eaten by the hearth, for all it’s worth. It’s no home of mine anymore,” you say.

Done with her and your speech, you begin to walk away. You stop short at the audience in front of you, failing to recognize their presence before. You bow to the Hand and Prince Seungcheol, but you freeze instantly when you see Wonwoo barely ten feet away.

A burden lifts from your heart when your eyes meet. Suddenly, the two of you are in each others’ arms, the pain you felt prior a vague memory.

“I knew I would find you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on the top of your head. He cups your cheeks with his hands, some of the soot scraping off onto his fingers.

You smile wide. What could you say to encompass the feeling of seeing him again? No words would do the sensations justice.

Wonwoo continues before you can respond. “Like the stars you look to above.”

Hearing your father’s words on his lips makes your heart swell. Of course he had the letter. It had to be fate. It was meant to be lost and then found by the man you fell in love with so easily.

“Follow your faith home, and you shall find my love,” you finish, biting your lip to hold yourself back from weeping more.

Unable to stop himself, he presses his lips to yours. He steals the smile on your mouth for himself, his mouth turns into a grin through the kiss. Even when you separate, your foreheads remain touching. 

You had been led to believe, through years of darkness and cruelty, dreams couldn’t come true. And now, with a full heart, you realize love can make every dream come true if you believe.

[formosusiniquis]

This one goes out to that old guy I saw at walmart yesterday loading up his pioneer woman cookware onto his motorcycle while enter sandman played

steddie | G | WC: 1154

---

“Hey baby, can you?”

“No.”

Steve's sweet tone sours immediately returning to the much more familiar gently bitchy tone Eddie knows and loves. “You don't even know what I was gonna ask.”

“Twenty-five years of marriage, lawful and not, Sunshine. I know when you're about to ask me for some shit we don't need.”

“Why would I be calling you if we didn't need it?”

“Because if you needed it you would have told me about it when I said, ‘Stevie, sweetie, light of my life, sun to my dawn,’” he looks around trying to figure out where the hell they moved the oranges and why the produce section is never in the same configuration anytime he comes here. He makes eye contact with a kid wearing an artificially faded printing of his own tour merch looking at him with a starry eyed look of recognition not of the celebrity but of family.

“Did you forget where you were going with that old man?”

He decides he might as well put on a show, both halves of this conversation already know he's going to do what he's told. “‘Stevie, my one truth north, my muse, my reason to continue living, my dearest husband, I'm going to Walmart,’ I told you not but thirty minutes ago and asked if you needed me to get you anything and you said no.”

“Oh, you aren't going to monologue for your adoring public all the sweet names I called you?” Steve is amused, he can tell, he's always been able to tell. He's accepting this as his penance for not giving Eddie an actual grocery list when he left.

“Well dear heart I am in public, but if you think we can find another grocery store to go to after getting banned from this one. I guess there is the Kroger on the other side of town.” The kid laughs, tries to hide it behind their hand, but if Eddie has had anything in this life it's experience with teens eavesdropping on conversations they shouldn't be.

“Oh you're really hamming it up, huh, Teddy. Can I tell you what you're getting me yet or do you still have a couple minutes in your set?”

He's given up on oranges, moves on to the onion he actually came here for, the lone ingredient for dinner that he'd forgotten from his clicklist. If they want to actually have the roast tonight it needs to start soon. “What is it that you remembered we needed, oh song of my heart.”

“I already sent you the link so you get exactly what I want.”

It's just ominous enough of a non-answer that he pulls his phone out of his pocket, juggling it and the five things he'd already grabbed that weren't on his one item list. He doesn't have the time to regret not grabbing the cart he was sure he hadn't needed when he sees what he's been sent.

“I'm on my bike! Where am I going to put that?”

“I'm sorry, am I hearing you correctly? Was I right when I said, ‘Teddy bear, my stars, my bard-’”

“You aren't on speaker.”

“My beloved damsel in distress, maybe the motorcycle isn't the most efficient of midlife crisis vehicles. Aren't you going to want something with more trunk space, why don't you get a Caddy or a Bimmer for old times sake. And what did you say?”

“I don't recall.”

“Probably for the best wouldn't want you banned from Walmart, what would the tabloids say?”

“Nothing that would match your wit, Sweetheart. Does it have to be this one?”

“Yes, the plaid matches the kitchen remodel, so be a good boy and strap it to your bike. And remember we've still got one kid to put through school if she decides to go, don't bring home any strays with you. Do you need to do your encore now, baby?”

“I accept your quest, my dashing prince. I shall return home with my bounty posthaste.” Encore complete, audience still enraptured, Eddie dips into the sincere. It's been nearly thirty years together and he's not once ended a call without saying, “I love you.”

“Love you too, my knight in denim battle vest. I'll see you when you get home.”

The call ends with the usual dull toned beep beep, the playlist the call interrupted starts to filter back into his earbud. He realizes he's going to have to walk right past the kid to get to the side of the store with Steve's Instant Pot.

“Hear they're about to have a reunion tour,” he says gesturing down at the reprint of their Came Back Wrong Tour shirt. The faux-fading has left a crack through his own face at the bottom making him unrecognizable, not that he looks the same now as he did at 25. “Those old bands just don't know how to retire.”

“I think it's smart that they're playing up the recent tik tok fame.” The kid says, “No one's even seen their lead singer since the 90s and after their first national tour he'd started wearing that mask.”

It hurts a little bit the way the kid says 90s like it's some bygone era lost to time. Tries to appreciate instead how good the mask idea had been, he'd really been an innovator. “That was a pretty sweet gimmick, you think he'll bring it back? It's kind of Orville Peck's thing now isn't it.”

The kid slumps, managing the impressive feat of looking desolate while standing over the tomatoes. “Probably, not that I'll see it. I couldn't manage to get a ticket.”

That is something he can fix, “Here,” he manages to grab ahold of his wallet, “as luck would have it, I've got a couple spares.”

The kid looks torn between fear and elation, it's likely at least the second strangest thing to ever happen to them in a Walmart. “Oh I can't-”

“No strings, I got it through work for my sister-in-law to go with my husband. She asked why none of the good bands ever have reunion tours so… not going obviously. And my husband insists he's too old to be that close to the stage. You'd be doing me a favor really.”

“If you're sure,” they say, the hesitance more a mannered necessity than real.

“Sure as shooting. Seriously, here give me your name so my husband knows who to make the thank you note out to.”

“Aspen, thank you really!”

Twenty minutes later when he’s got a kitchen appliance bungied to the back of his bike he’ll appreciate that something good came out of this. Three weeks later when he’s standing at the front of a sold out arena he’ll mostly appreciate another chance to be dramatic, “This next one is for Aspen who didn’t laugh when an old man tried to flirt with his husband in the produce aisle. Gareth, count me in.”

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Random Simon 'Ghost' Riley headcanons

sfw and nsfw

pairing: l.t. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, afab!reader, size!kink, dirty talk

a/n: and of course a few HC's for Ghostie as well🤭

Simon 'Ghost' Riley MASTERLIST

sfw

-you know those mascots in full-body costumes? Yeah, Ghost hates those, gets on edge each time he sees one. He just gets this uncomfortable feeling in his body bc why go around masked like that?

-yes, he's aware of the irony

-your first kiss, technically, happened with his mask on,

-he wanted to kiss you but wasn't ready to commit fully, showing you his face meant a lot and he wasn't there, yet, so he just kinda directed your face from the TV to him by your chin and pressed his lips to yours despite the clothing concealing them

-you don't scare easily, even if he would disagree, but when having a shadow the size of him creeping up on you silently, which should be physically impossible for someone his size, it always makes you jump

-Ghost enjoys it for some reason, always repressing a smile when you gasp and clutch your chest with a hissed 'Simon!' despising that you never got used to it

-what you don't know is that he actively makes it harder for you, always staying in your blind spot when coming up behind you, silencing his step just like he does on stealth missions

-standard case of you falling first but he fell harder, it was a slow endeavour getting to know him, even slower when you started dating and he demanded that things wouldn't be rushed, but once he opened up he was practically already in love with you considering he rarely did open up to people

-he doesn't like gifts

-contrary to what people think, it's not because he doesn't know how to react, closer to the truth is that he's picky and doesn't like random things coming in surprises

-that's why Ghost always keeps a list of things he wants or is in interested in buying, one that you have unaltered access to just to keep track if you ever feel like gifting him something for a special occasion or if other people come to you when he just won't answer what he wishes for read Soap

-the ONLY casual gift he doesn't mind is when you get him a book, within reason of course bc yeah, he likes to read

nsfw below the cut

-on the topic of books, he doesn't read romantic stuff, if it isn't a book you push into his hands, then he knows what's between the pages: raunchy ass stuff you more often than now want him to act out, leaving you nervously giggling and then panting when he fully went into the role of fucking you silly

-another thing about Ghost that people think, but is wrong, is that he always so reserved

-this man can run his fucking mouth when he wants to

-perhaps others just don't notice, because he doesn't do it with them, but when you're by his side his face is for the most part ducked in level with your ear, making it his mission to rile you up enough so you're the one who grits out 'we're leaving '

-and the cocky bastard knows he will manage too, your resolve wearing down quick when he whispers stuff like 'pretty necklace, lovie, would rather it was my hand wrapped around your throat' and if he manages to catch you off-guard with that, mouth agape kinda surprised, he'll muse 'pretty little mouth like that’ll send a man wild'

-in the Riley household, there's one particular rule: if you buy any piece of clothing, either online or in-store, you're going to model it for Ghost

-doesn't matter what it is, he's gonna sit down in the living room waiting for you to come out for him to drink in your pretty self

-he always twirls a finger in a sign for you to spin around, not because he has any sense of fashion more than the normal man, he just likes to see all how your clothes flatter your figure

-and if it just so happens you only bought a pair of pretty panties or a flattering bra, his rule applies to those too, with the addition you'll come out in only those

-and so help you, but if your tits are on display or that pretty cunt of yours bared, he will not only make you spin but curl his finger, beckoning you towards him

-usually ends with you in his lap as he either plays and sucks at your nipples or you grind against his growing bulge before riding him

-guilty pleasure of his? your obsession with his arms and tattoos

-when you first started seeing each other, he always noticed how your eyes strayed to the ink peeking forth from his long-sleeved clothing, when you both got more comfortable and you saw him without a hoodie constantly, the way you drooled at his bulging biceps made it difficult adhering to his own rule of things going slow

-in fact, the first time you slept together was a consequence of your intrusive thoughts winning during a cuddling session

-you'd been positioned in-between his legs, running your hand over his arm curled around your waist, gaze following those delicious lines running along his forearm and then you just... dragged your tongue over his bicep, licking a long wet stripe on the muscle that tensed upon feeling your tongue

-there was a rumble against your back and a 'what the fuck was that?' making you glance up at Ghost with a sheepish smile with some explanation he didn't fucking buy for a second

-it ended with the both of you kneeling on Ghost's bed as he fucked you from behind, his arms circled around your neck, your nails digging into his forearm, a moaning mess as if you didn't know he killed men just like this but in a tighter chokehold

-so that's why he always wraps his tattooed arm around your front when you cuddle with him behind you, most time also seating himself on your right side, offering you the opportunity to trace the intricate lines decorating his skin

[popponn]

from the outsider's view. [itoshi sae x reader]

notes: admittedly, no braincell here only "sae unconditionally lovey dovey" thought (ft. kaiser). i miss sae. and i want him to be happy for a bit. this guy seems like when he is committed he will become the commitment itself despite everything. cute in the way the sort of type who will put in the effort and worth the effort when he is the right person. also, happy cny ❤ warnings: cursings (it's kaiser). fluff. kaiser's pov aka outsider's pov, sae & you being lovey dovey, established relationship, reader's gender unspecified, post canon au, heavy hc that sae & kaiser doesn't get along (outside of the field esp). please don't look to closely into this. @doobea thank u for betaing beloved ♡❀

By any means, it is not as if Kaiser actively tries to murder Sae every time they meet.

But it also doesn’t mean he is buddy-buddy with him either. Honestly, Kaiser hates a lot of people’s guts—Yoichi and Noa currently contending for the #1 spot, sure, but Sae is pretty close up there if he has to list them down. The reason is not particularly complicated for this one, as anyone who has met Sae would agree he is a natural at making enemies. That mid-fielder is one of those people who will do better as a human being if they shut up and not pick up a fight with each breath they take.

So, imagine his surprise to meet the redhead—with you by his side, hand in hand—during a casual outing for some convenience store snack in broad daylight.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Kaiser doesn’t waste a second to ask the moment their eyes meet each other. Kaiser really doesn’t want to have a jerk greeting him the moment he tries to get into an aisle yet here he is.

Sae squints at him in a more offensive manner than usual and then subtly—but very obvious to Kaiser’s eye—pushes you slightly behind his back as if Kaiser might do something to you. Which is wrong—even if Kaiser is very aware he is not the shining beacon of goodness. “Shopping, clearly. What else?”

“Someone you know, Sae?” your voice asks from behind your assumed-boyfriend. Kaiser glances slightly at the blatantly color-coordinated casual clothes. Disgusting. Definitely a boyfriend then. “Oh! Is that Michael Kaiser?”

Kaiser raises an eyebrow as he meets your gleaming eyes. He certainly didn’t expect Itoshi Fucking Sae’s partner to acknowledge him with such enthusiasm. He expected someone who is more or less as bitchy as bitchy as the guy. A smile that has been trained for PR events forms itself on Kaiser’s face, “Why, hello—”

“It’s not,” Sae quickly cuts in. “Just some bugs. Let’s just get the drink and go.”

Fucking Sae.

“Now, now,” Kaiser sneers, his grin widening into an irritated smirk as he approaches closer towards Sae. Said dickhead responds by tugging you closer to him. Sae better be one of those types of unreasonably cutesy protective boyfriends or Kaiser might actually start taking offenses and maim him for real. “Is that a way to greet ‘a friend’, Sae? And—” Kaiser moves on to you, “—hello there.”

The quotation mark hangs heavily in the air. Sae scoffs while you finally get the chance to address Kaiser’s existence politely and introduce yourself, “Hello! Nice to meet you!”

How the fuck did someone who knows basic manners end up with Sae? Kaiser genuinely wants to know if you got paid for this or something. He will ask if it’s not for the fact Sae seems to be itching to claw the hell out of his face. Kaiser really doesn’t want to get lectured for a public incident if he actually gives in to the urge to sock Sae’s resting bitch face. So, instead, he keeps his focus on you even while keeping his sentence directed to you both, “I didn’t expect to see you here. Thought Sae is allergic to store-bought products.”

