#x factor ingredients

[cruel-hiraeth]

i’ve made a few batches of chia seed pudding and it’s sooooo fucking good

[twilightprince101]

I see a lot of AU's for In Stars and Time revolving around the idea of "what if X character was looping instead of Siffrin" and they are all wonderful. I adore the sight of seeing how exactly they slowly but surely break down over the course of months, maybe even years of repeating the same day and seeing how they contextualize the game's events from their perspective.

But there's one piece of all of these AU's that I wish was included a bit more: their feelings at the very, very start in regards to communication with others.

When Siffrin is told that he can tell his party about the time loop at any time, he immediately dismisses the idea because that is who he is as a person. Extremely caring for others, barely caring for himself. This is arguably the catalyst for the entire story (yes, even compared to WHY the loops started at all).

But how exactly do the other characters deal with that information around the start? How do they initially start the timeloop when told "there's nothing stopping you from asking for help?"

For example: Mirabelle. She already has a LOT on her plate since she's struggling with being "The Chosen." But I feel that being put in the time loop like this would actually be a relief for her. She is quite literally chosen by some sort of deity to try as many times as she wants. She's thankful because she really was chosen by the Change God (hahaha). So maybe at the start she would be more confident, talk with everyone and explain the full situation at the clock tower. "Yes, we did die against the King, but everything is back to how it was. If we work harder, we can make it!" But she would do that, every single time. The same conversation. And she's too wrapped up in that routine that she just focuses on reassuring everyone that things will be okay and saying the exact same words. Mirabelle's catalyst is similar to Siffrin's in that they both care for their friends, but while Siffrin helps fix everyone's problems, Mirabelle helps comfort everyone emotionally and doesn't focus on herself.

Then there's Odile. I feel she would treat the matter objectively, almost like a standard time loop protagonist. The first thing she does is tell everyone about it, finding some way to prove it ("Bonnie got X ingredients, Isabeau never made a wish at the favor tree, etc."). But after a certain point, going through all of those extra steps becomes draining. So she instead focuses on saying the right words which will get everyone else to do certain actions. "If I ask what fruits Boniface is bringing tomorrow then they'll keep that in the front of their mind, which will cause them to eat the pineapple early, eliminating the risk that Siffrin will die of their allergy." But throughout it all, she never factors her own feelings as to why the time loops are happening. That is Odile's catalyst: she is too logical and doesn't acknowledge feelings as part of the equation.

Perhaps later on in the timeloop they would do different things entirely, stop talking to others all together. But this is specifically about everyone's catalyst at the very start, their own version of "Why would you need help? You're in the position to help everyone here." It would likely take longer to happen than Siffrin's, the emotionally repressed gremlin, but the end result would still be the same. It's about self-isolation after all.

I just think it's a fun thing to think about.

[windvexer]

This is also why I don't know how to recommend spells to people because to me most spells are just:

Find a Guy who's really good at the thing (probably other people talk about how good he is)

Ask him to do the thing for you

Provide auxiliary support to make his job easier (and say please and thank you!)

And one Guy can often do a lot of things. Like, Rosemary can help with memory problems, sleep, cleansing, protection, healing, and nightmares.

So you can show up and say, "Rosemary, when I drink this tea of you, please infuse me with good memory so I can remember important details of this upcoming conversation."

Or, "Rosemary, when I hang up this sachet of you, please stand as a sentinel of my sleep and guard against bad dreams."

Or, "Rosemary, when I place your pot by the front door, please cleanse the air of all sickness that may enter, and keep the home healthy."

(And yeah, there are Techniques to this, but that's not what this post is about)

But the problem is that sometimes, the Guy might not be that helpful until you get to know him a little more and things get chill between you two. Or he might show you hidden aspects to himself that are not common and not talked about by other people.

So you can get into a situation where you've been hanging with Rosemary for a while and have a really weird dream and all of the sudden, Rosemary can make other people tell you the truth.

That's not a Rosemary correspondence and it's probably not something that other people can do with Rosemary.

But it's something you can do with Rosemary because you've gotten to know each other on a friend level.

A missing factor for me, and maybe for other people, was treating spellwork like a potion-making game where you just gather X amount of Y-aligned correspondence and if you mix enough of them you get a Potion of Y.

Like if you need protection, you just go to a correspondence list and find enough Protection-aligned plants (regardless of how they work or their personalities or attributes) and put them together in a bag and saying an unrelated charm or prayer that you say no matter which plants you put in the bag.

Which is how people end up with 50 little jars of dead plants that stay dead because they have no connection to them, still looking up what ingredients to use in which spells.

Which is fine, but it's also like... not necessarily what everyone is looking for.

So my point is that if correspondences are reduced to 4-5 purposes on a chart, then you get the correspondence brainrot which is like "which kitchen herb is a gentle cleanser, and which kitchen herb is a strong cleanser," when the reality is that if a guy can Cleanse he can show up gently or strongly in his own unique way,

And it all makes more sense by just treating him like a Guy and asking him to do what you need to do.

I genuinely think that if a practitioner is looking for something deeper and more relational in their practice, a really good way is to scale everything back and start using like one activated (evoked, prayed over, petitioned, etc.) Ally in each spell and just asking if he, as a Guy, can or wants to do something for you.

Like if you go absolutely bonkers over a good cup of Chamomile tea, what's the harm in asking Chamomile to cleanse for you? What's the harm in asking Chamomile to protect your home, or bless your sleep?

At the very least you're going to begin learning a lot about Chamomile in an interpersonal way, where you can begin understanding the "correspondence" for yourself. And you can also learn some fucking cool stuff, like, isn't it weird that when I ask Chamomile to protect my home, we all started finding little bits of cash we had lost?

Idk. Magic is just easier when more things are Guys.

[gladoswantscake]

Burnout - Goro Majima x Reader

Summary: A bad day at work leads to coming home exhausted and irritated, but you end his day on a good note.

Warnings: Some spoilers from Kiwami 2

A/N: From now on I'll be only sharing my works on here and on Ao3 because the Yakuza tags on Wattpad are dead 😔

Available on AO3

He couldn't wait when it was time for him to leave. The loud sounds of metal clinking and saws going off was one thing that gave him a headache, but his some of his subordinates were the biggest factor. Whatever needed to be done today can wait till tomorrow. All he wanted to do now is to get home to unwind.

Majima mopes to the front door of his home. His body slouches up against the door frame as he fishes for his house key in his pocket. He slowly inserts the key and opens the inside of his home. As he steps foot inside, he was welcomed by the intoxicating smell of food being made in the kitchen.

He smiled. He could finally relax.

He was grateful to have you. Not for what you do for him, but how much you look past of what he does for a living. Others would flock to safety due to his crazy demeanor, but you never did. You found him to be intriguing.

Majima removes his shoes and makes his way into the kitchen to find you throwing together dinner. Various ingredients scattered amongst the counter.

He approaches you from behind quietly. His hands find their way around your waist followed by a kiss on your cheek causing you to slightly squirm from the hairs of his goatee tickling you. His weary body pressed against your back watching you cutting up the last bit of vegetables.

"Whatcha' making?"

"It's katsudon. I've been wanting to try it lately. I think you'll like it."

"Anythin' you cook will always taste great." His kisses your shoulder.

You throw the chopped onions into the pan and turn to face him with his hands remaining around your waist. The crevices underneath his eye could tell that it was another stressful day for him.

Your hands reach for his eyepatch carefully removing it from around his head. The eyepatch was the only thing that could hide his flaw from anyone. In fact, you were the only person to see him without it. He was always used to wearing it when being out in public or with his close ones. It was part of his identity. Sometimes without it, it made him self-conscious, but your touch says otherwise.

He watches your gaze soften as you briefly trace your thumb underneath his missing eye. The corners of his mouth twitches upward as you lean into him, pressing your lips against his closed eyelid. Your sweet gesture causes him to melt.

"Another bad day, huh?" Your hand runs through his dark hair.

He replies with a groan. The therapeutic feeling of the nails of your fingertips gently raking his scalp causes him to become slightly drowsy. He rests his chin on your shoulder and closes his eye.

"I'm sorry to hear that it's been stressful."

"It's no longer stressful now that I'm home with my Y/N-chan." He mumbles with a smile.

"You're sweet." You lift his head up from your shoulder and peck him on the lips.