You laugh at that, whilst Sae sends you a sharp glare—that has a hint of besotted lovesick gaze in it what the fuck—that you promptly ignore in favor of answering Kaiser instead. “Yeah, he is a bit nosy sometimes, huh?” you muse fondly, “But he is open to some products, thankfully.”

Sae pipes in, “Hey.”

“Come on, it’s true,” you reply shortly. As your eyes meet Sae, the besotted lovesick gaze returns, this time reciprocated by your equally lovelorn affectionate one. Kaiser really doesn’t want to see this.

“Hmph,” Sae breathes out like some grumpy mangy cat. Then, as if he truly is some kitty raising up its fur and tail, Sae returns his glare to Kaiser. The way one of Sae’s hand wrap around your shoulder to press you close doesn’t escape Kaiser’s eyes. And the most annoying thing is perhaps the way that it evidently isn’t like Sae deliberately shows it to him like some territorial jealous dickhead. It’s like watching someone taking in a breath and that breath is some lovey-dovey fuckery. “We are going. Let’s go.”

As much as Kaiser wants to make Sae suffer a little bit more via playfully flirting with you or something, being a third wheel to the elder Itoshi sounds so awful it’s not even worth trying. Next time the two Itoshis duke it out by being on the opposite team, Kaiser genuinely considers rooting for the younger one just so he can see Sae fail. And also out of some twisted camaraderie because imagining being a witness to this frequently—one really either builds up some immunity or turns insane.

The sort of guy who casually must touch his lover all the time is unbearable to watch.

So, good fucking riddance.

“Shoo,” Kaiser waves Sae away. And the way you look at Sae like the redhead is the most wonderful man alive lowers Kaiser’s opinion of you enough for that wave to be directed at you too. Get a better taste.

You laugh nervously at their brief exchange as Sae drags you away. Kaiser too shifts his attention away from you. Unfortunately, turns out—fuck him—it isn’t enough to escape the barely audible whispers Sae shares with you as the two of you walk away from the aisle.

“You should be nicer. He is still someone you know.”

“He touched Isagi’s chin on their first meeting to fuck around—I’m not taking chances with that shithole.”

“Aw. I don’t think he will—he seems very aware I’m with you.”

“That guy is insane and it’s better to be ready to kick his dick when you have to. Don’t be too friendly with him next time.”

God. Kaiser wishes for a match with Sae soon just so he can duke it out with him without any repercussions.

[cevansbrat0007]

Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”. 

Well, that couldn’t be right. 

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day. 

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail. 

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store. 

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!” 

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last. 

Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.

Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read. 

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you. 

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him. 

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right? 

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school. 

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else. 

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?” 

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”  

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.” 

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye. 

“As much as I can be.” 

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked. 

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.” 

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs. 

“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.    

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.   

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten  seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.” 

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.” 

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back. 

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal. 

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts. 

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy. 

But not now. 

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.  

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle. 

“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them. 

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going. 

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later: 

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck. 

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END 

Sweet Renegade Series Tag List

@katymae12344

@identity2212

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@blackhawkfanatic

@jamneuromain

@queerqueenlynn

@pono-pura-vida

@daykrisr999

@jamneuromain

@ninacutebee16

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@emerald-writes

[hyper-pixels]

How to Grow Up

A guide on how to grow up. It was originally posted by @/friendliness but half the links were broken. So I took what links weren't broken and added other links and more things to know.

This is USA based resources

Personal

Reasons to Stay Alive – A Tumblr post of 116 reasons to stay alive by @/friendliness.

How to Get Better At Asking for Help – Website is Harvard Business Review. The article is “5 Ways to Get Better At Asking for Help” by Wayne Baker.

What to do if you Can’t Afford Therapy – Website is Psych Central and the article is by Steven Rowe.

How to Quit Smoking – “The 22 Best Ways to Quit Smoking” by Debra L. Gordon and David L. Katz M.D. from the Healthy Digest.

How to Legally Change your Name – Website is Forbes.

Wanna Learn Something New? – A Tumblr post made by @/hamletthedane with various new things to try from language learning to ballet.

Free Harvard Courses – Harvard University’s free online courses.

Getting a New Computer? – A quick and dirty comprehensive guide by WIRED on what to look for.

How to Sew – Website is Autodesk Indestructibles. The article is “How to Sew” by Jessyratfink. Having a small sewing kit (that you can pick up from nearly any craft store) is super handy and has saved my life and clothes.

What to Look For in Clothes A YouTube video by Alyssa Beltempo titled “How to Identify High Quality vs. Poor Quality Clothing | Slow Fashion”. Here’s a WikiHow [x] if a YouTube video isn’t your style.

Dealing with Executive Dysfunction – A Tumblr post made by @/compassionatereminders. It's a list to more links on how to deal with executive dysfunction.

Another List Like this One – A Tumblr post made by a now deactivated account. It's a list much like this one.

Home

What’s a mortgage? – Website is realtor.com and the page is called “What is a Mortgage? Home Loan Basics Explained” by Cathie Ericson.

First Apartment Checklist – A checklist PDF. Here’s another link to a Tumblr checklist [x] 

What to Ask Landlords Before Renting? – “25 Questions To Ask a Landlord When Renting a Home” by Morgen Henderson.

What’s Renter’s Insurance? – Website is Forbes Advisor. The article is by Jason Metz and titled “How to Get Renters Insurance”.

Plant Care – A master list of how to care for plants made by @/difficults

Job

Time Management – Website is Entrepenuer and has 10 time management tips. One I personally recommend is keeping a physical calendar book on hand. I keep mine in my bag with a designated pen.

Finding the right job – Website is The Muse and it has 13 free career assessment tests.

Make a resume – Website is Resume Now. Many hirers look at your name, the middle of the page (where your experience list is) and skim the rest.

Job Interview Tips – Website is Linkedin. The article is titled “10 Job Interview Tips to Land The Career of Your Dreams” by Caren Merrick.

How to Write a Cover Letter – Website is The Writing Center. University of Winsconsin, Madison. It’s titled “Writing Cover Letters” and I can’t find the author.

Money

Couponing! – Website is Coupon Database :: Southern Savers. It has a list of mobile apps for coupons to places.

Call 211 for Help – the website leads to 211.org. It's anonymous and can help you get connected to food programs, paying bills and things like doctor appointments. Here’s a Tumblr post about it [x] by @/poessionisamyth

Groceries! – This is a Tumblr meme post, but scrolling through tags/reblogs/replies and there’s plenty of good tips. The post is by @/charlotten

What To Do if You Can’t Pay Your Bills – Website is Nolo. The article is “When You Can’t Pay Your Bills: Thiings To Know” that was updated by Amy Loftsgordon. 

Are You Paying Too Much for Your Phone Bill? – An article by Beht Beverman titled “How Much is Too Much to Pay for a Cell Phone Bill?”.

54 Ways to Save Money – Website is America Saves.

How to Do Taxes – Website is Wiki-How.

The 70/20/10 Method – Website is Business Insider. The Article is “A Beginners Guide to the 70-20–10 Budgeting Method” by Paul Kim.

Side Hustle Ideas – Website is Forbes. “30 Side Hustle Ideas To Make Extra Money In 2024” by Krista Fabregas.

Emergency

Your Rights When a Cop Pulls you Over – Website is Business Insider. Cops are allowed to lie to you, and they will, so be careful.

Hotline List – The website is DoSomething.org. Depression/Suicide, domestic abuse, child abuse and runaway/homeless/and at-risk youth hotlines.

What to Keep in Your Car – Website is MentalFloss. I live in a snowy area that gets blizzards and bad ice. I keep blankets, water and other aids in my car as well as a knife and road flare. I also own a self jumping car battery and it has saved my ass more than once. Heimlich Maneuver – A one minute video by the Mayo Clinic.

The Heimlich Maneuver on Yourself – A one minute video by The List Show TV.

What to Keep in Your Wallet – Website is PureWow. The article is by Rachel Bowie. Keep your drivers license, medical insurance card, and an emergency contact in your card. If you have a pet home alone make sure that you have a card detailing this. Free printable one here [x]

Traveling

Packing List – Website is Smarter Travel.

Traveling with Little to No Money – Website is Nomadic Matt.

How to Pack a Suitcase – Website is Real Simple. The article is by Thersa O’Rourke.

How to Apply for a Passport – Website is WikkiHow.

Making a Travel Budget – Website is Travel Made Simple. “How to Make a Travel Budget” by Ali Garland

[withonly-sweetheart]

Fortune's Cookies

They aren't very sweet, especially when you're fooled into taking the first bite.

a/n: gosh there's literally so much rookie leon art going around and the fever got to me, hope you like my twist on this classic trope! honestly everyone listed below contributed to this with their rookie leon pieces, seriously i stared at them while writing it helps seriously.

@chesue00 - you KNOW it.

@faintfill - MY SOURCE OF ROOKIE LEON SKETCHES NO KIDDING

@uhlillie - i hope you know which one im talking about girl... DAMN

@bunnivievve - FOODDDDDDD just like i said rookie leon is served

(psst. if i didnt mention u in this one artist moots TRUST you're definitely in one of the other three.)

tw: cavity fluff i hope i needed to brush my teeth after writing this (probably because of all the panda express fortune cookies i ate while typing), angst bc duh and i think thats it?

wc: 7k

“Your voice will bring a smile today.”

That’s what greets you, printed in those horrible skinny red letters, paper curled in your fingers. The styrofoam boxes are dotted with grains of undercooked rice and steamed vegetables, a treat you knew you deserved after such a long day. 

And this is what fate tells you. Good thing you’ve never believed in superstition. You crumple the paper and toss it onto the tray and scoff.

Like you’ll take advice from a cookie.

But as the number of people in the store starts to dwindle, and the night shift employees trudge in through the back door, you wind up with your eyes glued to the message, wondering what kind of voice it referred to. 

It’s been a long time since your voice has brought anyone joy, hasn’t it? Your job mostly consists of reminding multiple colleagues of their deadlines, only to be promptly ignored. Your existence only comes back to their minds two minutes before their reports are due, when they forward a hastily written piece that you don’t bother to read.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” A hand waves dangerously close to your face, brushing your nose, and the contact is enough to startle you back, glaring up at the offender. Even with the harsh swinging lights stinging your eyes, you can see warm blue eyes and sunny hair. 

It feels as if the sky has descended to meet you.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you mutter back in response, clearing your throat, waving your tied words away. “All good here.”

He shifts away from you, maybe mistaking your inward gesture as shooing him away. You think of saying something about him, about assuring him, but you wonder why you feel that way. "Oh. I, uh, saw you seemed distracted. Just wanted to make sure you're okay." 

You wince, acutely aware of your frazzled appearance after the long shift. "Thank you, but I'm fine. Just tired is all."

“That’s not good,” he notes with a small frown, leaning back to press his heels to the ground. “Did you eat well?”

“Do you fuss over all strangers?” you muse.

“Oh, well, uhm, I see you a lot here, not that I’m watching you, just that I noticed that you’re here, a lot, so I thought you must like food-” 

“You talk a lot.” You raise an eyebrow, trying to cut off his flustered stammering with your motion.

“That came out a lot worse than I’d imagined in my head,” he admits with a slight dip of his shoulders. “Sorry about that, I got nervous. I don't talk to many people… or, uh, women... so I tend to be a bit of a dumbass.”

Surprisingly, as shitty as you feel, a small smile graces the corner of your mouth.

“You’re honest, aren’t you?” 

“According to a lot of people… yeah.”

“I don’t think I caught your name earlier,” you say, eyes scanning his vivid outfit for a nametag. There, pinned to his apron like a defining feature of his. “Leon?”

“That’s me,” he replies proudly. “And I already know yours!”

“Sorry?”

“Your… name?” Leon puckers his bottom lip, as if scarring it with his teeth will take back the words hanging between you. “Sorry… like I said, I’ve seen you here a lot.”

And he smiles shyly.

You’re flushed the whole way home, thinking of that sweet little smile, the way his eyes crinkled, his fresh linen scent, how you forgot how to breathe. 

And your carefully built world topples over.

<><><><>

You never expected to look forward to the little messages in your fortune cookies, but you blame it on the fact you know Leon’s handing them to you, standing behind the counter in that cute little outfit. Even if he has no idea what’s in them, you can gaslight yourself into thinking he deliberately picks the ones complimenting your smile, or telling you how pretty your eyes look.

Of course, he can tell you that all himself. You sit shoulder to shoulder with him on the stools that you think are meant to be mocking bar stools, but they have barely any space between them, so you’re crammed together.

You wait for him to move away, to tell you to put some distance between you two, but nothing comes. You watch his profile, that handsome face eat cheap noodles when he really deserves so much better.

The lights dim as the last employee clocks out. It’s gotten so late that the crickets demand entrance, chirping their redundant sound, silencing as you walk past the slouching grass like plant that tickles your bare ankles as you walk back to your respective cars.

“Well,” he says, twisting the fabric of his shirt between his fingers, like he hasn’t been talking to you for the last two weeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, nodding. The grin that eats up his face is so infectious you can’t help but smile back.

The same smile drops from your face when you check your Uber texts, a system you’ve repeated so much over the last few months that it feels like second nature, but not very natural when you see that your driver had to back out of the deal at the last minute, suspiciously also taking your money with them, leaving you broke and without a ride. 

You stare at the small blue rectangle gripped in your fingers, heat rising to your face, realizing how stupid you must seem to the guy who must be pulling away right at this moment, and will he ever want to hang out with you again-

“Something wrong?” You hear his voice before you hear the knocks on his car roof, and he’s so tall that even at this distance you have to crane your neck to glower at him, and a lopsided smile overtakes his face.

“This isn’t fair,” you insist after explaining your situation, and the only response he gives is a slight shake of his head, as if exasperated. “I already paid all the money!”

“Crap, then something’s wrong,” he mumbles. “Do you usually always use all your money on the trip here?”

You falter. “Not usually.”

He arches a golden brow, a gate to your forthcoming confession. “Then…?”

“Well, I come out here to see you,” you admit quietly. “And then I go home.”

“Exactly how far away do you live?” His voice is smooth, but his expression reminds you of those times when your mother caught you doing something you shouldn’t be, doing something that shows how much you need that validation to survive.

“Not that far,” you assure, nodding your head, but you fail to convince the both of you. 

“Do you want a ride home?” he asks quietly, softly, as if the night might intrude on your conversation.

“That would be nice,” you reply in a hushed whisper, as if further backing up the idea that the moon is listening, lighting up your words, shining on his hair as you both clamber into his car.

He apologizes for the mess in his spotless car, and you assume it’s just a courtesy, but he goes on and on about how he needs to get his life together. You don’t pay attention to the words that come out of his mouth, just his mouth in general. The amount of times you’ve done this slips from your mind, just another irrelevant number in your life.

If his life is a mess, your life must be a heap of shit.

Your address tumbles past strangely parched lips, well, at least it did, a while ago. But the ride was far too short, and he pulls up in your driveway, a bewildered expression on his face, as if he can’t believe this is where you live; a humble, simple abode, just like all your neighbors.

“So, this is goodbye, then?”

“Not forever, I hope,” he whispers, voice breathy.

“Uh, okay then? But let’s meet somewhere that isn’t your place of work?”

You were joking when you said it, but it seems he doesn’t pick up on it. His eyes are dreamy and thoughtful on his drive back, and by the time he gets home, he has a plan.

He’s going to stun you.

<><><><>

“Well?”

Leon’s gone out of his way to please you. Everything you’ve said during your time together, those vague comments about your favorite type of cheese, your opinions on the amazingly random topics you’re always switching between, it’s all right there.

You hope it's a physical display of his love.

His heart is spread bare, on the checkered, classic pattern of red and white, starkly contrasting with the blades of grass that bear your combined weight, not one, but two, so closely conjoined that you feel more at ease than you have in years.

You share a smile as you indulge in the simple yet delightful cucumber sandwiches, savoring each bite as you bask in each other's company. In the far distance, birds chirp, serenading you both, as if a soundtrack to these moments that seem to tick by faster than they should.

Leon's eyes meet yours, a softness in his gaze that speaks volumes. Time slows, encapsulating you both, a delicious freedom licking up your spine.

“Didn’t know you could cook,” you remark, wiping your face with a napkin, feeling content as you lean back, lying your head on your palms.

He mirrors your action, although his head twists to meet you, eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t be working at a restaurant if I didn’t know a few things, right?”

“Guess so.” You shrug and the afternoon wears on, the park imaginative and alive with the children that race around the playground, darting like minnows through the swings and slides.

If you had met Leon in your childhood, would things have been different? Would you still be where you are today, arms brushing, only held apart by the barrier of remains scattered between you both, a battlefield of scarred napkins and damaged plastic utensils, a war fought to keep you separate.

He is caring and decisive and rational, the most reliable person you know, and you faintly register it’s been half a year, and you haven’t progressed any further with each other. The battle has come to a standstill, and neither side dares to make a move.

You think that half the problem lies not with you, but with Leon, and what he does with all his free time. He’s not the type to laze around; you think you know him well enough to make that assumption, but you aren’t sure anymore.

Cue example one: the mysterious phone calls that have begun to grow in frequency, the ones that always sour Leon’s mood, leave him sullen and unfriendly to talk to. Eventually, you grow tired of his monosyllabic answers, and make your absence known, still wondering what goes on in his life.

With a furrowed brow, he glances at the caller ID, his expression tightening with concern. You watch as his once-relaxed posture stiffens with some unseen burden. With a sigh, he excuses himself to take the call, leaving you momentarily alone with your thoughts.

You can sense the tension tinging the area, Leon’s clenched jaw betraying the stress he tries to conceal as he stalks back to you, shoving his phone into his pocket, evidently agitated.

“You don’t need a ride home, do you?” His voice contrasts his request; he obviously isn’t in the mood to drive you home. 

“I’ll get a cab.” You shake your head, not wanting to be the instrument he releases all that pent up anger on.

He casts a shadow over you, standing tall and easy, in the dying sun he looks like a dying angel, his eyes soft and sad, skin begging to be touched. And while you want nothing more than to reach out and caress his cheek, tell him it’ll be okay, kiss his troubles away, you don’t know what you are right now.

Friends? Would a friend do that? So you offer him a supportive smile, trying not to seem deliberate, and amidst the fading light of the park and the cooling breeze that accompanies you back to your divided lives, you already regret it, watching Leon speed off, just a distant thought in your memory. 

You should trust your gut more often.

<><><><>

As the car glides through the shadowy city streets, you catch sight of the new monument in the distance, the one Leon must’ve told you about. Surprising yourself, you decide to take a spontaneous detour. You tap your driver on the shoulder, and she smiles encouragingly. For the most part, the drive was silent, but you don’t mind her soft voice explaining the history behind why they decided to construct it in the first place.

She pulls around the corner, approaching the area near the monument, but the statue quickly is pushed to the back of your mind. It’s the flashing police lights and a sense of urgency in the air that catches your attention. A crime scene tape cordons off the area, and officers are stopping all vehicles passing through.

A stern-faced cop approaches your cab and instructs you both to step out. The driver uneasily abandons her car where it’s parked, then weaves through the forming crowd effortlessly, as if she’s gotten used to the downtown mobs of people.

You, however, barely come to this side of the town, where the city lights are always attacking your eyes that are comfortable with the soft sunset across the farm, where the people are always knocking against each other like clumsy goats, everyone bustling with a purpose.

As you also try your best to push your way through the throng, a knot forms in your stomach at the sight that greets you in the center of the commotion. The blood reaches up to where your footsteps falter, where everyone steps back to avoid staining their footwear.

Splatters of crimson paint a macabre picture that sends a shiver down your spine. The wail of sirens pierces the night, flaring lights casting an eerie glow that dances like amethyst flames, illuminating the limp body that uniformed figures crouch near.

And one of those figures, someone you’d never expect at the grim scene of a murder, is Leon, his unfamiliar stony expression cast in a stark light against the backdrop of chaos.

You draw closer, questions threatening to unravel the fabric of your reality, steeling yourself for the confrontation, because you thought you were close to him, a person he could trust. Was that such a silly thought? To think that you might have had something?

Apparently it was.

“Leon?” you demand, pressing yourself into the caution tape, warning bells ringing in your mind at the neon yellow bending to your will against your stomach.

“What?” He glances up and around, scanning the entire world until his eyes land on yours, going wide slightly, and his position stumbles, as if his legs give way.

“Get up, rookie,” another cop barks. “Focus! And you, stop distracting him!” Someone bats at your face, but you just sidestep the blow and storm closer, in the tension of the moment.

If you had just a speck of your sense at the time, you might’ve forced yourself to step away, to take a few calming deep breaths, but seeing his face dappled in such an unnatural light, to see his warmth be taken away to something that’s real, something like a life gone. 

You always saw him as your solace, away from your life, something that was unreal, just for you. You forget to see him as a being of his own, with feelings of his own. And sadly, you don’t know the difference between impulsive and intrusive. 

You’re surprised when Leon rises to meet your eyes, albeit it only lasts for a moment until he’s towering over you again, and there’s a sense of authority there that wasn’t there before, eyes strict and narrowed.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he says, in such a final tone it doesn’t occur to you that you could argue back. But his voice, a splinter of your Leon, the one you know, slips through. “I promise.”

So you stand back, near the patrol cars, their wails ratting your skull, but you grit your teeth and force yourself through it, eyes directed on Leon. It’s a while before the crowd clears, presumably because the idea of a murder is enticing until they see how long it truly takes, as compared to television.

But you stand there, leaning against the side of the car that you know is Leon’s, recognizing it as the one that you’ve rode in so many times, and you wonder why he’s taken a fragment of your time here, to this place outside of your relationship.

Eventually, Leon makes frantic motions to the top of the monument, stretching to the sky before gesturing back to the body, and everyone around him offers a pensive expression and solemn nods before someone calls out something you can’t hear.

The sirens die down immediately, and everyone claps Leon on the back. He flushes and stumbles with them to the cars, and you promptly ignore everyone’s gaze on you as he approaches. But there’s someone with him. 

Feline eyes meet yours, an arm draped over his shoulder, competitive expression and this mysterious woman and Leon saunter over to you. She’s dressed in a long, beige trench coat, and her black sunglasses rest low on her nose, perched just right so that she can lift her face to offer you the most cursory of glances before turning away.

And she has the audacity to peck Leon on the cheek before she gives you a smug smile with the side of her face that only you can see before waving goodbye, somehow gracefully, and stalking away to what you assume is a fancy sports car.

“Look, I know you have a lot of questions.” Leon holds up his hands in defense, before grinning, and involuntarily, you feel the corner of your mouth quirk upwards.

“Lot of is an understatement,” you grumble.

“Talk over dinner?” he offers.

“Is this you trying to impress me?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Is it working?”

<><><><>

“Right, and you didn’t think telling me you were a fucking cop was important?” Your spring roll is devastated, its insides spilling everywhere on your plate, bits of cabbage and carrot dotting the cardboard.

“I didn’t think it would change anything between us,” he mumbles. “So what difference would it make?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You push away from the table, and his eyes follow you when you stand up, and his actions seem to come naturally, as an instinct, when he trails you across the empty store.

“You know what it means!” he protests.

“Maybe I don’t, Leon, so maybe you should explain,” you retort. “Explain why you thought it was okay to lead me on like that, all this time, when you have a girlfriend! Which one of us are you really cheating on?”

“What?” Now he looks genuinely confused, and his confusion seems to spark some doubt in your own defense, breaking down your sure walls. “Girlfriend? Cheating?”

His eyes are glazed over with tears, and if he starts crying, you’re not sure what you’ll do. You take a step closer, but now he’s the one to recoil away, shaking his head, wiping his eyes.

Leon inhales sharply. “How could you say something like that? I told you when we met, I’m not… not very good with these kinds of things.”

“But she-”

“Kissed me?” He scoffs. “Yeah, right. Like your mother’s never kissed you goodnight.”

You misread everything. That smug smile was her approval, on those curved lips, those narrowed eyes that were… well, just always narrowed. How could you get something so wrong?

"I... I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "I didn't know... I thought..." Your words falter as you struggle to find the right ones to express the whirlwind of relief, a gust of skittish butterflies pattering against the walls of your stomach, trying to find release.

"I should have been honest from the start," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. "My job… it can hurt people. You saw. I want to keep you safe."

“You’re not mad?” you ask quietly.

Leon's eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief as he responds, "How could I ever be mad at this cute little face?" He playfully puffs your cheeks together, a gesture meant to be endearing.

Before you can fully process his teasing remark, Leon's demeanor shifts once again, his voice lower and more intimate as he adds, "Or... these lips." And with a sudden, decisive move, he leans in and presses a tender kiss against your lips.

And your fragile world topples over.

Again.

<><><><>

Leon never ceases to surprise you, that much you can definitely expect. You shut your computer, ready for your lunch break, when someone calls your name from the lower floor. That much you’ve come to expect, but while you’re gathering your belongings, someone else calls out something else.

“Hey, hurry up! Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting!”

To say you stumbled would be nice. You somehow manage to trip over the arm of the chair, end up with all your papers fluttering to the ground, but you ignore the mess and file it away for later, trying to tame your hair (an impossible feat in three seconds) as you storm down the stairs.

Your heels click on the tiles as you make your descent as graceful as can be, minus that one part where you trip and lurch forward before gripping the hand railing for safety. You see him standing at the entrance, talking to the receptionist guy, a box nestled between his arms. 

“Doughnuts?” you ask, staring at the box enticingly, recognizing the bright pink and rainbow sprinkles from your childhood. 

“Got some free time,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your nose before opening the box. It seems that you really have everyone’s attention now. “And coupons!”

You toss him a shit eating grin to show your returned affection before immediately curling your fingers around a glazed doughnut. And eventually, once the first person timidly approaches, quietly asking if they could maybe have one, Leon beams.

“I brought enough for everyone!” he proclaims, and he steps to the side to reveal three similar boxes, all presumably stocked with the same doughnuts.

“Looks like you’re an office favorite now, huh?” you tease, nudging him with your elbow. He shifts from your impact and returns the gesture, in the process of doing so smears chocolate frosting on the underside of his nose.

“I’ll always be your favorite officer though, right?” he jokes in response.

You don’t respond, you’re too busy staring at that one smear of cocoa against his skin, and suddenly you’re itching for a napkin, so you twist over your shoulder to grab one.

“Righ-” His echo is muffled by the napkin stuffed into his mouth as you gently dab at the area, squinting your eyes. 

“Yeah, of course, totally,” you mumble absentmindedly, satisfied with your efforts. You take the excuse a little further just to stare at his amused expression, the quirk of his brow, the tilt of his eyes softening.

Your colleagues will never let you hear the end of this.

Either way, since he’s on break and he’s on the manager’s good side, bribing her with a few Boston Cream doughnuts, she allows him to hop upstairs with you.

“So, if you’re a cop,” you ask while rubbing hand sanitizer into your palms. “Why’re you working at Panda Express?”

“They lowered the income rate for the citizens of Raccoon City, including the police force,” he grumbles, swinging his legs from where he’s perched on the side of your desk. “Which I think is totally stupid!”

“So you think you shouldn’t have applied at all?” you query further.

“Well, honestly? I’m glad I applied,” he admits, and at your questioning expression, continues, “I wouldn’t have met you.”

“Hooray, taxes,” you say numbly, flipping through the giant stack of papers left on your desk, all jumbled up from your earlier mishap.

“Hooray, taxes, indeed,” he agrees.

“I was being sarcastic.” Leon scoffs, twisting over his shoulder to lean down and meet your lips. When he pulls away, there’s an endearing yet mocking look in his eyes.

“I’m not that stupid.”

<><><><>

Nothing happens that day, you don’t see a black cat anywhere, you don’t walk under any ladders, and if you do walk on cracks, well, you do that every day, so your luck must always be this horrible, right?

You’ve somehow scored this moonlit masterpiece strolling beside you, a being born from the clouds, so maybe you’re not all that unlucky.

Usually, you get a warning when bad things happen. But all you can feel is the jittery, warm feeling that you get when you’re brushing hands with Leon, trying to bring him closer to you. You think he notices, and doesn’t say anything.

You invite yourself into his car, but the first of many problems to come arrives in the form of water that splashes on Leon’s face, just above his eyebrow, and he quickly slides into his seat.

You absently brush the area, admiring his hair, his boyish qualities, and suddenly wonder if he’s always looked this young. Far too innocent for the world.

“It’s nice in here,” you offer.

He sinks back into the seat with a gentle, relaxed smile. "Well, either way, get comfortable. Looks like we’re expecting rain.”

You nod, legs unsteady, and find yourself nestled in leather beside his cologne-scented form. The engine hums to life, and he shifts gears, pulling onto the road as traffic flees.

He glances over, moonlight caressing sculpted cheeks. "What’s wrong?"

“Do you have any water?” He gestures to the water bottle in the cupholder on his left side, on the driver’s door. Your knees knock against each other as you reach over to grasp it, ducking under his outstretched arms, averting your eyes to your right rather than the other direction.