"Go get cleaned up. I'll have dinner ready when you get out."

~~~

Majima's eyes were glued to the TV as he laid in between your legs. The two of you settled in on the sofa watching a movie. His head rested on your chest listening to the soft rhythmic beating of your heart and your fingertips stroking the textured tattoo of his bare back. He soon became lost in his thoughts.

The thought of having to get up the next day for work to leave you in the bed alone once again. It made him depressed.

Majima's breathing became slightly irregular as his emotions changed.

The grip around your waist tightens catches your attention.

"Is something bothering you?"

A nerve struck him. He hardly cried. He hated crying, but your confrontation was stirring sad emotions within him.

"Just work is all, doll. Nothin' for ya to worry about." His voice slightly cracks.

He lied. He always hated to tell you about what goes on at his job knowing what he does is controversial.

"I know it's been more than work. Something's eating you."

Your words of concern allowed more tears to escape from him.

In truth, the stressful workload between the construction and the conflict within the Tojo clan was starting to get to him. To top it all off, he was working with men who hardly had a brain.

God forbid he has to tell you about relying on his critical instincts to diffuse a bomb the other day.

He stayed silent. You were catching on quick and there was no other lie to back him up. He didn't think he could keep his composure any longer when he felt you sitting up.

You help him sit up only to have him lowering his head to hide the stream of tears.

"Goro... You can look at me."

He feels your fingertips brushing underneath his bearded chin to lift his head up.

His cheek was wet, and his eye was red. His face tightens as he tries to hold back his tears to speak.

"I know you hate to talk about what goes on with your job, but you shouldn't keep your issues bottled up."

"I know, baby." He wipes his face. "I just don't want to sound like a burden to you."

He felt your fingers moving the strands of his slightly scruffy hair away from his face then cupping his cheek.

"You're no burden to me."

He knew your words meant sincerity, but the stress was starting to take a toll on him physically and mentally. He was tired and frustrated from the spiraling events. The last thing he would do was to nag your ear off.

"I can't remember the last time you've had a day off."

"Me neither." He sighs. "It's just the construction that's been a lot. A lot more responsibility. Maybe after it's all done then work won't be as stressful as it has been."

"I hope work eases up for you." Then an idea came to you.

"How about you call out in the morning? I understand that you feel like you can't take your eye off of your men, but I know Nishida-san can be trusted to take care of everything. Besides, you need it."

He gave thought your idea. A day off was what he needed. But one day away from work felt like a whole week when working with half-witted men.

"If anything bad happens while you were out, I'm sure you'll whip your men back into tip-top shape."

The joke made Majima titter. "I suppose I can do that."

Another hand reaches for his other cheek bringing his lips to yours. The pace of his heart picked up as he was brought into a feeling of bliss. The feeling of your warm hands traveling away from his cheek down to his bare chest sent tingly sensations throughout his body.

"We'll do something fun tomorrow. Just me and you."

"I'd like that." He smiles.

[ilovetheriddler]

egon spengler - baking - fluff and smut thank you!

I hope that you enjoy it!

Halloween Fic Event.

A Surprisingly Haunting Taste.

(Egon Spengler x F!Reader.)

Contents: NSFW 18+ 🔞🔞🔞 Oral, Kissing, Fluff.

You carefully laid out everything that would be necessary for the baked goods that you intended to bake with Egon's help. After looking at the various different options, you ultimately decided that baking cookies and then decorating them in a Halloween themed would be perfect. You turned to him to inquire about what type of cookies you were going to make.

"So, Sugar Cookies or Chocolate chip?"

"I very much enjoy chocolate chip, so I feel like that's a safe choice."

You helped him tie his apron in the back. It had a somewhat humorous chemical formula on the front of it that was actually just the make up of what goes into a cake. You found it to be very cute and fitting for him.

The two of you went about getting everything started, with him cracking the eggs and focusing on the wet ingredients, and you focusing on the dry ones, the process was slow but Egon insisted that he wanted to try and make them from scratch, by the time everything was mixed and put in the oven the two of you were already quite covered in flour, it made him look as white as a ghost, and you had to hold yourself back from cracking a ghost related joke or pun.

You soaked a washcloth in the sink, and then took it and carefully started cleaning the flour off of his face. His eyes softened, and he let out a gentle chuckle at your tender and affectionate gesture.

"Dear, I appreciate the help, but I'm more than capable of cleaning myself off."

"I know you are, but I want to do this... is there a problem with that?"

"Of course not. However, I want to clean you off as well, to keep things even and fair."

"Sounds fine to me!"

You expected him to take the washcloth from you, but were a bit surprised when he leaned in and gently kissed your lips instead, allowing it to linger for only a few seconds before properly taking the washcloth and cleaning off your face.

The two of you went back and forth like that for a bit while you waited for the cookies to finish baking. However, one thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were up on the counter, your pants and underwear long discarded, with Egon's head in-between your thighs.

"E-Egon... are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm absolutely positive dear, I want to know if tasting you while something with a particularly sweet aroma cooking nearby will affect how you taste or if it does nothing. As a man of science, I must consider all the variables."

You watched as he paused for a moment, considering something quietly before taking off his glasses and sitting them next to you on the counter. He moved his hands up your thighs, grasping onto them just tightly enough before spreading them apart just a tad more.

You let out a mixture between an embarrassed squeal and a moan as he buried his face against you, sliding his tongue just barely inside of your folds, eagerly lapping up your dripping arousal and groaning softly as he savored the taste of you.

He continued licking and sucking at your entrance, and your clitoris, it didn't take long with how terrifyingly precise and methodical he was before you were being pushed over the edge, Cumming all over his mouth and lower face with an intensity that only spurred him on more in all honesty.

"Hmm... it's as I hypothesized, you're simply so sweet that no outside factor can alter that, how interesting.... I still think I need to run this test, at least another... two or three times, just to have multiple points to compare, of course."

"Y-yeah, sure... we can do this as many times as you want to..."

And you would have let him... if the smoke alarm didn't go off, the cookies were burned and ruined... oh well, at least you enjoyed yourself.

[woncon]

➳ bunnytalk

➶ bunny!jungkook x owner gn!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ your hybrid is acting strange lately. When you're not enough to help, you call Seokjin over to check on Jungkook. The diagnosis is shocking.

➴ genre: hybrid au, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, vet!seokjin, shy!jk

: ̗̀➛ warnings: jk is a bunny hybrid, reader is anxious bc jk's sadness

⌨ :: 2.4K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ thanks to @wonsheep for helping me fix my grammar mistakes and for giving me advice how to convert a whole story into another language precisely °♡̷•.

➳ bts masterlist | main masterlist

You ran through the aisles of the store as if you were being chased. And you really were, but the thing giving you chase had already caught up: the gray anxiety was perched on your shoulders, pressing along your joints like a sloppy masseur.

Salad. No need for a doctor, just a salad.

This was your mantra, with which you tried to control the despair, to slow down the panic that insinuated into your blood. With trembling fingers, you shoved the right products into your basket, and then you were already scrambling for the next ingredient.

Carrot, lettuce, cucumber, tomato, purple cabbage, corn - as Jungkook likes it. As soon as you had everything, you hurried to the cash register. The marble screeched under your feet as you suddenly stopped to avoid bumping into the person in front of you in the line. The man turned to you in disdain, but that was the least of your concerns right then. You had to make the salad: that was the most important thing. The fact that you were dead tired, that you did not plan on coming to the store, what you wanted to do half an hour ago, or what the guy thinks is completely negligible.

The only person standing before you in line was that guy, and he didn't buy anything other than some yogurt, bread and beer, still, you felt that the slowing factors took too long. For example, the cashier boy who scanned the products you were about to buy with a broad half-smile.

"Light dinner?"

"Yeah. For my hybrid."

Before the boy could speak - forcing his phone number into your hand, asking for a date or keeping you there with questions or more words - you stuffed the last carrot into your bag, scattering the money in front of the other.

"Bye!"

You dashed out of the store into the early evening cool, and ran home.

You hoped something had changed, but no. Jungkook was still curled up on the sofa, unmoving. Taking one look at him was enough to increase your concerns. You threw yourself into the kitchen. The vegetables were scattered on the counter, the tools clattered from the drawer to them, and the water was gurgling noisly from the tap. Your hair and clothes stuck to your sweaty skin. Fear gripped your heart like a baby holding onto its mother.

No need for a doctor. I can solve it myself.

Although you worked hard, and almost cutting your skin in your rush, the encouraging thought meant less and less, your hope faded into inconceivability with the passing of time.

"Kook? What's wrong?" The boy could always turn to you with his problems, and this turned out to be valid the other way around as well. Jungkook's wise insight and cheerful attitude have helped you a lot since you started living together. In addition to the owner-hybrid relationship, you were also roommates and friends.

When you first saw Jungkook on the couch, you thought he was sleeping. In the beginning of you two living together, the boy often slept with his eyes open, closing them only after full trust had been established. By the way, this wouldn't have been the first time that he fell asleep on the couch. But this was different. You wanted to tuck him in, and the boy's gaze focused on you, then he stared ahead again, uninterested. He also blinked.

He wasn't asleep at all.

Jungkook didn't answer. You weren't freaked out yet. Jungkook had instinctive actions and behaviors, but he was unable to verbalize them. He once summed it up by saying that in such cases the rabbit is the master, who only communicates through action.

"If you can't talk about it, just nod or shake your head." You waited half a minute. "Did I hurt you with something?"

You were about to caress his arm, but Jungkook pushed you away before you could touch him. Then you understood, something really must have happened. Not only was the boy not in the mood, he didn't want any of your company either. This has never happened before. In addition, the warning signs were lining up: him cowering, ears flattened, rejecting your approach.

The boy's rabbit self emphasized his condition. You heard somewhere - in a documentary, from a doctor friend, or maybe from one of your exes, who knows - that rabbits can be sick and depressed if they show these symptoms and don't eat.

So you, as soon as you realized, you jumped up, pulled your coat back on as you had just taken it off, and whirled through the streets to make Jungkook's favorite salad. Because if he eats, you won't have to be afraid, you would be enough to help.

The meal was ready in twenty minutes. Sighing, you headed into the living room to regulate your breathing. You couldn't know if you were overreacting or if such intense distress was justified. You were sure of one thing: how important Jungkook is to you, along with his physical and mental health.

"Kook?" You knelt in front of the couch again, this time balancing the dish you prepared. The hybrid didn't even turn to look at you now. You felt your heart cramp up. "Please." You put your elbow on the edge of the couch, pushing the plate closer to him. "Eat up."

If something didn't happen then, you would have cried. But luckily, Jungkook reacted: his nose moved, crinkling sweetly. He smelled the salad. Then his eyes searched for the source of the scent, but his hands still didn't reach for it. You already considered this a big step forward, you were a little relieved: when you put the first bite in Jungkook's mouth, you felt better. Jungkook started chewing. The sounds of his munching was music to your ears.

You didn't speak, but the more the boy ate, the more lively he became. His black ears slowly rose, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position too. Jungkook put the last lettuce leaf and piece of carrot in his mouth with his own hand. You sat next to him and watched him happily. You didn't dare to touch him yet.

After finishing the meal and placing the bowl next to the couch, the hybrid crouched down next to you uncertainly, seemingly trying to say something, but in the end he just nudged your upper arm with his nose, pushed it, then ducked under, still poking the body part. Jungkook let you know in rabbit language that he needed care and caress. You smiled, running your fingers through the boy's hair, fluffy ears nuzzling your neck as Jungkook snuggled into your shoulders, his muscular arms wrapped around your waist, cuddling close. You caressed his face, his shoulders, all along his back. The bunny grinded his teeth in satisfaction.

Everything was resolved, order was restored, you thought.

You were wrong.

Whatever was weighing down on Jungkook's soul, the problem didn't go away, the salad was merely a distraction for him. You were confronted with this the next morning, as the boy curled up in a lethargic state on the edge of the bed. Somehow you knew that salad wasn't going to help anymore here. The boy's entire body tensed up as if he was an angry stone statue.

There was no question that you wouldn't go to work. You rang your boss in your pajamas to tell him you were taking the day off. The latter reacted with complete understanding. Immediately after the end of the conversation, you called your doctor friend to come over.

"Y/N, you know it takes two for a hybrid. A doctor specializing in humans and a veterinarian. I'm only the latter. Namjoon is currently operating, so you need to wait."

"You will be enough. I can't bring Kook in. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. I think he has more rabbit-like problems."

"Okay, I'll be there in twenty to twenty-five minutes. Stay with him until then."

"I'm not going anywhere."

You did as you said. You carelessly threw your phone on the couch and retreated to the bedroom, laying down next to Jungkook. You scanned his stiff back muscles, and now you were completely devastated because you didn't know how to help. You wanted to give him at least a comforting hug to let him know you were there for him, but your approach was rebuffed with a grunt. Jungkook didn't want any of your company again.

Seokjin arrived as he promised, but for you, time was slowed down by your own grinding agony and terrifying visions. Hearing the knocking, however, time jolted back a little into its place. You jumped up and ran to the door. The man came in a doctor's coat, carrying a bag.

"Come." You grabbed Seokjin's hand, who would've protested and said something about his shoes. "It doesn't matter, just come."

You basically dragged him into the bedroom. Like a melancholic painting, there Jungkook was: in rolled up blankets, just staring at the wall. No happy colors, just gray, black and sad blue.

"Please, help him!" You dropped onto the bed, whispering your plea to your guest, who nodded and approached the patient.

"Hi, Jungkook. I'm going to run some routine tests on you, okay?"

"In this current condition, he doesn't like to be touched." You warned Seokjin.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you." He put his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The boy didn't react, just tolerated it.

Seokjin then checked his breathing, body temperature, and heart rate.

"That would be it, rest easy!" Seokjin headed outside and motioned for you to follow him with a jerk of his head. You obeyed. The man closed the door and settled down on the living room sofa. You sat down next to him, wringing your hands.

"What's up with him?"

"He's warm, but no fever. His heart rate is high, but that could also be from stress. I don't see any signs of sickness, but something really freaked him out. How long has he been like this?"

"I noticed yesterday when I came home that Jungkook was lying on the sofa and not moving. It's possible that he had been sitting like that for a long time. I made him a salad, then he got up and ate, but this morning he was curled up again."

"Didn't he get some sort of shock? Wasn't he acting strange before?"

You were about to say no when you remembered the past week and the incident the morning before.

"He pokes me a lot with his chin, bites me and licks my skin. Sometimes he even nips me. And after he got up yesterday, he ran around me like five times. In the meantime, he made a strange oinking sound."

You still remembered the boy's sparkling eyes when he stopped, his raised ears, his sniffing nose. His body stiffened with excitement. You didn't know how to react, so you just smiled and went to make your coffee.

And Seokjin started laughing. You stared at him in disbelief. The man snorted, still chuckling. You were about to punch him on the shoulder, but Seokjin - to his luck - spoke up.

"He loves you very much."

You knew that, you loved him too. But the way Seokjin emphasised his words somehow suggested something else.

"What do you mean?"

"You are his human owner. You act like one most of the time. To Jungkook, however, you are no longer just an owner. Biting and licking in rabbit language means a love confession. He also marked you with the scent glands under his chin as his property. And running means clear courtship. Since you didn't reciprocate that, he has to process that you rejected him, and it's hard when you're always around, wanting to touch him."

You had a revelation.

"I didn't know. If I had known - How can I undo it?"

"Why? You love him in the romantic sense?"

That was a pretty straightfoward question, but you knew the answer very well.

"Damn it! Yes! I'm head over heels for him. And yes, I do want to be with him. So how do I change my no to a yes?" All this flooded out of you: you were worried and nervous, you couldn't help it. You were at your wits end because of your own helplessness.

"Jungkook is not acting like a human right now. First, you have to make yourself understood by the rabbit living inside, only then you can tell the person your feelings. You have to become a rabbit and reciprocate the gestures with which he expressed himself to you."

Seokjin gave you instructions, then left. You were very grateful, but you couldn't express it properly yet, first you had to express something else to someone else.

You returned to the bedroom to confess to Jungkook with bunny talk. You laid down next to him again, this time taking care not to touch him with your hands, as you weren't needed as an owner or as a human. You swallowed nervously, then ventured closer to Jungkook's nape.

You bit him gently. Almost immediately after that, both of Jungkook's ears perked up, his body was tense in a different way: he was listening intently. Feeling thousands of butterflies with wings of hope in your body, you ventured further, licking along his artery. After this action, you moved away, blushing.

Jungkook sat up, facing you. His gaze was clear, peaceful, maybe a little disappointed, but mostly knowledge was visible in it.

"I love you."

"I know. Like a friend. I understand now."

"No." You scrambled to your feet, pulling him with you. You took some measurements to fit between Jungkook and the bed, moving him to the position you wanted to.

Then you ran around him several times, trying to imitate the strange sound that Jungkook also made, the kind of cooing.

When you stopped, your heart was pounding like a speeding train... Or like a rabbit hybrid who had just confessed their love.

"I love you," you whispered weakly. "I love you in this sense."

A huge grin appeared on Jungkook's face as he suddenly took you in his arms, spinning you around in the room and then finally threw himself along with you onto the bed.

In his happiness, he also did something that you as his owner and as a human immediately understood: he kissed you. Tenderly, softly, truly in love, and at the same time he held your face in the palm of his hand. As he leaned away, he covered his flushed face with his fluffy ears. He laughed.

"Kook..."

You were beautiful with a pleading blush. And your heart belonged to Jungkook.

So he kissed you again.

[b1ackbunny]

TAKE IT ALL

A Monika Shin Oneshot

paring: gf!monika shin x fem!reader

synopsis: you and monika have been dating for years. she’s been your person since the beginning, and you’ve been hers. for the past few months, you’ve barely talked to her, much less seen her although you two live together. she’s been caught up with work and you’ve been understanding. that was until she forgot about your fourth anniversary.

word count: ≈ 2.4k

warnings: ANGST!!!, like I’m talking gut wrenching, nausea, strong language, feelings are hurt, mention of knives, monika is a d1 asshole here, angst with sad ending, if my english is bad here I'm sorry

masterlist

a/n: this is so self-indulgent bc I've been feening for some angst 🧎‍♀️ also I was listening to adele and sam smith while writing this so I hope y’all enjoy 🫶🏽 my heart physically hurted writing this I’m so proud (pun intended)

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The obnoxious ticking of the timepiece above the door constantly sounded, finding humor in your current situation. It was a little after 10 o'clock at night, and you were still waiting for your girlfriend to return.

Sure, the past few months have been a little rocky, but you've been understanding. Her schedule has been hectic with different events to attend, choreographies to work on, and classes to teach.

But this was different. You’ve tried as hard as you could to stay supportive and compassionate, though the minimal communication was eating you alive. You’ve tried so hard to give her the benefit of the doubt.

But this was different. It was your fourth anniversary and where was the woman you were supposed to be spending it with? Nowhere to be found. Except, that’s not entirely correct.

You knew where she was. You saw it on Lip J’s Instagram story a few hours ago. She had gone out with a couple of friends to a nightclub downtown, ignoring each and every one of your calls.

At this point, you were more tired than mad, but you were still very aggravated. You and Monika had only talked to each other once today, on one of the most special days in your year.

It was that morning when you passed each other in the kitchen. You asked her to come home earlier because you had something “special” planned for her. She agreed before kissing you goodbye and walking out the door.

There were no signs that she had forgotten what today was. None at all. You went the whole day giddy and excited about that afternoon. Your co-workers teased you for your excitement, but nothing they could say was able to wipe the smile off of your face.

After work, you stopped by the grocery store to pick up ingredients for the special dinner you planned to make for the two of you. Ironically, it was Monika’s favorite dish. You had to substitute some factors for the second-best thing since the store ran out, but it still tasted the same.

You rushed home to begin cooking the meal before she got back. You were even dancing around the kitchen while cooking and looking back, you feel like an idiot at your excitement. At around 6:30ish, you sent her a text asking if she was on her way and received no reply.

You shrugged it off and started setting the table, assuming that she was finishing up her last class. After thirty minutes you decided to text her again and received no reply.

That's when you started calling, but she didn't pick up. You begin feeling worried, the worst scenarios coming to mind. You called around and found out that Monika was safe and healthy, but just not picking up your phone calls.

This is when you started feeling irritated. Your girlfriend of four years was ignoring you on your anniversary and it made your blood boil. But then, (maybe it was the delusional part of you that took control) you started to think she was just pulling a prank on you.

She would burst through the door at any moment now with a gift and your favorite flowers in tow, a bright cheesy smile adorning her features. But when you saw Lip J’s story, your fantasies came to a halt.

Now, you were sitting at the decorated table alone. The food had gone cold a while ago and the slow-melting candles were lighting your emotionless face. You were hurt. How dare she? How could she?

Every year without fail, neither of you had ever forgotten this sacred day. No matter the amount of work either of you had, you made sure to make time for each other on this day.

So this just confirmed how rocky things had recently been. You were lost in your thoughts when from the corner of your eye, you saw the door open. Your gaze slowly trailed from the wall to the front door where Monika had walked in.

You felt nauseous, the hurt and heartache getting to you. “I made you dinner.” You emotionlessly stated as Monika locked the door. She turned toward your seated figure and glanced at the table before looking back at the door.

“I'm not hungry,” Monika muttered, exchanging her shoes for her slippers by the door. You scoffed and humorlessly chuckled, pouring yourself a glass of wine.

Monika directed her gaze back toward you, finally taking notice of the tense environment. With a sigh, she dropped her duffel bag on the couch, mumbled a ‘fine’, and moved toward the table.

Before sitting down, she dipped her head to kiss your cheek. But, before she was able to reach it, you moved your head out of the way. She looked at you with furrowed brows and tried again, but you repeated your motions.

Her eyes darted across your face, observing your stone-cold expression before giving up and sitting in her seat. She took a bite of her serving and instantly started criticizing, “It's cold.” “Something tastes different.”

You mindlessly hummed at her statements, taking a sip of wine and keeping your eyes trained on the picture that hung on the wall behind her. Funny enough, it was a picture of you two on your second anniversary.

The two of you took a week-long vacation to Jeju Island in honor of that special day. How things have changed. “Interesting choice of wine…” Monika mumbled and that's when you decided you had enough.

You pushed your chair out and stood up, taking both plates and moving toward the trash bin. “What the fuck is your problem?” Monika exclaimed as she followed your figure.

You couldn't help the scoff that escaped your lips, dropping the plates onto the counter above the bin. “What's my problem? I made your favorite fucking food and all you did was critic every aspect of it.

There was no ‘thank you’ or ‘I appreciate you slaving away in the fucking kitchen for me as soon as you got home from work’.” You stressed every syllable, dropping the food in the trash as your voice grew louder.

“Is that what this is about? The food?” You were quick to respond to Monika’s words, spinning towards her after you reached the sink. “It's not about the food! Don't you see? I wanted to spend time with you today!

I asked you to come home early today and what did you do? You went to a fucking nightclub with your friends.” You're voice cracked a little, and you wanted to slap yourself for getting this vulnerable.

The look on Monika’s face only got you more heated. It was obvious she found your statement unreasonable as she let out a dry laugh. “Wow, I didn't know I couldn't spend time with my friends anymore. Why are you being so fucking clingy?”

Monika’s words felt like a bullet straight to your heart and your eyes began to water. You kept your tears at bay but the glisten in your eyes revealed the truth. “Stop it. I'm not being clingy. You agreed to come home early today and you didn't.” Your voice got dangerously low as you approached the other side of the kitchen island that Monika was behind.

“Well, sue me for wanting to have a little fun. I didn't know I had to be with you every second of the day.” Monika’s voice rose as she spewed her words covered in sarcasm. “But you're not! You're not here with me every second of the day. You're not even with me for an hour a week.” You cried out.

“So what? Just because I don't see you every day means I can't have a social life? Newsflash, I have a life outside of you, y/n.” Monika matched your volume, slightly leaning over the table.

“That’s not what I’m saying. You're not even listening to me! We're a couple, Monika! When you say you're going to be home early to spend the evening with one another, you're supposed to mean it!” No matter how loud you talked, you couldn't get through to her.

“You’re being ridiculous! Since I’m dating you, I can’t have any friends?” “That’s not what I’m saying! You’re twisting my words.” “It’s like you’re dating me to control me. Is that what it is?” You were shocked by the words that your girlfriend was saying.

Is that how she truly felt or was she just saying that from the anger? More tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you slowly shook your head. “You don’t mean that.” Monika rounded the counter to step closer to you, but it was like she was a stranger.

You couldn't recognize the woman standing in front of you. “Oh, I mean it. I've been nothing but good to you and this is how you treat me? I can't have fun with my friends and I have to be with you whenever I'm not working?” You took a couple of steps back at Monika’s words.

“Stop.” You breathed out, gripping the edge of the counter. You were starting to feel nauseous again. “Stop what? Telling the truth? It was like you came into my life to ruin it. Is that what you want?

To ruin my life? Because you are. You're making a fucking hellhole out of it.” Monika yelled and her words cut like knives. The tears started to slowly glide down your face. “Don’t be a bully. You're being a bully.” Your tone was hushed and you couldn't take your eyes off of Monika’s.

It was like they had an iron grip on you. Her walls were up, and it was clear she was in defense mode. Nothing you could say or do could bring them down.

“This isn't how tonight was supposed to go. I just wanted to spend time with you today. That's all I wanted. I didn't want to wait around like an idiot for you.” Your gaze flickered between Monika’s eyes and you saw nothing had changed.

“No, you wanted to ambush me. This was an ambush.” You let out a heavy sigh at what your girlfriend had said, wiping the tears away. “No that is not what this is. Monika, please listen to me. There's been this distance between us for the past couple of months and I've been trying so hard to be understanding-”

Monika was quick to cut you off. “What happened to make you act like this? You've never been this unbearable throughout the entirety of our relationship, so what changed?”

There was a moment of silence where you just looked down at the floor. You contemplated even bringing up today to the stranger standing in front of you. Your breaths were shallow as you looked back into Monika’s unwavering gaze.

“Do you even remember what today is?” Monika rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “What? Are you going to lie and say it's your birthday? Because we both know-” This time you were the one to cut her off, your voice low and as steady as it could be given the tears you were holding back for dear life. “It's our anniversary.”

A prolonged pause occurred and the silence was deafening. You saw Monika’s eyes soften at the revelation. “Baby, I'm so sorry. With work and everything-”

“Don’t start with the bullshit excuses, Monika. I have work too, we both do. I'm not just sitting at home twiddling my thumbs waiting for you to come home.” Your voice was steady and you scoffed at the solemn look on Monika’s features.

There was a whirlwind of emotions you were feeling, the most prominent were agitation, sadness, hurt, and exhaustion. “I carved time out of my day to make today special and all I asked was for you to come home early, to which you agreed but didn't live up to your word.” Monika was silent now and her eyes seemed to grow glossy.

She moved closer to you, reaching to grab your hand but you moved away from her before she could do so. “C'mon, can we talk about this tomorrow? We're both tired-” You shook your head, instantly shutting down Monika’s idea.

“No, we’re going to talk about this now. Do you even realize the shit you said to me? How hurt my feelings are?” Your eyes squinted in disbelief as all Monika could do in response was swallow and spew fake apologies. You shook your head and looked at Monika. Like, really looked at her.

You still couldn't recognize the person she had become. You regained your composure and took a deep breath. It was your turn to stop being vulnerable and start building your walls back up.

“I think we should take a break.” Monika looked completely bewildered at your words. “What do you mean? No, we're not doing that. Absolutely not.” Monika grabbed your hands before you could move them away, holding them to her mouth and kissing them as she spoke.

Your eyes began to gloss over again and you shook your head, slowly pulling your hands from Monika’s grasp. “We have to. It might be that we've been together for too long, but what you said today… I know you meant it. At least a little bit.” Tears started to roll down both of your faces and Monika quickly shook her head, spewing ‘no’s’ and apologies.

Although the two of you were standing face to face, you couldn't be farther apart. You wiped her tears and stared at her before moving toward the shared bedroom. You felt horrible inside, the sick feeling that never left was more prominent. You grabbed your wallet and keys before moving back toward the main section of the apartment.

Monika was still begging you to stay, saying how she would change and how she was sorry but you couldn't stay. After tonight, there was a cement wedge pushed between you two that would take a lot of work to get rid of.

You still loved her, that was a given, but you needed some time to heal before mending your relationship. You unlocked the door and looked back at the girl.

She was still crying and you almost listened to your heart that told you to stay, but your mind was too loud. You caressed her cheek and wiped the tears that spilled, leaving her with a teary smile before leaving the apartment.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[charliehoennam]

beyond the badge pt. 3

pairing: david loki x f!reader

summary: his fianceé is abducted and a distraught david realizes some rules must be broken in order to save the one he loves.

warnings: 18+, dark themes such as language, violence, eventual smut, suicide, death, physical injuries, threats, blood and abuse of law enforcement

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

one | two | four | five

Cruising through the town in his Crown Victoria, David can’t stop looking around for you.

The amount of experience he’s acquired over the years tells him you’re almost certainly tied up in some disgusting old basement and he can only pray you’re unharmed, even though in most of the kidnapping cases he’s solved, the chances of you being completed untouched are slim to none.

But still, he scans every passing face because what if?

Other than your disappearance, what he hates the most is having to rely on a criminal keeping his word.

All he can think about is how Donovan can have a sudden change of mind and order your execution. Or he could order his boys to slap you around, mess you up or God knows what else.

It corrodes him, flipping his stomach to the point he has to pull over to the side of the road. He throws the door wide open and stumbles out of his car towards the far side. Hardly anything other than bile spews onto the grassy ditch.

With a heavy groan and hard blinks of his ticking eyes, his back rolls and straightens as his vision finally stands still.

He walks back to his car and grabs a half empty water bottle that’s being sitting his car for too many days. Using the water, he rinses the bitter taste from his mouth and spits it out a couple times.

As he climbs back into the driver’s seat, he takes another cigarette from his pack – which he’s had only for a couple hours and it’s already nearly empty - and lights it up.

“It’s never bothered me, but if this is what you wanna do, you have my full support.”

You’re dancing around one another in the kitchen, relishing in one of the rare nights you’re able to share and cook together. It’s one of the things you love to do together.

Trying out a new recipe is a whole event. David treasures these little cooking events for a number of reasons.

Growing up as a child, food was scarce in his household. He had lived off of expired Wonder bread and peanut butter for a good long while until he was caught stealing food from the school’s cafeteria – the leading factor that eventually led to Child Protective Services escorting him to Huntington’s Boys home where he had spent the following 6 years.

The Boys Home wasn’t exactly any paradise either. His neglectful and drunken excuse for a father might not have been around to starve him, but he still had to fend for himself.

As a single, grown man working law enforcement, the most elaborate dish he learned to make was boxed pasta with canned tomato sauce. He was content with that until you came into the picture.

The first time he invited you over for dinner, he forgot he only had half empty ketchup and mustard, soy sauce packets, a couple beers and day-old Chinese takeout along with other scattered ingredients that couldn’t be combine to make a dish for one. So, he stuck to what he knew: pasta and tomato sauce.

He’ll never forget how cute you were, trying to lie and tell him it was great. He knew it was awful. If his far-from-sophisticated palate could taste it, he had no doubt you could taste it.

You laughed it off over a pizza that night, but he still likes to joke that you kept coming back for more.

One of the main reasons he looks so forward to these events is because he gets to be with you.

Most nights when he comes home, you’re asleep in bed and he doesn’t want to wake you. Although sometimes, you’ll stir from his presence and stay a couple extras hours to enjoy some adult fun.

There’s just something to soothing to him about watching you cook. He admires every single movement. The way your tongue pokes out as you carefully slice with a sharp knife. The way your hips sway to music that plays only in your head. The way your breasts jiggle when you whisk. That’s his personal favorite and also why he loves it when you bake.

“You really mean that? I might get a little cranky though. Or so I’ve heard” he smiles over at you as he dices fresh garlic.

“Yeah, babe. Of course,” your smile melts his heart every time. “Why the sudden change though? I thought you loved smoking?”

“Well, I love you more and I wanna be alive to spend more time with you.”

“Be still, my beating heart” you grin, surprised and lean up into him for a quick kiss. “That’s very sweet. I support you even more for that. And, if there’s anything I can do to help, I’m more than happy.”

Your voice shakes as you whisk the bowl of eggs for the omelet.

“Well,” he smirks standing behind with his arms wrapped your hip as his eyes lower to peak down at your jiggling cleavage. “I could think of a couple things you could do to help.”

David arrives at the police station – along with a few unit cars to accompany the transportation of the large sum of money - located in Conyers’s neighboring town. It’s much larger than the one where he works and heavily protected, with more law enforcement and advanced security system since the evidence room is shared with neighboring towns.

As David makes his way to the evidence room, Mike quietly thanks God that his boss let him in on the situation once the call from O’Malley came in. Of course, he already knew about everything, but he had to act like he didn’t and that was the hardest thing he’s ever done.

It’s clear from David’s disheveled appearance that he’s at his wits end and hanging on by a thread. He knows David’s always had an intimidating brooding look to his nature, but he looks ready to kill as he marches down the hall.

Mike’s never been afraid of David before, despite David’s rebellious past, but the determination in David’s dark eyes has a chill running up Mike’s spine as he approaches.

They don’t waste time with small talk. Mike tries to ask him how he’s holding up, but David doesn’t answer. Instead, he confirms the money and hands one of the duffel bags to the police officer next to him. He’s all business and that’s all he can muster for now.

Mike isn’t sure of what to say to him. He knows no amount of words in all the languages in the world can ease his pain, but it does hurt to see David suffer this way. So, he doesn’t say anything. He stays quiet as David opens and checks the bags.

He thanks his friend in a curt manner and heads back down the hallway, making a mental note to invite him out for a beer to apologize for his attitude. He hopes Mike can understand his impatience for small talk. He’s too concerned with your well-being that he isn’t even certain if it is well after all.

Once the money’s picked up, his car rolls to a stop at the old abandoned mill by the river. With a couple new packs of cigarettes, he sits in his car waiting for the time to pass. One cigarette after another, he smokes as he thinks over every possible outcome of this ‘deal’.

He trusts the plan he and his co-workers concocted, but that’s not what he’s worried about.

Anything could go wrong. It’s such a shot in the dark and he hates that he can’t predict anything. Everything is so uncertain and he can’t remember the last time he felt this terrified.

Taking the hidden picture from his pocket, he holds it against the steering wheel while his other hand hangs from the window with a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

David would gladly give his own life to save yours. He’d switch places with you in a heartbeat if he could. You don’t deserve to get caught up in his mess, in the wicked ways of his world.

What if you are alive and he’s able to get you back? Where will you go from there?

Even if you do decide to stay with him, there could be a possibility this happens again. The guilt will forever linger him when he thinks back on this and he knows he’ll never forgive himself.

Despite the love he has for you, he wonders if you would be safer away from him. Now, he’s almost certain you would.

This is why he shut himself off from the dating scene. This is why he wanted to avoid this vulnerability in the first place. Innocent loved one get hurt because of his job and he doesn’t know if he can live with that.

Time takes forever to fly by. Every minute is crucially grueling to him. Alone in his car, he finally breaks down in cathartic tears. All the anguish he’s been holding inside finally floods out.

As the day darkens, he hardens his heart bracing himself for what may come. Once he finally got all those tears out, a numbness overcame him. He sits, dragging the smoke into the shell that he’s become, void of all emotions.

[jolalibrary]

memories are fresh

cod soap mactavish x f!reader (callsign: squid)

thank you to voldie asking for happy angst — apparently the genre of what I write hahaha (voldie because they asked to not be named) warnings: angst. brief past mention of bickering. tense situations, with emotional convo. fluff. squid/mar is the nickname (from the miniseries) ends happy, promise. wordcount: 1.4k

soap masterlist

It’s quiet. Silent.

Has been for several minutes, which have ticked past on your watch. Not that you move—nor him. Not even as the long grass stems tickle your wrists and the weeds groan around the two of you.

The rain still patters against the leaves above, the branches swinging in the wind—the downpour smothering any oncoming footsteps, even in the bogginess of the countryside.

He’s breathing heavily next to you, catching his breath. His eyes focused elsewhere, as though he can’t bear to look your way, something you know isn't true, but just your mind playing tricks on you.

The remnants of the earlier bickering, still living and pulsing between the two of you. Or, at least, it is for you.

It had begun petty, but they always did. The two of you never really argued, just light bickering. Just this time, with the truth unwilling to be spoken, it had gotten close to personal before you both stopped it. Throwing apologies like blankets, hoping it would snuff out the smoke.

Jealousy had been an ingredient, a factor. Another had been a need to protect. Memories were the spices, still fresh—that former longing still clinging to bones, even if it’s him you choose, over and over.

None of that matters when a poor choice of words is made, when they fall from lips carelessly and greet ears cruelly.

Hear y'asked Price to go with LT. I enquired— Y'not fancy me goin' wit yer, hen? We told Price we wouldn't let this get in the way. And I'm not. Let it go, Soap. Aye, seems it. It’s not that I refuse to be partnered with you. I'm just choosing not to be. That so, Mar? I... I didn't mean—

The moment the words kissed the air, it changed things. You felt it, snapping your head in his direction to watch how he stilled his expression. Tried to keep all the pieces stationary. The words still shifted in the air, like your lips were poison, you watched the air turn black, rotting and eroding all the previous smiles or laughter.

Soap knew you were his, like you knew he was yours. It is all a fact, not a myth.

If anything, it was obvious it had been that way for longer than you both felt the need to acknowledge. Your sleeping pattern revolves around him, your calmness determined by his current location and physicality.

Yet, sometimes, memories from when you were friends needled past the bubble the two of you had formed. The one which grew with I need you’s and solidified with future plans. It wasn’t impenetrable, but close.

That’s how it got in. The jealousy. It slithered through the gaps which were still left. It lit the match, which illuminated the gas and the fire spread before the two of you landed in the European countryside. It engulfed and choked the air as you travelled closer to the place marked X by Price. It only silenced, stemmed under the quick apologies and I love yous, but then a new sound alerted you both to worry.

A bullet, one which whirred past your ear. You're thrown back, landing in mud, his weight on top of yours—for reasons different than a day ago.