“Can I…?” You gesture to the bottle. “Or should I just like, you know, waterfall, or whatever-”

“We’ve literally exchanged saliva,” he states bluntly. “I don’t think I have a problem with you drinking from my water bottle.”

“Ugh, you weirdo.” But you’re the one drinking like a starved woman, which you suppose that you are, but that of which you’re really dragging your gaze over isn’t the water.

And you suppose, logically, Leon’s 70% water.

Water that evaporates under the heat of your eyes, drifting up to the previously cloudless sky, forming puffs of sorrow that cry back down to you, tears slamming against the windshield. You ponder how he can even see the road through the downpour.

Eventually, after grumbling under his breath, Leon pulls over, gazing into your upturned face with a question in his eyes, older than his years.

“Would you, uhm, mind if we just went to my place? It’s closer anyways, and I don’t want to risk driving any further than I have to in these conditions…”

You smile, and he can see your answer woven in your eyes.

<><><><>

Leon forgot to mention his (adoptive) parents live right next door. So of course, when they’re just out and about casually watching him through the door camera, they might just happen to say a dashing young lady walk out of his car.

And said young lady is unfamiliar to these judging, supreme figures that must decide Leon’s fate for him, because he’s just a boy. Their precious little baby.

So that’s what you assumed happened when Leon’s parents clambered out of their door, calling for you to wait, his mother pulling her cardigan around herself tighter against the chill.

And now here you are, facing two people that, no offense, look nothing like the man seated next to you, fingers entwined, foot tapping out a nervous beat on the wooden floor.

“So, darling, how’s work going?” Another placeholder question for what she really wants to know: how much do you make in a year? Do you have a degree? Did you even finish high school?

You respond with everything they must want to hear, like those questions on the backs of those 2000’s magazines with the answer that’s always right, the one that has the perfect amount of sense in it, the Goldilocks rule.

Goldilocks must have been gobbled up by the bears this night, because every answer seems to deepen the furrow forming between their brows, as if they’re in sync, and you wonder how you can manage to screw up something that should be simple.

Meeting the parents, check. What’s next, falling into the cake at the wedding? You must be planning too far ahead judging by their unimpressed looks.

“Mom,” Leon groans. “Cut it out!”

“I’m just getting to know her, sweetie,” she replies sweetly, voice dripping like molasses, and you can tell there’s a lot more she’s keeping behind her tongue. "Well, dear, do you have any hobbies or interests you're passionate about?"

"Oh, I just love cooking!" you exclaim, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up your face. Maybe you’ve finally found something to impress them with.

Leon's father leans in, his interest piqued. "What kind of dishes do you enjoy cooking?" he asks, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

"I love trying out new recipes from different cuisines," you reply, your excitement palpable. "Right now I’m learning how to cook Thai cuisine!"

Leon's mother nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Cooking is such a beautiful art form," she muses, her face softening. "It's wonderful to see someone so passionate about creating delicious meals. Someone who can share that love with our son."

You wonder if any other girl had waltzed along, marveled at cooking with them, would they have dropped their judging character immediately, just as they had with you?

You suppose it’s a mystery you don’t need to solve.

Besides, you don’t have to worry about facades with Leon.

Of course not.

But you do wonder why he hasn’t touched any of the food.

<><><><>

You sit back, sly fingers curved around the tender flesh of his waist, pressing your head further into the crook of his arm. You watch his chest rise and fall like the arrival and departure of the sun, bringing you warmth under the blanket that restricts your movements, tucked in around you like a burrito.

He must be hot, you realize, he’s sweltering under the blanket, but when you offer to turn on the overhead fan, he shivers like he’s cold at the same time and shakes his head.

In moments of silence, you catch glimpses of a far off-look in his eyes, a horror movie long forgotten, as if his thoughts have wandered to a place you can’t reach. There’s shadows of things he doesn’t say, things you know he wants to say.

“Hey, are you good?” You shift your weight to look up at him, where you might’ve found yourself admiring the curve of his chin, or his dappled skin, but now you only feel concern.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, mouth stretching in a yawn. “My new case is taking a bit longer than I’d hoped.”

“Mhm?” you press gently, wanting to get more clarity on the situation without seeming nosy. His response is delayed, a different, pitiful expression grappling to take hold.

“Oh… the, uhm, pharmaceutical company? Something that has to do with… was it rain?” Leon shakes his head, clicking his tongue in the back of his throat. “You know what? Forget it. Tonight’s our night.”

He says ‘our’, but he pays you little to no attention for the next three hours. 

Your first thought is that you're boring him. Have you already become so insufferable that he doesn’t want to hang out with you anymore? You had expected it, of course, you’re not a very animated person, but he loved you, didn't he?

Leon’s gone quiet, silent, like he’s back in that box in his mind you can never seem to pierce. The light that used to dance in his eyes now flickers dimly, like a fading ember struggling to hold onto its warmth.

He carries himself with the same grace and poise, like a practiced act to a play you weren’t a part of, and you can’t push it away anymore. But of course, as all things in your life seem to follow, when you finally find yourself gaining the courage to confront him, he's gone.

<><><><>

Missing. And no one knows where he is. And some part of you blames yourself, you obviously must've scared him away.

“You know what’s wrong!” You bite your tongue to keep you from raising your volume, not so much fearing the fish beneath you but the woman leaning against the shipping containers, scrutinizing slender nails with feigned boredom.

If Leon trusts her, she should hear your first plea. She knows him better than you do, much to your dismay, but it could work out in your favor currently.

Her expression remains stony.

"Please," you beg, and a sliver of emotion slips through that mask- confusion? "Help me save Leon. I know you care for him, even if you can't show it."

Her crimson lips quirk. "I have… undisclosed reasons for ensuring his well-being. But my work takes precedence, and I can’t disclose anything to you." 

You glare through lingering tears. "No deals, no games. You tell me where he's investigating right now." 

A long pause, then she sighs. "Very well. It seems you really won't leave me alone, hm?" She grins coldly. "Shall we play the heroes, just this once?"

Playing the heroes is harder than it turns out to be, it seems. 

"Evening, boys. My associate and I have a… delivery." The guards blink, stupefied, then waves you through with dopey grins, mostly directed at her. Ada smirks. "Pathetic."

A floorplan materializes in her hand, every room and hallway illuminated with ghastly blue precision. "Samples are held in labs B5 through 7. Avoid guards, cameras. And try not to set anything off - we're on a tight schedule."

You dart through shadows, cautiously approaching the correct hall. Surprisingly, nothing contradicts your journey, as if the whole building’s been abandoned. Guess it’s your lucky day. 

You're wondering just how lucky you really are when you turn to usher Ada ahead, only to freeze as you turn the corner, and there, just a few feet away, he sits.

So calmly, so pristine, as if life was just as simple as sitting on the floor, in the middle of a hallway, in a building where you don't belong, after ghosting everyone who knows you for two days.

And yet there's something different. Haggard eyes stare from a chalk-white face, lips twisted in a feral snarl. That face, once so stunning you had to think about his existence, now only conveys hatred.

"L-Leon?" you breathe. But those eyes betray no recognition, only hunger. As your stare, transfixed by fright and grief, a click sounds behind you.

"Well, well. Fancy meeting you here." Ada glares down the barrel she points to Leon's head, somehow still perfectly composed. You want to rip off her head. "Now, are we all going to play nice?"

For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then Leon's eyes flicker, awareness filtering into his eyes by slow degrees, and he stands up at half that speed, as if time is against him.

But then he jolts back, as if something's clicked, and suddenly he's back with you, standing in front of you, gasping for breath and clutching you tightly.

You wait for a moment, not quite sure if you're imagining things or not, before a dry, unamused chuckle rips from your throat and slowly morphs into the laugh you're used to sharing with him.

Leon leans closer to you, resting your forehead against his, cupping your face as he stares down at you, recognition so evident in those open eyes. “How'd you find me?”

“Well, it's not like the department was going to notice,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. Ada scoffs in reply, but her head tilts to the side.

“And your endearing girlfriend here wouldn't let me get away that easily.”

You suppose her tone is light enough that you can let it pass as a joke, and at the moment you're so overwhelmed with relief that you aren't too worried about her idea of you either way.

“Seeing you… gosh,” he groans, pressing a palm to his temple, hissing. “I can barely think straight!”

“I know, baby, I know,” you coo comfortingly, keeping your voice soft so as to not alert any guards that might've pulled up around the area.

“No, I can't…” His eyes go fazed again, blank, emotionless, and once again he's slipped through your grasp like grains of sand on a beach, only there is nothing tranquil about this situation.

“Leon, listen to me. You’re going to be just fine,” you affirm, nodding your head, hoping he'll copy your motion.

He doesn't. "I...I can feel it," he gasps. Beads of sweat run tracks through the grim on his face. "It's… stronger than me..."

You grip his hand tight, ignoring the growing feverheat. "No, Leon, you can beat this. You always do." But even you can hear the desperation in your voice.

And you wait for Ada to chime in with some classic, yet somehow sassy third-wheel dialogue, but it never comes. In fact, she's vanished into the shadows, presumably already so far away you can't hear the click of her heels on the sterile floors.

Leon groans, and your attention snaps back to him, face contorting. "Go," he grits out. "Drive… and don't look back."

“I’m not leaving you here!” you proclaim, and his eyes soften in confusion as you sling his arms around your shoulder.

You're sure half the population must've heard your racket at this point, but it seems something else has gotten the security's attention.

As long as it's not you, you don't mind. Leon’s lower lip wavers, unshed tears sparkling in his eyes, and you want to peck everything that hurts until he's okay. But you can't be sure of anything until you're both safe.

The first responders always seem to pick up the prank calls from the teenagers that don't need their help, but it seems like hours go by the more Leon's blood coats your fingers, and inevitably, your phone screen.

He's stopped responding to your questions, and you fight to keep just a fragment of his conscience there with you, but his eyes, the vivid blue gone dull, meet yours and offer no further response.

When the ambulance finally arrives, they leave you outside the gates, denying you entry, with those ruby dusted hands and diamond streaked face.

You suppose you've always wanted to be the jewel in the night that races to the hospital to see their lover. And now that just seems silly.

<><><><>

Three weeks.

That's all the time he'll have with you. And even then, he's not truly there. He struggles to formulate his own thoughts, and now, whenever you see him, all you can think of is who he used to be.

As for Ada, you haven't seen her since. She hasn't snitched on you, so you suppose that it wouldn't hurt anyone to keep the events of that day between the three of you.

Two of you, now.

He isn't a person anymore. He isn't your Leon. But that's hard to remember when you've never been good at seeing what's beneath the surface, the dense, complex layers that create a person.

You see his soft, peaceful face that is like second nature to you, and you wonder if he'll respond to you today, even after hours of repeating the same truth that you know somewhere, deep down, you’ll never believe. The doctor's left the room already, decreeing two hours of treatment should do something for him, save him, much like removing a tumor.

“I went to our place, picked up some lunch for us,” you murmur, knowing he can't hear you. “You weren’t standing at the counter like always, and I almost lost it. Again.”

You can imagine him, if he was really here, chuckling, shaking his head at your questionable behavior. Not just a shell, a half of a person, but a whole that somehow also completed you.

See, this is why you failed math. Are you half a person without him, or whole?

“I got us a fortune cookie!” you say, trying to keep your voice upbeat, as if your positive energy could transfer to him, in a magical, mystical manner, and he'd come back to you.

“Let's read it, yeah?” No point in waiting for a response when you know it'll never come.

Thin, pale letters. How odd, they resemble Leon's strangely flushed face.

“Today, your voice will bring a smile.” You suppress one of those and instead roll your eyes. “Your friends can’t think of new content, can they?”

You stuff the paper into your handbag, slung over the plastic chair near his bed. You've blocked out the rest of the world, now is time for just you two, however far away he may seem. Which is why you scowl up at the doctor, slightly confused at her sympathetic look, and then your ears ring and you shift back to reality. The reality of the situation.

The reality of the flatline.

The reality that, no matter how much you thrash in the security guard's arms, Leon's not coming back. He’s gone.

In a way, he's been gone for longer than you've chosen to accept. Maybe it would've been easier to let him go sooner. You're marched straight out of the hospital, a beeline for the exit, and you have little time to shout your goodbyes.

But you've grown used to taking advice from cookies. After all, they've gotten you to this point. The sarcasm you had so long ago seems silly to you, now, the fact that a biscuit could decide your fate.

To Leon?

Your voice keeps him smiling all the way up to the clouds.

[mysterycflife]

Spencer Reid Criminal Minds / show canon + headcanon / bisexual / open for shipping

Spencer was born on October 12th, 1981 to William and Diana Reid in Las Vegas. Although his eidetic memory and high intelligence were discovered early, he was kept in public school, skipping several classes and graduating High School at the age of twelve. By this time his father had already left him and his mother, unable to deal with Diana’s schizophrenia any longer. After High School, Spencer started studying Mathematics at Caltech. He previously considered studying classic literature, but he had already read all the required course material, his mother having read most of it to him. When he was eighteen, just finished with his first doctorate, he decided to have his mother placed in a mental institution. His first wish was to go into teaching, but the university was reluctant to offer him a position. Instead, Spencer opted to study chemistry and engineering at MIT. There, he met Jason Gideon for the first time, listening to a guest lecture. Seeing potential in the young man, Gideon recruited him to join the FBI, and Spencer did so after finishing his doctorate in chemistry and engineering as well as the bachelor's degrees in psychology and sociology he had started while at MIT. His time at the academy wasn’t the easiest for him. While excelling at every academic course, he failed his physical classes several times and never managed to get good grades at the shooting range. In the end, Gideon had to exert some influence to have Spencer get permission for field work so he could join the BAU. Since then, he's been a profiler with the team.

Main ships: Spencer/Alyssa Reid (@melioro) Alternative Universes: regency

[ghxstwrites]

October Nights

Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

Summary: You’d seen the “paint and sip” trend on tik tok, and you decided to use it as an excuse to have a cozy date with your boyfriend

WC: 819 (Short and Sweet)

AU: Established Relationship

Genre: Fluff

Warning(s): Mentions of Alcohol/Consumption, self doubt, angst if you squint I guess?

A/N: This felt a little rushed, so I hope you all like it! Thank you @bunnliix for proof reading fixing all my mistakes

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Tag List: @a---shura @kpop---scenarios @potatomountain @bethelighthalazia (send me a ask if you wanna be added!)

Kinktober & Flufftober Masterlist

It was no secret your boyfriend was an artist. 

There were so many days you’d come home from work to find paint brushes from his latest masterpiece soaking in the kitchen sink making sure they didn’t dry on the brushes, or music coming from the spare bedroom as he was locked in on his next painting. 

The house was full of paintings he’d given you over the course of your relationship, or just paintings he’d created.