Then it was shouting, both from the two of you, and some from them. It was bullets and boots meeting mud, it was legs sliding down banks, and his hand trying to find yours.

Now, it was silent for other reasons.

The rocks and trees doing well to hide the two of you, an explanation for the catalyst of the childish bickering sitting on your tongue. Evidenced by today—words which wouldn’t be said with bitterness, but rather with hope for real respite.

It’s been fifteen minutes of silence. No shouts in foreign languages, no bullets—nothing but the rain. It’s why you shuffle, boot almost sliding down the grassy hill—his hand grasping your upper arm without so much as looking.

It’s then you decide to let honesty out, rather than keeping it caged. Decided to abandon stubbornness, and let him in—a thing you grow close to being used to, until you find yourself stepping back into old patterns.

“Johnny…”

He hums, still looking, listening—ever the protector.

“I don’t wanna be with you out here because I can’t think straight,” you whisper.

The confession bursts the tension. Watching it fall like glitter and paper, flecks of it in his eyes when he turns his face to you.

Streaks of mud across his cheek, hair all at odd angles—beads of rain and sweat muddled together on his brow and nose.

Even covered in the earth, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen someone more handsome.

You offer a smile. “It’s one thing to hear that the person you love has…” you swallow, shifting your weight, “It’s another to see it. And we're both... stupid, stubborn—”

“Mar…”

Shaking your head, you hear the rest of his words die on his tongue. The two of you sigh, perfectly in time, in tune with the other.

Smiling, you should suggest moving—to try and make it back to the place you were to radio from, but he looks at you. Instead, you let it all unfurl—the cards you’ve been keeping close to your chest.

The ones held there by fear, that feeling which puts you on edge, waiting for him to realise he deserves better.

“I told you before, Johnny,” you whisper, almost afraid of saying it any louder, “I’d be lost without you, I meant it then, but I mean it more now.”

His eyes flash, dancing with the memory. One from another night in the rain, outside a pub then, rather than a large tree—an oak, maybe—with leaves which were hammered above by unfortunate weather.

And then, he’s giving you a look. Not his usual look, and not the one he gives you when he’s worried. The softer one, the one which comes out when you’re curled around one another under sheets; the one which lived, half-cloaked, in his eyes before the two of you were honest about your feelings.

Slowly, almost cautiously, his fingers, besmear with mud and dirt, slide across your cheek, eyes ablaze with something more than adrenaline, gratitude and righteousness.

“Y’not gonna lose me, Mar…”

You curl into his touch, having craved it. “You can’t promise me that.”

He drops his eyes, lips spreading into a line, before he flicks them back up. “I love—“

“—I know,” you say, too quickly.

Soap half-smiles, thumb stroking your jaw. “No, Mar. Y’don’t. You wanna partner wit someone else, worrying what you’ll see. I wanna partner with y’, so I can make sure nothing happens t’ you.”

Eyes brimming, you take a low breath. “You haven’t got to always save me.”

He smiles, mirroring the one you slowly let free over your lips. Hearing it, without him saying it, 'Gonna keep tryin', hen', even if the two of you know that not a lot stops bullets meeting flesh.

It's what scares you about partnering with him—what he's willing to do for the cause, and more what he's willing to do to keep you alive.

Not that you can blame him, you'd take a thousand for him too.

You watch him, how he leans closer, smiling as you say, “You can’t kiss me.”

“Why not?”

Smirking, you lose yourself in the pools of his eyes. Tell yourself the reason your hair is stuck to your skin is because you’ve dived in them.

“Because, I’ll kiss you back.”

“Aye? The horror.”

Shaking your head, he strokes a line across your jaw.

“And then I’ll want to take your vest off, and then your top, and then—because you hate being the only topless one when I’m around—we’ll both be topless, distracted, and likely be shot.”

Snorting, he taps your jaw lightly, before dropping his hand. “Y’have a point.”

“It’s why you love me.”

“That and you got a nice arse.”

Letting your head roll back, you fight a snigger.

“Mar…” he whispers, rolling your head to meet his eyes. “Y’dont have to partner wit’ me, when it’s just two o’ us. I get it, alright. Scares me t’.”

And you nod, a silent thank you, taking his hand in yours as you squeeze it—before drawing a heart on the back of it.

Him shuffling, slowly managing to stand without slipping, holding his hand out to you. Taking it with ease, knowing you won’t fall—won’t slip.

Johnny would never let you.

The two of you finding even footing before you glance at him, taking him all in. The mud over his vest, the way his wet top clings to his arms.

"Who'd you rather I partner with, after you?"

He pauses, adjusting the tightness of his vest, checking his gun.

"Ghost?" you ask, biting your bottom lip as you try not to smile.

"Y'pushing yer luck, Mar."

i don't do tag lists, but voldie said i can do this, so i'm gifting this flangsty little numbers to @brewed-pangolin because i adore them, and they love squid, they love angst, and more so love soap.

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

14 Food Play

Zhongli x Reader / SFW / Fluff / Teahouse & Coffeeshop AU / Rivals to Lovers / Zhongli and Reader are both pastry chefs / Reader is a bit of a tsundere

Nobody would ever suspect that you and Zhongli were seeing each other. Afterall, the two of you had been professional rivals for almost a decade.

You met him during a pastry competition while the two of you were still in college. He was your senior and had quite a large following, especially among the female students. In hindsight, you were a bit of a prick back then. Passionate, confident, and competitive, you weren't the least bit shy when it came to critiquing his work. His criticisms, on the other hand, had always been delivered with more grace than yours. He ended up winning that competition along with many others, but he never once held them over your head. It wasn't like you've never snatched a win before. There were those few times his entry lost to yours. You couldn't brag about them though, because that would be far too petty of you since he always congratulated you so sincerely. It was strange how he always showed up in the same events you sign up for though. Whenever his name appeared in the lineup, you almost always ended up losing to him. It was more or less an unrequited animosity.

Zhongli had never actually treated you like his rival, even going as far as sharing techniques and introducing vendors to you. He always had a gentle smile on his face, which irritated you all the more. It didn't help that he was frustratingly handsome and a true gentleman, even by your inflated standards. If he weren't always overshadowing you professionally in every way possible, you might’ve gotten along with him.

Eventually, you opened up a small coffeeshop with your friend Ningguang. She provided the larger chunk of the funds while you introduced pastries to the menu and took care of most of the day-to-day operations. To your surprise, your old nemesis got hired by the teahouse right across the street. You only found out when Ningguang brought you a morsel that tasted suspiciously like it came from a certain someone's hand.

The first bite into that osmanthus cake, you were certain it was him. He really was haunting you! Did he have to pop up everywhere you went, as if Liyue was too small to fit the both of you? You didn't even hate the guy. You were just tired of competing against him!

Truthfully, you never understood the comparisons. Was proximity the only factor? Or was it because your shops both served desserts and drinks? Your menus were from two completely different worlds.

Zhongli had always been dedicated to the classics. He studied traditional Liyue recipes and even managed to revive some pastries that had gotten lost in time. Stepping through the doorway of the teahouse for the first time, you got the impression that you had stepped into a portal and ended up in old Liyue. Dark rosewood furniture and ink wall scrolls were the first things you saw. Faint wisps of incense and steeped tea calmed your nerves. Colorful pastries sat on rows of ceramic trays. Osmanthus cakes, almond tofu, and flaky lotus pastries contrasted immediately from the chocolate croissants, mango mousse, and tiramisu that sat in your display cabinets.

You've always respected Zhongli as much as you couldn't stand him. Before you got to know him more intimately, he always came off rather elitist, insisting on using the most traditional methods and ingredients to create his confections. Substitutes were strictly forbidden, especially for the sake of cost. This carried into just about every aspect of his life to an overbearing degree. You couldn't help but debate about silly things whenever you were in the same room as him.

"Quality and craftsmanship is not something I'm willing to compromise on." He says.

"Just like how you insist on charging three times the price for your pastries?"

"It is up to the guest if they are willing to pay the higher price." Zhongli says, calmly sipping his tea. "Value lies in the eyes of the beholder."

"We can never get on the same page about anything, can we?"

"That isn't true." He refutes you. "I can see your perspective quite clearly. We may take different paths, but both you and I are headed in the same general direction."

"Just like how I ended up on the same street as you?"

"Precisely." He chuckled.

He scooped a spoonful of tiramisu, bringing it to your lips. Zhongli loved to feed you, something you were happy to indulge him on since it freed up your hands to do other things. The dessert you had brought over to share with him today was a new flavor you had been working on. You wanted to get his input on it before putting it on your menu. Whenever he released a new pastry into the wild, he would have you try it as well.

"How do you like it?" You asked him while thumbing through the pages of his guestbook.

Some patrons even left pictures in it. The smiling faces told you that this teahouse wasn't simply a place to buy a cup of tea and eat dessert. They gathered here after work with friends, celebrated birthdays, and spent dates here, just as they did at your coffeeshop.

The piece of tiramisu ended up falling off and landing on the back of your hand.

You reached for a napkin, but Zhongli snatched it from you. Instead of using it to clean off the cream, he raised your hand to his lips, tongue darting out to swipe away the sweet confection.

"Exquisite as always. The sunsettia adds a tangy, fruity sweetness to the richness of the mascarpone, which also happens to balance out the bitterness of the coffee. You've outdone yourself yet again with the reinvention of something classic, dear." He complimented without a drop of innuendo, except his actions were as suggestive as is gets.

He had always been like this. You could never tell if Zhongli was flirting just from his words alone. Perhaps you were just incredibly dense. Maybe there was an element of denial in your ignorance too. You just never considered a professional rival to also be a suitable candidate for romancing. Perhaps in this one aspect, you were even more inflexible than he was.

How exactly did you and Zhongli's fates intertwine when the two of you had been on parallel trajectories for all these years? Simple, you were heartbroken and desperately in need of a drinking buddy one particular day and he just happened to be closing up when you came trudging by.

"Someone's birthday?" Zhongli asked you, eyeing the intricate cake in your hand.

He might not specialize in this kind of pastry, but he could still tell when something was specially crafted for a certain occasion. It was not hard to tell with the hand-lettered chocolate decorations.

You had poured your entire afternoon into this thing. Sure, you made pastries for a living and each one was made with love, but this one was special. Every little detail on it was laid on with a personal touch. It was made for someone who had been occupying your heart for far too long.

Zhongli was a perceptive man. It didn't take much for him to piece together a vague idea of what had happened. The cake was still in your hands, unappreciated, untouched, and uneaten. Your face was drained of your usual glow.

"My boyf—" You caught yourself. "My ex-boyfriend's."

Perhaps it was your fault things had gotten that way. You had been too occupied with the coffeeshop lately and an irreparable rift had formed between you and your college sweetheart. He needed someone who could be there for him, who would always have time for him. You couldn't be that person for him. While you were busy baking croissants and serving lattes, he had allowed someone else to quietly take your place in his heart. The relationship had long since gone stale and the sweetness was no longer there.

Love was a lot like baking, sometimes things don't turn out the way you expect it to. You make mistakes and measure wrong. Like a burnt cake or a bad batch of whipping cream, sometimes it has to be tossed out. It hurts to let it go to waste, but you could always make more.

The moment Zhongli saw you, he could instantly tell that something had gone wrong between you and your boyfriend. His hand clenched in silent rage at the thought of that ungrateful bastard causing such a downtrodden look to appear on your face. Despite the heaviness in his heart from seeing you hurt, a long-dormant seed of hope finally sprouted deep inside of him.

"The right person will not corner you with difficult choices." Zhongli assured you. "There is no regret in giving up something that was not meant to be."

Zhongli's sincerity came like a warm cup of tea on a cold day. Who would've expected you would find comfort in the words of your long-time rival? You were clearly in a better mood now than when you first walked into the teahouse.

You smiled. "Thank you."

Under your insistence, he brought you some fruit wine, but made you eat the cake you worked so hard on. You had a coffeeshop to open up the next morning and couldn't afford to have a hangover, he reasoned. He knew exactly what to say to get you back in the right mindset. You might not have been willing to admit it before, but Zhongli understood you to an uncanny degree, perhaps even more deeply than your boyfriend ever did. He shared the same sentiments when it came to your craft, even down to the obsessive attention to detail.

In your eyes, cake was a sacred thing. The batter had to be mixed perfectly. The fruits had to be fresh. The topping had to be whipped just right and piped precisely. To you, cake was the closest thing to tangible joy. The sweetness, softness, and fluffiness of the emotion could all be tasted in a single bite.

"It's delicious. A pity the person it was intended for would never get to taste it." He remarked after he tried a bite of your cake.

It was chocolate flavored, which you knew Zhongli was actually quite fond of. Traditional Liyue desserts did not use this ingredient so he often sent Xiao over to buy him some of your chocolate flavored morsels. You knew it was for him since the boy preferred almond flavored pastries.

"You lucked out." You joked, a bit of a slur on your tongue.

A flush was beginning to spread over your face because of the wine. You rested your cheek against your palm.

"I do consider myself quite fortunate." Zhongli replied with that gentle smile that has you spacing out way too often.

You tilted your head at him expectantly. His unwavering gaze told you he was not just taking about cake.

"There is only one thing setting fortune apart from mere coincidence. Do you know what that is?"

"No. You tell me."

"The cherishing of that opportunity." He paused to take a sip of wine. "A fool will simply let it fall through their sieve without making something out of it. I was guilty of this once as well. Regret isn't often met with second chances."

"Sounds like a story." You poured yourself a full cup in anticipation.

"Perhaps another time, dear." He chuckled. "Tonight, I am just a listening ear."

You pursed your lip, a clearly dissatisfied look on your face. Zhongli was getting on your nerves all of a sudden. He was glancing at you with that constipated look again, like he had something he desperately wanted to say to you, but decided not to for some selfless reason.

It was not the first time, but you never actually considered the reason why your long-time rival would look at you with such an odd expression. You just assumed that, given how long the two of you have actually known each other and with the amount of genuine respect and admiration you held for him, Zhongli also held a comparable amount of, for lack of a better word, affection towards you. It was normal for rivals to be a bit smitten with each other. You have to actually like them enough to see them as a worthy opponent, right?

The further down this piping bag your mind went, the more defined your scattered thoughts became. What if Zhongli had always harbored a crush on you? All those competitions he participated in, all the events he attended, working at this teahouse, even that box of osmanthus cake Ningguang brought you seemed deliberate now. Were you just being delusional here, or had it been that obvious all along? Every interaction you've had with Zhongli started to look a little rosy now with the imaginary food coloring added.

Despite years of unfounded animosity from you, Zhongli had been a reassuring constant in your professional life. He encouraged you in a way that a lover couldn't. He challenged you to improve your craft and reach your potential. He genuinely believed in you, and you felt that in his every critique, even if they were harsh on the ears. Perhaps that was why you found yourself here, seeking solace in this teahouse instead of sulking in your own coffeeshop by yourself. Armed with the liquid courage you were pouring down your throat, you decided to face your suspicions and confront him.

"I know I'm not the most intuitive when it comes to this sort of thing…" You hiccupped. "You've been nothing but kind to me, even though I act like I hate your guts most of the time."

Zhongli chuckled at your unusual confession, confused as to where you were going with it. "If you truly despise me, you would not have confided in me tonight. In that light, you must see me as a friend in the least."

Friend. What a complicated yet simple word. It could mean someone you've met for only a day or it could be someone you've known for a lifetime. Take a step forward and the two of you could become lovers. Take a step back and the two of you would become strangers instead. Stay exactly where you were and nothing would ever change.

You shoveled a spoonful of chocolate cake into your mouth, mind too busy churning your thoughts around that you didn't realize you had grabbed Zhongli's spoon by accident. His eyes fell on your lips as you pulled it out clean. He swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away from the bit of chocolate cream clinging to the corner of your mouth.

"All this talk about the right person, fools, second chances… Are you trying to tell me something?"

"What would you have me say?" He deflected. "I'm afraid I don't—"

"You like me, don't you, Zhongli?"

You narrowed your eyes, daring him to look away. If he does, that instantly proves your hunch was right. Surprise flashes in his eyes, but he doesn't fall into your trap.

"Perhaps I do." He replied calmly as his gaze locked with yours.

"What do you mean, perhaps? You either do or you don't."

"You have something on your face, dear." He motions to that bit of chocolate cream that's been testing his self-restraint all this time.

"Don't change the subj—"

Zhongli reached out, hand cradling the back of your head as his lips descended on yours. He could taste the fruit wine on your lips as well as the cake. Decadent and indulgent, this kiss filled your head with whipping cream and turned the pit of your stomach into bubbling fondue. His tongue darted out to swipe away the chocolate crumb that had been teasing him.

"Is this a clear enough answer?" He breathed, pulling away.

You stared at Zhongli, half in shock and half in daze, chest heaving from having your breath stolen. Your heart raced, unprepared to get ambushed like that by him. A rosy pink dusted your cheeks, which he found even more alluring than that piece of chocolate cake. Of course, the kiss itself was unbelievably sweet, so sweet you immediately craved a second one.

"I need another one. For confirmation." You demanded, closing your eyes and puckering your lips.

Zhongli chuckled, feeding you another spoonful of cake. You ate it without opening your eyes, because you already knew his lips would follow. His tongue slid in, tasting the cake along with the cream on your lips.

He fed you bite after bite. You returned the gesture, sharing countless kisses with him in between. Gradually, you shifted from the seat beside him to his lap. There was just something so natural about falling into Zhongli’s arms, kissing him, getting lost in all the sweetness. He held you so carefully, like a fragile piece of pastry, taking his time and savoring every bit. It was a good thing you didn't just toss that chocolate cake. What a waste that would've been.

[jalshristovski]

Spy x Family fandom hellooooooo

This thought has been on my mind for a while now but I just thought I’d put it into a post and hear your thoughts.

Ok, hear me out: Yor is Eastern European coded

This thought mostly entered my brain when the episode about her learning to cook happened, but I feel there’s a couple other factors.

Firstly from the cooking episode, Camilla pointed out that she thought people from where Yor’s family came from would add sour cream to stews. Also, the stew itself sounds like it could be a different indirect take on other Eastern/Central European foods. That was the big thing, because firstly especially people from Poland and Ukraine (and I believe also Czechia, Slovakia, and Belarus but don’t quote me) put sour cream on just about anything. But also the known ingredients.

Another thing that tips me is the name ‘Yuri’ for Yuri Briar. Yuri is a Japanese name, yes, but it’s also a pretty common masculine given name in eastern Slavic countries, and I believe other former bloc countries in general. Also? The name Anya? Ostania specifically HAS to be Eastern European/Slavic. Fr.

The other biggest thing that tips me is the fact the entire situation is literally based on the Cold War. If I’m not mistaken, Westalis and Ostania are directly based off of East and West Berlin/Germany, and eastern Germany being the (not so open) opening to the eastern bloc.

One could also say it’s their appearances ass well, with westerners usually being seen with lighter hair and lighter eyes (like Loid) and Eastern Europeans with darker hair and darker eyes. Although that’s a little reaching lol.

Anywhooooo Yor and Yuri grew up in Ostania’s countryside which could very easily be somewhere that’s rural Poland coded or SOMETHING.

That’s all though, I had more but I literally cannot remember, if I do I’ll add them to the post but for now that’s it for this post (and I am totally not scraping the bottom for representation shut the fuck up) I hope you enjoyyyy

[spicerackofblorbos]

Chapter 4: February

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions, references to child abuse (to be continued as writing is ongoing)

☾ Author's note ➼ Hey guys! Happy (early) Valentine's Day! This would have been out much earlier but I figured since it's February, I would actually release it near the holiday the chapter is actually about. I'm so excited to finally release this into the wild! I'm in the process of working on March but I might take a break to work on some fluffy drabbles/one-shots because tis the season! I'll be back soon with more!

☾ Word Count ➼ ~8.5k (this one is even longer and I'm not even sorry about it)

Your bedroom floor is littered with piles of the clothes you spent the last hour trying on then discarding out of dissatisfaction. You and Hange were expecting company soon and you were standing in just your undergarments while staring into your almost empty closet in disdain. It felt as if you were 17 again, freaking out the morning before a school day because you were not comfortable with any of the fabrics in your wardrobe. You throw your hands up in the air and exhale loudly, thinking to yourself of how hopeless this endeavor was.

With people coming over, you wanted to try and dress up a bit. But in frustration, you opt for your usual wear of jeans and a baggy pullover sweater. Pulling your hair up in two little buns, you just grunt in acceptance. At least you were comfortable, which is the most important factor here. After slipping on a mismatched pair of socks, you pad back into the living room where Hange sat on the floor milling around on her work laptop.

‘Working again?’ You sign at them while passing them to the kitchen. You open a cupboard for a can of black tea. You were told Levi was coming over for the get together and you wanted to make sure there was tea ready. For everyone, of course, not just Levi. Or so you keep telling yourself.

“Just finishing up a couple documents is all. Did you make sure that we had the ingredients for the cookies today?” They mumble from behind the screen, their fingers zooming over the keyboard as they speak. Their eyes flick up at you as you sign a quick yes and they nod in response, shoving their face back into their reports.

You make quick work of the electric tea kettle, pushing the button to get the water boiling before tossing in a couple teaspoons of loose leaves in your favorite teapot. It was a gift from your foster-parents many years ago and it had golden bunnies hopping around on a light teal background. After the kettle shuts itself off, you pour the water into the teapot to steep then place the lid on top gently.

You then set forth to make sure your wipe-off board had fully stocked markers for tonight, placing them on the kitchen bar for you to reach easily. Texting might be faster, but a wipe-off board served better with a crowd of people so everyone could see what you were saying. When you’re satisfied with everything, you then turn to Hange.

It was past two in the afternoon, and they were still in their pajamas with a rat’s nest in place of their hair. Company was due soon and she was still tapping away, so you go up behind them and place your hands on their shoulders gently. She hums in response, not turning to you. You lean forward and place a hand on the laptop, and she stops. They cock their head up to look at you and their glasses glint off the afternoon sun coming through the dining room window. You furrow your brows at them and scrunch your nose.

“Can I help you?” She asks. Nodding, you release your hands to sign to her.

‘You need a shower.’ She purses her lips and averts her gaze.

“I have time, let me just finish this report first.”

‘No, shower first and then come back to this.’

“But-” You cut them off by pinching her cheek, not hard enough to bruise but enough to leave a mark.

‘Don’t make me throw you in the bath, you know I’ll do it.’ You smirk while raising an eyebrow at them. You’re met with an eyeroll, but she saves her work before shutting her laptop anyways. You kiss her forehead from above and then move back so they can stand up.

‘Thanks, don’t forget to wash your ass.’ You laugh silently and she just gives you a disgusted look before heading into her room, laptop under her arm. She flips you a bird before disappearing behind her door. You grin at yourself and then head back to the kitchen to set out some butter to soften.

For Valentine’s Day this year, Hange decided to throw a little party at your shared apartment. You just wanted to bake and watch stupid movies together, but they talked you into socializing. She had said something about today not being just for couples. She wanted to “celebrate singleness”, her words not yours. So of course, you were roped in because honestly, where else would you have to be? But that also meant she had invited quite a few people as well; a few coworkers and Erwin. And with Erwin, the invitation had spread to Miche and Levi. The latter of which you were excited for, no matter how much you told yourself it wasn’t such a big deal.

You smile at how close you and Levi had gotten in the past couple weeks, getting to know each other a little more as the days passed. It mainly consisted of texting each other little things you thought you’d both like or little hangouts at the café after hours. The café meetings were not anything new, of course, but they had a vastly different atmosphere than before. You chalk it up to the friendlier nature and usage of more words around each other.

You preoccupy yourself by pulling out the rest of the necessary ingredients and dishes needed for your baking adventure. One of the compromises Hange had made with you was the allowance of being able to still make your checkerboard cookies regardless of the plans. It was something you had picked up in the last couple years and it quickly became one of your favorite traditions. Hange did not refuse, which you think is mainly because she loved your baked goods and was looking forward to shoving them in her mouth. With that thought, you pull out another stick of butter to make a double batch just in case.

After a while, you place your hands on your hips and nod your head in satisfaction. Your ears pick up the sound of squeaking floorboards coming from Hange’s bedroom which signaled that she had finished bathing. Another noise comes from the front door with someone rapping on the hardwood. When you glance at the clock on the stove, it reads 2:47. Someone was a little early, you think to yourself as you saunter up to the door.

Pulling it open, you’re met with a smiling Erwin holding a small bundle of flowers and a bottle of wine. Miche flanks him with a box of canned beer under one arm, his other out to give you a hug which you run into instantly, making sure to do the same with Erwin. In the last month since their dinner party, it wasn’t just Levi you had gotten close to.

While you were already pretty comfortable with Erwin through your sister, Miche was a confidant you hadn’t expected to have. Throughout the passing days, you found that he was as technologically competent as he was as good of a chef. When he wasn’t behind a computer screen, he was often found sending you obscure recipes through late night text messages that he wanted to try with you.

‘I’m so glad you two could make it!’ You sign to them ecstatically, breaking out into a grin.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Erwin chirps as he winks down at you.

Taking a step back, you lead them through the door with your hand. You peep a quick glance behind them to make sure there was no one else coming. To your disappointment, there wasn’t. You shut the door behind the two men with a sigh. Hange must have talked to them beforehand about the apartment rules because they were quick to pull their shoes off at the door before walking more into the apartment.

You follow them into the living room as you check your phone. No new messages. You had sent Levi a text earlier this morning to see if he was planning to make it, but he had not responded. So, when Erwin places the flowers and wine down on the kitchen counter, you step up next to him to get his attention.

‘Thank you so much for bringing these.’ You hesitate for a moment as he looks down at you patiently. ‘Is Levi still coming?’ You stare up into his bright eyes, his lips twitching in amusement at your question.

“Yes, he is just running a little behind. He had a stop to make before making his way here.” He pats your head and you just blush. But you feel immensely better, knowing that Levi was coming for certain. To not waste the tea you’ve made, of course, you remind yourself. You grab the bouquet of flowers and take a big whiff of them, relishing the sweet scent.

Bending down into a counter beneath you, you grab a vase and get to work trimming the stems so you can place it on the dinner table. Miche is quick to place a couple of his beers in the fridge along with the wine Erwin brought so they would be cold for later.

‘What kind of beer did you bring?’ You sign towards Miche, Erwin translating for you.

“Oh, definitely not something you would like, even if you did drink. I saw it at the store and had to try it though. There’s peanut butter in it apparently.” Miche tilts his head towards the fridge. You make a grimace at him, and he chuckles.

“Hange had said to BYOB but I can’t imagine just having beer would be great, so I elected for something sweeter.” Erwin furrows his eyebrows at the very idea.

‘You do know BYOB doesn’t just mean beer, right? It’s just a figure of speech.’

“Wait, really?”

Just then, Hange comes out sporting a towel wrapped on their head as well as a t-shirt and jeans. They chose to go for the comfortable yet casual look too. She grins widely at the new company and runs to give them both a big hug as well.

“You guys made it!” She shrieks.

“We told you we would.” Erwin’s deep timbre responds back nonchalantly.

“Yeah yeah, but I still worried I ran you off with how much I talked about it. We’re going to have so much fun today!” Hange starts chattering away about the plans she had made for everyone. You giggle to yourself as you listen to them talk excitedly.

Since you weren’t one for alcohol, you always ended up as the mom for everyone, doubly so for your sister. She may be 5 years older than you, but you always felt like more of the responsible one. You didn’t mind it though. You figured it was a good payoff for everything else she does for you on a daily basis. Suddenly, another knock from the front door echoes down the hall and you’re quick to throw the metal bowl you just grabbed from the shelf down onto the counter before running to see who it is.

Much to your dismay, it’s not Levi. When you pull open the door, you see three people; Moblit Berner being one of them, whom you have seen many times since your move here. Hange’s coworkers are all carrying their own vice for tonight in their arms.

You give them a small smile in welcome and Moblit offers a friendly one in return. The two companions behind him consist of Nanaba, someone you have only met twice in passing, and another man, someone you have never seen before. You eyeball him apprehensively as you wave to Nanaba in hello, to which she does the same in response.

“Oh yeah, Onyankopon,” Moblit turns his head over his shoulder to refer to the man. “This is Hange’s little sister.” He says kindly. You wave at the stranger, still wary. The man named Onyankopon is very tall and broad chested with a crew cut that faded up his head. He gives you a big smile that warms up his entire face and speaks to you in a velvety tone.

“It’s nice to officially meet you. You know, your sister talks a lot about you.” His chocolate eyes are even warmer than his demeanor, and you can’t help but grin back at him with a blush, deciding he was okay. You side-step so they can funnel into the door. Your eyes linger down the hallway without meaning to, hoping to see a raven-haired man stalking up to the door. But it remained empty, so you shut it with another sigh and turn back to the ever-growing crowded apartment.

The company sat in various places in the living room while idle chatter filled the space. Some even opted for the floor, Hange being one of them. After a while, you had to remind your sister to take off the towel she had wrapped around her head because she was so engrossed in her conversation that she didn’t even notice it. It had dried for so long that her hair was even more frazzled than before. You just shook your head at her in amusement.

You make yourself busy with the cookies while everyone converses, the noise turning into buzzing. The living room was so cramped with bodies that you could barely breathe, so you found great solace in the kitchen. At this point you had donned on an apron that had floral designs vining their way to the top. It was an attempt to keep the inevitable mess from splattering on to you. While you loved to cook and bake, you were not neat about it in any capacity, but you found that to be the fun of it.

After turning the mixing bowl on to blend the sugar and butter, you turn to your now cold teapot and sigh. It had gone cold, but you hate to waste it; you decide to pour it into a sealable cup to make iced tea with it later.

You start to juggle the choices of either starting a new pot now or waiting until everyone has arrived when your ears perk up at another knock at the door. Your heart now racing at who it could be, you stare out to the living room over the half wall to see if anyone heard but no one had even turned their head. You shut off the mixer then wipe your hands on your apron as you make your way to the door. Taking a deep breath, you pull it open effortlessly.

You can’t keep your face from breaking out into a grin when your eyes fall on the short man with a deadpan expression standing in front of you. Levi. Furlan is there as well, waving at you from behind his friend. You mouth a ‘Hi’ to them both, barely containing the giddiness from the present company.

“Sorry we’re late. Not only did this jerk decide he was tagging along, but he also spent an ungodly amount of time getting ready.” Levi’s gruff voice speaks out to you as he tips his head to Furlan. You meet his soft gaze, and he winks playfully. Levi was wearing a snug, black long sleeve with even darker denim jeans. Your stomach flips as you force yourself to stare into Levi’s metallic eyes.

Waving them in the door, they follow suit and take their shoes off to place next to the pile already sitting by the door. Levi scoffs, no doubt annoyed by the messiness. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how dirty the apartment must look compared to his. After shutting the door behind them, you spin around and almost run right into Levi. You gasp in surprise and step back right into the door with a ‘thud’. Furlan was long gone, and you can hear his playful voice reverberating down the hall as he introduced himself to the rest of the company.

“Are you okay?” Levi asks, concern lacing into his deep voice. You laugh at yourself silently as he eyes you carefully. You nod and wave your hands dismissively at him to show you were indeed okay.

“Mm. I bought these for tonight. Where can I put them?” He shifts three large bottles of various sodas in his arms in awkwardness. His eyes avert from you as he speaks. You stare stunned for a moment as you realize he must have bought them specifically for you. Noticing you haven’t moved, his eyes shift back up to you with an eyebrow raised. Cracking a smile, you nod. The flips in your stomach hardly cease as you tip your head forward to signify where the kitchen was, passing him as well to lead the way.

After he places the bottles in the fridge, he closes the doors, and his eyes widen in surprise at the mess before him. You being you, there was flour everywhere and butter wrappers lie discarded by the mixer. Said mixer was surrounded by sugar from when you missed the bowl earlier. You look away sheepishly as you feel a hard stare at your face.

“Are you a toddler?” He asks, but there is no malice. It almost sounded as if he was amused.

Grabbing one of the wipe-off boards you placed in the kitchen earlier, you pop off a cap and start scrawling. 'Maybe.' Flipping it over to him with a shrug, you see the corners of his mouth twitch.

'Tea?' You point to your cluttered tea station. Levi turns to see an open tin of tea leaves and an empty kettle. He says nothing as he gets to work, doing it all before you can do anything. You gawk at his deft hands as he makes quick work of it all, like he was back in his cafe. Some of his hair fell in his face as his head hung low in focus. After gently placing the porcelain lid back on the pot, he turns back to you.

'You didn't have to do that, you know. I was mainly asking so I could start it.'

"Tch, I was already here. Besides, I'm probably faster at it." You can't argue on that, so you just shrug your shoulders at him again with a slight smile. He leans back against the kitchen counter and studies your face, and you feel your face bloom in heat. You place the board back down on the counter and point to your mess to show you were going to start back on the cookies. Tightening your hair buns, you then wash your hands and get back to work on the mixer, throwing in the ingredients as needed.

After a moment, you hear something rustling behind you and when you glance to the source, you see Levi pulling on the other apron that hung off the fridge. You stare at him curiously and he just tightens the drawstrings behind him as he meets your gaze.

"I'm helping." You hesitate but scoot over in response, and he steps up next to you. Your arms are almost touching, and it takes everything inside of you not to combust. So, you both get to work like that, side by side. The sounds of chatter and laughter from the rest of the group fade out as you both concentrate. You hand him the rest of the ingredients and he carefully pours them in the bowl. When everything is incorporated and set aside, you then measure out the other ingredients for the chocolate portion of the cookies. You don’t see it, but Levi just watches you patiently, admiring your meticulous yet messy way of making sure everything is accurate. When you glance up at him, he looks away quickly.

"Whatcha two up to?" A sly voice rings out after a while. Startled, you both jerk your heads up from the tray you two were placing raw dough cutouts on. It's Hange, leaning on the wall with their chin cradled in two cupped hands. They have a very cheeky grin plastering their face.

"What does it look like, Four-Eyes?" Levi snaps back dryly.

"Well, since you're asking me. It looks like you two are having fun." They wiggle their eyebrows at you and Levi just scoffs and averts his gaze. Your cheeks flare up again because you were definitely having fun, but you weren’t going to admit that. Hange tuts at you two and reaches over to pat you on the head lovingly.

"I just came over because you were both ignoring our calls." Looking over their shoulder, you see Erwin eyeballing you and Levi with a raised eyebrow. He takes a sip of his drink and looks away to keep talking to Moblit and Onyankopon. Nanaba, Furlan, and Miche broke out a deck of cards and are in the middle of a game of Poker.

'Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.' You sign to her, frowning.

"No worries, we were just wondering if you guys were hungry. We were thinking of pizza!" They clap their hands excitedly. They were always thinking of pizza, you laugh to yourself. Hange loves pizza so much that even the mere mention of its cheesy goodness would summon them right then and there. Your stomach rumbles just thinking about it as well, so you nod.

"I could eat." Levi states as he lifts his teacup to his lips, three fingertips on the rim. Him doing so reminds you of the cup Levi had poured for you that you had left to get cold. You lightly touch the sides of it, and it still feels warm. As you take a sip, you’re hit with the boldness of the leaf blend you had chosen as well as a perfect amount of sweetness. ‘Levi makes the best tea’, you think to yourself.

"Perfect, I'll get those ordered. We'll just stick to the basics, yeah?" She pulls out her phone and starts dialing the nearest pizza place while walking away to join everyone in the living room. Levi picks up the couple of trays filled with raw cookies and slides them into the pre-heated oven. When he turns around, you can't help but silently chuckle as you take a closer look at his face for the first time since you both started your venture.

There is a streak of cocoa powder on his forehead that starkly contrasts on his pale skin. You point to it and your shoulders bounce in silent laughter as he brings a hand up to it to rub the spot. His eyes go wide as he notices the brown powder that is now staining his fingers. He grabs the towel you had draped over the dishwasher to wipe it away, his ears turning pink. He turns away from you as he does.

You eye Levi as he folds the towel neatly and puts it back where he got it from, huffing under his breath. He then starts gathering the dirty dishes and piles them into the sink, tugging on the faucet to rinse them off. While he's busy on that, you begin wiping down the counters with a wet rag. Levi gives you a side-eye and you meet his gaze, giving him a warm smile. He looks away again to focus on a bowl he was currently spraying with hot water. As you stare at him for a second longer, you can’t help but think how well you two worked together.

You grab the board once more and write, ‘Thank you for your help. (:’ before flipping the board over to Levi as he dries his hands on the towel. His eyes trail the words, and he glances up at you with indifference.

“Mm.” He hums. His eyes flick over to the timer that was set on the stove as he leans back against the sink and takes another sip of his tea. The cookies had eight minutes left. It almost felt as if he was reading your mind because neither of you moved with the intention leaving the calm kitchen. When you look over to the living space, you see everyone talking over each other in lively conversation. Onyankopon is pointing at the small fish tank that sat nestled in the corner of the room as he shouts over to Hange, who is in the middle of cleaning off the coffee table.

“Hange, I didn’t know you had fish.” He bends down to take a closer look at the two little fish darting around shifting plants.

“Oh yes, they’re my little babies!” She stands straight up and jumps over to the tank and continues as she points at the respective tetras. “This one is Sonny and this one is Bean!” You can’t help but chuckle internally at your over enthusiastic sister. Ever since you both moved to Jinae, Hange really wanted pets. They had requested a dog, but they were too overwhelming for you. She wasn’t really around enough to be able to spend time with them anyways which meant most of it would fall on to you and you weren’t okay with that. So, you both compromised on her getting a couple fish to start out with and would think about the notion again later. Thus far, Hange has been very content with them and hasn’t asked for anything else.  

“They’re gorgeous, Hange.” Onyankopon compliments as he stares at the tank. Hange slaps him on the shoulder in appreciation and starts rambling off the reasons why she chose tetras and all the research she did on them.

“That’s it, boys. I win!” Nanaba shouts from the dining table, slamming her cards onto the hard surface. Furlan and Miche groan in frustration, the latter rubbing his face in exhaustion.

“I swear you’re cheating.” Furlan sits back in his chair as he places his own hand down.

“I second that.” Miche leans over to stare at her cards and just sighs. Dejected, he gets up and wanders towards the bathroom, almost running into Erwin as he emerges from that same direction.

“C’mon guys, at least I vetoed any betting.” She calls out, smirking as she piles the cards up and starts shuffling them.

“You just did that out of pity.” Nanaba just cackles maniacally at Furlan’s dispirited comment.

“Hange, there are too many men in here.” She twists in her chair to face your sister who turns to acknowledge Nanaba’s complaint.

“Psh, I’ll drink to that.” And she does, holding her drink up in cheers and takes a big gulp. You roll your eyes, but you agree. There were way too many men in your apartment right now. Just then, there’s a knock at the door and Hange stands up quickly, face alert like a meerkat in the African wilderness.