So when you’d been scrolling through Tik Tok one afternoon and came across something called a ‘Paint and Sip’ you needed to tell him immediately. 

He’d been out at the studio all day and you took it as an opportunity to sneak out to your local craft store and pick up the supplies.  

Wine? Check.

Canvases? Check.

Paints and Brushes? Check.

All that was left was to set it up and order dinner when he got home.

You’d gotten the easels and canvases set up as the door opened to a very exhausted Hyunjin. Just as he looks up he sees you with a grin plastered across your face.

“What's all this?” he makes his way over to you, smiling. 

“I got the idea the other day when I was waiting for you to come out of dance practice,” you smile at him, “You and your partner sit across from each other and you paint something, drink wine and show each other at the end.”

He stares at you in awe, his favorite person and his favorite pastime wrapped up into one hell of a night to start his vacation.

“Why don't you go get comfy, I'll order your favorite take out and we can get started?” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

All he can do is smile at you as he rushes off toward your shared room.

 You’d just finished setting up the table as he came out of the bedroom.

“so…,“ you started as you looked at him, “I was thinking… since it’s October, we can maybe paint something fall themed?” you asked him.

“How about… a street decorated for Halloween?” he muses.

Your eyes lit up.

“Yes! I love that idea,” you exclaimed as he smiled at you. 

You’d always wanted to get involved with Hyunjins hobbies with him, in fact he actively encouraged you whenever you’d expressed interest. 

You couldn’t let yourself though… 

He was an idol and artist, so all of his hobbies he’d perfected over years.

You’d not taken art since highschool and even then it was okay at best. 

You’d never taken formal dance lessons, you’d simply learned to mimic simple choreography from older boy bands.

It’s not that you didn’t want to, you didn’t feel as good as he was and didn’t want to embarrass him, or have him think less of you. 

You’d sat down across from your boyfriend and started to paint.

You talked about a little bit of everything from your work, how the paint wasn't painting the way you’d thought, your future together. 

He seemed distracted however

You’d occasionally look over at him and you’d meet his gaze, causing you to blush and look away from him.

You weren't sure if it was the wine or just being around him making you feel like a schoolgirl.

“What is it?” you giggle at him.

“Oh nothing…,” He looks back at his canvas, swiping away at it as he smiles.

“Okay…,” you say as you paint your little signature at the bottom of your painting

“1…2…3!” 

You both flip your paintings around and to no surprise, his was gorgeous. 

A street with leaves of different colors, street lights, and adorable halloween decorations. 

This time? You didn’t feel inadequate. You smiled and laughed at how terribly adorable yours was.

Which caused him to giggle, and he looked at you fondly.

“Do you see it?” he says softly.

You look at his painting a little closer and you feel a familiar sense about his painting but can’t quite place it.

“Remember, our first date?” he looks at you. 

“How could I ever forget?” you reply, smiling fondly at him.

Then this should look really familiar because…” He trails off.

“This is the coffee shop you burned your mouth on hot chocolate in,” he points to the building  closest to him in the painting. 

“I tried painting the rest of it from memory,” he says softly, “I’ll never forget the way your face lit up at all the decorations,” he smiles softly.

You feel yourself get teary eyed, you’d never once doubted the way he felt about you or your relationship. 

This only confirmed it.

Confirmed your love for him.

“Hyunjin…You… you remember all that?” You look back at him.

“Like it was yesterday,” he looks back at you fondly.

He reaches his hand across the table, taking yours in his.

“Thank you for giving me an excuse to paint my favorite memory.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Know Your Place 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

The grocery store is nice. It’s not very big or crowded either. You expected one of those manic superstores you saw on TV. Instead, shoppers mill around in a mellow din and investigate apples or jars of jam. 

You take out your list as you step out of the way of another customer. As you unfold it, Walter stands nearby. He looks around the store, his chin high, and heat speckles across your neck. You look up at him and give a sheepish smile. 

“You don’t have to stick around. You just need coffee, right?” 

“I’m in no hurry,” he assures you and peeks down at the paper in your hand, “so, what’s on the list? What are we looking for?” 

“You really don’t have to,” you insist. “I’m sure I can figure this all out.” 

“I’m sure you can,” he says and takes a basket from the stack near the door. “But I’m offering because I want to.” 

“Hm, okay. Bet it would be faster...” you mutter. “Okay, er, zucchini.” 

“Zucchini,” he nods. “Well, look at me talking a big game and you stumped me. I don’t think I’ve ever bought any.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” 

“No problem, it’s gotta be with the... squash,” he points and gently nudges you ahead of him. “Right there.” 

He walks with you down the aisle and you squeeze by a cart as he trails behind you. You stop before the green vegetables and take a bag. Walter nears and offers up the basket. You bag up the zucchini and set it carefully inside. 

“Alright, and eggs... flour...” you look down the list. 

“Making a cake?” He wonders as he turns down the next row of produce. 

“Muffins. I thought... every day I could have one for breakfast. Like my mom makes. And I could freeze the extras for next week.” You explain, “and lunches, just a loaf of bread and tuna.” 

“Wow, seems like you’ve got everything planned out,” he muses. 

“I thought I did but I couldn’t even find the grocery store,” you laugh nervously. 

“Don’t be rough on yourself. You’re new. You’ll get around,” he assures. “Hey, be right back, gonna go grab my beans.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Dairy’s down there,” he points before he hurries off. 

“Thanks,” you utter after him. 

You grab a carton of eggs and peer around at the aisles, squinting up at the signs for each aisle. You see him down one as you search for the flour. It’s in the same row as the coffee. As you come down it, he tucks away his cell phone. 

He approaches as you look at the bags of flour. You grab a small one. Light enough to carry back to your dorm. 

“Here,” he takes the eggs and puts them in the basket. As you put the flour in after them, you sense his size again. The way he looms reminds you of how small you feel and really are. “So, besides getting lost, how’s school going?” 

“Good, I think. Yeah. I like most of my classes,” you say. 

“But...” 

“But?” You check your list again and find a tin of baking soda. 

“You don’t sound entirely pleased.” 

“I don’t?” You look at him. “Well, I guess I miss my mom. A little.” 

“That’s normal. And it just means you love her.” He insists. 

“I do,” you agree. 

“What about friends?” He prompts. 

“None, so far,” you shrug. “But I guess it takes time.” 

“No one you know from home going here?” He asks. 

You shake your head, “home schooled.” 

“Home schooled,” he hums, “wow.” 

“I know, it’s weird.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“That’s what the guy in my history class said. It’s okay. It’s different. I think it’s weird to go to a school school. Sounds scary,” you say. 

“Well, you are,” he chuckles. “You’re in college. That means you’re pretty smart, home school or not.” 

“Maybe,” you agree dully and check your list. 

“Marshall?” A deep timbre undercuts the next item written down, “figures I run into you.” A man appears at Walter’s other side. “Getting that piss you call coffee.” 

“Chris,” Walter greets flatly. 

“Don’t act so happy to see me,” the man retorts. “How’s classes? You suspend anyone yet? I know it’s the first day but I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“Haha,” Walter drones sarcastically. 

The man puts his hand on the shelve and as he leans, his eyes fall on you. He’s a tiny bit shorter than Walter but still taller than you. And his dark hair is slightly fluffy and a thick beard darkens his square jaw. His irises are bright and blue. 

“Oops, I’m interrupting,” he says. 

“Doing some shopping,” Walter answers. 

“Don’t tell me you’re in one of his classes. Good luck.” The other man chirps. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Walter girds. 

“Him? Chris,” the man reaches across Walter’s front and offers his hand. “And you... TA?” 

“Mauve,” you shake his hand gently as his covers yours completely. His grip is strong and firm. “Um, we’re... I...” you hesitate as you try to come up with some sort of explanation. “We just met but Walter’s been so helpful. I’m new here so I don’t my way around yet.” 

“Walter being helpful? And who wouldn’t be for you, Mauve?” The man grins. 

“Chris,” Walter growls and angles away from him, “what else is on your list?” 

“Erm, bread,” you flick it nervously with your thumb, the other man peer around Walter at you. 

“Nice to see you, then, Marshall,” he says. 

“Mm, you too,” Walter doesn’t look back as he marches past you.  

You smile at Chris and give a tiny wave before you follow the larger man back down the aisle. You catch up to him as the list crinkles in your hand, “is that a friend?” You ask. 

“Kinda,” he shrugs. “He’s in Psych too. Sometimes we teach 304 together.” 

“Oh. Cool. Must be nice to get to work with others like that,” you say. “He seems nice.” 

“Nice? Chris?” He echoes. “Can be, I guess.” 

“Oh, okay,” you accept. 

“Mauve, you’re a nice girl. You think everyone is nice. Just like that guy in the Student Centre, right?” He says. 

“Well, he wasn’t mean.” 

“No, because he was trying to trick you,” he turns down another aisle and stops by the small cans of fish. “I’m not trying to scare you, I’m just looking out for you. Guys like the one who sat at your table, they aren’t nice. Colleges aren’t full of nice guys.” 

Your lips fall straight and you nod. You pick out a can of tuna as you try to hide your anxiety. You know he’s right. At the orientation, they told you how to call Campus Police and about those buttons on the polls that set off the sirens to signal help. And you’ve seen the news stories. Your mom couldn’t stop watching them before you left. 

“My mom told me the same,” you say. 

“She’s a smart woman. You wanna stay safe for her, right? She must be very worried to have you so far away, huh?” He drawls. You nod. “So, how about I keep an eye on you? Just so you can call and tell her everything’s good.” 

“I think... yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree. “Walter...” 

“Yes?” He raises the basket for you to put the cans of tuna inside. 

“Are we friends now?” 

You peek up at him and you’re surprised to see his lips curve, just a little, “sure.” 

[cookiescribble]