“Pizza!” They yell and then they’re off to the front door, a wad of cash in hand.

At the same time, the timer goes off with a soft beeping and you’re quick to grab the oven mitts to pull the trays out. You gingerly place the trays on the stovetop to let them cool and Levi reaches past you to turn off the oven, his face in your periphery as you glance to the side. His movements waft his scent straight into your nose and you find yourself breathing it in deeply. He smelled of clean laundry with a hint of body wash. It isn’t overpowering in the slightest and you revel in it.

“You two are missing out on the fun cooping up in here.” Someone speaks out behind you two as they walk through the archway to the kitchen. You both jump at the voice and turn to see Erwin holding an armful of empty alcohol containers.

“Tch, it beats being surrounded by a bunch of loud mouths.” Levi counters, turning back to the cookies to inspect them. You reach over to grab the trash can and hold it up to Erwin for him to dump the trash. Hange comes in behind him and places four stacked pizza boxes on the counter next to you. You stare at your sister in awe and sign, ‘That’s a lot of pizza.’

“I know but I didn’t know how hungry everyone was. Besides! Leftovers.” They give another cheeky grin, and you just playfully punch her arm. Reaching up in the cupboard behind you, you grab a handful of plates for everyone as well a cup for you, now realizing how parched your throat was.

“Oi, grab me one too.” Levi asks next to you, so you grab another after setting what you held down first. When you turn to hand it to him, he’s a lot closer than you expected and accidentally hit him in the side of the head with the glass in hand. He doesn’t even flinch. He’s looking up at you with knit eyebrows and a thin line in place of his lips.

“Ow.” You hear Erwin and Hange stifling laughter as they organize the pizza boxes.

You set the cup down and start signing frantically, ‘I’m sorry.’ over and over again. You place both of your hands on his face and tilt it so you could get a better look at the spot where you hit him, filled with relief when you find no visible damage. You’re in such a panic that you don’t even notice his stunned disposition. Your hands feel so warm against his cool skin, and it’s so soft. You realize what you’re doing after a moment and let your arms drop to your side, mouthing an apology and stepping away from him.

“It’s fine. I didn’t realize how long your arms were.” He mumbles as he walks over to the fridge without another word, cup in one hand, his other pressing against the spot where you smacked him. How long your arms were? That was such a weird thing to say. Flustered, you grab the plates and shuffle them over to the counter with the pizza. Now that they have opened the boxes, you get a closer look at the options.

There were a couple cheeses, one pepperoni, and one pineapple. Your eyes light up and you gaze at Hange with adoration, forgetting what just happened mere moments ago. They wink at you then call for everyone to plate up ‘while it’s hot’.

Yes, you ate pineapple on your pizza. It first began as a joke just to spite those who turned it down, but then you found out you actually enjoyed the taste. There was something about the sweet and savory flavors that blended perfectly.

Levi comes over with two glasses and hands one with what looked to be a dark cola to you. You mouth a ‘thank you’ as you watch his face twist in disgust as he eyes the boxes in front of him. “Are those pineapples?” Levi leans in for a better look, eyebrows knit.

“Pineapples?!” Furlan rushes over from the table to look at the pizza, the new poker game forgotten. “Alright, who’s the one who asked for them?” He looks around the room and spots you with your hand raised in the air.

“Oh my gosh I could hug you right now. Pineapple on pizza is the best!” He exclaims. He leans over the half wall to marvel at it and then looks back up to you with a massive smile. Levi clicks his tongue and grabs a slice out of the cheese box then makes his way into the living room. You can’t help but feel sad at the sudden absence.

.

“Okay, okay. My turn. Hange. Your obsession with zombies, what the fuck is up with that?” Nanaba leans on the coffee table in anticipation. Your sister just cackles and sits up straight as they push their glasses up their nose with a finger. There’s a glimmer in their eyes.

“That’s hardly a difficult question. I grew up watching zombie movies and I just need to know how they tick. Like what kind of sorcery goes into making them do the things they do?!”

“Hange, they’re fictional creatures, there’s no science that could ever explain that!” Moblit shouts from next to her, exhausted. Hange just laughs and goes on a tangent about possible ways to make and cure zombies, but you zone out as it’s a conversation you have had with them for many years. Looking around the table, you smile to yourself. Tonight has been such a fulfilling evening for you. Being around familiar faces as well as getting to know new ones brought more joy to you than you expected. Not to mention this ridiculous game you were all playing that made your face ache from laughter.

Miche had come up with a game called “What the fuck is up with that?” as a way to wind down from such a big dinner. Players ask someone something personal about their life and follow it with ‘what the fuck is up with that?’ and if they refuse to answer it, they have to take a drink. It honestly felt like a more cracked version of “Truth or Dare” but it was fun, nonetheless. You, of course, nursed soda in your hands instead of alcohol so you were the most sober one here.

So far, no one was really trashed. Tipsy, definitely; There were some words that were starting to slur. What surprised you the most was Levi’s soberness in comparison to everyone else considering how many times he had to take a drink. It figures that any questions directed to him, he opted for silence. You do, however, notice his cheeks were ever so slightly flushed when you glance at him next to you. He radiated an aura of relaxation, which you can’t help but assume is a rare thing for him. He turns to meet your gaze, not looking away after what felt like a good minute.

“Okay okay, we get it Hange. Enough!” Your attention is snapped back into the present company, and you break eye contact to see Onyankopon laughing and throwing a balled-up napkin at Hange’s face to shut her up.

“Fine, sorry! Hmm…” Their eyes wander on the people sitting in the circle with them until they land on Furlan’s face. “Alright, Furlan. You! You’re single and you’re extremely attractive. What the fuck is up with that?” Everyone’s attention shifts to Furlan’s bright red face.

“What the fuck is up with the singleness or the attractiveness?” His voice sounds an octave higher.

“Well, both, obviously, dumbass.” Nanaba pitches in.

“I well. Uh.” His eyes flicker to yours and then look away just as quickly. “I just haven’t found what I was looking for yet, I guess. And for the attractiveness, I just am?” He shrugs his shoulders and laughs nervously. He takes a sip of his drink anyways as he averts his gaze to anything but the people in front of him.

“Hmmm. I don’t know if I’m okay with that answer, but I’ll let it slide. Okay, you pick the next one!”

“Oh okay, uhh.” His eyes travel around until they lock eyes with you again. “The berry nickname. What the fuck is up with that?” Everyone’s gaze now shifts on you. You realize that Hange had called you her ‘little berry’ in front of everyone but had never really given an explanation. You bite your bottom lip and start scrawling on your board. Everyone waits for you patiently and a wave of gratitude washes over you. They really were a great group of friends.

‘When I was younger, I used to steal Hange’s berries from their parfaits.’ You flip the board, and everyone is silent as they read. They burst into laughter one by one, Hange included. Even Levi’s scarred mouth has an upturn. You couldn’t give the full story because it would be too long for you to write, but growing up in the foster system meant you were deprived of a lot of good things, one of those being fresh fruit. So, when the night came when the Zoe’s officially adopted you and they wanted to celebrate with parfaits, you went absolutely feral. You had never tasted anything like fresh berries before and they quickly became your favorite thing in the world, next to your sister of course.

“You guys should have seen her for the month after that. All she wanted was berries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She prefers strawberries, but we don’t discriminate here. All berries are valid!” She yells, taking another sip of her drink. You laugh silently along with them and start thinking of the next victim. After a few moments, you scribble down what was on your mind. Then you point to Erwin and his eyes bulge at the sudden movement but straightens up anyways, clearing his throat.

‘So Erwin, I notice you’ve been taking my sister out for drinks quite often. Your relationship with them, what the fuck is up with that?” You smile innocently at your sister’s composed face.

“Psh, easy.” He pats your sister on the head and Hange just laughs in response, swatting at it. “You of all people know how fun she is to be around. More so when she’s drunk. She’s a great karaoke partner.” They clink the bottles they had in their hands together and smile at each other. You furrow your eyebrows and stick your tongue out.

‘Boooooooo.’ You write and your sister just shoves your shoulder.

“C’mon, you can’t seriously think there’s anything happening between this,” Hange wiggles their index finger in between her and Erwin. “Like really. We’re definitely not each other’s type.”

Miche snorts and mutters something under his breath but you can’t hear the words. Erwin chuckles and nods in agreement then takes another sip of his drink as he surveys the faces in front of him. They land on Levi and his gray eyes bore into Erwin’s crystal blue.

“Hey Levi…” Erwin has a smirk playing on his lips as he stares at his best friend. “I notice you’ve been smiling when you look down at your phone recently. What the fuck is up with that?” Erwin’s eyes sparkle mischievously. Levi just scoffs but you gawk at him with wide eyes, along with Furlan and Hange. Levi doesn’t smile. Sure, you can always tell when he’s fighting it. But you’ve never seen his curt demeanor break into joy.

Levi narrows his eyes on Erwin then answers with a big swig of his glass, finishing off the contents in it as he continues to stare at his friend. Levi’s face is certainly more flushed than before, the tips of his ears bright red as well. He looks away, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Booooooo!” Hange echoes what you had exclaimed earlier.

“Leeeeeviiii! Are you talking with someone?! I thought you were mine.” Furlan pouts, arms crossed.

“It’s none of your goddamn business.” Levi’s voice is brusque. He gets up from his spot quickly and takes his empty glass to the kitchen.

“What do you mean? I think your friends deserve to know.” Hange sits up on their knees to call over to Levi’s backside.

“Then we’re not friends.” He says and disappears down the hall to the bathroom.

“Is he always like that?” Nanaba questions as she finishes her own drink as she stares down the hallway.

“Yes, it’s very normal for him.” Erwin states matter-of-factly, chuckling at the rise he got from Levi.

“Short and angry. It’s quite the combo.” Onyankopon cuts in, grinning.

You fidget with the wipe-off marker as you think about how he reacted. It wasn’t very surprising to you. Levi is a very private man when it comes to such things. All of the conversations you had with him were still on a fundamental surface layer. You knew better than to ask anything deeper for fear of him shutting you out, like he just did with Erwin’s question. Levi, at least, didn’t sound angry right now, but you suspect it was because it was someone so close to him asking such a question. If it was you… then. Well, you were scared of what he might do from such an intimate question.

“Yanno what, it’s probably about that time I head out. It’s getting pretty late.” Moblit chimes in as he starts to get up from his spot on the floor.

“Whaaat!? We still have one more thing left to do. Besides, it’s literally,” Hange takes a glance at the clock on the wall. “10:30. Just a little longer??” They clasp their hands as they beg, staring up at her friend.

“I must agree with Moblit here, we need to submit our report before the end of this week.” Onyankopon replies as he gets up as well. He squeezes Hange’s shoulder as he speaks with a slight smile. Hange sticks her bottom lip out.

“Fine, fine. But just know, you’re missing out on only the greatest tradition ever: Making fun of stupid romance movies.”

“I wanna do that!” Nanaba cuts in, laughing at the idea.

“Nanaba, we’re literally your ride home.” Moblit calls out from the dining room as he pulls on his winter jacket. Grabbing Nanaba’s as well, he makes sure to pick up the deck of cards they brought and shoves it into her jacket pocket.

“Boo.” She gets up clumsily and huffs. “You two are no fun.”

“What she said.” Hange says, sticking her tongue out again.

“Seriously though, Hange. Great party. We had a really good time.” Onyankopon compliments as he zips up his own coat. At this point, everyone is standing up as they talk to each other. You glance over and notice that Miche is getting ready to leave too.

‘You’re going too?’ You scrawl to him quickly.

“Ah yes, unfortunately IT never takes a break.” He mutters to you solemnly as you go in to give him a tight hug. “Are we still on for next Wednesday?” You nod at him with a cheerful grin. “Great, I’ll see you then.” He ruffles your hair and walks past to say goodbye to everyone else.

After a few more goodbyes, it’s just you, Hange, Erwin, and Furlan standing in the living room. Your sister and Erwin were conversing about what movie to watch as Furlan shuffles up next to you. Levi still hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet.

“I bet he’s taking a shit.” His blasé statement makes you giggle uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you do. You hold your hand to your mouth to compose yourself as you give Furlan such a bewildered look. He just winks at you.

“Furlan, I’m going to kick your ass.” Levi’s sharp voice cuts in behind you both and it makes you both jump.

“Hey now, I was just kidding.” Furlan’s voice wavers as he takes a step back. You wave at Levi with a warm smile, but he just averts his gaze and goes to sit down on the sofa, one leg crossed on his knee. Biting your cheek, you go and find a spot on the floor, making sure to put a pillow under your butt for comfort. Hange and Erwin are flicking through a bunch of streaming apps trying to find the chosen movie for tonight.

“Ah okay, I know what we’re doing!” Hange slaps their hands together in finality. Erwin makes his way to the armchair and sits back with a heavy sigh.

“Not my first choice.” He says, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

“Oh c’mon. Everything about it screams bad romance. Plus, it’s the worst out of all of them.”

“Hange, you never cease to amaze me.” Furlan states as he takes the spot next to Levi.

Twilight: New Moon? Really? In your heart of hearts, you couldn’t completely hate Twilight as you were practically obsessed with it in your late teens. But you had to agree, it wasn’t the best out of the five films. It’s like Hange knew what you were thinking because they stare directly into your eyes and wiggle their eyebrows at you teasingly. You roll your eyes, and she chuckles.

“Move it, sis. I’m going for the spot behind you.” Hange slips past you to sit on the couch right next to Levi’s other side. You back up so you’re sandwiched in between Hange’s legs, and you yawn with the added warmth. You had a fleeting thought of not being able to finish the movie before falling asleep. How right you were. You don’t even make it past Bella’s dream sequence, drifting off into your own little world. The smell of clean laundry and musky body wash permeates your senses as you do.

.

Levi isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Even if it was something he was interested in, his focus could not be kept on the screen. Levi felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest as he felt the weight of you leaning against his bad leg. Your soft cheek pressed into his knee while you slept soundly. His joints have been aching for the last hour, but he would sooner touch fire before disturbing you. He couldn’t see your face very well from this angle, but he could only assume how peaceful you looked right now. Your hair is still in buns, but they were much messier than before from the activities of the day, hair falling every which way.

As you sighed softly in your sleep, his mind raced with everything that had happened today. From the ecstatic look in your eyes when you opened the front door to when you had gently cradled his head in your warm hands after hitting him on accident, making sure you didn’t hurt him. He still felt tingles of your touch shooting through his nervous system from that. And making cookies with you, he had more fun than he could admit. You were so meticulous and careful, albeit chaotic in your ways. He found it so endearing.

 Then that damn Erwin asking that stupid question. Erwin knew and still egged him on. Of course, it was you; you were the reason why his heart and stomach did flips whenever he heard his phone vibrate. He wouldn’t allow anyone to know that though, especially you. Not when you already seem so entwined in other people’s lives.

Levi hadn’t missed Furlan’s interest in you. His longtime friend often stated that he wanted to get to know you even more. Not to mention Furlan’s tactless ways of wanting to include you in everything he made plans to do. It seemed as if you weren’t aware of his intentions though, so maybe he wasn’t clear enough. Levi hopes you never pick up on it.

And of course, there was Miche. What kind of relationship did you have with him? Levi didn’t mishear how you had plans with him next week. And the intimate touching? What was that all about? The relationship with Miche did not seem romantic from his viewpoint, but then again.

Levi was never the jealous type, or so he thought. He found that any attention aimed at you ruffled him. What about you made him feel like this? He scoffs under his breath, not able to look away from the back of your head. Hange stops munching on the cookie in her hands and turns at the sound, now noticing you fast asleep on Levi’s knee.

“Want me to take her for you?” They whisper to Levi, shifting to stand up.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want you to miss out on prime Eduardo and Beatrice or whoever the fuck these people are.” Levi waves his hand dismissively and carefully gets up, making sure to move your head so it doesn’t flop forward. “Which one is her room?” He asks as he stares down at Hange. They regard him in curiosity but smile regardless.

“The door with the sakuras on them.” Levi nods and bends down to effortlessly pick you up despite his smaller frame, cradling you as your head falls back. You’re deeply asleep at this point, he assumes, because you make no motion from the disturbance. Levi feels the stares from Furlan and Erwin as he steps over everyone to make it to the set of bedroom doors down the hall.

As he delicately places you on your bed, he starts to pull the soft comforter up to cover you but then you shift in your sleep, making him pause. With the confirmation of your sleep-induced heavy breathing, he pulls the blanket up the rest of the way and takes a long look at your soft features. The peace that radiated off your face was something he delighted in. How beautiful you were to him.

On his way out, he steps slowly to the door, being mindful of his surroundings as he goes. He spots a couple of framed pictures that littered your cluttered desk. One catches his eye in particular; It’s a photo of when you were very young, maybe 5 or so. He takes a step forward for a closer look, minding the creaking floorboards carefully. An unsettling feeling runs cold in his veins as he recognizes the family that surrounded you as well as the house in the background. He knew that family and he knew that house, and he came to realize he knew you as well.

A flashback hits him like a brick. One of him and the boy in the photo, your brother, playing outside until the sunset. Of you yelling for him with your small voice that it was time for dinner and that he needed to come home. Of your little pigtails completely askew as you cried after falling on the gravel due to a skateboard accident from when him and your brother tried to teach you how to balance on it. Of him giving you a flower to distract you from the pain and your bleeding kneecaps. Of having to move away because his good for nothing father threatened his mom and Levi had warned him to try. Of you and your family waving goodbye as he stared from the rear window, the view of your tear-streaked face getting smaller and smaller as his mom drove away.

He had forgotten all about you, and it seemed you had forgotten about him. A breath hitches in his throat and he turns to look back at you, your face scrunched up from a dream as you pull the blankets closer. No wonder he felt compelled to you, almost like he needed to protect you. With a soft sigh, he creeps slowly to the door and slips out before shutting it close behind him.

You roll over in your sleep, sighing again, the night of the fire haunting your dreams.

☾ Previous Chapter: January ☾ Next Chapter: March

[hazz-a-bear]

T H E S I X — all our good years are left behind.

meet one direction.

masterlist. wattpad.

──── ★

Born on the 24th of December, 1991, LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON is the oldest child of Johannah Deakin. Being the oldest son in a family of seven, Louis is a brother to six siblings - Charlotte, Felicite, Daisy, Phoebe, Ernest and Doris, by name. As a little kid, Louis grew up in the city of Doncaster, Yorkshire.

At the age of 18 going 19, Louis decided to try out for the seventh season of X-Factor after a small game of truth or dare between a couple of friends.

₊ ⊹

+ In the current day, Louis is in his 30s. Louis is a father to an adorable seven-year-old, Freddie. Louis is a world-renowned solo artist with more than millions of fans. Although quite underrated for some's liking, Louis is admired worldwide for his amazing vocal skills and his genuine love towards his fans. Selling out arena after arena around the world, Louis has brought rock music to the surface with his own unique ingredient to it. He is known for his amazing connection with his fans, or Louies, in general. Louis and Louies are like petals to a flower, honey to a bee and a heart to a man. They share their love through middle fingers, pride flags and ripping Louis' shirts on tour.

Although the people he gave his heart to and his happiest years are left behind, he still manages to put a sunshine smile on his face and put his best out there for his fans, for his family, for his only love.

──── ★

Born on the 12th of January, 1993, ZAYN JAVAAD MALIK was the third child of Trisha Malik. Being the only son of the family, Zayn is a brother to three sisters - Saafa, Doniya and Walihya, by name.  As a tiny kid, Zayn grew up with his family on the west side of Yorkshire, Bradford to be precise.

On a sunny morning in June 2010, 17-year-old Zayn was dragged out of bed by his beloved mother so he won't be late for his X-Factor auditions.

₊ ⊹

+ As of 2023, Zayn lies lowkey. He is a man who has found himself after society stripped him of his mental health, talent and confidence. He is a great father for his day one, Khai Malik. He is a quiet artist to his fans. Zquad, or his solo fandom, still roots for him any way they are able to, caring for him, defending him and loving him unconditionally. Although the chances of Zayn appearing in public is rare, his fans are true to him. And Zayn never takes their love for granted as he knows how hurtful it is to do so. Zayn and Zquad are tied together by a red string of love, trust and understanding.

Now at the beginning of his 30s, he's come a long way and he still has a long way to go, but Zayn Malik puts self-care first and everything else second. He can't afford to get hurt for a second time in this cruel industry and his fans are well aware and are willing to give their lives if it means he is happy.

──── ★

Born on the 29th of August, 1993, LIAM JAMES PAYNE was the youngest child of Karen Payne and Geoff Payne. Being the only son in a family of three, Liam is a younger brother to Ruth and Nicola. Little Liam's hometown was supposedly Wolverhampton in the west midlands of England.

In 2008, Liam auditioned on X-Factor, season six, as a fearless and confident kid. Having been shut down by Simon Cowell, he returned to fulfil his wishes of participating again in the seventh season in 2010.

₊ ⊹

+ Liam is a 30-year-old man who has had his ups and downs as of 2023. Often recognized to be mistreated by certain people, management and authorities, Liam has quite a conflicting reputation. Nevertheless, he is an artist who is equally surrounded by millions of loving fans who always look out for him and put their whole trust in him. He is admired globally for his amazing connection with his fans. Always putting them first, Liam is quick to check up on his fans at any time of the day. His fans are always by his side, basking in the love he gives them and vice versa.

Liam Payne still needs to work on putting himself first, but he is admired by millions of people as he has gone through a lot more than what a teenager should go through. Regardless of the misjudgement, he's facing in media, Liam still tries to be there for everyone, he and his angel smile.

──── ★

Born on the 13th of September, 1993, NIALL JAMES HORAN was the second child of Maura Horan and Bobby Horan. Being the youngest son of the Horan family, Niall is a brother to Greg Horan. As a cheery kid from Ireland, Niall grew up in the beautiful meadows of the Irish Republic town, Mullingar.

In 2010, X-Factor first brought its' auditions to Dublin, Ireland. 17-year-old Niall was more than determined to sacrifice everything and take advantage of this opportunity to try out his shot with X-Factor ( and maybe Katy Perry as well? )

₊ ⊹

+ By 2023, Niall has considered himself to be a professional golfer, a cardigan collector and a skincare influencer rather than a singer. The almost 30-year-old is thriving on social media platforms with his finger guns, cocktails and Lewis Capaldi. And might I say his fans, Lovers ( Or Horn Dogs, your pick ) are just as happy with his approaches and entertaining content. But truly, Niall is renowned for his amazing music as well as his voice. The industry sees him as a genuine and laidback artist who puts his family and fans before everything and goes to an extreme extent to put a smile on their faces.

Niall Horan is one of the members of One Direction who has really healed and found himself after all the bricks thrown at him. Although he had been treated wrongly by the world, he has put those thoughts aside and still treats everyone with love and utter kindness.

──── ★

Born on the 1st of February, 1994, HARRY EDWARD STYLES is the second child of Anne Twist.  Being the youngest son of the family, Harry is the younger brother to Gemma Styles. As a kid, Harry grew up with his mother and sister in the small village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire, England.

16-year-old Harry only signed up for X-Factor in 2010 to get some honest feedback and reviews about his voice and perhaps, just because a friend was trying it out as well.

₊ ⊹

+ By 2023, Harry is one of the members who has reached his peak of success. Being on the edge of his 20s, Harry has an army of fans behind him with pride flags in their hands, boas around their neck and heart-shaped sunglasses over their eyes. Harry is the epitome of fashion and music of the present time, he is the talk of the town, and his music is at the top of the Billboard charts, his fans, Harries, are an uncontrollable fandom. But yet, Harry doesn't seem as close with his dear fans. Harries doesn't mind though, not at all, it makes sense as the media directed at him isn't the kindest. His unconditional love and support and ass-shaking music are enough to be called fanservice and keep them going. All his fans ever want is for him to be comfortable, open and proud of himself.

On the outside, Harry is a man all about love and kindness. His motto in life is to be himself and show his true self to others. But yet, maybe there is more to the story. As much as successful as he is career-wise, he might just need to look back on a quite unsuccessful job at loving and not hurting the people who have been with him since the beginning.

──── ★

Born on the 28th of November, 1994, RUHI AVIANA RAE was the second child of Soniya Fernando and Jonathon Rae.  Being the only daughter of the family, Aviana is a sister to Alden Rae. From age one to eleven, Aviana grew up with her family in the bustling south asian city of Colombo, Sri Lanka. Then, the Rae family migrated back to England before taking residency in Hampstead Heath, Greater London.

In 2010, then 15-year-old Aviana went out of her way to join the  X-Factor auditions without her parents' initial knowledge as she was only presented with the chance to audition by her school as a prize for her performance.

₊ ⊹

+ As of 2023, 28-year-old Aviana ( now, Fernsby ) is considered to be the biggest pop star in the world. With an out-of-the-world discography, a couple hundred music awards and a core fan base just as strong as her, the name Aviana is laced on the tongue of every single person around the world. With her melancholic, psychological and music you can relate on a level that's kind of concerning, Aviana is considered the IT girl of the 21st century. Despite being a very in-demand and famous artist, Aviana still makes time to connect with her fans, as much as she can even if it's sharing a small video of her trying to make breakfast for herself. Although Aviana's music is scattered from pop rock to bedroom indie to melancholic ballads, her fans are right behind her, supporting her in her every move with their feathery angel wings, halos and sparkling wands in hand.

Despite being on top of the Billboard charts almost all year, Aviana still has a long way to when it comes to self-discovery and correction. She still needs time to figure out who she really is after being tossed aside by one too many people on multiple occasions. And there's no doubt that her fans will be by her side through every step of that.

──── thank you.

[phoenixyfriend]

Chef/Diner sims are unironically a great way to teach younger people the basics of project management and planning/scheduling.

You have this much time to do a thing. This part can be done and sit indefinitely (prepping ingredients). This part needs to be addressed within X time upon completion or there are constraints (taking it off the burner). These two parts need to finish within two seconds of each other (the food of the first will start to go cold) but they take different amounts of time to complete so you need to plan out the order in which you start them. You need to order in new ingredients and the resupply takes time so you have to factor that into your planning, because sometimes multiple tasks require the same ingredients and you only have the one unit left.

You juggle timing, supply, consequences, prioritization, lots of stuff!

Maybe business schools should just require undergrads to get a neopets account. They do have an entire economic simulator with stocks and shops and so on ...

[moonlightspencie]

eyes full of stars

Part 6 of ‘the sweetest con’

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: we get a bit more progression in the next chapter— stay tuned!!

<- PART FIVE

“This is it,” she said as we stepped out of her vehicle. 

I hadn’t yet thought about the fact that at some point I’d have to get my car back from the parking garage at Quantico. At that moment, it was definitely a back-burner thought. She smiled back at me, waiting for me to follow her to the door. I obliged, stepping inside the small building with her and immediately being hit in the face with the smell of fresh food. I was much more hungry than I’d realized. 

“What do you recommended?” I asked, looking at the sprawling menu. 

She had plans, however, and started an order as if she’d rattled it off a hundred times before. Maybe she did. She only paused to make sure I was okay with the ingredients on the tacos she was ordering, then finished it up and paid before I could protest. 

“Come on,” she said, leading me to a table. 

I trailed along, sitting in the seat across from her as she took off her jacket. 

“What do I owe you?” I asked, watching as she picked up the two empty cups I hadn’t noticed before. 

She laughed. “Nothing. My treat, Hotchner.”

“I’m not letting you pay for—“

“It’s women’s history month, you’re going to let me pay.”

I laughed in shock. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, unable to stop herself from laughing at the silly joke. “Do you like horchata?”

I stopped myself laughing, though a smile stuck to my face as I told her I did. She walked to the drink station, filling up the cups to the brim and expertly walking back to me. 

“What, were you a waitress in a past life?” I teased as she set down the cups. 

“I did waitress for a couple years, actually.”

I raised a brow. “Really?”

She sat across from me. “Yep. Hated every second of it.”

I laughed again, then took a sip of the drink she’d brought me. 

“I can’t imagine you hating a job where you get to talk to people all day.”

She shrugged. “The talking was great. The incessant flirting was not. People get real brave when they think someone has to be nice to them.”

“Oh,” I nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I got through it, it just made me really uncomfortable.”

“And then you came and had to deal with Morgan,” I said with a chuckle. 

She laughed again. “He’s a whole different breed, though.”

I hummed, looking at her again. She smiled at me, noticing the smile still stuck on my own face. At the moment I realized we’d probably been staring too long, a tray was set down in front of us. She thanked the waitress by name, then explained what she’d ordered, putting extra emphasis on the fresh salsa. She lit up talking about it all as if nothing could be more special. 

“You really love it here,” I said, more as a statement than a question. 

“I do,” she nodded. “I’ve been coming here constantly since I was in the academy, and moving into an apartment so close was a dream. Comfort food.”

I smiled again, unable to stop myself from it. 

“I can’t help but wonder if that was a deciding factor in which apartment you chose.”

“It wasn’t,” she smiled as she finished preparing her food. “That was just a blessing all for me.”

We started eating, though it took much longer than we anticipated as we did more talking than eating. I didn’t realize until it was too late that we were only halfway through when we started getting stared down from the counter. I checked my watch, seeing we only had five minutes until close. 

“What?” she asked, noticing my face shift. 

“It’s almost closing time,” I said, voice unintentionally quieter now. 

“Shoot,” she sighed, looking at everything left over. 

She suddenly got up, getting some takeout boxes from the woman at the front counter. She packed up the rest of our food, only looking at me again once it was finished. 

“Wanna go back to my apartment and finish this up?”

“You’re sure?” I asked, skeptical. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? We’ve still each got a taco and half our chips and salsa.”

I smirked. “Very convincing.”

“I also have a ton of DVDs and blankets,” she said, hiding a smile. 

I stood. “At least until we finish the food. I can’t promise anything after that. We do have work tomorrow.”

“At least stay till the end of the movie,” she bargained, helping me pick up the boxes. “You can’t make me leave in the middle of a movie to take you back.” 

I paused. “Shoot. I’m sorry, I completely forgot about my car.”

“That’s okay. I really don’t mind at all.”

I nodded after a beat, then we left and got back into her car. We drove off towards her apartment, and she wasn’t kidding about it being close. It was only five minutes until we were getting out again, and walking into her building. 

“This is nice,” I commented as we entered the lobby.”

“It is. It’s a good place to live. I feel safe.”

“Good.”

We rode the elevator up to her floor, and she soon let me into her apartment. I looked around briefly, noticing a lot of warm tones. We took off our shoes and jackets, then she led me further inside. 

“You can go ahead and make yourself at home on the couch. Or pick out a movie,” she said, already walking with our boxes to what I assumed to be the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

I nodded, spotting the shelf full of DVD’s. I looked through them, smiling at the selection. I picked out one that I hadn’t seen in a while, hoping it was one she would like, if anything for the fact that I would choose it. I spotted the DVD player, and inserted the disc, getting the movie to the introduction so that she wouldn’t see the menu beforehand. 

She came back out a moment after I finally sat down, a plate in one hand that held both tacos, and a bowl in the other with chips. 

“I still have to get the salsa and drinks, but I’ll be right back,” she said, running off again. 

She came back a moment later with a bowl of salsa in her arm, and two cups in her hands. I took the bowl so that it didn’t drop, helping her set down the drinks as well. 

“I don’t exactly keep horchata in my apartment most days, so I hope water is okay.”

“That’s perfect,” I said with a nod. “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” she smiled softly, plopping herself down on the couch next to me. 

I pressed play on the movie, smiling when she started laughing. 

“Clueless? Really?”

“I am not ashamed of the choice,” I said with finality, taking up my taco as she started on the chips. 

“I love it,” she said, nudging my leg with her knee. 

We sat and watched the movie, finishing the rest of our food by the halfway point. She told me every fun fact about the movie and the actors she could think of as it went, and I made sure to listen to every word. Though, suddenly, I jolted.

My eyes opened to the movie’s menu screen, and I blinked a few times to adjust to the light. I turned my head to accept the inevitable embarrassment, just to find I didn’t need to be embarrassed at all: she was passed out with her head against my shoulder.

I reached for my phone as it sat on the cushion next to me, seeing the time. We’d slept much longer than I thought. 

“Hey,” I said softly, reaching one hand to rub her shoulder. 

She shifted, not waking. I called her name this time, and she grumbled. 

“What?”

I smiled. “It’s almost seven in the morning.”

She perked up, sitting straight to look at me. 

“Excuse me?”

“It’s almost seven. We have work,” I replied. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“Neither did I.”

She got up, frantically looking around the place. 

“Uh,” she started, turning her gaze back to me. “I’m going to clean up quickly and get ready, then I can drive you home.”

I stood. “You can go get ready. I’ll clean up here.”

“Hotch, you’re not going to—“

“Yes, I am. Go on,” I said, leaning down to pick up the dishes. “I’ve got this.”

She said a quick ‘thank you’, then ran off to her bedroom. 

I found the kitchen, tossing out anything we left out, and set the dishes in the sink. I turned on the faucet to fill the sink with water and soap, then started on an attempt to make coffee. As it started to brew, I cleaned the dishes, leaving them in the drying rack rather than trying to figure out where all of the dishes usually resided. Luckily for me, she had a set of to-go cups out on the counter in plain sight. As I poured two cups, she walked in, not alerting me of her presence until she was standing next to me. 

“Oh,” I exclaimed, thankful I wasn’t holding anything in the moment, “You’re… silent.”

“Sneaking around is part of the job, right? Be thankful,” she said with a laugh. “You made coffee?”

I paused. “Yes.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking one from in front of me. “Now, let’s get you into some new clothes, huh?”

I agreed quickly. We made it to my place, then to work with a little time to spare. We made it inside, and started heading towards the elevator. 

“I have some granola bars in my desk, by the way,” she stated. “You’re still going to eat this morning.”

“I concede,” I said, hands up. 

She hit the elevator button, then we heard a familiar voice. 

“Good morning,” Rossi said, coming in behind us. 

“Morning,” she replied with a smile as he stood next to her. “How are you doing today?”

“Good. Seems you two are as well,” he noted. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked with a laugh. 

“Coming into work together, now?”

I sighed. “I just needed a ride, Dave.”

“Oh, right,” he nodded, “Right. Because you don’t have your own vehicle to drive.”

I glared at him, thought it didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest. She laughed again, being the first to step into the elevator.

—————

the sweetest con taglist:

@evee87 @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @rousethemouse @lalalove-56

aaron hotchner taglist:

@mrs-ssa-hotch @hyunjaebaby @ssamorganhotchner @criminalskies

[tenderlyrenjun]

Golden Hour

minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact

includes … celebrity chef!reader x idol-producer!mark, height difference, flirting, themes related to golden hour and child, kitchen sex, fingering, making out, light choking, oral sex (f receiving), penetration, safe sex ... I got a little inspired (?) and wrote this literally today after I got off work.

wc: 5,2k (two scenes)

“So …” You lean across the cluttered counter, most of the cooking utensils used thus far, since the class finished past your instruction ten minutes ago, the other party guests having already moved on to mingling and eating their bibimbap dishes, garnished by a simple omelette. “… how do you like your eggs?”

Mark licks his bottom lip, dragging it behind his teeth, and turns a brown egg, uncracked, in his hands, smoothly gliding the entire oval across his dorsal veins. He opens his mouth, but so many factors surface, once he takes everything into consideration – fried egg sandwiches during 9 AM business meetings at the studio; feta frittata eggs with a Sunday brunch mimosa; fluffy scrambled omelettes, adding an extra dash of protein, before the gym. And those are just scenarios, the last one mostly inspired by the matching, scanty gym outfit you gatekeep below that long apron, making you appear a little more exposed than his hippocampus can handle: crop top tank pushing up your chest, leggings laying so flat that he saw the outline of your thong when you spun the straps around your waist, fastening the long strands twice. Conversely, if he considers just the ingredients – of an omelette – or just the egg, ignoring his personal skill level, as shown by the pulped bibimbap dish nearly starting a fire on the hot plate at the end of his table, Mark … still has too many options.

So, he taps his neatly cut fingernail on one of the three eggs he’d been allotted at the beginning of the class and answers, “Scrambled,” slowly, because he’s used to it, to that technique. A scrambled egg is simple; no finesse. And he can cook it at any convenience, with the bare minimum number of utensils – in a pan, whisked by a fork; cracked over a steaming bowl of ramen, mixed by wooden chopsticks; heated in a microwave, nearly exploding after he sets the timer for five minutes.

Mark puts his egg back in the dispenser, sighs, and glances around the room. He honestly did not know what to expect from this “party”. Three rows of two long kitchen islands stand, placed equidistant in Renjun’s penthouse dining room, extending all the way to the living room where Jisung’s, his roommate, guitar accessories scatter across the coffee table. On his way up the elevator – actually a little before that, too, when he was at the studio, still evicting this tune he got stuck in his head, Mark considered the party to be a casual hangout, having heard that maybe 15 people, max, would be in attendance, not some theatre production, complete with a whole stage refurbishment. Ah, maybe he got his hopes up too high, relying more on the intimacy of a small party to keep him from a spatula, possibly wrapped up in conversation over a potential collaboration, like a networking event, rather than an actual cooking lesson from the youngest celebrity chef in the country’s largest metropolis with peers who doing the same as him, better than him. Mark thought he might excel, once he saw bibimbap on the schedule, the most basic breakfast dish, even though his stomach’s morning routine has been limited to toast or cereal for nearly a decade (much to Haechan’s grievance). Then, he overcooked the steak, resulting in you giving him yours; and he cooked his mushrooms first, the most potent flavor seeping down to the carrots, again resulting in you handing off your dish. The rice, really, was the only thing unscathed, mostly because he threw two cups in a cooker, leaving it untouched for 20 minutes.

“Sorry,” Mark apologizes. He winces, realizing how much of your time he monopolized during class – whether it was messing up a step in the recipe or staring at you too long until you noticed him again.

“It’s okay,” you tell him gently, bumping his arm, quickly, to scoot him down the counter. He complies, feet shuffling tinily, and watches you officially take over his project. “It happens. I think most people tend to, like, really develop their cooking skills around the same time their cells start dying,” you joke, giving him a light grin while you pull a clean glass bowl into frame.

“Mmhmm.”

Mark passes off all three eggs to you, and his fingers brush your hands, nails grazing, briefly, between your knuckles. He glances down at where they meet but jumps back to your face, stumbling at your chest, a consequence of the height difference, sternum hidden by both your boobs squished together and the apron holding them in place, albeit low-cut. You say nothing, instruct nothing, since the class is practically over (and he stays, like a teacher’s pet), so he leans back, checking out the gap in your apron, just to make sure you really do wear, like, actual clothes, including that thong he saw earlier, small triangle branded on your lower back like a tramp stamp. And you do! – wear clothes, which, at least, concludes one of his spinning thoughts today (it’s not even six o’clock yet, the time work usually ends). Then, his stomach rumbles, reminding him that breakfast was 12-hours ago.

“You’re, um, really good at this,” he brings his attention back to the purpose of this party.

“Yeah, thanks,” you accept, tone vocally light, which almost has him thanking you, too – be-because you have given him something to focus on this afternoon, temporarily relieving himself from the mental journalling his brain has been writing since 4 AM (would that be weird?; he doesn’t do it anyways). “I have a degree in physical chemistry,” you tell him, sharply whisking the eggs into a consistent yellow solution. “I’m making them eggs fluffy. I hope that’s okay.” You look at him, pausing the wooden sticks between your fingers, bowl pressed into your stomach, below your chest, and he has to look, bouncing from your eyes to boobs bowl.