Flufftober Day 11: Ingredients & Spells

A/N: i’ve wanted to write a baking with spencer fic for a while and figured today’s prompt would fit well :) also i bake pumpkin pie every fall so it’s partly based on my actual life - mod angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Summary: Seeing the pumpkin display at the grocery store gave you and Spencer the idea to do some baking.

~~~

“Do we have everything we need?”

You were standing in the kitchen, all the ingredients laid out in front of you. You had impulsively decided to make pumpkin pie after seeing the first sight of pumpkins at the grocery store. 

“I think so,” you responded, looking at the recipe you had printed out, scanning your finger over the ingredients list. 

Spencer walked over to peek over your shoulder from behind you, reading the list way faster than you could. “Everything looks right to me.”

You had spent the morning hollowing out the pumpkin, boiling and puréeing everything you scooped out. The whole apartment smelled like pumpkin now; it really made it feel like fall. 

“Okay, what’s the first step?” You asked, turning to look at Spencer. 

He walked over to the oven, pushing some buttons which let out a steady string of beeps. “Preheat the oven to 425 degrees,” he squinted as he set the oven to the right temperature, his lanky body bent over the stove. 

As he preheated the oven, you took out some bowls to start mixing ingredients. “Does that take a long time? Should we wait to combine everything?”

“I don’t… think so?” He hesitated. “I’ve never really baked before.”

“You mean there’s something you don’t know?” you teased, walking over to him and sliding under his arm.

“Well, that’s why we need to experiment,” he replied, kissing the top of your head. “So I’ll know for next time. For now, I think we should just start mixing things.”

You nodded, starting to pick up the bottle of cinnamon. “Um… how much am I supposed to put in?”

“You’re starting with the cinnamon?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, throwing up your hands. “Is there a correct order to put the ingredients in??” 

“I don’t know!” He laughed. “I was going to start with the milk.”

“Okay, okay, put the milk in first then,” you laughed back, gesturing to the bowl. 

You kept your banter going as you mixed the rest of the ingredients, arguing about the order of adding the ginger, cloves, nutmeg, sugar, salt…

Eventually you heard a ding! from the oven, making both of your heads whip around. “Oh.” You looked down at the bowl that now had the fully mixed ingredients. “...Do you have the pie crust?”

He paused, looking like he was buffering for a moment. “I think we put it in the fridge?”

“... Were we supposed to do that?”

He shrugged, opening up the fridge and taking out the graham cracker crust you had bought. “We’ll see, I guess.”

You opened up the oven, feeling a wave of warmth coming into the room immediately, as you watched Spencer clumsily pouring the ingredients into the pie crust.

“Don’t spill it!” You exclaimed, helping him hold the bowl up so it didn’t fall right onto the crust. Your fingers brushed against his as you both held the bowl, pouring slowly.

After a few moments you heard a sudden beeeeeeeeeeep! from the oven, realizing you left it open.

“Shit!” You laughed as you poured the rest of the pie mix into the crust. You ran to grab the oven mitts, shoving the pie into the oven.

Once the pie was fully assembled and in the oven, you leaned against the counter, letting out a sigh. “Okay, the hard part’s done. How long do we need to wait for it to be done?”

“Uhh,” he thought for a moment, looking like he was searching the database in his brain. “45-55 minutes.”

“Ugghhhhh,” you groaned, falling dramatically onto Spencer’s side. “That’s so long.”

He rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Yeah, whatever could we do in that time…?” He mused sarcastically, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You smiled up at him, standing up on your tiptoes to bring your face closer to his. “I guess I have a few ideas…”

He chuckled warmly, squeezing your waist. “Come here.”

You hopped up onto the counter, parting your legs so Spencer could stand in between them. When he walked closer, you reached your hands up to tangle them in his hair.

He smiled at you before meeting your lips in a sweet kiss, holding your face as his lips moved slowly against yours.

You didn’t realize just how long you were lost in each other before you heard the alarm you had set go off, startling you both. “The pie!”

Spencer opened the oven, gesturing for you to get the pie out. You put the oven mitts back on, carefully picking up the pie and placing it on the stove.

“So… who gets the first piece?”

“Hmm, that depends…” Spencer looked down at the pie that was now cooling on the stove. “Do you think it’s actually going to taste good?”

“I think it will,” you nodded. “How about we both eat it at the same time?”

Once the pie was cooled, you cut two slices of pie: one for you, and one for Spencer. “Okay, moment of truth.” You took a deep breath as you both took the first bite.

You looked at each other, Spencer speaking first. “That’s amazing,” he smiled, taking another forkful.

You nodded, smiling widely. “It is, isn’t it?” You sidled over to him, nudging his arm with your elbow. “We make a great baking team.”

He laughed, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Yeah,” he sighed contentedly, “we make a great team.”

[lovebugism]

for your fall prompts! what about “why are your hands so cold?” with the love of my life, steve harrington?

autumn, my love! ty for requesting! i hope you like it!! — steve makes fun of your cold hands but only as an excuse to hold them (mutual pining, friends to lovers, 2k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Family Video always smells like Robin’s morning coffee, crisp autumn air, and warm nostalgia this time of year. It’s quiet and homey and liminal — as orange as early autumn itself. 

The empty store is filled with the sound of your rushed scribbling as you jot down a load of cursive nothingness in your journal. Your hand smears the wet ink across the page. It stains the paper as much as the side of your wrist. 

Your other hand is curled into a fist to prop up your lolling head. Expelling your racing thoughts into the leather-back book is the only thing keeping you awake.

The stale air glows suddenly with a newfound life when a cozier, more familiar scent engulfs you — like pine, musk, and vanilla. You feel Steve’s visceral warmth surrounding you. Before you can blush about the unexpected proximity, he snatches your journal out from under you.

“Hey!” you shout before you mean to, perhaps the loudest he’s ever heard you.

“What’s this?” this beautiful boy muses, honey eyes sparkling. The dull store blooms with its radiance. You can’t believe he’s looking at you with it and with his rosy, lopsided grin.

“Give it back,” you demand, quieter now and smiling wider.

Steve meets your playfully arched brow with a sunny grin. He thumbs through your journal with golden hands from a leftover summer tan. His biceps are all but bursting from his vest and too-tight polo.

“Keith said you’re not allowed to write in your diary on the clock, you know?” he reminds with a feigned seriousness, scrunching his nose when his twinkling eyes flit back to yours.

Keith did actually say that. A few days ago now. He also said he’d dock your pay if he caught you doing it again, the absolute asshole.

“It’s not a diary!” you argue with a beam on your face.

You briefly wonder if you’re smiling a little too wide, and the fleeting thought makes the bright expression flicker. 

You cross your arms over your chest and pretend to be more serious. Something about Steve stirs a deep sensuality in you, though — like a wolf innately drawn to a full moon. The corners of your lips quirk with an emotion you couldn’t conceal if you tried.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he singsongs with raised brows. 

Strands of honey hair hang over his wrinkled forehead when he turns to the book in his hands. He swipes his fingers through them to push them back again, but they fall into place a second later.

You’re too enamored by the boy in front of you to stop him when he starts flipping through your notebook. You know he knows it isn’t a diary. You also know he wouldn’t be going through it if it were. He’s too nice for that. Too sweet on you, anyway.

He finds a random page and lingers there. His eyes flit over every inch of the ink you’ve scribbled inside — miscellaneous lists, doodles, and song lyrics. He figures it must be the music you’re humming all the time, tunes you can’t get out of your head.

Every time I see you, all the rays of the sun are streaming through the waves of your hair, the words read in clumsy cursive. And every star in the sky is taking aim at your eyes like a spotlight. The beating of my heart is a drum, and it’s lost, and it’s looking for a rhythm like you—

Steve’s heart flutters. He feels like a kid again. His stomach swirls with the thought that you might’ve been thinking about him in between the lyrics. It’s as unlikely as it is childish. He knows this, so he frowns.

“Oh,” he monotones playfully, brows pinching and lips jutting. “That’s boring.”

“Exactly. So give it back—” You reach for the book, but Steve’s too quick. He jerks it out of your reach and leaves your hand grabbing at air.

“Ooh, sorry, sunshine,” Steve lilts. “Looks like you’re not tall enough for this ride.”

Your cheeks speckle with heat. You wonder if he’s flirting or if he’s just being friendly, and you’re too in love to know the difference. Your terribly hidden smile is wide and impossibly giddy, anyway.

“Steve,” you bite, though it comes out much happier than you intended it to. “Give it back.”

He purses his lips to the side and furrows his brows. “Hmm… No.”

Your smile broadens, and your eyes widen at his blatant defiance. You giggle like a child as you walk the short distance towards him. “Give it back,” you laugh and stand on the tips of your toes in front of him. 

He chuckles boyishly in return and lifts it further out of your reach.

You jump slightly off the ground to grab it. You fail the first time and try harder the second. You just narrowly miss it. The tips of your fingers brush his wrist as your torso presses too intently against his ribcage. 

Your chest scrapes his vest and jostles his Hi, I’m Steve name tag. You stumble back in mortification. 

With a red-hot face and a gaping gaze, you try to stammer out an apology. Nothing comes out. Your mouth opens and shuts like a fish as you pull the hem of your sweater down from where it had ridden up.

Steve has his own look of bewilderment. His honey eyes are aglow with something short of amusement. You’re briefly worried he’s about to mock you until he starts to laugh. “Why are your hands so cold?” he wonders with squinted eyes.

Your stutter hasn’t quite left you. “I— I don’t know. My hands are always cold.” 

You curl your fists into the sleeves of your sweater on instinct. If only to hide how they shake for him.

“But that’s like… ice cold,” Steve insists, crooked smile widening. “Like, we live in Antarctica cold.”

Less embarrassed and more playful, you roll your eyes and turn away from him. “Okay…” you mumble under your breath as you sit back down in your chair. Steve can’t stand you being too far away, so he follows you.

“Like, you just got done shoveling snow with your bare hands cold. Like—”

“I get it, Steve. I’m a freak of nature,” you concede, spinning in your swivel chair to face him again. 

He’s much closer than you expect him to be. His long legs are all but inches from your knees as he stands before you. You flush but smirk up at him in attempts to keep cool about how fervently he makes you tremble.

“I’m just teasing,” he assures with a pretty laugh.

You already knew that, though. He’s too kind to be mean. He’s a dumbass sometimes, but he always means well.

“Here, look,” he starts, laying your journal back on the counter with a quiet thud. “Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

Your brows pinch. “What do you mean?”

You find out a second later when he turns back to you and takes your hands in his larger ones. 

His fingers are long and golden as they curl around your knuckles. His palms aren’t soft, but they aren’t rough either — like they’ve been used, but not too ardently. And he’s warm. He’s oh, so warm.

You tense at the sudden action but relax a second later, melting into him like you’ve always been destined to. 

“Oh…”

“Right?” Steve nods with raised brows and quirked lips. “I’m practically a space heater.”

Your heart’s fluttering too aggressively to stutter out an intelligible sentence, so you just nod back at him. “Yeah…”

It makes a little too much sense that the ray of sunlight that always calls you Sunshine feels so golden warm.

Steve gives your hands a squeeze. “See? You’re getting warmer already.”

He doesn’t know it’s because you’re blushing so intensely you feel like your entire body has been set on fire. You’re happy to let him keep on not knowing.

“Thanks, Stevie…” you murmur quietly, gaze trained on your entwined hands.

“Stevie?” he chuckles.

Your eyes dart up to his sparkling ones, and you freeze. You hadn’t meant to call him that. That nickname was usually reserved for your too-elaborate daydreams. “Oh. Shit. Sorry. It just— It just slipped. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, it’s okay,” Steve assures with the shake of his head, giving you another reassuring squeeze. “Seriously. I liked it.”

You exhale a nervous laugh through your nose, ducking your gaze away from his. “You always hate when Robin calls you that…”

“Well, yeah. ‘Cause she’s Robin.”

Your laugh is more genuine this time.

“And it sounds a lot prettier when you say it, anyway.”

He must notice how hard he’s making you blush with how warm your hands have gotten — from frozen solid to fiery hot. But he holds them, anyway. Even when they get all clammy. You want it to mean more than it probably does.

“Yeah?” you press, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah,” he nods like it’s obvious, then gets as sheepish as you a moment later. He tries to act cool through his shyness, tilting his head and shrugging as he smirks. “How about you call me that tonight?”

Your eyes go wide at the unintended insinuation.

His gape matches your own when his own words dawn on him. “I meant at dinner!” he follows quickly. “At Enzo’s. Seven o’clock. You know, if— if you wanna go with me or whatever.”

You do. Most desperately so. In fact, you’re pretty sure you dreamt about it one time. Maybe you’ll tell him that if you’re brave enough — over pasta and breadsticks.

“I don’t have a car,” you confess with a forced laugh. “Or a pretty dress…”

“I can pick you up!” Steve assures immediately, then grows visibly shier. He shifts his weight on his feet but doesn’t try to let go of your hands. It feels too right to hold them. “And, you know, I’m sure you’ll look nice in whatever you decide to wear, sunshine.”

You purse your lips to the side as you nod, lest your beam blinds him and makes your cheeks burst.

“Okay… Enzo’s. Seven o’clock,” you repeat quietly.

“I pick you up,” he says, squeezing your hands.

You squeeze him back. “You pick me up.”

“And we spend an hour eating breadsticks and making fun of all the wine snobs.”

The imagery makes your stomach swirl, a dream so real you can taste it — red wine and garlic and cherry chapstick. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you affirm with a sheepish giggle.

He nods, having no idea he’s grinning like a lovesick idiot down at you. “Cool.”

“Cool,” you repeat.

You watch his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip. For a fleeting moment, you think he might kiss you. You want him to kiss you. You might melt at his feet if he did, but you need it like you need air.

Ding! 

The door chimes at the front of the store. 

Autumn air rushes in, leaving you bitterly cold all over again. Or maybe that’s just because Steve’s stepping away from you. Both of you know that Keith will have a fit if a customer complains about PDA.

“Hi! Welcome in! Can I help you find anything?” Steve greets as kindly as always, smiling just the same. 

He only says it because he has to say it. He’s secretly hoping for a negative response, just so he can keep on talking to you.

The man in big work boots and a thick canvas jacket squints around the store. He rubs his scruffy face with a hardened hand and turns to Steve. “Yeah, actually,” he says in a gruff, gravely voice. “I was looking for this movie for my wife. It’s her birthday and…”

He rambles on about her favorite movie, a cartoon from her childhood he’s gone two towns over to find. It’s sweet enough to give you butterflies, though it doesn’t match the zoo that erupts in your stomach when Steve turns to look at you again.

He departs from you with a honey gaze. You smile back at him as he goes, watching him intently as he helps the customer with a pretty pink smile.

Your hands are cold again. So much that they ache with you curl them into fists. 

You can’t wait for Steve to hold you again tonight. Over a white-clothed table, warm yellow candlelight, and wine-slicked lips. 

Enzo’s. Seven o’clock.

[nichuuu]

Beats Me - 5: Tamed

(Ryujin & Yeji)

Being Yeji’s neighbour was more of a nightmare than you’d imagined.

Yes. The prospect of her threats of coming to your house and killing you becoming reality scared you shitless. You knew she meant every word she said. You did what you could to avoid her in your apartment complex, taking the stairs, making sure to leave the house slightly earlier so that you didn’t see her at the lift landing… But no matter what you did, avoiding her was one hell of a sisyphean task. She was just about everywhere. You bumped into her in the lobby, saw her in the nearby convenience store, crossed her at the laundry room… 

It was like she was teleporting to your location each time you left your flat. It didn’t help that the two of you were perpetually on the same bus to campus each morning. She never really said much to you, opting to shoot you with her signature glare that never failed to scare you out of your skin. You wished you could just shrink away from her gaze sometimes, cower from those sharp feline-like eyes that bore into your soul each time you looked into them. She was terrifying to say the least. 

“Sounds like a shitshow for you,” Ryujin mused, staring nonchalantly at the fry in her hand. You set down your drink. 

“Calling it a shitshow would be an understatement,” you corrected. “It’s more of a… Fuck, I don’t know what it is.”

Ryujin chuckled and dipped her fry into her ketchup. “So tragic for you yet so entertaining for us…”

She popped the soggy fry into her mouth and leaned back in her seat. The beeping coming from the Mcdonalds kitchen was starting to irk you more than it should’ve in the given moment. Next to Ryujin, Kwon Eunbi sighed and took a sip of her drink. 

“You ought to try and get friendly with her,” she advised. “If you don’t, it’s gonna be plain awkward. I for one don’t like the idea of being glared at on a daily basis…”

“How the hell do I even approach that woman?” You asked exasperatedly, “What do I say? Oh hey Yeji, I know you hate my guts and all but can we be chill?”

Putting her legs up on the table, Ryujin replied. “I think you could try that.”

“She would cut me in half just by looking at me,” you promptly shot back. Ryujin shrugged. 

“You never know… Might be worth a shot.”

Eunbi sighed and folded her arms. “Sorry Myeong-seok… You’re kinda on your own for this.”

Your lips formed a thin line as you buried your face in your hands. “I know… It makes this whole thing suck a little more than it has to.”

Karina cleared her throat next to you. “You could uh… You know… Try saying hi to her when you see her around?” 

“That sounds like suicide,” you told your pianist truthfully. 

“Being a decent human being doesn’t mean you’re insane,” Karina told you.

“But this is Yeji we’re talking about here,” you reminded her, “I barely even open my mouth around her and she already wants to murder me! What will happen if I say hello?”

Jimin clicked her tongue and drew in a breath. She must’ve remembered that Yeji had an unexplained vendetta against you. You felt like it was due to the fact that you showed up late on your first day. Then again… Who stays mad at someone for that long? You didn’t know Yeji well enough to know if she was the type to hold grudges against people. 

“I’ll try and talk to her one of these days,” Ryujin piped, “maybe I can find a way to get her to be less of a bitch around you, but you’ll eventually have to get around to talking to her you know?” 

“ Yea… I do,” you told her. Trying to talk to Yeji wasn’t exactly on your bucket list, but you knew that you’d eventually have to try and sort things out with her if the band chemistry was to improve. 

Eunbi’s phone started to ring. She picked it up off the table.

“I gotta take this. If you guys have to leave, go ahead,” she told you guys. She stood up and hurriedly walked out of the Mcdonalds. You took a look at your watch and noted that it was getting pretty late.

“I think I’m gonna make a move,” you told your band members, “see you guys.”

They all waved to you as you gathered your things. You waved goodbye to Eunbi on the way out, but she was too absorbed in her phone call to see you. You decided not to disturb her and set off to the nearest bus stop. A couple minutes of waiting and a rather unpleasant ride home later, you found yourself walking down the usual path you took to get home. As you set down the footpath, thunder rumbled off in the distance. You quickened your pace, hoping to get home before the sky opened up above you. 

The gate to the lobby was in sight, the faint warm glow from the lights within the apartment complex illuminating the small space before the door like a fireplace would on a cold winter night. The light was always rather comforting to you, it symbolised security and respite from a long day. 

“Hehe… Eat up little fella…”

Though you were just metres away from the door, the voice that travelled from your left made you halt in your tracks. There was a soft meow, followed by an even softer giggle. 

“There you go… You better lick this bowl clean.”

You refused to believe your ears. But when you turned to the source of the voice, your eyes only served to prove what your ears had made you conclude. 

The voice you heard was indeed Hwang Yeji’s. It sounded foreign at first, but then you realised it was because it had taken on a softer, warmer tone. Your guitarist was squatting before a metal bowl, a rare trace of a smile on her face as she watched a cat eat cat food out of the metal bowl before her. She giggled again, a little louder this time. 

“You look terribly skinny,” she muttered,  tilting her head as she examined the cat closely.  “You don’t have a collar… You must be a stray then…” 

She gingerly stretched out a hand towards the cat. It had dark brown fur, patches of white spotting its body. Her fingers gently rested themselves atop the cat’s head, her knuckles curling and uncurling as she softly scratched the top of its head. You could only stare in shock and awe as you took in this gentler side of Yeji. You’d never thought it’d be possible for her to display affection towards anything or anyone. 

You must’ve stood there longer than you should’ve, for Yeji sensed someone’s gaze on her and whipped her head towards you. Her eyes locked with yours. For a moment, you swore you saw shock behind her eyes, then curiosity… And then they reverted back to their usual coldness. 

“Fuck are you looking at Squeaker?” she spat. 

You snapped out of your trance. “O-Oh… I-I was just… Walking home…”

“Then keep walking home. Don’t bother me,” she replied, fixing you with her usual piercing glare. She turned back to the cat, clicking her tongue in annoyance as she continued to watch it eat. You took that as your cue to leave her with her feline friend and continued to walk back towards the gate of your apartment complex. 

“Myeong-seok!”

You turned back to see Hwang Yeju waving frantically as she ran towards you. In her arm, she cradled a loaf of bread and a six pack of beer. You could also make out a tray of eggs and a pack of sausages. The items looked like they were bound to fall at any second.

“M-Ms Hwang! Be careful!” You cautioned her, brisk walking towards Yeji’s sister. To your amazement, she was able to keep all the items within the cradle of her arm and stopped right before you. 

“Hello!” She greeted you bubbly, “did you just come back from school?”

“Y-Yea…” you answered. You pointed to the groceries in her hands. “Do you need me to take some of those?”

You didn’t expect her to thrust all of her groceries into your arms. 

“Thanks! You’re really sweet!” Yeju beamed, “by the way, thanks for lending us salt yesterday. I think the cooking would’ve been a disaster without it!” 

You didn’t know how this woman had this much energy this late in the night. Your best guess was that it was simply just her personality. Furthermore, this was her third time thanking you for letting her borrow salt. It weirded you out a little, but you figured that it was simply her nature. 

“N-No problem Ms Hwang,” you assured her. 

“We’ve been through this. Just call me Yeju!” she reminded you.

“R-Right… S-Sorry Yeju…”

The older girl smiled, radiating a glow brighter than the street lights. Yeji emerged from the alley. 

“Unnie, let’s go,” she said.

“Aww come on Yeji, at least talk to your neighbour for a bit!” Yeju argued. Yeji fixed her elder sister with a glare. 

“I would rather shove a burning hot pan up my ass,” she grunted, “let’s just go.”

Yeji walked past you. She tapped her card against the reader in the gate. “I’m not waiting for you!”

“Come back here Yeji!” Yeju called. Unfortunately, Yeji had already disappeared into the lobby. With a heavy sigh, Hwang Yeju dug for her keys in her pocket. 

“She’s a lot more cranky these days… Can’t put my finger on it,” she muttered, “sorry for my sister’s behaviour… She’s a little… You know…”

You waved it off. 

“I understand,” you assured the older girl. She seemed relieved.

“Great. Let’s go inside before it starts pouring.”

The two of you entered the lobby. She asked you about your day, how things were going—The usual friendly neighbour stuff. You rode the lift together with Yeji’s older sister, carrying her groceries all the way to her apartment door where she finally took them back from you. With a friendly wave and a chirpy goodbye!, she entered her apartment and left you out in the hallway. You slotted your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “What an interesting woman…”

You headed back to your own apartment just down the hall. 

For the rest of the week, you didn’t see much of Yeju, but the frequency at which you bumped into Yeji seemed to increase. The campus cafeteria—once a haven where you were certain that you would not see Yeji—had become a meeting ground for the two of you. You’d bump into her as she was getting food or travelling to her next classroom, even spotting her from the corner of your eye while you ate your lunch. She was icy as always, her signature look of disdain glued onto her face with super glue, silently berating you as you scuttled by. 

And then there was the cat. It appeared that Yeji would always come down at night to feed the stray in the alley near the complex, whispering to it in a hushed, tender tone. She’d be in the same spot, same position—Squatted just a few metres away from the alley entrance. You made the mistake of stopping and staring the first few times, but soon learnt to keep walking on without looking at her. 

That night as the rain lashed your umbrella and the wind howled incessantly, you walked down the familiar stretch of pavement. Band practice had ended and you’d turned down Eunbi’s offer for dinner to catch up on some work. The concrete was slick with rain water, the warm glow of streetlights reflected in the stream of water that flowed down the pavement. It was chilly. Not winter chilly, but  the type of cold that was unpleasant enough to make you want to huddle up at home with a nice hot drink—That type of chilly. The rain was merciless, fat droplets pelting your face as a gust of wind blew what felt like an ocean’s worth of water towards you. In hindsight, you realised that you may have been better off going to dinner with your singer. That way, you could at least wait out the rain before heading home. 

You walked by the convenience store. The lobby was just a few metres away now. 

“Here… This should keep you warm.” 

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have stopped to look at Yeji. But under the assault of the storm, you couldn’t help but stop and turn to see if that truly was her talking to her feline friend in this weather. 

Sure enough, she was there. In a black raincoat with her hood up, you could make out the smiling features of Hwang Yeji as she slid something into a cardboard box. The box was beneath what looked like a small makeshift shelter, made from sticks and a plastic bag. It kept the rain from attacking the cardboard beneath it, sheltering its occupant from the storm. Yeji reached in and adjusted something, her mouth moving as she whispered something to the cat. You knew that it was in your best interest to set off by now, but you found yourself walking towards your guitarist. 

“There… That should do it,” she said. She’d wrapped a blanket around the cat, swaddling the shivering animal in warmth. Yeji folded the flaps of the box—by just a little—shielding her companion from the rain while giving it ample air to breathe. You stopped behind her, holding your umbrella out slightly such that it shielded the both of you from the rain. You knew that she could sense your presence from the way her shoulders tensed. 

“What did I say about bothering me?” she asked. 

“W-Well… You’d catch a cold if I just left you alone…” 

She turned to look at you. You could only see one of her eyes under the hood of her raincoat. 

Yeji pitched the wet raincoat. “Don’t you see I have this on?”

“I-I know. But the rain’s p-pretty heavy… You could catch a cold from this.”

Yeji clicked her tongue in annoyance.  “What do you take me for? Some girl who’s weak and helpless?”

“N-No! I-I just…” 

“Then why the fuck bother with me? Do you want something out of me?” Yeji retorted, rising from her position to look you in the eye.

The air that already felt dense because of the rain somehow grew denser. Yeji fixed you with one of her usual nasty glares. You felt something bubbling inside you—A balloon of frustration slowly growing and expanding, increasing in volume as it slowly rose up from your core to your throat. The fact that she’d taken your act of kindness for an act driven by the desire to achieve something didn’t sit well with you.

“I… I just wanted to help,” you told her sincerely.

“I don’t need your help. Go away.”

The balloon burst. 

“I don’t get it Yeji,” you began, unable to withhold the frustration from flooding your voice, “from day one, you’ve been at my throat, hounding and threatening me with snarky remarks. I don’t know if you only act this way towards me, but it’s seriously putting me off. I don’t know what I did to piss you off so much, nor do I understand how I’ve been able to piss you off to the extent that you literally despise me. Please, explain it to me.”

Yeji glared silently.  Then she squatted back down and faced the cat. 

“It’s… Not your fault.”

Your grip on your umbrella—that you didn't know had tightened—relaxed a little. “H-Huh?”

Yeji drew in a breath. “Go away.”

The roar of pattering raindrops on your umbrella seemed to go silent.

“W-Wait… What do you mean—”

“Go away or I’ll scream.”

You stood there for a moment. Then you slowly turned and retreated from your guitarist, leaving her vulnerable to the onslaught of water droplets from the sky once more. As you stood in the elevator, your mind seemed to be incapable of handling the creation of a mere string of thought. Yeji’s ambiguous line impacted you more than it should’ve. 

No work was done that night. Instead, you stared blankly at the login screen to your laptop, your fingers frozen on the keyboard. The cup of tea you’d made had gone cold long ago, the condensation on the inner walls of the cup flowing into the liquid and diluting it.

Why is this affecting me so much? I’m not even that close to her… 

You could figure out why Yeji’s statement screwed with you the way it did. However, an hour’s worth of thinking made you realise that it was the desire to receive her acceptance that drove you to care about this more than you should. You frustratedly smacked your forehead with your palm repeatedly, loud smacks carrying your confusement and frustration throughout your apartment. 

“Fuck. This band is messing me up…” you sighed. You took a sip of your lukewarm tea and cringed at its unnatural taste. It seems as though the tea was affected by your mood too. You felt the urge to talk to someone about what had happened, and when it came to Yeji, there was only one person that came to mind. 

From Shin Ryujin’s end, you could distinctly hear the sound of her cracking open a beer as you finished the last bit of your recount. 

“Hm…” your bassist mumbled, “I wonder what that could mean…”

You leaned back in your own chair and sighed. “This is bothering me more than it should. Is that weird? Am I weird?”

“Relax man. I think it’s just your nature,” she assured you, “don’t stress over this stuff, it’s alright to care sometimes.”

She belched loudly. You hurried to move the phone away from your ear.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” you muttered.

“Fuck you sideways Squeaker,” Ryujin retorted. She always had a thing for firing back with remarks that were beyond human imagination. “Anyway, thanks for telling me this. I’ll see if I can try to talk to her sister about it. Maybe she knows a thing or two.”

“Y-Yea… Maybe she does,” you echoed, “do you need help arranging a meeting? I can always just go down the hall and ask…”

“Shit. You live down the hall from Yeji?”

“Unfortunately. She moved in last week.”

There was a brief pause from Ryujin’s end. 

“Go get a six pack of beer for me,” she instructed, “I think I’m gonna be paying a house-warming visit.”

She followed you home from school the next night and retrieved the beer from your place. To your surprise, she’d actually bought a house warming gift for the Hwang’s. 

“The beer is simply a formality,” she told you, slinging the tote bag that contained her gift for the Hwangs over her shoulder. “It’s simply the warmer of souls, the pleaser of—”

“Just take the fucking beer and get out,” you told her. She grinned like a cheshire cat, satisfied that she’d managed to annoy you for the day. She went over to the Hwang residence without another word. You were relatively productive that night, burning through a decent amount of readings and completing two of the assignments that were due the next week. 

And then at 11pm, there was a knock on your door. You were lazing on your beanbag by then, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram and liking random images of capybaras. 

“Coming,” you muttered lazily. You rose and shuffled to the door. Two unexpected guests stood before you when you pulled the door open. 

“Hello!” Ryujin beamed. Next to her, Yeji grumbled something incoherent.

“W-What the…” you stammered. You were more shocked by Yeji’s presence than anything.

“Yeju wasn’t home,” Ryujin explained, waltzing into your apartment, “Yeji opened the door, I entered, cracked open a few beers, Yeji tried to chase me out, I pulled her out together with me, Yeji forgot her keys, here we are!”

The list of occurrences that tumbled from Ryujin’s mouth was nothing far from confusing. 

“I’m going to wait in front of my door,” Yeji muttered.

As the guitarist turned, Ryujin quickly strode over and grabbed her by the arm. “Nuh-uh.”

She dragged Yeji into your apartment and closed the door with her leg. “Let’s spend the time here! It’s so nice in Squeaker’s place!”

“She’s drunk,” Yeji told you.

“Not drunk! Tipsy!” Ryujin corrected, “if I were drunk, I would be slurring my sentences, but I’m not! Take that bitch!”

Yeji rolled her eyes. “This is ridiculous. I’m leaving.”

Ryujin blocked the door with her body. 

“You ain’t going nowhere kitty,” Ryujin smiled.

“Ryujin. Move,” Yeji growled. 

“Or what? What are you gonna do Yeji?” 