Mark nods, twice, eyes widening downward, like a baby cheetah, half his bottom lip inside his mouth again, teeth chewing at the seam. He can’t trust himself not to stutter, not when his tongue falls numbly over his lower incisors and his toes bear his entire body weight, palms pushed into the edge of the counter to balance him.

“Sorry,” you apologize, reflexively, in the silence. And he winces, involuntarily stepping forward to revoke his silence, to verbally answer you so that you don’t have to take your eyes off the food. But you talk again and explain, “I’m not really used to the, like, customer service yet.” Your arms tense again, restarting the whisking, blending out the albumen on the perimeter. His fingers, too, strain, flexed wide enough to display his webbed metacarpal. If you were like his other friends, like Renjun, Mark might have already started massaging your shoulders, getting you to relax. But you’re not. And he barely knows you, mostly knows of you, from all the interviews preceding him in the magazine, little tidbits floating around the Internet as if fact without giving you the opportunity to confirm or deny them. “Sometimes, I just start cooking and forget to ask people – customers –“ You point at him, and he wishes you wouldn’t. It adds to the distance between you, making him count the millimeters you retracted when your fingers brushed tips. “– about their preferences.” You turn the electric stove top on, over medium heat, then reach for aluminium-wrapped slice of butter, unwrapping it at the back and pushing the soggy square (Mark winces again; that is probably his fault, having waiting too long to use it) into the pan via chopsticks. “But I’m, uh, I’m working on it.” You pull the pan off the stove, butter halfway melted, easy for you to slip and slide, coating the entire surface. And once you finish, putting it back to melt the rest, you glance around the room, small whisper drawing his ear to your lips. “It’s just hard … being the youngest person in the room, always obligated to absorb everyone’s opinions, everyone’s advice – whether solicited or not, kinda balancing this dichotomy where people want to guide you into what they think is the right direction or completely takeover the thing you’re doing.” You stab at the remaining butter with your chopstick, wood thumping the metal pan, then, lower the stove heat and sigh, “Sorry, that sounds weird, I know.”

“No, I, uh, I get it,” Mark croaks, stuttering getting even worse after you hand the glass bowl of whisked eggs to him. He tries to, like, replace you in front of the stove, but you stand still and guide both his hands on the rim, fingers filling in the gaps between his. You face the bowl toward his chest, a little lower than he would do on his own, but he keeps quiet at the discomfort, body stiffened, diaphragm concaved all the way. He tilts the eggs out fast, faster than you probably intended because you put up more resistance against him, slowing the pour until the curds form gently in the pan. You pull away first, completing his plan – in which he stands at the stove, you at the side. And Mark smacks his lips, tongue pushing on his bottom lip. “You’re trying to find some equilibrium between your environment – the people, the setting, whatever – and your own identity.” You hand him the cooking chopsticks, temporarily distracting his train of thought, but he bounces back quickly when you nudge his hand over the pan, directing him through scrambling the egg curds, through pushing the eggs outward to inward. “S-sometimes,” he breathes, shakily, grounding his body in cooking, “people will tell me that I’m, like, mature for my age, or – or, like, an old soul, and give me more responsibilities than I know what to do with. And it’s not like I can’t ask for help or anything; everyone gives me enough unsolicited advice to make me feel, like, okay, or whatever, with asking for help. But other times, people feel this need to, like, take care of me.” You hand him a rubber spatula and take away the chopsticks, which slightly proves his point, but he keeps to that point, using the spatula to put around the eggs evenly, fluffing them edges to middle. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmm,” you acknowledge before sitting on the counter, blue Nikes swinging against a cabinet door. And Mark copies you, leaning on the counter, just right of the electric stove and pan, eyeing you up. “Eyes on the pan, Mark.”

“Right, yeah.”

Mark uncrosses his arms and turns back to the last step of his bibimbap, folding the eggs over itself. But they look complete, a little wet, yellow dark and runny, but still, complete.

“Do I, um, do I do anything else?” he asks, holding both the handles of the pan and spatula. He cautiously looks up at you, through his own lashes, careful not to stutter at your chest again (even though you sit with your palms digging into your knees, biceps supporting their weight higher). You stare at him a second, something indiscernible crossing your mouth, then you shake your head, fringe falling in front of your ears, prompting you to tuck them back.

“Is there something else you want to do?”

Ask you out.

Maybe.

A beat passes.

“I don’t know,” Mark answers, nervously laughing to himself, under his breath. “I, uh, usually see people add stuff at the end – like, sprinkle some cilantro or squirt a side of ketchup.”

You hop down the counter and walk around his side, putting the pan between the two of you, which makes Mark tilt his head left, almost bonking his long blond hair (really his shoulder) on your head, if the height difference hadn’t returned. And the spatula drops from his hand, involuntarily he tells himself, when you nudge into his personal space. You catch it, not so easily, he notices – and apologizes, then you undo his folds to the omelette.

“People usually add spices and veggies to taste,” you start, not looking at him. “The eggs should be slightly wet when you’re adding the final ingredients, so you need to act quick –”

Mark jumps behind you, arm reaching across the counter, toward the far side, at the bowl of diced vegetables mixed with crushed pepper. He shakes it across the eggs, like he’s seen TV chefs do on Netflix. The silence, as you watch him top off the omelette with a literal pinch of salt, is a deafening few seconds, and he feels a sense of pride, that expectation of him excelling returning to the scene as he hoped before the class. But it leaves his body, the next second, when he realizes how close he stands to you – his chest pressed against your shoulders; your neck bending backwards, nearly resting on his bicep just to see his face.

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter, and suddenly, he sees you less confidently, and his mouth dries, preventing him from both apologizing for the intimacy and moving. “Just like that.” You swallow, thickly, fleetingly dipping your gaze to his lips; so quick, he thinks he hallucinated it.

“Th-then, does it, um, does it look done now?”

Mark’s shoulders stagger to his ears, tucking his chin to chest. He pulls his stomach backward, without the rest of his body, standing like a geometric abstract painting, limbs stacked one on top of the other.

You snap your head back to the pan, hair hitting his shirt. “Wh – Yeah, no, yeah, you were perf – good; you did good.” You kick up your elbow, outside his oblique, parenthetically trapping him tightly in place (otherwise, he’d fall). He watches you repeat his fold in the eggs, this time with ingredients sandwiched in the middle, yolk running less and less, tucking bell peppers and mushrooms inside. It’s a basic dish – the omelette – not even complete, since it will top the bibimbap.

Making an omelette takes longer than he thought it would, to be honest; well, making a good omelette. And this is probably the reason why he never makes one himself. All the recipes say 5-10 minutes, including prep time, but he has been here, with you, probably longer than that. Although, it could be his fault, needing to fill the silence with words, to say something – because he really cannot talk and check you out at the same time. You keep the conversation going, always articulating something interesting or relatable, to him, beyond the simple stuck-in-a-matrix TikTok clickbait that Renjun sends him at three in the morning. So, when you start moving again, shutting down the stove, plating his bibimbap, and untying your apron, Mark grabs your arm, fast, just strong enough to catch your attention; he releases immediately upon receiving your eye contact.

“Don’t,” he breathes, somehow winded. Then, he inhales, sharply, filling his lungs. “Eat with me?” he asks, “un-unless you have somewhere else to be.”

You turn around, at a better angle, back pushed against the stove buttons, apron hanging half an inch off your body. And Mark grabs you by the waist, hauling you into his chest, away from the sparking stove. But you both push each other away again, noticing the intimacy, hands rubbing into where you touched each other – you at your hips, him at his chest. And the two meter distance returns.

“No, I, um, I was just going to the gym after this.” You look him up and down, and his eyes sparkle. “But, no, yeah.” You take off the apron completely, folding it onto the counter. “I c-can eat with you. Just let me get a spoon.”

Mark produces one nearly out of thin air (really, he swiped one of the three off the counter to make space for your apron). “We can share,” he nods at the ceramic bowl, “this bibimbap. Yours is probably cold by now,” he reasons, because, if you go, you might not come back, and he doesn’t want to let this be a mirage or, worse, be a dream; dreams can become nightmares. And as another beat overtakes the conversation, overtakes his request and explanation, Mark thinks he fell into another night with the same nightmare. The bibimbap is only a single serving, if that, drowned by three servings of eggs. You barely know him, only revealing maybe one or two vulnerable thoughts, on which he piggybacked his own apprehensions. And really, Mark should feel bad, about monopolizing your time both during and after class, even though this is technically a party and he has yet to say more than three words to his best friend, Renjun. He phrased his request, less like a question, more like a demand, and he can’t find a reason why you would agree, his brain already lined up three objections for you to reject –

“Okay.”

Mark freezes, hand clenching around the air, since you took the spoon away from him (he hadn’t noticed  you did that, to be honest). He only moves after you squeeze his arm, guiding him away from the stove too, like he did you, except the stove is really off right now. And everything rushes out at once – he follows you to the side, still far from the rest of the party guests, who he, frankly, forgot were in the room still, despite this not being his apartment; and he repeats, “Okay.” Mark tilts his head to the side, you blurring the rest of his vision. “Okay? Okay. Cool, cool, okay, cool.” You hop back on the counter and skulk your foot between his thighs, bringing him a little bit closer, out of the aisle. His hands fall on both your sides, lowering him down your chest, which looks about the same without the apron – pushed up and compressed together. “Actually …”

Mark’s request for you to eat with him changes.

In terms of location and subject.

He brought up that the bibimbap might not be an ideal meal to share, and that he wants to share a meal with you. It took a couple minutes, skirting around the whole date question, since he literally only knew you a couple hours, but if you know, you know. And Mark knew that he really wanted to see you more … privately. So, eventually, he got through the question, getting you back to his apartment on the lie that he has more food at home. But you never confirmed his lie, or maybe you never doubted him (he’ll clear it up later), because you shove him against the wall, kissing him between the photos of his friends and family, who he definitely does not want to see him railing the girl of his dreams.

Mark changes the position, scratching his nails up your scalp, behind your head, coiling thick strands around his fingers while he walks you down the living room to his bed, never letting up on the embrace.

However, the two of you fall on the ground, in the kitchen, Mark’s elbow slamming into the ground first as he tries to protect you from the hard wood floors. He yelps in pain, too, but you poke your tongue in his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck. You stumble toward his lips, chest beating on his, your back coming off the ground, nearly toppling him over. And Mark fumbles, hand feeling around the floor until he can sit upright, sloped against the island cabinets, which seem to have a lot of use today. He raises his chin higher, trying to match the way you bounce on his lap, cupping his face still. And, Jesus Christ, Mark compares your lips to every other person he has ever kissed before – his newest hairstylist a year after he became an adult; the concessions stand clerk at the movie theatre when he was 17; another idol he met through a mixed-up sandwich. You’re better than all of them, he concludes, swollen lips as pliant at his half-lidded eyes, puckering repeatedly to give you a sounding board each time you dive into his face. He grabs your ass, like an anchor, heels of his palms kneading into the muscles.

“Mm – Mark,” you moan, not breaking apart, hot breath exhaling down his tongue. You stand on your knees, and your nails drag into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Fuck.”

Mark kisses you again, harder, bending you across his legs, one hand belting behind your waist, the other slamming into the ground. You hang off his neck, nearly dragging him on the floor with you, had he not already set himself up for support. Then, he starts falling back into the island, repeatedly pecking you, one last lick on your teeth before pulling away. He needs the reprieve, to organize his thoughts, figure out the first way he can fuck you tonight without blundering like a clumsy virgin. And when he peaks an eye open, he sees yours still closed; sees your chest heaving, the neckline somehow lower. So, Mark kisses you again, more chaste, patting down the side of your hair until his palm rests on your cheek.

“Why – why did you stop?” you ask, sinking your ass onto his thighs.

“I –“ Mark swallows. He wants you in his bed now, thrusting into you so rough that his blue sheets tear off the corners. He also wants you on his couch, the next immediate mattress, rubbing his boner up your tight, giving each other tight hand jobs, clinging to each other just to save room. But as he darts across your now flushed face, Mark is momentarily returned to that first moment when he saw you walk into Renjun’s apartment, a confident chef who eventually gave him your full attention, and he answers, “On the counter.” He taps your ass, getting you both to stand. He helps you jump on the granite, hands around your waist to place you perfectly in front of him.

“Like this?”

You wrap your legs and arms around him, nearly falling off, so Mark scoots closer to the edge, his mostly hard cock grazing the edge and your knee.

“Yeah,” he hisses, hands traveling down your calves, like a massage. “Good girl,” he praises. Mark brings one up your thigh, between your thighs, not quite touching the middle just yet. “Can I?” he asks, thumb resting on your stomach, above the waist band he already folded down your belly button. You both stare at each other, delicately grinding the paper-thin air between you two. Then, you roll down the counter, humping his abs so tightly that his shirt rides up.

“Yeah, Mark, please,” you moan again. “You c-can touch.”

Mark, impatient, doesn’t take your pants off, sliding all five digits down your stomach, palm facing you. His longest fingers trace your underwear, mentally drawing himself a picture of the thong you kept hidden from him for hours. It’s thinner than he imagined, wetter, too, the skinny string disappearing between your pussy lips, choking your clit. Mark breathes down your lips, inhaling through his nose as your breath hitches repeatedly, open-mouthed, staccato ah’s decreasing in octaves from moans to groans. He pads his index and ring finger on either side of your cunt, middle finger stroking your clit lightly. Actually, he tries not to touch you directly, wanting the ghost of his fingers to burn your loins first, but you keep grinding closer and closer to him; eventually, his fingers slip inside, starting with two interphalangeal creases. The tightness of your leggings holds his wrist against your lower stomach, but his fingers have some range, able to gesture for your G-spot to come hither, to find him.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he whimpers, kissing you again before you can retort – because it’s not a request; he’s not asking. Mark is telling you that he wants to fuck you so bad, right now, monster cock straining his jeans fully.

“You can,” you tell him between a kiss. Mark’s free hand holds you around the neck, palm on your jugular, thumb reaching across your larynx. Nothing supports your head, so you keep rocking forward, incidentally dropping further down his fingers in your cunt, stifling your voice box in his hand. “You can f-fuck – fuck – me, Mark.”

He almost takes you up on it, even stripping the both of you down to your underwear. And he finds out that your bra has been holding up your boobs, not your crop top, not the apron, your bra. He hopes you have a duplicate of this one, because he’s going to rip it.

Not actually though.

In reality, outside his thoughts, Mark hesitates. His cock twitches on his stomach, smooth tip leaking under the waistband, as he debates how he wants to get between your legs. Either way – stuffing you with his cock or lapping at your walls – would sprawl you across his kitchen counter, displaying you like a perfect meal prepared by his Michelin charisma, having moved the appetizer (flirting) from Renjun’s apartment into a main dish at his place. His place. Oh, yeah, you definitely have all night. So, Mark settles between your thighs, pushing your knees more open.

“No more teasing,” he tells you.

“What – Oh, fuck, just like that, Mark!”

You fall onto your forearms, over the counter, as Mark licks his way into your pussy, one finger holding the tiny thong string off to the side. He extends his tongue, all the way, angling his head diagonally. He keeps his wet muscle still and shakes his head, side-to-side, nose rubbing just outside your labia, more on your thigh, pushing your pussy lips together so tightly that your clit bears most of the tension. You moan his name, repeatedly, growing louder and louder over each passing syllable, encouraging him further – or, rather, deeper.

Mark pulls his dick out of his pants, stroking down only once, holding the pulsing base firmly, prematurely lining himself with the thought of your cunt.

“Ah, Mark,” you scream, palm slamming into the counter. Mark throws his glance at your face and sees your lips form a giant ‘O’ – God, he could fuck your mouth pussy. And he strokes himself again. The way you squirm on his kitchen island realigns your clit with his nose, and you grind the little nub on his nub, the hard ball jingling wetly. Your ass, too, bounces on the table, practically spanking yourself on the granite. Mark bites his lips higher, catching your clit in a hard suction, drinking the shaky nerves, tongue abrading the entire surface area. You return your hands to his hair, scratching into his scalp, never tugging him away, only yanking him tighter. And your thighs quiver, squeezing his cheeks, knees outlining his ears. “Mark, Mark,” you chant, “Mark, I’m gonna – I’m gonna – Oh, my God, I’m gonna – “

Then, he pulls away.

And you nearly scream again.

“Mark,” you whine for a good few seconds.

“Wait for me,” he tells you, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger to press a quick kiss on your lips. You try to elongate the kiss again, your sweaty ass adhering on the counter, but he pulls away fully after the one quick kiss. “Good girls wait,” he mumbles.

Mark leaves for a second, heading into his bathroom for a condom.

He catches himself in the mirror, toned abs full on display, lengthy cock flopping sans balls outside his briefs. His hair, too, has more volume than it normally does, even when his stylist fixes it up for concerts or stages (who knew sex hair looked this good?). Mark checks himself out another minute, then grabs a neatly packed L-condom. He exhales, jumping once, only to realize that it was a mistake when his dick hits his thigh. And he takes a moment, to just breathe, before going back to you, cock now wrapped up with protection.

In the kitchen, Mark finds you fingering yourself, writhing on the counter, opposite hand covering your mouth. He watches a little bit longer (but not long enough to be a pervert), then stalks between your thighs. You gasp, eyes widening.

“I thought I told you, ‘Good girls wait’.”

Your chest heaves a few seconds, and he realizes that he probably disturbed your orgasm a second time.

“I – I need to prep myself,” you explain, weakly, but he lets it go with the next half of your sentence boosting his ego, “Your dick is too big.”

“Mmhmm,” he nods. Mark wraps your thong around his dick, the little tiny crotch part choking his length, and rubs the new apparatus on your vulva, until you whine again, writhe again. “You’re gonna like it big,” he mumbles before untangling himself and impaling his cock all the way inside your cunt. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, shallowly thrusting half an inch out your labia, the acute angle between your bodies chafing his cock under your clit. Your pussy throbs at a 3010 tempo, practically squeezing him out, which gives him an excuse to thrust again, to bottom out again, the furthest part in your uterus clinching his leaky tip. “You – you feel s-so close,” Mark lisps, “T-to cumming.”

“I am,” you confirm, voice tight, moans asphyxiating your throat. “Mm – Mark, close.”

“Go ahead,” he tells you. “Come on, baby, you can cum. Be a good girl, cum.” Mark abuses your cunt harder, holding your waist lowly, sliding your ass off the counter as he pounds you harder and harder, cock driving up your pussy at the perfect angle, for what seems like the both of you. He tries continuously accelerating his speed, but as your pussy strangles him, and his thighs bruise on your ass, his cock flops around inside your cunt, spinning clockwise, ricocheting your walls.

“Ah, ah, ah!”

Mark weighs down your hips with one hand, the other tilting your chin up to look at him, to watch just him make you feel so damn good. Somewhere along the moaning and the sloshing, Mark squeezes his eyes shut, a familiar pressure building in his ears; he chases it, bucking his hips faster, spanking his thighs on your ass, your pussy ultimately trapping his tip deep in your uterus, only letting his shaft spring back and forth, veins stinging your velvety walls.

“Fuck, fuck, yeah, good girl,” Mark raps in one breath, all the music in his head building up and up and up, until the bass drops, and white noise backs up your screams like an instrumental. He digs his thumbs into your waist, grinding his hips on your labia, burying his cum as far as it can go, though impeded by the condom. And he lays down on the counter with you, feet floating off the ground.

You curl into his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He can hear you steady your breathing, and it slows his, too. The moment hangs in the air, much like his feet, and Mark doesn’t know how much time passes, only enough for him to close his eyes, not a single thought behind those lids.

But you break the silence, mumbling something into his naked shoulder.

“Hmm? What was that?”

Mark lifts his head up, opening his eyes to stare at your newly shy smile.

“I just noticed you never asked me how I liked my eggs,” you laugh.

And Mark laughs too. “Okay, so how do you like your eggs then?” he plays along.

“Fertilized.”