Yeji sighed and tried to push your bassist aside. With surprising agility, Ryujin grabbed Yeji’s wrist, pinning it against the wall in a swift movement. 

“W-What the hell! Let me go!” Yeji demanded. Ryujin grinned. 

“Nah-ah,” she replied.

Yeji futilely attempted to wrest herself from Ryujin’s grip. The bassist stayed smirking, catching her friend’s hand as she tried to push her away—Yeji’s other hand was pinned against the wall. 

“Relax kitty,” Ryujin whispered to her, “you’re being a very bad girl.”

“R-Ryujin! Don’t you dare!” Yeji warned. The panic was apparent in her voice. 

That was the first…

 Ryujin's smirk seemed to get even more smug . “Why not? We’ve done it before haven’t we?”

“T-That was a one off! I-I was drunk!” Yeji reasoned. 

Ryujin silenced her with a finger on her lips. “You enjoyed it last time, didn’t you?” 

“R-Ryujin… Please…” Yeji pleaded, “n-not here…”

Ryujin casted a glance in your direction.

“Why? You afraid Squeaker’s gonna let the whole world know about this?” she questioned Yeji. 

“Ryujin…” Yeji tried. 

When Ryujin shoved her knee in between Yeji’s legs, you knew that Yeji’s fate was sealed. You had no idea that Shin Ryujin of all people would be able to tame someone as fierce as Yej—Yet there she was, making the impossible possible.

“Anything else before we go on?” Ryujin questioned. Yeji opened her mouth, then she closed it. 

Yeji shook her head. Ryujin beamed.

“Neat,” your bassist mused, “we’ll have a fun time tonight.”

She was quick to drag Yeji over to the beanbag you were on just minutes ago. Then—rather boldly—Ryujin gripped Yeji’s T-shirt and ripped it right off her. 

“H-Hey!” Yeji cried, arms shooting across her chest to cover her vulnerable areas. “H-He’s right there!” 

“Oh relax, will you?” Ryujin scoffed, “he’s respectful. Isn’t that right Squeaky?” 

You flashed an awkward smile. You hoped that Yeji couldn’t see the tent in your pyjama pants.

“Come over here and help me,” Ryujin requested. 

“I-I… I really don’t think I should,” you reasoned, “I-I don’t think she wants me to touch her…”

“Does that really matter right now?” Ryujin rebutted. 

When you continued to stand there awkwardly, Ryujin rolled her eyes. “Ugh… No fun.”

She tugged Yeji’s shorts down, letting them fall and pool around her ankles. Yeji quickly moved and covered up her private parts. She looked rather uncomfortable.

“Ryujin,” you cautioned your bassist, “I-I don’t think we should—”

“I don’t need you being a wet blanket right now,” she chided, “if you aren’t joining, just sit out and watch.”

Every fibre of your body was urging you to just walk over right there and then. However, your conscience told you that doing so wouldn’t be wise. When Ryujin saw that you still remained in your spot, she scoffed. “Lame…”

She pushed Yeji down onto the beanbag. Yeji yelped as she fell into it, a gasp quickly following up as Ryujin fell atop of her.  Ryujin manoeuvred around Yeji’s body to remove the bra from her body. She succeeded and threw it away. In a flash, Ryujin herself was topless, her clothes adding on to the growing pile next to the beanbag. Her lips found Yeji’s, a sloppy makeout session ensuing.

Ryuin continued to assert her dominance over Yeji. Her right hand slowly made its way downward, until it reached the waistband of the simple, white panties Yeji wore. Spending not more than a second or two there, she reached further. The tips of her slim fingers quested below the thin cotton. When they reached a certain point, the gasps and soft sounds escaping Yeji’s lips cleared for a full moan of pleasure as Ryujin’s fingertips finally reached her most intimate parts. The moment that moan left Yeji’s mouth, you could see the smirk on Ryujin’s face grow wider. It was like she’d found a treasure.

From then, Ryujin refused to cease her assault on the guitarist’s body. Her left hand slid down the waistband of Yeji’s panties until the thin, tiny slip of fabric was halfway down the guitarist’s hips, giving her more than enough access to Yeji’s slick heat. You watched as Ryujin’s middle finger disappeared between Yeji’s legs. The rest of her hand covered your view—But the look on Yeji’s pleasure-stricken face told you all you needed to know regarding what that middle finger was doing.

“Look how fucking hot she is,” Ryujin said, her words dripping with lust, “she’s so fucking wet.”

Yehi let her loudest moan yet escape her lips. The sudden thrust and twist of Ryujin’s wrist tells you that she had penetrated the other girl with her fingers. Yeji’s legs close around her friend’s hand. 

“Fuck… Just as tight as the last time,” Ryujin smirked.

You found yourself squirming in place as your shaft continued to strain painfully against your pants. 

“I think you’ll like fucking her,” Ryujin stated, her voice taking on a softer tone, “She’ll be tight and wet for you… I bet you’d cum so quickly… A fucking shame that you’re choosing to miss out on this.”

Ryujin’s ring finger slipped between Yeji’s legs. You knew full well it had joined her middle finger inside Yeji’s body. Yeji’s legs seemed to have turned to jelly. Ryujin’s body covers Yeji’s bare skin, so you let your gaze roam up Ryujin’s toned back. And there, just to the left of Ryujin’s well shaped shoulders, you saw a pink nub rise and fall with each of Yeji’s laboured breaths.

Pink nipples—Yeji had pink nipples.

Yeji’s features—Usually fierce and full of anger—were twisted, wracked and contorted—Pleasure and lust coursed through her system, making her squirm beneath her friend. Her eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, stared up at the ceiling. Her mouth formed a perfect “O” as wordless sounds of pleasure left her lips.

“So tight… And she’s fucking drenched… Little slut,” Ryujin hissed. 

It all quickly becomes too much for the guitarist to handle. The pleasure of it all… It threatened to overwhelm her senses.

“Ryujin, I… Ryujin—” Yeji said quickly, as though she was barely able to form the words, “I’m going to…”

“You like being fingered? You like how I mess up your insides, don’t you Yeji?”

The guitarist’s only response was a long, passionate moan. She was suddenly unable to form words with her mouth. Every sound that escaped her was a moan of pleasure or a noise of the sort. It was like her brain had shut off, the pleasure in her system pushing the ability to think right out of her being.

“Do you like my fingers? Do you like getting finger fucked Yeji?”

Yeji squirmed. Her eyes shut as she moaned softly. It was like she was suddenly ashamed of how quickly and completely she had allowed Yeji to dominate her body and manipulate it to her liking. Ryujin moved her left hand to cup Yeji’s left breast, the index finger and thumb capturing her exposed, hardened nipple and giving it a soft squeeze. 

“Fucking cum Yeji.”

On cue, Yeji let out a scream. Her legs spasmed as an orgasm wracked her body. For several long seconds, Yeji writhes in pleasure beneath the bassist.  Ryujin turned and smiled devilishly at you. It was as if she was asking you whether you liked the little show she had just given you. She rose, leaving Yeji’s sweaty, heaving body on your bean bag as she strutted over. 

“I feel generous tonight,” she told you. Her hand grips your chin, tearing your gaze away from the guitarist before you can even take in her body. 

“Your table should hold my weight, right?” she asked. You nodded numbly. Wordlessly, she saunters over and clears a space for her to sit. Swiftly, she undid the belt that held up her baggy jeans, letting the denim fall off her slender legs. Her panties were off even quicker. 

You smiled devilishly as you undid your own pants and took your cock in one hand. You approached Ryujin, placing your shaft on Ryujin’s wanton pussy and dragging the head up and down her moist, dripping lips. 

Ryujin licked her lips. “She’s watching. Let’s give her a show, shall we?”

Grasping Ryujin’s legs, you raised them so that her calves were on your shoulders. Reaching down and placing your tip at her opening, you slowly pushed inside her. Entering Ryujin elicited a deep, lustful moan from her. You hear a soft set of footsteps approaching from behind. Yeji walked up next to the two of you. She knelt down, eyes glued on your cock that was buried inside her friend.

“T-Tell me how he feels,” Yeji requested.

“Fuck…” Ryujin gasped, unable to answer as you filled her completely. Your hips now touch her soaked, hot crotch as you bottomed out inside her heat. She savoured the feeling of being filled by you once more.

“He’s so big, Yeji,” Ryujin hissed, not taking her eyes away from yours, “he’s so big and thick and he’s fucking stretching me out… I think—”

Her moan cuts through her sentence. You’d cut short Ryujin’s descriptions as you began to move. Slowly, you drew your cock out from her tightly gripping pussy for the first time, savouring the feel of her lips wrapped tightly around your hard shaft as it tried to pull you back into her. You heard Yeji gasp at the sight of your cock drenched in slick, thick pussy juices. 

You drove back into Ryujin. Before long, you’ve settled into a slow but steady rhythm. You took your time, letting Yeji have a long glimpse of your cock as it appeared from between Ryujin’s glistening pussy before disappearing once more into the girl’s tight body. Ryujin was quickly reduced to a quivering, moaning mess as you fucked her. Gone was the girl that dominated Yeji just minutes before.

Her hands gripped the edge of your table with knuckle white grips, her mind and body relishing every thrust you made into her body. Words, cusses, moans… They spilled freely from her lips. 

“Oh, fuck! Fuck me just like that… Fuck me slow… Make me… Feel… Every inch of you! He’s so big, Yeji! He feels so fucking good inside me!”

You tore your gaze from Ryuin’s writhing body.  Yeji had begun to work her hand between her milky legs, her left hand clutching her right breast. You watched eagerly as she captured the pinkness of her nipples between her index and middle finger, delivering a small amount of pressure to the perky nubs.

With a foreign tone of lust, she drawled. “Fuck her… Fuck her harder…”

You grinned as the girl finally give into her desires. Her pleasure must’ve been heightened as she watched the erotic scene play out in front of her. You grasped Ryujin’s thighs and speared yourself deeper and deeper into the girl, using her long limbs as leverage to make each thrust harder than the last.

For long minutes, you fucked her like that. Her toned, slim body rocked back and forth helplessly on the table, her round breasts bouncing wantonly with each impact of your hips into her hot body..

“Oh, fuck! Yes! Fuck me harder… As hard as you want! O-Oh! Fuck YES!”

Ryujin is more than happy to let you have your way with her body. You knew from all the time you’d spent with her that she was more than comfortable with rough sex. Unreserved, you let loose and began o truly fuck her the way she wanted, the way she yearned, the way she loved to be fucked. 

Pounded. That was it—Shin Ryujin loved getting pounded.

You let her legs fall from your shoulders. You spread her thighs, a palm on each one before forcing her onto her left side. Keeping her right leg in the air, you continued to fuck her, giving Yeji the perfect view of your cock as it slid in and out of her friend’s pussy.

The new position drives Ryujin mad. Your first few thrusts into her wet, tight pussy were your indication. Her moans and gasps continued, higher in pitch and louder in volume as you drove deeper and faster into her pussy. The wet, slick sounds of her juices and the wet flesh around your cock reverberates through the apartment as you continued to fuck the mewling, moaning girl. Between her splayed lips, you could feel the heat radiating from her core surrounding your shaft.

“Oh god, Yeji he’s… he’s so big inside me. He’s fucking me so good!”

“How… how does your pussy f-feel, Ryujin?”

“It feels… So good… So full of his cock… M-Mmmmph… I’m so fucking wet! I'm gonna... I'm gonna...”

It was all quickly becoming too much to handle—Watching Yeji be used and Yeji watching you use her friend. Your own peak was rapidly approaching.

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop fucking me!” Ryujin cried. “Mmmm, I’m getting close!”

“I… I’m cumming!” you heard. The voice was not from Ryuin, but from Yeji. The guitarist was a squirming mess on her knees, her body wracked with spasms as she orgasmed. You tore your gaze from Ryujin to watch as Yeji quivered and shook in her place, her hand working busily between her thighs as the rest of her body straightened involuntarily in pleasure.

“Ohh.. oh, I’m cumming!” Ryujin exclaimed. She took your attention back once again. Her pussy pulsated, squeezing you tightly—The signal of her impending orgasm.

“Where—”

“Inside me!” she answered, cutting you off, “inside me, please! Fill me… Fill me with your cum!”

She came first. The tightening of her spasming pussy around your shaft quickly drove you to orgasm as well. Burying yourself as deep as you can within her hot, slick pussy, you erupted.

Your cock sent stream after stream of thick, hot semen into her body. She tightened around you, squeezing your cock tightly and milking you of every drop. You let yourself savour every second of it, the feel of Ryujin’s body wrapped around you, the feel of her wet walls being painted with cum, the sound of her and Yeji’s moans filling your ears. You were certain that this was paradise.

You stood there exhausted. Soon you finally slipped out of her body with a slick pop. Ryujin turned onto her back, too exhausted to do anything further. White, thick liquid oozes between the splayed lips of her freshly fucked pussy, before a thick stream began to flow from her body onto her flushed thighs and your table.

“Oh fuck…” Ryujin heaved, “that… That was fucking hot…”

She let her legs dangle off the table, keeping them spread as she looked over to her friend on her knees. “Come here and clean me up Yeji.”

The girl eagerly rose from her knees and knelt back down in front of Ryujin’s still spread legs. She doesn’t waste any time, diving in and licking the thick white cum that flowed from your bassist’s pussy like it was a delicacy. Ryujin hummed softly, basking in the pleasure at the feel of Yeji’s tongue attacking her still sensitive lips. When Ryujin had enough, she pushed Yeji’s head away. You swore you saw a hint of disappointment on Yeji’s face.

She slid off the desk. You caught her, holding her steady as she found her footing on her jelly-like legs. 

“Shit… I need to sleep,” she muttered, “Squeaker, carry me to your bed, will you?” 

You complied. You laid her down on your mattress as gingerly as you could, making sure to pull the covers over her nude body. Then, you went over to your cupboard and pulled out a shirt.

“Where… Are you going?” Ryujin asked as you were about to head out.

“I’m just passing this to Yeji,” you told her, “she’ll need this.”

Ryujin hummed and turned on her side. “Sleep next to me when you come back.”

You walked out. Yeji had put her bra and shorts back on and was gathering what was left of her shirt.

“H-Hey,” you called. You walked over and handed the shirt to her. “You’ll need to cover up. H-Have this.”

Yeji stared at the shirt for a moment. It was one of those old anime shirts you picked up from the thrift store. It would definitely be baggy on Yeji’s small frame, but it was all you could really offer her. 

You thought that she’d smack your hand away and tell you to fuck off or something. To your surprise—and some delight—she gingerly took the shirt from you. Wordlessly, she slipped it on. 

“Thanks,” she voiced, “I’ll go now.”

You walked her to the door and opened it for her. “I-Is Yeju back to open the door?”

“S-She should be,” Yeji replied.

“R-Right then… H-Have a good night,” you wished her. She looked at you for a moment. You were certain she was going to call you a slur.

“G-Good night,” she wished back, “I-I’ll see you tomorrow for practice...”

Yeji hugged herself and hurried down the hall. You figured that the embarrassment had made her act like this. Tomorrow, she’d go back to cussing you out like a sailor.

You returned to your room after locking up. Ryujin had fallen fast asleep by then, snoring rather loudly as you silently slipped into the space next to her. 

***

“You think she’ll be awkward when she sees us?” Ryujin asked as the two of you got off the bus. 

“She’ll be fine with you, but she’s gonna kill me,” you muttered. 

Ryujin cackled. “Ah… So this whole thing is no longer my problem!”

You shot her a glare.

“You were the one that initiated things. It still is your problem,” you told her.

“Hey. You both enjoyed it didn’t you?” she smirked. 

“That doesn’t negate the fact that you started the whole thing!” you argued.

“What are you guys getting so heated over?” 

You turned. Kim Chaewon gazed at the both of you, a blank expression on her face. 

“Oh. Hey Chaewon,” Ryujin waved, “we were just having friendly banter. We aren’t gonna kill each other if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Chaewon gazed intently at Ryujin for a moment, then transferred her gaze back to you. “So I was that forgettable huh?”

You blinked. “W-What?”

“You’ve already moved on, haven’t you?” Chaewon questioned, “getting yourself involved in a band with a bunch of girls like I was never important. You’re fucking disgusting.”

Chaewon shoulder-checked you as she walked past, making sure to let her trumpet case strike your shin as well. You winced, a sharp pain shooting up your leg. 

“Fuck,” you hissed. Ryujin quickly held onto you.

“That girl is psycho,” she told you. 

“Bratty is a better word,” you replied, “please don’t tell me she’s gonna join the band…”

Ryujin pursed her lips. “Well… Judging from the fact that she has her trumpet case with her on a Friday—I’d say that Eunbi managed to get through to her.”

“Christ on a fucking pike,” you sighed, “Yeji was enough for me to handle already…”

The pain was slowly fading now. You tapped Ryujin’s shoulder. “I think I can walk this off,”

Your bassist let go of you, letting you walk forward on your own for a bit before jogging up to you.

“Chin up Squeaker,” she assured you, “I’m sure that there’s a way to achieve peace in our band.”

You sure as hell hoped so. If not—you were in for one hell of a ride.